Devil's Last Dance

[The Demon Auditor]

((Continued from Dawn of War))

He shrugged as Oona turned him down for a ride and took off on her own. With a broad flex of his new wings, he shot into the air with one powerful stroke. He bobbed on the wind, turning his head every which way to find his bearings and locate the town. A few more flaps and he twisted himself in the right direction, towards the rising pillar of smoke and flame. Finally, with a heroic (yet highly non-aerodynamic) pose, he sped towards Bendalsain, skimming the tree tops (and throwing himself sideways at one point to nearly miss one particularly tall tree).

In a matter of moments he arrived, and set himself down outside the perimeter wall, lest anyone see him. The wings folded down around his body, and were soon no more than a mere trench coat again. He could hear the screams of innocent citizens inside, trapped by their own wall, the very wall meant to protect them from such terrible war.

He thought for a moment, then withdrew a black yo-yo from a pocket on the front of his coat that wasn't there before. The pocket's rim sealed up and wasn't there anymore. He contemplated the yo-yo, dipping it a couple times and letting it spin lazily. Then he snapped it down as if to "walk the dog", and as it hit the ground the yo-yo kept going, and grew in size as it barreled across the ground at alarming speed. It crashed into the wall, punching a ten foot hole through the log piles. The hole stabilized itself thanks to sturdy construction, and The Demon Auditor strolled in, casually dipping to pick up his toy from the debris and pocket it in a pocket that didn't really exist.

He was between two large buildings in a wide alley way. They would provide good cover for the escaping citizens. He began directing any fleeing people he could find, and held off a few orcs with a simple flick of his wrist. Unfortunately, their screams of pain as they fell to the ground clutching the daggers protruding from their bleeding eyes alerted their comrades, and soon he was facing more than just a few.

"Freakin' orcs are such pansies. Grow a pair!!" he yelled at the oncoming foes.

[Nightspinner]

Daeryn was holding off four orcs at once, each one trying to use their superior might and numbers to overcome Daeryn. Fortunately for me, they are not the best team players. he thought mildly as he ducked on horizontal hack from a orc, which dug deep into one of his comrade's chest. Sensing a moment of oppertunity, he tumbled to the orc's side, slashing as he moved by with his dagger, giving the orc a long nasty cut from his front to his side. "Too slow my friend, too bad." When he gained his foot, he picked up movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, bringing his sword up to block the incoming blow of an orc's sword. Without losing a moment, he kicked the orc back to give him space, and cleanly chopped off it's hands. The last orc, seeing his comrades had fallen, turned and fled. No you don't! Crashed to the ground as the dagger found a place to rest in the back of it’s skull. After glancing around, he began to feel that there were a few too many orcs around him. He pulled out of his sleeve card. The card itself began to glow white, and with a sharp crack and a resounding boom, a dozen orcs went flying into the air, as did the bodies of those that were already slain. The bodies of those alive and dead went into their ranks, sowing confusion in the massive horde of foes. Daeryn smiled broadly and turned his attention back to the fight.

His eye managed to get the sight of the wolf-like girl killing an orc with her plank of wood. Not bad, but she could probally make due with a weapon. So he looked back toward the confused group of orcs. After making a few quick gestures with his open hand and whispering several syllables into the air, the knife that he had lounged into the orc’s head that went flying fly into the air, back to his hand. So he turned back toward the troll. Just in time to catch the wolf-girl hit the troll right in the groin, bringing the great brute down. She quickly followed up with a flying kick to the already in pain troll head. “Ho! Nice one! That should show him a thing or two!” Maybe she doesn’t need a weapon. ”You… help..?” The wolf-girl asked, as the troll snatched her leg and pulled her to the ground. She began to beat at the creature’s with nothing but her fists. A lot of good that will do…

Daeryn moved in, slowly and carefully, moving around the creature as the cat-man began to shred the creature’s arms, kicking at its face. Not bad, the cat’s not bad at all. If only the troll wasn’t so big, then maybe it would do some real damage. But maybe it’ll let the girl go… As the cat-man stood protectively in front of the wolf-girl, Daeryn chuckled . Now I have seen everything. Now there was no doubt that the troll’s attention was now focused on the feline and canine. His position was right behind the troll, exactly where he wanted to be. This was his chance to finish this troll off, to do some real damage to it. With a grin that showed satisfaction to the deed he was about to do, he sprinted toward the troll. His leather boots began to glow white as he came closer to the troll, then he leaped up, over fifteen feat, the white glow blazing much like a intense flame, though he felt nothing but a little bit of a warm updraft, carrying him up high as he flipped, landing lightly on the trolls left shoulder. Without losing a moment, he hacked right into the neck of the creature with his longsword, sending gouts of blood into the air. Then he jumped down lightly next to the feline and canine. Daeryn let out a hearty laugh and asked the feline with good humor, “Does that awnser your question ma’am?”

Then he put his dagger away and flipped his sword expertly so that he was holding the bloody longsword, and then he offered the weapon to the canine. “I think this will help you more so than that plank. Think you can use it?” As he spoke his eyes picked up the other stranger killing that was using foot and bone against orc after orc after orc. His feet and hands were crimson from constantly killing orcs that got to close. His ears picked up the wings of a dragon that was flying over head, though Daeryn had no idea whether it was a friend or foe. I hope friend. There is a fine line between an epic tale and a epic dirge, and a dragon would lead me to the latter. His focus turned to the cat-man and he asked, “Would you like a weapon, sir, or do you prefer to use your claws?”

Anyone mind if I killed the troll? I'll change it if necessary.

[Dark Lord Lucien]

The rampant destruction all about was mere ambience compared to the up close and personal cries of the dying. Lucien wasted little time, finding their attacks and pleas for mercy beneath him. Without resorting to any personal weapon, he attacked their minds- the icy grip of his mental hold reaching out in a flash, wrapping their mind like an iron band, or simply freezing their nervous system. They dropped systematically, although he had presence of mind to swat a few aside with his mailed fists. They were like fleas. Insignificant fleas. And yet still they came on, dying for their queen. Her.

Theirs was a long history, to say the least. Focusing on her face, he vividly noticed the crimson fires highlighting her red hair, the play of sweat, fear, and fire on her pale face. Her eyes locked on to him, and in that brief moment he halted in stride- a fraction of a second, really, but enough that he himself noticed it. After all this time, seeing her still had a profound effect on him. And he would make sure this was the last time... Coming forward, he began to exert himself more. A knight came before him bravely, swinging a spiked mace and holding a shield close to his side. He was a skilled opponent, no doubt a veteran soldier come to block the way, despite knowing full well how his comrades failed. What was it that made them do this, Lucien wondered. What possessed them to throw their lives away? It was beyond him, but the combat itself was not.

He caught the mace head with his left hand, wrenching it from the knight's grasp with a terrifying strength borne more of hatred and malice than supernatural powers. The warrior, though taken aback, brought his shield forward, hoping to delay the inevitable with that sad piece of metal.

Fool!

Lucien brought the mace crashing down, the sheer weight behind the blow shattering the shield, maiming the knight beneath it and completely bending the mace itself. Tossing the worthless weapon aside, he grabbed the falling knight with his right hand, and held him up, examining the fading spark of life in his eyes. How many lives like this had he snuffed out easily? He was power. He was a god to them. Men, like fleas, were best removed when they become bothersome.

The titanic shove of his arm propelled the dying man over the heads of his friends and allies, launching the broken body with such force that it fell right at her feet. His look of hate marred his otherwise icy features, and those nearest to him began to fall back, afraid of dying like cattle before his wrath. He felt invincible at that point, so engulfed in his rage that nothing could stop him...

Mirtedaur was ancient, and cunning, and the roar of the dragon was perhaps the only thing which could have stopped his rampage. Damn it all to the hells! The fiery ball of death came hurtling at him, and in such a short span of time his options were short. Snarling in response, Lucien called up a psionic concentration of energy to shield him. Nothing fancy nor focused, but enough to make the fireball 'slide' past him. It hit the ground, erupting in carnage for the demons, orcs, trolls, and Morthikans nearby. Mirtedaur came around for another pass, meaning to fry the dark lord this time, but Lucien was more prepared. He had not planned to combat the aerial beast, but he could most certainly defend against his vicious attacks for now. Lucien focused more energy, fueling the psionic shell around him with the energies of those he had only recently crushed in battle. Another fireball came forth, and he caught this one, arcing the shell to deflect the fireball where it would do the most damage - the nearby homes of her beloved Morthikans. The blast hit a large manor house, flames consuming the building within seconds, the sun-hot fires of the dragon already burning the stones of the foundation before anyone could blink.

Focused on this new threat, Lucien was distracted from putting an end to the battle, though no warrior around him attacked for fear of the dragon's breath.

[Discord Lasarythe]

<>Perched in the window and studying Elyza with stubbornness borne of betrayal, Discord was having trouble focusing on the moment as the collective energies of too many powerful beings in one place bombarded her senses. At once her eyes glazed, her fragile grip on sanity slipping away. As if Elyza wasn’t speaking and having forgotten entirely about their encounter in under a second, she dropped the short distance off the sill into the crumbling inn’s side yard. The roar of battle washed over her for what felt like the first time and she was drawn toward it as any blood seeking demon would be; however, it was the sight of something so unexpected crouched on the edge of such chaos that had her creeping slowly and deliberately along the ruined wall.

He could not have witnessed more than nine winters, would remember even less of them, and set against a backdrop of awesome beasts and armored warriors, he looked smaller still. He obviously cared for the bloodied corpse of the man he clung to, for he was soaked in its blood and shook with the force of his sobs. Though she could not see the child’s face, she knew from the frequent jerks of his head that he followed the battle in which the dead one had fallen with watery eyes that would be wide with horror and fear. He had not yet realized the real cause for fear approached from behind. She savored the moment “alone” with the prey as he leaned in to kiss the body’s quickly cooling cheek. Then, because the young often did remarkable things in the face of danger, the boy’s red-stained hands fumbled with a sword nearly longer from hilt to point than the one holding it. It seemed he would be charging into the fray to avenge the man who’d been his father. There was a similarity in scent between the dead and the living that Discord would find impossible to miss with such an interest in food and its unique odor. It was fitting he would fall as his parent had in the very same battle.

Carrot topped and freckled, she could see now, he dragged him and his oversized weapon up and stopped to study a shield he had no hope of lifting as if pondering whether or not to attempt it. The blood encrusted, battle worn, metal plate engraved with this unlucky family’s coat of arms would save no one tonight. Lost in his own thoughts and the cries of death and victory around them, he remained oblivious to Dis’ arrival. She smiled cruelly down into the glazed, open eyes of his deceased father and truly believed the look of terror locked forever on his face was all for her. She hoped wherever food went after being eaten that it had a front row seat for this show.

The child’s startled squeal was lost to all but Dissy as her arm slithered around his neck from behind, ungloved hand locked under his chin and hauled him up and against her. She drank his sound, his smell, his struggle in like she would his insides soon enough as the blade fell unused to the ground at her booted feet. He clawed and thrashed at first but she crushed him to her, stroking and cooing until he’d either mistaken her for a friend or been paralyzed by fear. That he trembled and whimpered under the force of her grasp suggested the latter. She tilted her head to nuzzle his cheek and her matted hair fell over him like a nasty, black veil. All but choking with her scarred hand clamped around his fragile throat, he wheezed and gasped as she hissed into his tiny ear.<>

“So small and young to be out and about. So soft…Dissy was meant to eat you.”

<>Delirious with notion that sustinence would come at last, the sound of battle faded from Discord’s conscious as she cuddled her meal close. The tangy stench of his panicked sweat and rapid beat of his heart made it difficult for the demon inside not to tear at him wildly and feed, though she fended it off long enough to delight in the pre-kill procedure. She was still clutching him tight and purring in an ear she longed to nip when ever so insistent and all too personal yelling in her direction drew her unwillingly back into the situation. Perhaps he suspected his captor was distracted or it may just have been an unforeseen burst of energy that had the child wiggling and flailing for freedom, but it was this distraction that ended his life far more peacefully than she’d intended to. She’d snapped that delicate neck in irritation before she’d even realized her fingers were clenching in fury at yet another interrupted meal. Now it was a dead meal and Discord was in a temper like no other.<>

“DISSY IS HUNGRY! SO HUNGRY! GO AWAY!”

<>Shrieking now, she waved the boy’s limp form frantically for emphasis as Oona advanced out of nowhere, obviously ready to rid the world of Dissy’s kind of evil. Fat chance. The move was so swift and gruesome, no one but those Discord would answer to in the afterlife would have noticed her claws sinking into the boy’s vacant blue eyes and beyond into the gray matter of the brain. Fingers curled into the eye sockets of his skull and her thumb braced in his mouth as though his head were a bowling ball, she brought her arm back full force and tore the red haired head off the doll-sized body. She spun in the tensed stance of a discus thrower and released the head with the force of a small cannon in Oona’s path. Tearing at the exposed slope of the shoulder viciously with eager fangs, she pulled back from frenzy reluctantly and lowered the decapitated body to rest beside the sword its newest owner had lost.<>

“Food must wait right here for Dissy. Say you will… Hmpf. Just this once, you don’t have to…Not really your fault Dissy threw your mouth way over there, is it? Course it is, stupid! Dumb, argumentative food.”

<>She was still gnawing enthusiastically on warm, moist muscle when she turned to face Oona. She slapped the open, oozing sores in her palms together and then thrust them apart to draw out the thick, acidic whips that were her companions in everything. The sticky rope snapped at the center under the intense pressure but continued to spill from her hands and coil around her as she prepared for yet another battle with rambunctious food. In her anger and hunger the inky black blood gushing over her fingers began to crackle and spark with what might have been electricity or some hellish fire known only to demons. This time she would eat and the enemy would join as the entrée.<>

“Time to eat.”

[Oona Ondessa]

Hate was a complex emotion to describe. Oona took pride in he fact she didn’t give into her emotions too often, they clouded judgment, made things complicated. But Hate was what she felt, at the particular moment, witnessing the horror that was Discord, she felt nothing but hate. Pure and unadulterated. Discord was everything wrong with the world, she was evil manifested. She had targeted something pure and good In Camus, her oldest dearest friend and tried to murder him, torture him, eat him.

Oona raged like she’d never before, her skin usually pale with a soft purple undertone now looked savagely red, as if the blood moon was above her once more.
She ran, knocking allies and enemies out of her path with a savage force that came from thought alone. She lifted off the ground, levitating off the ground her pointed boots dragged against the earth, Leaving deep tracks in her path.

‘I hope you enjoyed that meal demon, it will be your last...’

She said through prefect white gritted teeth. She ignored her repulsion at seeing bits of the boy on Discords face, who knows what he would have become had he the chance. Oona dropped her silver weapon on the ground, this fight would be bare handed, she wanted to feel the magic on her fingertips, the demons last breath on her face.

She’d known about the Demon for some time, just like every being of power and interest In Morthika, Oona the scholar had taken a great interest. The problem was there was little information about the Demon available. Only vague prophecies.

Discord pressed her hands together, Oona could see her clearly now, she could read her like a book; feel her energy, her connection to the universe. It surprised her.

Oona was close enough to lash out, she lifted higher off the ground, Her arms gracefully over her head. She dropped towards Discord like lead, Her foot clad feet were pressed together aiming for the Demons skull. She pushed her considerable body weight forward and tried to grab Discord by the throat and squeeze. Her own hands were buzzing with Arcane energy; it was manifesting itself into small bolts of electricity. The scent of magic and blood filled her nostrils.

[Arianwen Chandell]

*Arianwen opened her pale eyes in surprise as the Troll let go of her, amidst his screaming in pain as first the cat-like man, then the newcomer with the sword and dagger, made short work of the oaf that seemed intent on making her his next meal. As he fell dead to the ground, Arianwen picked herself up off the road and brushed the dirt, mud, orc guts and blood from her clothes as she looked around, her long white-blonde locks flowing wildly in the wind and rain. For the moment, it appeared they were safe from immediate carnage as no demons were close enough to do any damage.

Taking a step backwards so that she was once again in her own personal space, Arianwen offered the cat-like man an awkward smile by way of a thankyou before the man with the sword approached her. She watched as he pocketed his dagger before presenting the sword to her and asking if she could use it. She nodded hesitantly, taking a tentative step forward as her small hands reached out to take the offered sword. It weighed approximately the same as the plank of wood she had dropped when the ogre had picked her up, though its shape and symmetry made it much easier to wield. She offered the man the same awkward smile of appreciation before she stepped back and to the side, testing the weight of the sword while she practiced some thrusts and arcs.

For now, they still appeared to be in no immediate danger, a small circle of freedom surrounding herself, Berul, Daeryn and Rafia for the time being. Deciding to take the time offered to them, Arianwen realised introductions were in order. These three brave men had saved her life after all. Stabbing the swords point into the muddy ground so that stood up all on its own, she stepped forward, holding out her hand in greeting as she had witnessed many people do time and time again. Struggling to find the correct words in her limited vocabulary, Arianwen spoke in a soft lilting voice that was difficult to hear over the roar of war around them and the sound of the pouring rain.

~I… be.. Arianwen. Thanking… you… for .. help.~ she smiled then; a radiant smile that made her all the more beautiful. There was nothing about her appearance that made her appear wolf like, only her actions and lack of the human language gave away her history of being raised by her pack. Smiling at the three men in turn, she gave them all an expectant look as she waited for them to introduce themselves.

After a few minutes of exchanging social pleasantries however, she heard the loud sound of large wings overhead as a magnificent dragon roared and breathed a large fireball at someone on the ground. This same someone somehow deflected the fireball so that it shot out at a large manor house close to where the group were standing. Arianwen watched in horror as the house caught aflame quickly and began to burn with a speed that seemed almost supernatural.

Despite the falling rain, soon the entire first floor seemed consumed by flames and smoke, while a new blaze threatened to consume the second floor from the roof above. Hearing screams coming from inside the house, Arianwen turned to the three men and pointed to the house. Assuming that they would understand her intentions despite her lack of words, Arianwen picked up her sword and ran towards the burning house. She intended to kick open the front door, but the heat and intensity of the flames pushed her back. Turning to look at the three men, she offered them each a helpless look as she asked with her upturned hands ~ How can we save them?~ *

[Moridanu]

*Moridanu’s heart ached in her heaving chest as she watched first one, and then many of her troops fall at the hand of Lucien. Even civilians who had not sworn their allegiance to the Queen, yet still fought to defend Queen and Country fell to their deaths, and Moridanu carried each death on her shoulders in an ever growing burden of pain and guilt. Despite the growing weight, she still squared her shoulders and glared defiantly at Lucien as he approached.

She noticed with surprise that as soon as their eyes locked, he actually halted mid-stride for a fraction of a second. A Knight rose up beside Lucien, intent on taking down the Dark Lord once and for all. Moridanu watched helplessly as the Knight joined his comrades in the throes of death, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears of frustration and grief as yet another of her kingdom died. Even as he died, Lucien could not relent in his rage, going so far as to throw the dead Knight over the bodies of his fallen fellow soldiers so that it landed at her feet. Glancing down in shock and despair at the dead man by her feet, Moridanu’s head snapped up so that she was looking Lucien in the eye once more. The look of pure fury on his face chilled her to the bone and as she watched her army shrunk away from Lucien, their bravery finally giving way to a mixture of fear and the need for survival.

Taking a step forward, Moridanu snarled ~This ends now!~ as she lowered her hands so that they were held out in front of her hips, palms facing down. Drawing the energy of the earth up from beneath her, Moridanu’s ears tingled with the familiar roar of Mitredaur above her. Looking up at her old friend, a faint smile of satisfaction crossed her red lips as the Crimson Dragon breathed a large fireball and aimed it directly at Lucien. He dodged it at the last moment, causing it to hit the ground beside him, killing many demons, orcs and even a handful of her own soldiers.

Wincing, Moridanu sent him up a message by way of their telepathic link. ~Go easy old friend.. do not underestimate him..~ Mitredaur had already aimed another fireball at Lucien however, this one delivered with enough time for Lucien to deflect it and aim it at a manor house that Moridanu knew housed one of the oldest families in Bendelsain. Despite the pouring rain, the house was soon engulfed in flames and Moridanu took a step towards the burning building before she saw a woman and several men who were a lot closer to the home, running forward to help. Hopeful that they would be able to rescue any inhabitants still inside, Moridanu called out to Crowe ~Ye may need to help them Crowe!~ before she turned around to glare at Lucien.

Her army had retreated from him even further, fearful of both the Dark Lord and any fire balls courtesy of Mitredaur. For now though, her Dragon circled the skies above, waiting for his opportunity to hit Lucien when he was least prepared. Enraged by the suffering and death that Lucien had brought once more to her people, Moridanu became determined to end this war once and for all. While Crowe served as her personal body guard, killing any orcs or demons that considered themselves worthy of taking on the Queen, and while her troops steered clear of Lucien, they did make themselves useful by keeping any orcs and demons away from Moridanu long enough for her to draw her power from the earth beneath her, the fire from the flames of the manor house, the wind that tore through the battle sieged village, and the rain that poured down all around her. For an elemental witch such as herself, the combination of these elements provided enough energy for Moridanu to become virtually unstoppable. And it was this energy that she planned to unleash on Lucien.

After a few moments of gathering the required energy, Moridanu’s emerald orbs flashed as she stamped her boot clad foot on the ground beneath her. A crack, at first thin but widening as it reached Lucien, appeared and ran towards the Dark Lord opening up into a deep chasm that threatened to pull the ground away from under his feet if he was not quick enough to move out of its path. Even if he did jump away in time, the crack was charged to follow him, widening to be large enough for him to fall into the ever growing dark pit beneath him. Using the healing energy of the earth to counteract the ever widening chasm, Moridanu called upon the grace of Mother Nature to heal the ground, closing the cracks a few minutes after they appeared, meaning that Bendelsain would be safe from becoming nothing but a large hole in the ground.

By way of their telepathic link she warned her troops to be on the lookout for the cracks as she threw her hands behind her back and pulled the warmth and intensity of the flames. Once her hands were charged, she aimed at Lucien, throwing a continuous spate of fireballs directly at him. Calling down the wind that roared all about them, she used the energy of the wind to create a tunnel similar to that of a tornado, surrounding Lucien in a churning tomb of fire, the heat of which would be unbearable. As the flames held a supernatural quality that had made them impervious to the pouring rain, they still continued to burn, increasing in intensity as the wind raged all around Lucien. Although the burning tornado might not be enough to kill him, it would provide a necessary distraction so that the earths crack could find him and send him down to a never-ending pit of darkness. Above, Mitredaur flew closer, looking for the perfect opportunity to send the final fireball that would be the nail on Lucien’s coffin.*

[julton]

*Berul, instead of taking the offered hand, offered a stiff bow, locking his right fist into his other palm in front of him in a traditional gesture of welcome that he maintained despite its meaning being lost amidst those who did not know his people's ways. After offering a brief and tight smile to the wolf-girl, he knelt down to remove a bare strip of relatively unsoiled cloth from one of the fallen orcs at his feet, one who had been laid to rest by the relatively bloodless death of a snapped neck, and proceeded to wipe the coating of gore carefully from each arm, taking care to remove every trace even from between his fingers. Though the orc's meager cloth did little to render him clean, it did remove the blood and removed some of the gruesome qualities of his current appearance. Still, his face, torso, and legs were splattered with a few types of blood, and those areas that remained free of blood had managed to accumulate some of the grime that tended to thrive on the bodies of the foul creatures they were engaged against.

His breath came quickly, but he knew that a moment's rest, allowed by the momentary calm, would allow him some calm. Then the flames erupted across the battlefield, and he knew that the only rest he would be allowed for some time had just passed. Despite the urgency in the girl, Berul walked his way over to the house, saving energy for the difficult process that would allow him to help the people trapped inside the large building. The flames were dragon's flames, yet the red-haired leader had drawn some of their ferocious blaze away when she called energy to release the inferno swirling around the dark lord.

He stepped calmly towards the mansion as even the stones of the foundation leapt ablaze and melted into each other. The thought crossed his mind that these people, once freed, had little chance of surviving past the doors of their establishment that, now that they stood open, seemed to have been scorched to melting from the inside, but surely he had to help if he could. He reminded himself of his active runes, glowing red underneath the grime that covered his body, and bolted into a sprint into the searing blaze. The runes glowed furiously, but their design was for the specific purpose of halting a dragon's flames, and this ancient dragons flames had been drained enough for him to remain safe.

Even as he knew he was protected, he realized that he only had a few minutes and he would have to spend this time wisely. He made his way quickly to the closest sound he heard and was thankful when he reached the door to the cellar that most of the servants had been hidden away when the blaze hit and had remained safe, at least as long as the building remained standing. The cellar-bound and trapped servants called out to him to help, but he paused to take in his surroundings, noting where the blaze was strongest and noting those places that were safe for these people to be. He then judged by the screaming from upstairs that this building had at least four more residents trapped in some relative safety in the upper floors. He sped to a place of visual contact with his companions and motioned that he would take the cellar and that they should check the upper floors.

Without hesitation, he returned to the cellar-bound and went himself into the cellar to take care of them, pulling the door shut behind him to ward off the worst of the heat.*

[Crowe]

*He could not help but watch as the abomination that was Lucien brought a swift death to a brave and noble knight who sought to defend their kingdom from this great evil, yet as he watched he experienced new revulsion that only occurred in the presence of the bastard or his minions incurred by the hurling of that brave knight's body to the feet of his dear lady. The pure hatred of Lucien was matched by the revulsion of Crowe as he stepped forward, ignoring the demons and orcs that now kept their distance, up behind Mori. In one swift and gentle motion, he brushed his hand across her back to give her his strength and knelt to close the eyes of the brave knight, held in grim determination even in the face of gruesome death.

With a muttered prayer, he stood again as the lady called great power from the surrounding carnage and resumed weaving a shield of protection with his greatsword that encircled his lady in a ring of demon bodies. His soldiers, their soldiers, the proud men and women of Morthika, maneuvered the beasts with their own weapons such that Crowe dispatched them in a moment of opportunity, and he returned the favor by pushing the beasts back into the waiting blade of an unoccupied soldier. Some of his best, those he knew and trusted, those that had been entrusted with the safety of the city, worked their own frustration at the waste of tactical knowledge by weaving together a tapestry of brave blades and cunning minds to hold the procession of evil at bay, ensuring that Mori and Crowe only had enemies at their backs when Crowe's blade was on its way to dispatching them.

He knew as his lady's message came into his mind that he couldn't help, but he glanced over to see the bald man charge into the roaring blaze. He almost called out, but feared breaking Mori's concentration in calling the power to her. Instead he turned to his own abilities. Though small in comparison to Mori's, his powers still could aid in the rescue. He reached out with his being, calling to the elemental flame that was consuming the mansion and drawing it with all his might to him. In the last moment, as the stream of power came to him, he placed his hand on Mori's shoulder and added what he had drawn away from the blaze to the power she was now directing at the dark lord. Once he knew he had done what he could, he offered a glimpse of his feeling of helpless sympathy before returning to the grim determination that he shared with the soldiers fighting to protect their homelands.

Even with such determination, skill, and cooperation, Morthikans were falling to the cruelty of demons, trolls, orcs, and the like with a speed that inspired despair. The innocent were cut down, and with each death he could feel the heart of every soldier of Morthika feel the cut, and yet they fought bravely on with every last inch of strength they could. The eyes of his soldiers as they fell to a gruesome blade, or as their enemies fell to theirs, or as they watched a dear friend fall, blazed with the righteousness of their cause in facing this evil, and that blaze carried to Crowe and on to Mori, lending the strength of the hearts of every Morthikan to the already awesome strength of their fiery-haired lady. Crowe's eyes blurred with tears and he blinked them free as he thought of the sacrifices they now gave, but still he whispered the words through his connection with Mori.*

"Lady, your people are with you, I am with you, we share your burden and we share our strength. Give the bastard hell for what 'e's done, let 'im know 'is head is ours!"

[Dark Lord Lucien]

The ancient wyrm circled above, no doubt issued commands by his nemesis, but the dragon refrained from loosing its deadly blast now. The casualties of the fiery breath being redirected had cost many lives already, and it was apparent that Mirtedaur could not overcome Lucien with direct dragon fire. Lucien stopped in place, watching Moridanu over the bodies of the slain, reveling in the chaos and strife which waged all around them. It was symbolic; the constant pain, suffering, and flux as they remained almost still. In that moment, he released some of his building rage, basking in his true element. He had every right to believe all was going according to plan.

The Dark Lord had drawn her anger out like poison from an old wound, and yet he had to admit it was this passion which strengthened her resolve. He would have it no other way. Better to crush the witch's passion and hopes than to crush her body first. He would torment those she cared about, those who died for her and those who lived to serve her. He would toy with her rage and her sorrow and use them against her. Moridanu would fight him with everything she has as though she has nothing to lose, only to have that energy and focus redirected back at her, much like the dragon fire.

Lucien felt a change in the air, a sudden lack of natural pressure in the very air itself, and through the pouring rain and fires he could see her nearly glow. Moridanu was gaining power from elements themselves, an almost shamanistic ability which she had always displayed. He was on guard, aware that she may throw the very weight of the elements against him. The dark lord was not disappointed.

The energy built up, surrounding her in a strong aura, the ground around her nearly trembling with the concentrated powers. He stepped forward, amused, his cold and cruel laugh echoing in the air between them. She stomped, releasing some of that pent up energy, sending it reverberating through the earth. Slowly, a fissure appeared, and then it split more, racing towards him with a purpose. He smoked the game easily enough, and with casualness crossed his arms, appearing almost unwilling to jump or otherwise dodge the attack.

The ground erupted beneath him, and he seemingly fell into the Abyss. The earth rippled and thrust upwards around where he fell, and a sudden release of energy sent some of the nearby soldiers to their feet as they scrambled to get away. But something was there among them, an icy sting in their minds which made them cry out in pain and blocked the telepathic connection to their lady. Most of the Morthikans and soldiers around Lucien could not overcome the mental attack and fell into darkness as Lucien seemingly had done. Chaos reigned, and the cries of the others enveloped were many. The ground was sealing itself over some of them, choking off their pleas.

Moridanu, apparently seeking to end Lucien as quickly as possible and save the town, was gathering up power for her second strike. She was siphoning the heat from the very flames of carnage, building it up into no doubt another elemental attack. And with a spark of power, Moridanu shot forward a spiraling salvo of fireballs at his location. These deadly attacks, aimed at a now vanished enemy, were caught up in the subsequent funnel she summoned, becoming a sort of maelstrom of flame. The ground healed between Mori and where Lucien had been standing, but the pit into which he fell remained open, as though her spell had been disrupted. The raging, whirling flames were coming in closer, to deliver final death to any within. A slender hand shot up from the pit, grasping the dirt and pulling itself up. Battered, pale, and alien looking, the figure stood up shakily, looking disoriented and alarmed. As Moridanu, Crowe, and others watched in terror, the maelstrom closed, burning the slight figure of the elf Elethaire, his mouth opened in a primal scream of pain.

Inwardly, Lucien was enjoying himself, the illusion being complete. In truth, he had allowed himself to be swallowed up only to further the illusion, to project the dead elf and let his image suffer a gruesome death merely to unnerve her and her allies. Above him, the phantom Elethaire writhed and burned in the raging fire, a leaf in a storm. The dark lord’s laugh was lost in the din, and he waited until the funnel dispelled, its winds dying down as the equally phantom ashes of the elf scattered, a clever touch on his part. Her attack had been too straightforward and too hasty to slip past his defenses, and her pet dragon was now unable to discern him in the pit. Chuckling to himself, he shot up through the opening and landed on the ash remains of the former elf, his obsidian boots splitting the cobblestone with its impact. The air was still full of the scent of burnt earth.

The idea of merely waltzing up to her and attacking now seemed wasteful. Lucien was not in the mood to simply challenge her there and be done with it, one or the other fall and thus end the war. No, he would crush her spirit first before it came to true blows. He knew that when the duel began in earnest, it would not be this pleasant. Raising his hand, his eyes flashed and began emitting blue light as the psionic energy coursed from his hands into the laying bodies all around. The hacked, mutilated bodies of her comrades and people jolted to life, each leaping up in more or less singular shape by means of his mental puppetry.

“Old friends are always the best to have around you.” He called, and with a gesture, sent the horde of reanimated soldiers, peasants, and innocents towards her and Crowe. That should occupy her for a bit, he thought as he gazed back up in the skies watching her stupid pet dragon should it do anything tricky.

[Nightspinner]

Daeryn gave a confident smile to Arianwen, glad that now the girl was armed with a weapon returned her smile with the nod of his head. Then he looked himself over, realizing that his quick assault had left his attire somewhat bloody. Thank goodness for this rain, otherwise I fear I may very well smell outrageously. Still.... He behind him, his confident smile turned into a smirk at the troll corpse. Atleast I did finish that brute off. Certainly was fun. His thoughts turned to the carnage around him, and a pang of regret grew in his heart. Perhaps I should have studied a bit of mealing magic. A useful art that I shall have to pick up soon.

His attention turned back to the wild girl. To his surpise the battle, though it still raged on, gave them a moment to recover. But his attention was to the people before him. The cat-man who tore the now deceased troll's hand viscously, the man who's tunic were dripped with blood and his hands which were soaked in it (thank goodness he is a friend), and finally the girl who the troll grabbed to begin with. The girl seemed to attract his attention more so than the others, but he did not let his eye remain. Work must be done... And introductions are to be made. As the girl stepped back, she stabbed the sword into the ground. I… be.. Arianwen. Thanking… you… for .. help. Following her introduction, the man with the bloody fists gave a stiff bow with his hand over his fist before he bent down and began to clean his hands. Ah, I think this one is more than just a brawler. Would explain the silence...

"Well, I suppose its my turn." He gave a gracouis bow with a quick flourish of his hand right hand till it moved underneath him while his left moved behind him. "Well, my name is Daeryn. Swordsmen to some, sorcerer to others, and storyteller to all." His eyes adverted for a moment, closing slowly while he bowed, then he looked back up to Arianwen. Thinking that most of his words were probally lost on her, he whispering some incantations, his hands weaving the magic of wind and arcane. Magical runes began to float from him to her, with a slight breeze that didn't seem to follow the path of the wind that carried the wind. Once he was done, he then straightened himself up and said briskly as he looked at Arianwen in the eye, "Hopefully that spell will make most of what I or any of us say even discernable from maddening banter, for the moment." Then his attention turned to the cat man and said, "Well sir, first I must ask your name and then I must ask you again if you require a weapon."

The abrupt flame of the dragon broke the their calm around them. He turned and istinctivly put up a shield against the flame, but even through his shield, he felt the warmth of the dragon's flame. The rain that passed through the air around him turned abruptly to ice, shattering to the ground and peppering him with the droplets of ice. He heard the screams, he heard the roar of the flame. Even so, despite his feelings of worry and urgency, his face was a mask of mere second handed interest. There is little time! My shield can't protect me from dragon fire... Maybe some wind could.... He quickly put that thought out of his head. The wind would do far more harm than good. He turned to Arianwen, then he put his hand held his chin for a moment. I could go in... but that fire is far more dangerous and I may kill myself... Even as he pondered, his attention was cut short by the man as he walked slowly toward the inferno. Wow, he is pretty calm about all this...

After turning back to Arianwen and the cat-man, he said mildly with a small smile, "We rush in and hope for the best apparantly." Then he ran after the warrior saying, "Wait for me! Certainly you can't survive the flames withotu magic! Let me help...." The man seemed untouchable by the flame. Interesting... Dwell on that later! With quick whispers and quick spell weaving he then turned to the cat and the the girl threw a card at them both, both of which had a blue rune on them, cold to the touch. "There, that should protect you from the tongues of the flames, but it won't last for long and it will not protect you from a massive inferno! Be quick about it and move, I'll check the topmost level!" He pointed up ward and then he made his way up the stairs, fearing to use air magic within this crucible. The flames licked his shield but for the most part he was unhurt, though not comfortable in the slightest. He heard screams as he climbed upward, hoping the best luck of luck toward his companions and to the people who they were trying to save.

[Moridanu]

*As she watched in terror, Moridanu realised that many of her troops were under the evil mental throe of her nemesis, and were therefore immune to her telepathic warnings of the coming cracks in the earth. Watching helplessly as they fell into the never-ending deep pits around her, Moridanu saw with a heavy heart that her attack on Lucien had fallen disappointingly short of its target.

Although at first he appeared to have fallen into a deep chasm, rendering her fiery tomb to be nothing more than an impressive light show, Moridanu saw a slender hand appear from the earth and pull itself up into the maelstrom of flames. Her green eyes blazed in bewilderment as she saw the image of Elethaire the fallen elf, stand before her for the briefest of moments before he was soon consumed by the flames that she herself had summoned. As the ashes that symbolised all that remained of one of her closest friends settled on the blood stained ground before her, Moridanu felt several tears slip down her cheeks. Wiping them away quickly, she growled deep in her throat as she saw the vile being that was Lucien shoot out of the chasm and stand on the ashes before her.

The look of glee on his face was sickening to her stomach, and Moridanu shook her head in shock to see how much he was enjoying his torment of her. She knew that he was only getting warmed up, and as she readied herself for his next attack, she called out to Crowe with her mind. Regardless of what mental abilities Lucien lay claim to, nothing could come between the link between Moridanu and Crowe. They had been created as one, she for him, as much as he had been for her. Now, she drew on his strength and support as she heard his words

"Lady, your people are with you, I am with you, we share your burden and we share our strength. Give the bastard hell for what 'e's done, let 'im know 'is head is ours!"

She nodded grimly, her eyes hardening with a steely resolve that would stop anyone in their tracks should they happen to meet her gaze. She sensed that her lover ODK was near but she could not spare the energy to call to him. As Lucien called out to her in a pathetic attempt at wit, he sent an army of her fallen countrymen and comrades towards herself and Crowe. Their disjointed, wounded and dead bodies walked jerkily towards her, and her heart ached as she murmered ~forgive me~ before she used her pent up fire energy to send out several fire balls in their direction. The fire raced through the horde of walking dead, incinerating them on the spot and reducing them to nothing but piles of ash blowing in the wind. Though she was loathe to deny them of a proper burial fit for any who should fall in battle, the thought of allowing them to become nothing but Luciens playthings was more than she could bare. Each would be remembered and memorialised when the time came. That time however, was not now.

The ash that swirled around the remaining troops, orcs and hordes of demons had a thick dense matter about it, and Moridanu’s lips locked into a determined scowl as she searched her mental memory banks for the incantation she would need to conjure the being she had planned. Despite the raging war around her, and Luciens immense ego on display, everything around her suddenly paled in significance to the mental plane she found herself on. Muttering the words slowly and quietly, Moridanu drew on the ground beneath her with the toe of one boot clad foot. As the necessary sigils appeared in the dirt at her feet, and the correct words left her lips, a sudden drop in atmosphere was evident to anyone not too preoccupied to notice. The wind dropped to an almost non existent breeze before it picked up in pace, blowing all the small pieces of ash and soot into a churning torrent of dark dirt. This swirling mass of ash began to solidify into a large being, approximately ten feet tall and eight feet wide. While the being was made of nothing but ash and soot, it appeared quite solid and left heavy indentations in the ground where it stood. Two glowing red eyes were the only things that differed from the grey-black hues of its existence, and these eyes flashed at Moridanu as it looked upon her. Her own emerald orbs flashed back at it, as she turned her left hand upward and pointed at Lucien. The being roared once before vanishing into the pile of ash from whence it came.

Moridanu shook visibly, and stumbled slightly on her feet, the effort of raising such a powerful being clearly too much for her at this present time. She looked around for Crowe, calling on him to help her as she struggled to stand. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched with a slight smirk upon her dirt stained lips as the being materialised behind Lucien and began to launch his attack.

Standing within centimetres of the Dark Lord, the powerful being raked at Lucien with claws that were as strong and sharp as any steel that could be forged. Should Lucien try to dodge the attack and counteract with one of his own, the being would simply dematerialise and vanish until a time when it would catch Lucien unaware. The fire of its eyes was enough to burn Lucien to the core, and its ashy essence was so hazardous that if any of its mass were to be breathed in, it would simply kill Lucien from the inside out. Mitredaur watched the latest development with a cunning gaze and circled lower waiting for the perfect time to deliver the fatal fireball when Lucien’s attention would be diverted. *

[Elyza]

*Elyza sat, legs straddling the burnt out window sill of the wreckage that was once the Dancing Devil Inn. The cracked and warped wood beneath her ass was still warm and she wriggled in glee every now and then when the sensation proved too much to resist. Her dark orbs watched the scene unfolding in front of her, and although the war raged in full swing, still she sat; content with just watching – for now.

Lucien was locked in his own private battle with the Bitch herself, while Discord had set her sights on the faun. Turning her head back and forth so that she could watch first one, and then the other, Elyza felt as though she were at some sort of sporting event as her attention wandered between the two. As much as she wanted to march right up to the Queen Bitch and show her exactly what she thought of her, Elyza knew that such a move would be suicide. While she didn’t have the sense to fear Moridanu’s wrath, she did have the sense to fear Lucien’s. He had dreamed of fighting the Bitch for so long now, Elyza knew better than to distract him. Besides, as Moridanu unleashed some sort of ash elemental at her Dark Lord, Elyza knew that he would need to focus all of his attention on the battle at hand. Sighing deeply, Elyza grew bored and turned her attention back to Discord.

Licking her lips in anticipation of the taste of the fauns flesh, Elyza jumped down off the window sill as she decided she would go and help her only friend in her latest folly. She was distracted however by the sound of the Bitchs lover as he yelled out something about the Orcs’ needing to grow a pair. Arching a brow, Elyza muttered ~You’re one to talk, pussy boy..~ as her dark eyes shifted from Discord towards where the Demon Keeper was fending off a wave of orcs in what Elyza begrudgingly admitted was an impressive display.

She stood where she was, watching him for a few moments as a sly grin formed on her crimson lips, Discord all but forgotten from her mind. Glancing back quickly towards Lucien and Moridanu, she saw that the Bitch was stumbling, clearly drained after summoning such a powerful being. Crowe was on hand to help the Bitch out however, and Elyza yawned theatrically as she turned her full attention back on the Demon Keeper.

~Bored now..~ she mumbled as she drifted closer towards him. A warrior of Moridanus’ army moved to attack her, and Elyza laughed in surprise as the man honestly thought he could take her. With lightning quick reflexes, Elyza stepped forward, took the mans sword from him, and stabbed him through the gut with it before the soldier had time to draw a breath. As he fell at her feet, she picked up his head, dropping it on to her foot as one would a football and performed an impressive drop kick, sending the fallen soldier flying through the air until the body landed directly at the Demon Keepers feet. Once she had his full attention, Elyza smiled sweetly, batting her lashes.

~Let’s play!~ *

[Arianwen Chandell]

*Arianwen caught the thrown card, and glanced down at it in wonder before she watched with wide pale eyes as first one, and then another of her male companions dashed into the burning building. Her keen ears heard the sound of a baby crying somewhere within the house, and as she watched she saw Berul appear in a window and motion that he was going to check downstairs while they should check the upper floors. She nodded, taking a minute to pinpoint the location of the crying as she took a deep breath in preparation for the smoke filled inferno. Just as she was about to join her male counterparts however, she heard another sound. A howl of a lone wolf reached her ears and she turned quickly towards the smouldering remains of the Dancing Devil Inn and Tavern, and the forest beyond. The fire had quickly spread to the dense undergrowth and now more than a few trees were engulfed in the hungry flames. Arianwen fretted for her family whose den was not too far from the blaze and almost as though she had summoned him by thought alone she watched as her brother seemed to materialise out of the flames and came running towards her.

Temporarily forgetting the burning building, Arianwen dropped to her knees, greeting her brothers wet sloppy kisses with a tight hug. Burying her face into his thick dark grey shaggy fur, she wished that he was capable of telling her how the rest of their family was faring. Sensing her thoughts, the dark wolf grabbed the bottom of her tunic between his teeth and began to tug gently, puling her towards the forest. Struggling to explain her peril, Arianwen pointed to the burning building.

~No… baby.. I..help..~

Understanding her by way of their unspoken bond, the wolf let go of her and ran towards the building. Calling out to him, she ran after him, into the blaze. The sound of the crying baby was louder inside and Arianwen followed her brother up the stairs, narrowly avoiding a falling beam consumed in flames. Her brother led her down a hallway relatively free of flames but full of dark acrid smoke. Coughing and struggling for breath, she found her brother scratching at a door at the end of the hallway. The sound of the crying baby was much louder now, and as she opened the door and stepped into the room she saw a young baby no more than a few months old, screaming in its crib. An open window provided much needed fresh air while allowing some of the smoke to escape, but Arianwen knew she needed to get the baby outside. Echoing her thoughts, her brother padded to the open door, whimpering softly as he looked back at her. Nodding to him she scooped the baby out of the crib, wrapped it in the cribs quilt and followed her brother back down the hall.

Once she reached the end of the hall, fear consumed her as she saw that the falling beam she had narrowly avoided before had ignited the hall runner on the stairs. Flames licked the edge of the banisters and the smell of burning fur reached her nostrils as her brother raced down the stairs before her. Despite his singed fur, he turned to bark urgently at her when reached the front door. Coughing as she struggled to breathe against all the smoke, Ariawnwn made sure the baby was completely covered by the quilt before she ran quickly down the stairs. In her haste, she tripped slightly on the third bottom step. Reaching out to steady herself, she burned her hand on the banister. Crying out in pain, she clutched the baby to her chest with her uninjured hand and followed her brother out the front door.

Once outside, she stood with her brother, trying to catch her breath as she stared up at the burning building waiting for any sign of her newfound friends. The baby’s cries had lowered to a whimper, and Arianwen peeked inside the quilt to find a pair of bright blue eyes looking up at her. Smiling at the baby, Arianwen rocked it softly in her arms as her attention turned back to the burning fire ahead. *

[julton]

*For much time Berul seemed to have vanished into the shut basement of the house. The flames raged above, but the closed door seemed to hold against the fury of the blaze. Still, the house would not stand forever and it seemed that if they did not get out immediately, the people trapped in the basement along with Berul would find the house to be their final resting place.
Suddenly a circle of flames in the front of the house seemed to snuff out like a candle, holding the shape of a perfect circle. The wooden planks of the floor creaked then as the ground underneath fell away below. There was a sound of tumbling dirt and stone followed by the sound of many scrabbling hands and feet. Finally Berul's fist glowing with a web of red runes burst through the floorboards, cracking through the charred planks easily and opening a wide hole in the floor that led to a small tunnel of earth. A strange chill emanated from the tunnel, and Berul's entire body glowed with flaming red runes as he dragged his weary body to the surface. The exertion of the battle seemed just now to be affecting him. His body still held its rigid posture, but every move he made was reluctant and seemed to strain his muscles and tax his mind.
The reluctant crawl of Berul brought him to the entrance to the house and he stood there in the door frame, now charred but no longer burning, and herded a handful of household servants as they each clawed their way out of the strangely chill dirt and into the blistering heat and smoke that now filled the air in the city streets. The faces of those coming from the tunnel beamed with hope as they escaped one death only to drop into despair at the hopelessness of their escape from the city turned war zone.
Once they all had escaped into the street, they stood huddled together near the flaming house, holding each other to take comfort in the out of the frying pan into the fire moment they were all experiencing. Berul himself, once the servants had escaped, glanced quickly inside to check on his newfound companions.
Now assured of their relative safety, he strode into the street, paying no mind to the wolf-girl, child, her wolf companion, or even the carnage that surrounded him. He simply knelt there as an island of peace in the midst of the storm of raging battle and burning city. He gently lifted another stone out of one of the many runed bags at his belt. This one was a ruby, but had a listless dull quality about it that made it seem worthless and lifeless, bereft of the fiery color prized in gems of its type. Taking hold of the gem gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, he gradually passed it over each of the blazing runes across his body and their flaming glow seemed to transfer slowly into the gem, returning the familiar fiery red color to the gem.
Throughout this ritual it seemed as if no creature could see him, though many of the foul beasts of the enemy passed quite close. It seemed as though this gesture or ritual was done with such care and focus, in such a way that that the only thing a mind was capable of thinking or feeling towards him was the same calm focus and gentle care as he showed for the gem.
Once the ritual seemed complete, he remained kneeling there, whispering words into the hot winds that swept the city streets and gently placing the gem back into its proper bag. As what seemed like a prayer was finally finished, he raised his body up to standing and, though his movements were still slow, they held renewed strength and he seemed to face the horrors around him with the calm focus of confidence and strength.*