To Slay a Dragon (FA - Open)

[Sael the Wandering One]

Sael looked quizzically at Taelriath as he seemed to completely lose interest in the conversation. Confusion turned to concern as the elf cast her towards the outskirt of the camp. If someone needed her, than there were grave problems. Without a second thought, and without stopping to look, she threw a warm orb of magic towards Taelriath, the ball would circle him and deflect the weapons of the unseen troublemakers.

Realizing that she was approaching Jaelith's tent, Sael steeled herself. It would be horrible if something happened to the little girl. Sael's concern distracted her ever so slightly, and she tripped over Eltharion's prone body, kicking his shoulder hard as she stumbled. That only a weak groan escaped from the wounded elf indicated he was barely conscious, and Sael slumped upon discovering his helpless form.

Looking down at Eltharion, Sael sneered. Fuck you, she decided, stepping up and turning to leave the body. Just as she did, the sound of a tent flap opening caught her in the act, and Jaelith's sleepy voice, calling for Eltharion in fear, forced Sael back to her knees beside the wounded elf.

Suppressing her blasphemous urges, Sael placed her hand on the shaft of the bolt in Eltharion's chest, wrenching it out, she channelled healing waves into the wound, causing Eltharion's eyes to shock open as he screamed a tangled curse.

You will repay me in pain, Sael snarled, tearing out the second bolt in a similar motion.

[Dalset]

He cursed that he had dimissed the two men that had struck the initial blow on the elf with the spear, to the camp beyond. He wrenched a bolt from his belt, wound back the draw string until it was taut. Looks like there's a bito' work for you this eve dear, This was to be a smooth encounter. Already he'd seen three of his men fall. He had a line on the goblin that had done the dandy on his men, Yes, that's it, The beast threaded his way through the trees, obviously in search of Shela, he had moved quickly when the vile creature had leapt. Though he was not certain in the darkness where he'd ended up he knew his wile would keep him safe of these. He felt the trigger, and pulled.

A screeching pain filled howl pierced the air. Dalset twitched, the bolt flew unthreatening into the deep brush, missing the beast by meters. Cursing,If that is one of mine I will flay him. He mumbled.

His gaze moved towards the camp, towards the root of the sound. His focus on the green beast momentarily distracted.

[Jaelith Ripple-Rift]

The loud crash of something falling to the ground startled Jaelith awake. Stumbling in a sleepy stupor, Jaelith staggered out of the tent and into a nightmare. The newest of Eltharion's companions knelt beside him, trying to extract two long crossbow bolts from his body, Eltharion's broken curses were strangely relieving to Jaelith -- at least he was still alive.

A bounding shadow moved towards the woman and Eltharion, it's sword gleaming from some mysterious light. Without hesitation, Jaelith swept her arms towards the charging creature. To her shock, gleaming planes of force materialized before her eyes, swooping down upon the man and cleaving him into a plenitude of pieces. This was not power she was used to wielding.

Leaping forwards, Jaelith crouched beside Eltharion and the woman, Eltharion seemed to becoming aware again, though his shirt was filthy with blood. As a small rivulet of blood trickled down his mouth, Eltharion snarled what sounded like a 'thank you' to the woman, and without a second thought, he was moving, spear in hand.

Scrambling to follow him, Jaelith readied another spell, she wasn't sure how long her power would last, and she wanted Eltharion near to protect her when her magics were exhausted.

[Taelriath]

As Sael ran off Taelriath had cast the shadows tightly about himself hoping to escape the eyes of the assasilants, but it had been too late.

Gauging the situation, Taelriath barely noticed the footsteps behind before the attacker lunged. Taelriath shifted to the side, avoiding the blade which peirced only the shadows, while his dagger swept backwards to gash the inside of the attacker's load bearing leg, removing the man from his lunge with a crash to the ground.

A second man rushed into the fray, shortsword held high. Taelriath forgot about the man on the ground, now starting to recover as he spun to face this new challenge. As the man brought his sword down in a powerful swing, Taelriath stepped closer and brought his daggers above his head, not intercepting the blade, but the arm which swung it. As the daggers collided with bone slicing into the man's wrist, Taelriath's adversary released the sword to spin through the air and land near the fire. The man's other hand was already surging for Taelriath's throat. Intercepting the blow with his elbow, Taelriath twisted to cushion the blow, extending this into a full spin to bring his dagger to slice into the man's ribcage.

A grunt escaped the man, as he took the slash and backed away, grabbing for a knife to defend himself. Just then, the first man was recalled to Taelriath's senses. Stepping to the side a few steps the forgotten man came into view, returning the sword lost by the other.

The two men charged. Twin daggers flashed, parrying one sword, while a boot to a stomache kept the other attacker at bay. A sword lunge sought to break the parrys once again, but a quick turn and a knife planted in the man's arm was quick discouragement. The next dagger took the man's stomache, bile spilling into the wound, felling the ferocious fighter.

The other man, twice shamed by Taelriath's slash to the leg and kick to the stomache, launched a quick series of attacks, driving Taelriath away from his dying compatriot...

[Ranin the Red]

His prey had eluded him, and he was alone in the forest. He had smelt, the trail but it had ended sorely upon a felled tree, it's might fallan ages ago. He looked up to where its deep branches rested upon the trees above. He'z likey moved aloft. Tiz a weak beazt, tiz zurely. With a cry of anger, wrought further by the pain emanating from his shoulder, he studied his surroundings.

A shockwave of magix blinded him. It reverberated deep into his being, absorbed it. A vague recollection of familiarity, Foret? Then it was gone. He shook his head vigorously, bloody spittle bathed the surrounding foliage. He was helping nothing here.

Though he held no allegiance to those he had camped with, he knew he had brought this upon them all. He could escape now easily. Leave those that would fall to fall. If he was wholey what he had manifested surely he'd have followed his head. The heart they say, even of one without, feels guilt. It was that that drove him through the trees and into the clearing of the camp.

[Eltharion]

Eltharion's face, made wretched with pain and filth, looked blankly upon the rage that manifested in Sael's every actions. Not pausing to bask in the awkward scene, Eltharion forced himself to his feet, a meek grunt of appreciation being all he left behind. With Jaelith in close pursuit, Eltharion struck towards the center of the camp, where the swirl of confusion would grant him the most protection.

Eltharion broke upon the scene of Taelriath's visceral battle against two of the strange assailants. With astonishing skill, Taelriath dealt precise blows, slowly crippling his opponents. Unheralded, Eltharion slowly approached. Taelriath stuck one man in the gut, causing him to collapse in a pool of his own waste. As the second warrior forced Taelriath back, Eltharion made his move. Mercilessly, he stepped upon the neck of the fallen man, shattering the mortal's life beneath the soft leather of his elven boot. The dry crack caught the attention of the fighter who still stood, casting him off balance. Not waiting to watch Taelriath exploit the fatal blunder, Eltharion's ears drew his attention to the next battle. From the trees, another assailant seemed to emerge.

Two powerful strides put Eltharion in the air, almost on top of the creature. With his spear poised to strike, Eltharion recognized the form. It was the strange goblin that Taelriath had found earlier. Startled, and unwilling to kill a seeming ally, Eltharion twisted awkwardly and fell to the ground. As a shock of pain flared sparks across his eyes, Eltharion hoped that Jaelith had followed him, and would protect him from the goblin, if it's intentions were impure.

[Jaelith Ripple-Rift]

Like a relentless minister of destruction, Jaelith followed Eltharion's every step. Her eyes burned with power as she threw the earth into discord and dashed apart skulls with invisible bricks of force. Flares of lights exploded as she sought to blind any who would pursue her from behind, and just as she paused in her orchestra of chaos, she realized Eltharion stood, watching Taelriath fight.

The deft elf struck with skill that made Jaelith's knees weaken. He was truly an admirable force, the physical avatar which played counter-balance of her sorcerous power. With a satisfying crunch, Eltharion destroyed a fallen warrior. Jaelith's young heart was unmoved by the savagery -- instead she turned as Eltharion did, looking towards a shadow emerging from the forest. Following behind, she readied another blast. Waiting to see if it was friend or foe, Jaelith silently hoped for the latter.

You will know ruin.

[Dalset]

The order of things were unravelling quicker then Dalset could reload his weapon. Of his eighteen men, too many he had told them, what a fool he had been to underestimate this chance circumstance eight had been dispatched quickly.

Anger welled up from a deep place he had thought long hidden. These had not all been hardened mercenaries, many of the younger members of his faction had taken up the call, easy killing had been the banner waved, rights of passages for many. He thought of his son, Shela. He would never have run. No, never have run, but his body was not among those slain by the green beast, or the two elves, or that nasty child seemingly overflowing with arcane powers. He had witnessed one of his men obliterated, literally. Not a body to bury.

He had lost sight of that beast, the Goblin, bile frothed to his lips as he thought of the creature. He was shaking in anger now as he looked upon the camp, barely able to target.

The elf, the one he was certain had the life spilled from him was up and dispatching another of his. Nine remained, though he could only make out four from his vantage. Still moving in the open, the fools, he spat.

He would need to act, but how, his mind scrambled, it took much too long to fire and reload his cross bow to be of use. It was then he saw it. The green beast was back. A smile, one long lost to this careworn face peeled across his face. He skittered into the camp area, the spear elf and the little one seemingly ready to attack him. Would he have his work done for him? They paused however...not long, but long enough to realize that they would not attack each other.

He needed to do this now, rising from his concealed spot, the goblins throat the target. The fool creature was not even moving. From the corner of his eye he saw Shela and the rest of them moving in, they had seen his action.

In a moment of rash pride, foolishness to some surely he would think as he died it was quite fitting, he shouted to those below Your road ends now Beast, and to those that would hear his battle cry, Death, For the Order! He sighted again and fired.

[Taelriath]

In answer to a dry crunching sound from his companion's location, the fighter before Taelriath gave a slight pause, his eyes flicking back to the source of the sound. Knives flashed out towards the distracted figure, one for the neck, one for the heart.

As Taelriath gently lowered the body he looked towards the source of the sound. It seemed as if Eltharion had recovered well with Sael's intervention, having had teh capability to finish the first of Taelriath's downed adversaries. Taelriath watched as Eltharion leapt for a small form on the outskirts of the open ground, falling in a twisted mess, a moment short of impaling what Taelriath could now see was Ranin. With the whereabouts of all of his companions known, Taelriath felt better about his standings.

All of this changed when one of the mysterious attackers rose out of hiding and loosed a quarrel toward Ranin and Eltharion...

[Eltharion]

Eltharion quickly scrambled to his feet, Ranin seemed confused, but not hostile, and there were other dangers to be found in the darkness. To Eltharion's amusement one of the bandits stood, scant paces away, and cried out a call to battle. The man levelled his crossbow at Ranin, and took aim. Armed only with his spear, Eltharion was all but helpless. Almost, but not entirely. With a quick leap, Eltharion crouched in front of Ranin, shielding the goblin from the loosed projectile.

The bolt struck Eltharion's arm, clashing against his shoulder blade and causing him to almost drop his spear. Though painful, the wound was not nearly as bad as the two he had suffered previously, and Eltharion was unhindered.

Pulling the cold void over himself, Eltharion's pain and concerns melted away like whisps of cloud. All that was left was darkness. Eltharion dashed towards the offending soldier, his regalia made him out to be a leader of sorts. The man was no slouch himself, he quickly reloaded his crossbow, and fired again. Eltharion leapt, twisting in air to avoid the streaking missile, and landed without missing a step. The man was close, now. With deific force, Eltharion brought the blade of Galithan'as down upon the cross bow the man held, splintering it asunder. With the shaft of the spear, Eltharion struck the man's face. Teeth and blood sprayed out onto the grass, black smears on a black carpet. Dazed, the man lay helpless. With a smirk, Eltharion called out.

Sael, this man needs your help. And with a final violent lunge, Eltharion drove his spear into the man's foot, pinning him to the ground. Eltharion watched dispassionately as the man's leg began to wither and crumple. The agony must have been terrible, because the wounded soldier kicked violently, trying to free his foot.

Eltharion heard it, before he saw it, a soggy snap as the man's kicking tore off his rotten leg. Removing his spear from the ground, Eltharion turned to Sael: stop the bleeding. I have some questions before I decide where the spear goes next.

[Jaelith Ripple-Rift]

As the shadow rose and revealed itself, Jaelith cursed. Eltharion had leapt in between them, and she couldn't attack the man without risking her friends. Turning, she looked around. The sun was just breaking the sky, and morning was moments away. She knew the assailant's advantage would be lost, once there was light.

Hopefully, she thought, the bandits would realize their disadvantage, and flee. Still, she wasn't about to take any chances. Though she looked briefly at the screaming soldier after Eltharion took him down, her attention was firmly fixed on observing the fringes of the camp.

[Sael the Wandering One]

Crouched in the shadows of the tent, Sael listened to the chaos that erupted from all around the camp. Unable to fight, and unwilling to help, she waited for the silence that would indicate the end of another mortal conflict.

To her surprise, the silence was quickly punctuated by Eltharion's voice. Even as she suppressed her anger, she responded. A person in need was her responsibility, no matter how much it angered her. To her surprise, the person Eltharion was standing over was not one of his miscreant followers, but rather one of the people who assailed the camp.

The man's condition was horrific, and Sael was uncertain she could save his life. None the less, she had to try. Placing her hands upon the man, she quickly staunched the bleeding. Though he was barely conscious, he looked unappreciatively at her.

She snarled in return.

[Shela]

The dunes of the Alteri were hard, water the prize commodity had guided his hand early in life. Those with the hand on the liquid life were those that wielded that mightiest hand. The Gods had made it so.

His Father, though not by blood knew this well and had always catered to those with the strongest hand. There was only one true power and that was the one that held the knife to your throat, his Father had always told him as such. Follow those with power and at their moment of weakness it will be yours.

He eyed those that were still with him, a ragged crew for certain, possibly a year experience between them all. He had heard his Father bark the call, it was his testiment. However it was not a call to the death rush, even the youngest amongst him had understood.Though they had been told different there was no battle won here...the remaining men...boys...had fled at Dalsets words. He knew what was asked of him. He was exposed he knew...but it was as his Father had bid. He watched as the Heathens had swarmed upon him, heard the strangled cry, one he'd never heard in his lifetime. His Sai Pere, had given him the word. It was one he would carry out with no second thought. He was saddened that his Father had not struck the beast dead...that would have been his victory.

He was alone at the periphery of the camp, the camp light all but a flicker, its fading light cast forboding shadows everywhere...the enemies shadows seemed like giants to him. Yet they'd not seen him, their eyes focused upon his retreating men and his father. As a young man he had held the crown, his aim was the truest, and as such the most deadly.

Delicately he reached into a pouch at his side, careful to not spill the vile liquid upon himself he dipped the dart, the dark sticky liquid begging to quelch his own life. This mutwa, the unholy bath, wrapped it's lethal grip upon the dart. He withdrew the holed out shaft of the yew, their holiest of siguls, loaded the dart unto it. Walking forward, a purposeful stride, he stopped, aimed and blew. The dart pierced his Father in his cheek. He could not risk a more accurate shot, his death would be painful, but it would be swift...though painful.

The eyes of those that would have been his were upon him. With a grin that encompassed his whole face he dipped his hand deep into his pouch, and smeared it upon his face, tasting death as it wrapped its heart stopping tendrils heavy...they would never know that which pursued them.

Shela, one year into manhood, fell to the ground, the dirt, wet with the blood of his comrades could not taste the mud that splattered his face and filled his mouth. His body wracked with tremors of the throes of death could not remove the grin from his face.

[Ranin the Red]

The Firewalker had moved so fast. His gaze registering upon the manling with the crossbow to slow he had thought. The bolt meant for him plowed heavily into the Firewalker.

He reached out to steady the elf, but he pulled away aggresively. Charging towards the one who fired the bolt.

The attackers had seemingly peeled off, the camp was barren but for the orginals, save the fallen assailent.

It was then he took back in his mind his appraisal of the spear wielded by the Firewalker. As it plunged into the bolt throwers leg, bloody splattered. The sheering of the leg right through was not what caught his attention however. As the spear touched the manlings flesh, amid his gurgled cries of anguish the flesh rotted before his eyes. He stepped back as if slapped and almost fell. What magix were these he thought. The limb that was a leg has shriveled to nothing more then a diseased rotten stump in a matter of seconds. He looked again upon the elf, this Firewalker with renewal then upon the writhing mas that was a man that had sought to kill him. Not only had Firewalker saved him from death, he wielded a power thought a myth, C'Harah had spoken off. Beleg Ket in his tongue, the Renderer.

[Eltharion]

Eltharion, still wreathed in the arms of shadow, looked down at the filth. Even as Sael healed him, his life was taken away by the hand of another. Black froth issuing from the man's mouth, Eltharion ordered Sael to leave him to die. No reason to ease his passing. Wordlessly, Eltharion turned and bounded in towards where the fatal dart had come from.

Sael, darling, Eltharion cooed, his sarcastic appreciation of her powers playing strange across his emotionless features. It seems our friend has gone and made a mess of himself. As the fallen boy reached towards a dagger in his belt, Eltharion stomped on his hand. The flare of pain caused by his previous injury fell upon deaf ears, for Eltharion was enraptured by the crackling of the boy's broken fingers.

As Sael caught up to him, cursing Eltharion's name for his abuse of her power, he reached down and used his hand to scrape the black filth off the boy's face. Fruitlessly, the poison searched for Eltharion's life-force, but could not find it among the black void. Leaving the miscreant in Sael's care, Eltharion looked down at his hands, forever tattooed with the black wreathes of fire etched by the viscous poison.

[Taelriath]

Taelriath watched the end of the conflict unfold, too far away from the action to me of much use, but close enough to see the events unfolding suspiciously around those he had met so very recently.

Walking to where Eltharion stood above one of the raiders, a child, Taelriath paused. Eltharion's hands were stained black with a poison Taelriath had not seen in use in a long time. The child's hand was also wreathed in the deadly substance.

Apparently Eltharion wished this child to live. Quickly bending over, Taelriath quickly scraped what affected skin he could from the youth's blackened hand, if the child was to live the poison had to be removed completely. The child, delerious from the poison would barely feel the flaying, and if Sael healed him, he might even retain complete use of the appendage. Standing and kicking the knife away from the boy, Taelriath turned to Eltharion, expecting that a similar treatment would be required.

It was odd that Eltharion still stood, but Taelriath would take no chances.

I will make this quick...

[Eltharion]

Taelriath approached, and Eltharion looked up from the mesmerizing patterns on his hands. Knife poised up, Taelriath seemed intent upon scraping the goo from Eltharion's hands in the same manner that he employed upon the boy.

No, Eltharion stated, matter-o-factly. It can't harm me here, he continued, not bothering to clarify his statement for those who were not aware of Eltharion's realm of shadow.

Sael finally arrived, and she glared down at the vacant smirk that lived on the boy's features. Eltharion knew he was testing the woman's patience -- but she was the scum of Oleana, so Eltharion viewed her as nothing more than a beast of burden. One who will soon be broken.

From within the void within the elf, a plan emerged. One that would destroy Sael, and free the world of her and her connection to the false goddess.

[Sael the Wandering One]

Rather than be disheartened by her subjugation, Sael was enlivened. Though she hated being at the command of Eltharion, her oaths were very explicit -- she could not allow the death of any living being to occur without trying to intervene.

Sael's lack of familiarity with the toxin used by the child mattered little. It's course of destruction was obvious by the boy's symptoms, and she wasted little time sealing off his most vital parts, shielding them from attack as she battled against the poison.

Having saved him, she slumped backwards. It was inevitable that she would be required to help throughout Eltharion's 'interrogation' process -- and so she waited.

[Eltharion]

Judging by the fact that the man's smile was slowly melting, Eltharion gauged that the healing was working, and he was returning to consciousness.

Stepping off the boy's hand, which was now obliterated into the mud, Eltharion smiled warmly to him. You're going to die, cretin. The question is, will you die quickly, and with honour, or will you be shamed in the eyes of those you revere?

Looking down into the boy's eyes, Eltharion was unblinking. Tell me everything, he requested. Then, for added emphasis, Eltharion held up his hands, covered in black swirls from the poison's failed attempts at stilling his heart. And notice that your sludge failed to harm me. I am beyond your comprehension, and I will ruin you if you lie to me.

[Shela]

He had felt the life drain from him...saw his Father speak and call. He was looking down upon the camp, saw them hovering around his body.

He reached, his Fathers hand so near, he was so happy. Something, pulled him back. He could not reach it...something pulled him back. If a spirit could cry mortal tears it would have.

The last thing, the most terrifying thing he'd expected to see. He had been pullled from his Father, a home now, he'd never see. His gaze focused and could not believe, he gazed upon that which he'd still in death not understood. He gazed upon those that had defiled his Father. One mouthed words he barely understood...what did they want to know, what could he tell them?

He had no control over himself, no familiar faces, going nowhere. He could not know what he divulged, the poison had worked its way deep. What had he said, what did he know? He thought he might have heard himself speak of "the blood". He fought against it, the poison was wound deep. He could not guage what he had relayed to those...death was to close and he welcomed it, but the shebitch kept pulling him back. He tried to strike out at her, but his limbs weak with the curdling death restained him. He could only stare at his captures.

[Jaelith Ripple-Rift]

The wretched sounds that her party incited behind her failed to distract Jaelith from her mission. Glancing around, she was pleased to see that there seemed to be no other bandits in the camp.

You could imagine her surprise when Eltharion turned and casually loped to a fallen thief that she had failed to see.

A feral glee entered Jaelith's mind as Eltharion punished the boy. It mixed with concern that the punishment was wrong -- but this concern quickly faded as Jaelith realized that Taelriath watched the actions complacently. He was a good man, and not one who would stand by for injustice.

Whispering soft thanks to Leto for his assistance in the battle, Jaelith watched as the boy began to speak, delirious and seemingly unaware of his surroundings or circumstances.

[Eltharion]

Eltharion listened as the boy babbled freely, his mind seemingly detached from the stalwart will that had prompted him to attempt suicide.

Most of what the boy said was nonsense, and several times he slumped, as if he was giving up hope. Each time, Sael leaned forward and stirred his heart into action, fending off the debilitating poison. The boy spoke of his people, ascension to immortality and the blood of dragons. All of his words were fantasy, and Eltharion quickly grew tired of the tale.

A quick glance seemed to indicate that his companions were equally unable to derive significance from the words, so Eltharion decided to end it.

Laying the flat of Galithan'as' blade on the boy's chest, his ribs began to shudder as they weakened. As Sael mechanically leaned forward to stave off the collapse, Eltharion wrestled her arms behind her back and pulled her away. A shock of realization crossed her eyes as she began to rage. Kicking and frothing with hate, she screamed blasphemies and cursed Eltharion's lineage and line.

With a damp crack, the boy's ribs sunk in upon themselves, crushing his lungs and expelling a weak gasp of air from his mouth. Galithan'as, buried inside the boy, rotted him from the inside out. His remains, a frightening mockery of nature, withered before Sael's eyes. Weeping, she sobbed of the breaching of her oath, and tried fruitlessly to instil life in the destroyed form.

Her hands black with the corruption of the body, she turned to Eltharion, who looked blankly at her. Where is your Goddess now, Sael?

Not waiting for a response, Eltharion turned away, and spoke to his friends. We should move quickly, the dragon is nearby, and the sooner we find him, the sooner we can make preparations.

[Sael the Wandering One]

Sael, weary from the almost total exhaustion of her powers, and bored with the monotonous servitude of the morning, was not even aware of the trap until it was far too late. As the boy entered another rendition of his same crazy story, Eltharion burdened the boy's chest with the vile touch of the bane-blade, threatening to extinguish his life. Then, without warning, Eltharion grappled Sael's arms and pinned them behind her back.

Her vision red with hate, Sael kicked and struggled against Eltharion's powerful grasp. In spite of her weight advantage, Sael lost to Eltharion's cunning use of leverage and his unremitting hatred for her beliefs. She watched as her charge withered and died just out of her reach. Shuddering with tears, she felt the warmth and love of Oleana's gifts oozing out of her body like puss being drawn from an enflamed sore.

No! She cried out, falling over as Eltharion dropped her. I couldn't help it, I could not save him! The indifferent ears of the Gods had turned away, and her words fell upon only the minds of the living.

Unseeing, she staggered to her feet and stumbled off from the party, disappearing into the womb of the forest. Her clean white cloaks were soiled like her faith, and were ruined like her devotion.

[Ranin the Red]

It had one time been of personal preservation.

Further to that the fight at the camp had boiled his blood. Fueled his hunger, lessened the burdon to return.

He had thought to return, dissolve this manifestation (replenish) , but something, feeling, so the mortals say, feeling that drives a Goblin to strangle his enemy, feeling that draws upon the strength of ages, the feeling of C'HaraH overtook him.

He had shied away from the questions of the boy, he knew the Firewalker would gain nothing. He was still in awe, the bolt still stuck from his chest, cerrtain thanks to the White One, but this was not her work.

He knew the pieces fit, they were after the vial, he did not know which it contained. He stroked it, the vial, dead it twas. But for certainty it was the beck and call....He knew lookin upon his own reflection, he'd opened up the demons. and wondered how and if he would need to explain this. The desire to flee was greater then ever. Trouble, the scary place, however was filled with the Firewalker who had saved him, damn C'HaraH he owed him.

[Ranin the Red]

Time it seemed has pressed upon him. The manlings were due the story. It had seemed innocent enough. The white robes, bloodied, still filled his thoughts. However that was not what drove him, the weak versus the strong, it was what had propelled his vengeance, it had always been as such, C'HaraH had spoke of our struggle. The killings however solidified the memory. This was his place. He would hold nothing back...when the chance prevailed itself he would tell all...