Stradia: The Fourth War - Chapter 1 Cont "The North Falls"

[Rhiya Ravenwing]

The earth parted silently, gently expelling Xivven and her gargoyle charge back above ground. The gargoyle gasped, drawing in air as silently as he could. He recovered faster than the lieutenant, who knelt there, breathing hard and trying to recover her strength from the extended travel underground. Sweat had beaded her forehead, steadily mixing with the dirt that flaked off her body to form a dirty smear over the skin on her face.

The hunter that was with Xivven took immediate stock of his surroundings. They were now twenty yards away from their original position, and a small distance inside the tree lines. As Xivven tried to get shakily to her knees, the hunter's large hand stayed her. He'd spotted more of his brethren along the tree line - reinforcements, Xivven guessed.

But what was more interesting was the large oak 'swimming' through the ground towards the temple. She saw Mithik there, and stifled a gasp of surprise as the lieutenant was instantly impaled upon the might oak's root tendrils. What's going on here?!

Picking herself up, her ragged breathing evening out, Xivven refused support from the hunter. What had Mithik been planning? This was getting way out of hand.

"Tell the remaining others to regroup. we're withdrawing from this place."

"Ma'am," The gargoyle's voice was pure protest, but Xivven cut him short. Both of them were whispering, being in close - but not too close - proximity to the current numerous gargoyles around the forest.

"I do not know what that Oak tree is doing down there, but it is clear we're not dealing with simpleton enemies anymore. Whatever's happening down there I do not want to mess with while the team is scattered and depleted. Pull out and resume our previous mission. I think there are enough reinforcements here to deal with... Oh I don't know. Just get the team out. We're heading to Gole."

[TheBlindMime]

As Loki turned the corner at the head of the reinforcements and saw the destruction throughout the hallway he let out a proud cheer, "For Kenshura, the mightiest country of all!" It sounded more like a dog howling then anything else. Loki's eyes met the first of two remaining elite trolls he smiled, which in his current state just bared his jagged and fearsome teeth.

A woman screamed, it drew all joy from Loki. He launched himself over the kneeling Bentis with a feral cry, "Death to all Virnirans!" His hammers struck ground first and he used them to gain back some of the lost momentum of the jump. The troll was unnerved, but he was a seasoned veteran and not accustomed to losing. With his dual hatchets in hand he stood at the ready for anything this wolfman could bring. Though he had seen shapeshifters in battle before, he had never seen anything quite like Loki was now. Loki raised his hammers from their constant striking of the ground as if he was slowing to fight, instead as soon as the troll began to shift Loki dashed around striking out at the Troll's ankle as he went. The troll grimaced at his failure to see the feint but maintained his balance long enough to graze Loki's back and hip with his left hatchet, he would have given chase but his despite being armored his ankle wouldn't carry him fast enough to catch the moving bullet that was Loki.

Had it not been for the creatures speed, the troll reasoned, I would have severed his spine with that blow. The troll called out his comrades name, "Borke!" as a warning for the impending danger from behind and then took a step towards the danger coming to his front, with a mild hope of killing Bentis before he met his untimely fate.

His mind on the next fight Loki didn't even consider how close to death he had been, though in another moment that thought would cross into his mind again. 'Borke' as he was called in the garbage of a language that was troll turned to see the speeding blur headed towards him. With the sword and shield in hand that he carried with him through all of his many battles Borke was more then a little confident he could win. Borke sword fell harmlessly to Loki's left, giving Loki an instant opening, just as Borke planned. Loki took it, pushing all of his momentum and strength into a savage leap straight into Borke's waiting shield. With a mighty heave the troll sent Loki sprawling back to the floor, a tooth missing to show for his efforts.

Loki did not even have enough time to draw breath before Borke was upon him, his blade singing through the air towards Loki's heart. Loki scrambled into a roll, the ring of metal driving into stone eerily echoing just behind him. Loki rolled to his feet and wildly swung his hammer into Borke, who caught the hammer with his shield. The swing had left a dent in the shield the size of a baby dwarves fist, which was ironically slightly larger then a baby humans.

Borke was quick to draw his sword free of the stone and stand at the ready for Loki's next move, Loki took stock of his situation in the sparse moment of respite. The wolf form allowed him to make quick hit and run attacks but with the cramped hallway he had little chance of keeping that strategy now that he'd been stopped. Even less with his opponent wielding a shield in such a skilled manner. He loosed the wolf form and began swinging his hammers in his usual barrage style of fighting. Borke was prepared for this as well, he'd faced many dwarves the past few weeks and learned their style well. He ducked low, and moved his shield into the path of every swing, and when Loki's defenses opened he would jab his sword in. Loki seemed to make little progress in his attacks taking strike after strike into his chest, Borke smiled as the blood began soaking into Loki's shirt. His smile grew wider as the dwarf began mumbling something, he rather appreciated the sound of a dying dwarves last words.

His smile faded when he remembered Loki was a shapeshifter, "Magga cammara rawleb!" Borke tried to drive his sword deep into the dwarf's chest now, he had no time for games anymore, he had to end this. Unfortunately for him, it was Loki who would end it. Loki struck the sword away with his left hammer Able, before flipping his second hammer Cain to is backside. He drove the pick-end into the shield, right where Borke arm rested. Loki tore the hammer back, ripping the shield free as well as gashing Borke free arm. Borke swung his sword up towards Loki in a panic only to be stopped by his own impaled shield, Loki pushed the sword aside and swung Cain into Borke with a single sweeping motion. As the shield slammed Borke off of his feet and into the wall, he lost the grip on his sword as he nearly swooned. Loki confidently began bashing Borke, eventually Borke's shield broke free and Loki began to draw blood from each and every pick strike.

Though the battle was lost, Borke wasn't going to go quietly. With only a tenuous grip on his consciousness he pulled out a hidden dagger and drove it into Loki's previous stomach wound. Loki made a final pained strike into Borke's ear, the strike carried Borke off of his feet and into the afterlife. Loki gasped in pain and fell to a knee beside the fresh corpse, the pain was excruciating. Though everything in his body told him to pull free the dagger he knew he could not. He also wanted to rest, to lie down and just close his eyes. Grudgingly, Loki fought this and made his was into the final chamber.

[Barahad]

Graeme urged his horse in pursuit of Loki, who had bounded off nearly the moment Penn had pointed the way. The ache in his ribs had faded ever so slightly, but he vowed to have a priest look to them the instant the battle was over.

...given the proximity of the Oak, Graeme reckoned that end was fast approaching. As the thought passed through his conscious mind, he drew his horse to a hard stop. There would be no room for mounted combat in this hallway. Already, he could Bentis and Loki whirling about the narrow corridor, two enormous and well-armed trolls howling after them, weapons flashing. Further down the hallway, stood a lone gargoyle - one of the hunters, by the light armour on him - seeking an opening in which to hurl one of its ferociously large javelins; death, no doubt, for whichever unfortunate Kenshurian proved to be in its path. Not far beyond it stood the cracked door, with an enormous troll making the final, fatal blows necessary to open its way to the inner sanctuary of the temple.

Leaping from his horse, Graeme raced down the hallway, natural caution set aside for the moment: this was a race against the large troll's brute strength, and there were two opponents separating Graeme from his target. Even as he neared the combat, one of the trolls fell to Loki's steady hammer-blows; then, the door gave way with a final sound 'crack' of splintering wood. The first, and largest, troll leapt through the broken doorway, followed shortly after by the second troll. Graeme swore. Fortunately, that meant there was only one enemy separating the knight from his goal.

Hefting blade and shield, he rushed at the creature. A javelin flew straight and true, but his shield was there to stop and splinter the shaft of the weapon. Graeme staggered back under the force of the attack, but continued forward. Ahead, Loki was making for the temple's sanctuary, moving more slowly than Graeme remembered; slowly enough that the knight could catch and pass him. Sweeping around the dwarf, Graeme struck with his blade, cleaving a javelin in half as the gargoyle readied it for a fatal throw at the injured dwarf.

The next thing Graeme knew was the pain of striking the wall as the gargoyle batted him away with a powerful forearm. It reached over its shoulder and drew another javelin, smiling as it thrust towards the stunned knight. Graeme saw the spear coming: he twisted at the last moment, the point of the javelin driving into the wall, the wooden shaft of the weapon splintering, leaving it broken and useless. In that opening, Graeme was upon the creature, his sword striking at the forearm, stomach, and groin of the creature. The gargoyle flailed back from these attacks, knowing its light armour to provide little protection. Blood flowed freely from new wounds, and Loki edged warily past the combat, and on in to the sanctuary.

Graeme smiled at that small triumph; then he felt a great weight against his chest, and he was taken to the ground by the gargoyle's surprising attack: a flying tackle. Sword clattered from nerveless fingers as Graeme's lungs emptied of air. The gargoyle began hammering at him with bare fists, its mind unbound by fury. Raising his shield, Graeme warded the majority of the blows, but the thrashing creature still dealt vicious, bruising hits to his stomach and and sides. Graeme's fingers groped desperately for his sword. In a moment, they found: something else. Graeme's hand closed around his salvation, and as the gargoyle raised itself up to land a two handed blow on the knight's unprotected head, Graeme grinned.

"I think you dropped something." His arm thrust upwards; in it was the bladed end of the javelin Graeme had earlier broken. The creature's eyes widened in shock as the tip passed through armour, flesh, and muscle. Blood flowed freely from the wound as Graeme drew the weapon out and stabbed again. And again. And again. He stabbed until he was free and on his feet, and then he stabbed until the light faded from its eyes. His final stab drove the javelin through the gargoyle, pinning it to the flagstones of the temple floor. Turning and drawing a deep breath, Graeme spied his sword, lying about seven feet from where he had struck the ground. He hurried to it, swept it up, and turned to face the final troll. It was now surrounded on all sides by Kenshurian warriors, but it showed no signs of fear. Graeme tightened his grip, and made ready to strike.

Down the corridor rose the thunderous crack of breaking stone: the Oak was gaining ground.

[Aieris]

As she began scanning the ground for any sign of her pursuer, she noticed in passing that there was much fire in the direction she knew the temple to be. The temple didn't concern her yet though, and wouldn't until she could find out how likely she was to be attacked from underground. To her relief however, all she saw of the bodies that had so quickly gone underground was a trail of heat speeding away from her. She did notice during her search, however, another small body of flame nearby. It was nearly obscured by the flames around the temple, but it was there, where the girl in white had disappeared in a maelstrom of air. She was out of danger, and it would look bad to others if she left the girl to die, so she slowly let out the fires in her eyes, and began to walk into the circle of destruction.

The fury of the wind astounded Aieris. Small trees had been ripped out of the ground by their roots and flung against larger trees, scoring them deeply. The ground itself was littered with broken branches and fragments of bark that had been ripped off the trees, all a testament to the destruction the form on the back of the gargoyle commanded.

As she passed through the center of the destruction, Aieris saw her quarry. Lying slumped, dirty, and unmoving, against one of the larger trees in the circle, the woman looked like she had been thrown around like a rag doll to crash, likely head first, into the tree she lay against. As she moved towards the crumpled form on the ground, Aieris thought ruefully that if all she had received was a crack on the head, the girl in white should consider herself titanically lucky. If that were all. And if she would wake up.

Still, reaching the girl, and noticing the broken remnants of a bow still clenched in her hand, Aieris felt at least some respect for the tiny shape, lying so still and broken under the uncaring trees. Reaching out to her shoulder, Aieris shook the pale girl, and watched with some dispassion as the girl shook her head, causing her ear-length brown hair to roll back into a semblance of neatness, and groaned.

As she shook her more, Aieris realized that the most she would get out of the girl was a groan, and, sighing as if some great injustice had fallen upon her shoulders, she leaned down and began an attempt to lift the girl to her feet, wrapping one of her limp arms around her neck and grabbing the girls small waist in the process.

As she pulled the girl to her feet, Aieris realized her mistake. Although the girl would have weighed no more than Aieris herself, Aieris still had to put most of her strength into carrying the girl. As she began cursing, Aieris thought to herself that this was what you bloody got for bloody being bloody helpful to bloody incompetents who couldn't bloody get out of the bloody way of bloody spells, bloody hell. The stream of curses from Aieris's mouth stopped however as the girl raised her head ever so weakly, and in a confused, soft, and painful voice, questioned her.

"A....Amelia?"

"No, girl. The name's Aieris." Aieris responded, slightly perturbed at having to be so gentle with the little one. "What is your name?"

Whatever the girl in white said, Aieris didn't catch however, as her attention was quickly diverted by the sound of solid rock being pulverized in the direction of the temple. It was only then that Aieris clued in to something she had been more or less aware of the entire time; the ground shook. Whatever was shaking the ground so was large, and it came from the direction of the temple.

"Lets go girl, I"ll catch your name later. For now, I have a feeling we might be needed at your temple. I have no bloody idea why I"m doing this, but lean on me, it'll go faster"

As the two moved off towards the temple, filled with its fires, trolls, gargoyles, and large, rock crushing somethings, Aieris was surprised at how quickly the girl at her side, whose name she discovered was Celeste as they walked, recovered. As Celeste slowly began to need less and less support, the two talked. Or more, Celeste talked, and Aieris answered her questions. It came out that Celeste lived at the temple, and after some badgering from Celeste, Aieris finally explained that she was part of a group sent to try to save those in the Temple. Even though they seemed to have arrived a little late.

As the trees began to thin and a clearing could be seen in front of them, Aieris stopped and turned to the now stable Celeste, and looked her up and down.

"Your bow broke, but you seemed good with it. Here. Take mine. And here's my quiver. You shoot, I"ll set things on fire. And if you break my bow, I"ll set you on fire." Aieris said, seemingly full of anger and impatience.

"Thank you, my friend" Celeste began, "I will care for them as if they were my own." Taking the quiver, Celeste quickly fitted it to her waist, then took up Aieris' black bow, gently testing its draw.

"You'd bloody well better" Aieris mumbled, turning and walking the last few paces into the clearing, then stopping, startled, and staring towards the temple at the giant tree which seemed to tower over, well, everything.

"Bloody hell! I don't suppose that thing might be on our side?" Aieris exclaimed, surprised at the immenseness, the implacability, and the seeming invincibility of the thing.

"Celeste, get over here" Aieris yelled backwards at the girl slowly emerging from the tree line, "I can't tell if that thing's good or not, but if it turns out to be on the Venurians side, or if it starts coming towards us, you start shooting as fast as you bloody can. I"ll take care of the rest"

As Aieris finished saying this, Aieris and Celeste both noticed a large troll with a staff walking beside the tree. As the two noticed him however, he walked up to the stone wall of the temple, walked through, and disappeared.

"Well?" Aieris asked, turning and looking at Celeste as she did so, "Will you help me attack it?"

Celeste glanced at Aieris, then back at the tree. It seemed as if she took minutes to look at Aieris again, though it was seconds at most.

"What will we do if it attacks us?" She questioned, her eyes searching Aieris' for answers.

"We turn to the trees, split up, and run. And continue running as far and as hard as we can."

"Very well." Celeste said, and with that she turned, drew an arrow from Aieris' quiver at her waist, and began to draw its fletchings to her ear.

As Celeste was reaching for the first arrow, Aieris' eyes began to glow red with fire as they had so often before. The arrows were small, and the tree was large beyond belief, but as long as Aieris concentrated, the fire that sprang to the tip of the arrow as Celeste released would not die out. Neither would the fire that would spring to the next arrow Celeste was already drawing, nor the fires of however many arrows they got into the tree before it noticed them.

Aieris just had to hope that enough little fires like these would eventually ignite the monstrous oak in front of her.

And as the first arrow sunk into its target, and Celeste raised the fourth to her cheek, Aieris though to herself that this was going to be a bloody long day.

[Azisien]

Temple of Avelia - Entrance Lobby

Jahvid stepped out of the stone ground as if it were a pool of water, though his clothes were dry. The spell occurred more smoothly than the transportation version he had used with the trees, his pace never really slowed. The Venurian druid walked to the end of the lobby and turned left down the corridor. He didn't get ten steps down the hall before he stopped dead.

Slowly, he turned back around and looked to the east. Small pinpricks of pain started to irritate his right arm, chest, and thigh. "Die." He said simply, and moved calmly once more down the corridor.

******

Temple of Avelia - Courtyard

Fluffy white-grey smoke started to rise from the Oak as Celeste loosed the eleventh arrow. Aieris, connected to each arrow through the fire magic, noticed she hadn't missed her target once yet. At that moment, the Oak noticed them from across the courtyard. It's voice, wherever it came from, was loud and clear even two hundred and fifty feet away.

"Die."

Celeste looked to Aieris, who nodded in acknowledge of the quick plan they had gone over barely a minute ago. As Aieris started to turn back to the forest, Celeste held up her free hand. "Wait!"

Annoyed, and even a little scared of the gigantic smoking tree moving towards them very fast, Aieris stopped. "For bloody what?"

Adopting a rather strange hand gesture with her firing hand, Celeste pulled not two, but three arrows from the quiver at once. Keeping her grip strong, she kept each of the shafts straight and nocked them all at once into the longbow. "As it draws closer I can strike it more accurately. I will send each of these into its roots, but without your magic they will do nothing. If we can damage the roots, maybe it will be slowed." Celeste faced Aieris, sure to make eye contact. "Make these ones count, they could decide whether we live or die in the next few minutes."

Oddly, Aieris found herself agreeing with the young human. "Fine. A bloody triple shot? You better not bloody miss." Fire ignited in the arrows once more, but this time they were much more powerful. The flame was hot and loud. Celeste even grunted slightly as the heat started to burn her fingers as she drew the string back. In an instant, she let go, and the three arrows took flight. The Oak had traversed one quarter of the distance originally separating them, and there wasn't much time to watch for a clean shot.

Aieris and Celeste ran, as fast as they could, and made it back to the treeline within a few seconds. One final glance at each other, and they split up; Celeste elected to run northeast.

******

Temple of Avelia - Corridor Bend

Jahvid stopped again, nearly tripping over himself. He knelt and gasped at his ankle, tears forming in his eyes. He managed to remain silent and slowly stood back up. A first degree burn was forming on his neck. Gripping his staff, he continued around the bend towards his objective.

******

Temple of Avelia - Ritual Chamber

"Stay back!" Amelia screamed at Zoreg as he charged down the shallow steps onto the lower floor. The circular chamber was quite large, one would guess it took up at least a quarter of the volume of the entire temple. The outer part of the circle was elevated, including the entrance, and there were four different stepping paths that led down to the inner circle, itself at least fifty feet across. Aside from the paths, most of the room was taken up by benches. A statue of Avelia stood prominently in the very center of the room, where Amwhey, Amelia, and the six remaining priests stood, as if the sculpture would grant them some kind of divine protection.

"Nah!" Zoreg roared back, his voice making hers seem like a mouse squeak. He crossed half the stairway in two seconds and launched his weapon at a nearby bench. It crushed through the wood and snapped the furniture in two, with momentum to spare. The lieutenant retracted his weapon and continued charging at incredible speed towards the last temple survivors. Amelia stuck out her right hand and screamed a spell incantation. Lightning burst from her fingertips, but the Venurian had already moved out of the way in the second it took her to cast. The lightning struck the stone step behind Zoreg and, unsatisfied, arced into nearby benches as well, scoring them black wherever it touched.

The six priests began casting their own protective spells, but Zoreg had cleared the distance. "Kenzhurian skum!" He was lost in his rage now. That bitch of a woman had inflicted so much damage on him and his men, and she stood here, looking as immaculate as she had when the battle began. One of the mace heads left his hand, and the chain slid across his fingers. It was a familiar, comforting sensation preceding the death of an enemy he knew would also be very satisfying.

Sadly, he was denied. Amwhey jumped in the way of the incoming mace, bracing his right shoulder to take the blow. The head priest miscalculated where it would strike. Holy energy burst around the weapon when it struck the shield protecting Amwhey. All they could do was look on in horror as the mace smashed through the magical spell. The crunching sound the weapon made as it impacted Amwhey's elbow was sickening. With a final conscious look at his friends, he fell to the floor in a heap. Amelia roared this time, extending her arms to unleash untold amounts of ethereal energies at the horrible monster before her.

Zoreg grabbed her arm and pinned them quickly. If she emitted a blast of magic, it would kill her too. Idly, that thought actually crossed her mind, as long as it would kill the troll. Then, she remembered Amwhey lying before her. One of the priests moved to remove the Venurian's grip from Amelia, but Zoreg backhanded him with all his strength. The man's neck snapped like a twig.

He gripped Amelia's arm harder and pulled her again with all of his enraged power. Her feet left the floor momentarily as she was thrown like a doll over Amwhey, past Zoreg, and into the hard floor near the steps. Zoreg was already moving towards her again. The five other priests all moved to intercept. They did not know offensive spells, and they were unarmed. One man jumped onto Zoreg's shoulder, and the lieutenant elbowed him in the gut. Winded and in excruciating pain, the second priest fell to the floor, gripping his torso feebly. The third priest that tried to get between Zoreg and his prey died when he launched his mace-chain at the man's collarbone, crushing his windpipe and chest alike.

Zoreg reached Amelia, who was still in a slight daze from being thrown so hard. She started a spell incantation, but not fast enough. Zoreg slapped her hard across the face; his hand came back with blood on it. "Hoore!" The lieutenant grabbed both her hood and hair and forced her up slightly, then slapped her again. He was surprised she was still conscious, and very pleased about it. "Anyting to say, hoore?"

Amelia looked the Venurian right in the eye. Blood was flowing out of multiple cuts and her face was puffing up rapidly. Her right eye was already half shut from the swelling. She said nothing. Zoreg grinned, and dramatically looked down at her right arm. "I culd 'ave swurn I broke dis." He crushed her petite arm with his massive fist, and felt elated when he heard the bone snap beneath the little flesh she had. Amelia made only the smallest of whimpers, but tears started to flow freely. "Nah? Not enuff?" The Venurian looked dramatically at her left leg. He grinned as he stomped down on her leg as hard as he could, aiming for the knee. As it dislocated, her knee made fleshy, grinding protest, and her leg took on a very unnatural angle. Her body went limp immediately, and Zoreg sighed. Not bad for such a little thing.

As he moved to snap her neck, his last soldier screamed a deathcry from up above, back in the hallway. Loki, Graeme, Bentis, Penn stood in the doorway. Behind them, Vincent and Ishva took up the flank of the little party. A grin spread across the Venurian lieuteant's face. Not breaking eye contact with the six heroes, he grabbed Amelia's unconscious body by the chest, making sure to squeeze much harder on her breasts than was necessary, and threw her like a dirty rag into the closest benches to his right. Silence followed the loud crashing noise as her little body smashed into the furniture.

Then, Zoreg gripped his chain in both hands and let one of the mace ends fall to the floor. The stone cracked slightly, noise echoing throughout the room.

[Jtab]

In a flash, Bentis found himself surrounded by allies and the bodies of his foes. There was now only one troll between the Kenshurians and the priests they had come to rescue. Not being one to hesitate when an opening presented itself, Bentis lunged at the hobbled troll. The troll moved to intercept the thrust with its axe but could only manage partially do so before losing its balance and stumbling. The staff found the shoulder of the injured troll, sending it further off balance as Graeme stabbed his blade deep into the back of the Venurian. The beast howled in pain as blood flowed freely from the wound in its back. The life left its eyes as Graeme struck again and again, adding to the bloodstains across his armor.

Shoving the lifeless body aside, Bentis rushed into the room the final troll had entered moments before. The scene was which met him was horrific. Limp bodies were strewn about, mindless destruction in a place of prayer, and a troll who looked very satisfied with himself. He stared at the Kenshurian troop as they entered the doorway. A smug grin came across its face as it grabbed a bloodied figure off the ground. “A woman!?” Bentis realized with shock as the monster flung the unconscious girl across the room. The troll adopted an aggressive stance and allowed part of its weapon to drop to the ground, as if to challenge the party.

“You…. YOU!!” Bentis screamed as he charged the Venurian. His vision had become narrow and all he could see now was the enemy in front of him. Bentis swung hard for the troll’s neck, consumed by hatred like never before. For the moment there was no war to fight, no city to defend, no allies to stand with him… only himself and an unforgivable monster.

[Lumenskir]

Ishva rushed toward the chamber's opening, letting her own transformative power course through her body. Unlike Loki's outgrowth, Ishva's transmutation involved retraction; Skin crinkling into hardened scales, nose slipping inwards, her body as a whole becoming more lithe and streamlined. Digging her hands into the walls around her, the claws that had newly formed developed an extra granite layer. Although she could now almost pass for a dragonkin, the sight of the chamber's horror tore through her soul. Not daring to enter the desecrated grounds, she instead let her eyes slint back towards the image of Vincent.

"Father, don't look further! Trust me, you can not see that room! Promise that you will follow this request!" While she half pleaded-half commanded the priest, her tongue darted out, now a thin forked line of bright red. Her eyes contracted involuntarily. "Another troll?!"

[Barahad]

Blood flowed freely down the channel's of Graeme's sword, catching at the guard. He wrenched the blade free and the troll fell to its knees. Graeme raised his blade high, blood splashing from the tips across the ceiling of the hallway. His sword fell, and the troll's skull split wide. The creature was dead. Bentis was past moving to catch up with Loki.

"To me!" Graeme called to the rest of the company as he raced to the end of the hall, ignoring the carnage of the close-quarters fight that surrounded him. He could hear a troll's roaring shouts, and the screams and pleas of priests and priestesses. 'Damn them,' Graeme raged inwardly. 'Damn them.' Then, he shook his head. He could hear his mentor, his friend, telling him about the ancient lore of the Long Patrol: the Secrets of War.

'In battle, Graeme, you will find anger is to no benefit. You will feel the impulse, the pull. It will sing in your blood, in your mind, asking to be unleashed. You must not heed it, or you will be lost. You will throw away your training for the savage joy of bringing death to those who oppose you. You will throw away your oaths and honour, and you will be a changed man. No matter what you encounter; no matter what darkness you confront; no matter what evil you face, you must not yield. Hold to your training. Find the calm center within yourself, and strike from its safety. Within that point, you are all the more terrible to your enemies: for a warrior serene in the heat of battle, in the presence of death, is so much more terrible than the most furious berserker.'

Graeme's focus returned to the present moment; he assessed the situation, and drew himself inward. 'Strike from the calm center,' Graeme opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath. He could see Bentis racing recklessly towards the troll: the young soldier was a capable warrior, but dangerously vulnerable, cloaked as he was by rage. Loki had disappeared after entering the sanctuary. Graeme wondered at that, then decided his course. He strode forward, deliberate and certain: if Bentis could not find the calm within himself, then he would provide it for him. He moved towards the troll, and called to his companions behind them, his voice ringing clearly in the air. "Penn, Ishva, Vincent...Loki! Surround the beast and bring it down!"

The troll saw Graeme approaching; he offered another bellow at the appearance of more challengers, his weapon swinging menacingly around above his head, shrieking in the sanctuary's still air: the troll a beastial personification of Hate. He was taunting, challenging, daring and demanding an attack.

'Strike from the calm center,' Graeme thought one last time before stepping into the arc of the troll's weapon, to challenge the power of Hate itself.

[TheBlindMime]

The furious beserker that was Loki, had run out of steam. Victory seemed so close now his body was relaxing and it took everything to remain conscious. The wounds decorating his chest did not help the matter, though most were not deep, they were numerous. At the center of agony driving him into a haze was the dagger tucked safely away in his abdomen. Even for a moment, he wished he could just turn it all off.

"You can do anything you put your mind to, Loki." A voice that only lived in his memories and his dreams stirred Loki. She had been on his mind since the moment he woke this morning and could repress her sweet image no longer. His eyes closed to fully embrace the pleasant memory.

A day not so far gone, in a city Loki vowed to return to only after cleansing his blood stained hammers sat Loki and his beloved friend Vulni. "A man cannout do anything he desires by will'n it Vulni." A single copy of a shapeshifting manuscript sat between them.

"Because the book does not directly decree such an act?" Vulni asked incredulously, then adding with a smile, "Spoken like a true dwarf."

"The world is as I sees it, and Oi as the world sees me." Loki crossed his arms defiantly over his long and braided red beard. He leaned forward with an angry flame sparking in his deep green eyes. "And wut is wrong with bein' a truh dwarf?"

"Nothing a little elven blood couldn't cure." Vulni spoke as she raised her chin high, Loki guffawed which Vulni followed with a laugh of her own. "A strange creature you are Loki Swordforger, you speak of only what is and what is not... and then you seek the knowledge of what could not be. Why do you wish to know the art of shapeshifting?"

Loki stared into her bright blue eyes as he pondered his response, he knew the answer but dared not speak it. He slipped his gaze out of hers and he spoke directly, "To make is, out of what is not," Then a sly grim came upon his face, "or vice-versa."

Vulni just stared at him with the pure smile that only an elf could have, "A strange creature indeed."

Loki opened his eyes to find himself lying on the cool granite floor in the center of the room, he had made it to where Zoreg was, Zoreg was there no longer. Loki was just a minute too late. As he struggled to his feet he eyed the pool of blood that was beginning to form beneath him, it was the sort of pool you saw beneath the dead. "Not yet I don't." It was true, Loki would live through this day barring any unforeseen forest fire battles. Avelia had watched over Loki during his last fight, while a dagger now rest in his stomach, it would not prove fatal. She had watched over him when he had fallen as well, not that he'd give her any credit for it.

Loki watched Zoreg as he beat Alicia mercilessly, the will to move was strong, twas the flesh that held him. His body was so sore and worn from constant wounding and healing he had little left to give. Were he to charge Zoreg now he would assuredly die. As Zoreg took full advantage of the unconscious woman before casting her aside as if she were garbage, Loki decided that he would rather die. Taking a deep and painful breath in he focused on one single thought, "Feel nothing." Loki forced out a pool of energy he knew nothing of till this moment, he warped his body one final time. The thought was all that echoed in his mind now, again and again.

It pounded at every muscle, every bone and especially at every nerve. It worked deeper into him, he felt his body numb as his mind just repeated itself, still fully mindful of its action. He took no action as Bentis moved in for his attack, only waking from his waking sleep for the bellow of a young knight, "...Loki! Surround the beast and bring it down!"

Loki obeyed. He sprinted forward, without the feel of the blood flowing out his chest, the dagger stuck in his side, the burning engulfing his lungs, not even his feet hitting the floor. Though he was not part wolf, nor giant, he still closed the distance as quick as could be. He came towards Zoreg from the right, to stand between him and the girl, to protect her with every last of his unfeeling breaths. He would swear later that he bellowed "No Mercy!" but no words came from the stout dwarf as he charged into the fray, without a trace of rage in his heart. Loki was numb.

Being numb, he had no way to know how much force to put into his blows, so he opted to use all he had. His hammers whistled as they tore towards the unforgivable dog of a troll, named Zoreg.

[Loki, The Fallen]

He didn’t need to see inside the room. He knew before they arrived at the sanctuary. The instruments of war are very skilled at what they do. They destroy lives, desecrate temples, scorch land without appearance of remorse.

The Light’s forgiveness is wasted on them.
The Light forgives all who seek it.

May they regret their actions. Avelia, I beg you, forgive them, for I may not.

The newfound power felt almost natural to him, as if it had always been there, waiting for him. It steadied his emotions, reining them in and focusing them. He could not become completely calm, to find any pleasure in the destructive force, nor become emotionless. I will not become a monster, I am here to prevent them. He turned to Ishvah and nodded.

“I know…”

His voice was quiet, almost lost amongst the violence. Vincent knew they were trying to protect him. He had seen so much destruction within his short time with them, and they have seen it eat at him emotionally. They saw him nearly destroyed by it.

“…but I cannot honor that. I will run no longer. I have been called.”

He glanced into the room. The broken bodies would have shaken him in the past, but now they only fueled the fire. The power smoldered within him, awaiting an outlet. He saw the immense beast that was likely the cause of this. He looked at the creature and felt sadness, sympathy for it.

“…but he cast his lot, and shall receive…”

His warrior companions closed with the defiler. Violence erupted once again, the creature struck incessantly by a multitude of weapons. The sound of steel flying echoed within the room, a sick hymn to whatever being the creature venerated. Surely he will not last. Vincent then glanced at the statue of Avelia, which appeared to be crying blood, the blood of the priests. He nearly followed suit.

“…but I may be able to save them!”

He looked around the room for any priests he may be able to save, but kept still. I must wait. He may break free, and if I am an easy target, he will attack me. I will only be a liability if I get too close, and I don’t want to drag them down.

So instead, he raised his voice, and began a hymn of strength, of vitalization, of rejuvenation. It was one of his favorites, for it was also a prayer to The Light, one that may be answered more forcefully in this most holy place. But his thoughts were on bolstering his allies, to inspire them.

His voice resonated within the room, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. It filled the area, nearly drowning out the sounds of bloodshed. The light that poured in seemed brighter. Energy visibly flowed within the room, from him toward all of his allies and the priests. Vincent was encouraged by the sight of this, the obvious power the light was granting him. It made him sing louder, to put his entire heart into it. He stopped thinking about the song and let it flow from within him.