(no subject)
Been a while since I last posted. Let's see, news...
1) My wayward sister Becky is pregnant (again).
2) My landlady has moved out. I may have to move out soon too.
3) I got a Tivo and dvd recorder to make the video reels the club plays before each show.
4) One of our dogs got run over by hobo #2. She not dead, which is good I suppose.
5) The D&D campaign is going well.
6) I am financially stable and more or less well fed.
7) I wrote more story...
After declaring his title, Robyn Lightfoot had no choice but to release them. Scilla went to her two stricken companions immediately and used the last of her Healing powers on them both, just enough to wake them up. Darla, her wounds more severe, was repaired first. The young woman sat up slowly, rubbing her head and muttering some incomprehensible stream of complaints, before coming to her senses enough to remember what had happened.
“What just hit me?” she yelled, hopping to her feet and scouring about for her staff. The movement cost her dearly in balance, and she swooned. Luckily, Kinsha was standing by, ready to catch her. The draconian set his Princess lightly back down.
“I apologize for the damage my boomerang caused to your face, Lady Kokinne,” said Robyn, patting the triangular weapon resting comfortably at her belt.
Darla’s eyes shot open when she spotted the flesh and blood of their former companion, her reaction quite similar to Scilla’s. “Rumia?” she exclaimed.
The elf smirked. “Who is this Rumia you speak of?” she demanded.
“A Paladin, a friend of ours,” said Scilla, “and your mother.”
Robyn looked astounded. “You know of my mother?
Scilla nodded gravely. “She was my master, taught me the ways of the Order.”
“Was?” said Robyn. Her voice had suddenly become weak. “What happened to her?”
“She perished in battle, protecting me from the Lord of Shadows,” said Kinsha solemnly. “Her sacrifice allowed me the chance to strike him down.”
The elf nodded, tears glistening in her blue eyes. “I suspected as much. My mother and I never got along well, but we share the blood bond, and I felt her pain keenly. I am glad her death was an honorable one, though I should expect no less from her.” Scilla nodded her accord.
Robyn considered for a moment, and then said, “It would please me if you all spent the night here. Take care with your fire.” As soon as she was finished speaking, the unusual elf darted into the forest.
Kinsha shook his head. “That one is strange,” he remarked. Scilla nodded once more. They went about dousing the fire and went to sleep without another word.
When the first rays of sunlight filtered through the forest’s canopy, the adventurers were already up and preparing for the long walk home. With all of their gear packed, they set out, leaving clearing and the glade.
Surprisingly, Robyn was waiting for them out on the plains, mounted on a fine steed, laden with traveling gear. The elf waved and rode to meet them.
She pulled the reigns on her horse just before Kinsha and said, “I have spent the night in contemplation, and have decided to accompany you on the road.” Darla looked on her sourly, not liking the elf much.
Kinsha, however, smiled. “And why would you want to do a thing like that?” he asked.
“Your path will lead you back to the Lord of Shadows,” she declared grimly, “and I want to be there to fight beside you, to avenge my mother.”
Scilla grinned at the thought, offering Robyn a warrior’s handshake, which the elf accepted enthusiastically. Zolan and Darla were not so welcoming, still sporting bruises from her enchanted boomerangs.
The five travelers loped their way across the plains over the next few days, enjoying the rolling beauty of the open land and the sunshine on their faces. They made excellent time and reached the West Road much sooner than expected, the road that connected Daln to the bustling Port Westwind. They stuck to the road then, warning the few travelers they passed of their trouble on the river. Over the down time of tedious travel, the group had become joined. No longer was any enmity held against the elf, but instead a tight friend-ship had been formed between them all. And Scilla particularly, who longed for her slain mentor, enjoyed Robyn’s company.
Soon, the smell of sea spray compromised the memory of the corrupted stench of the Daln River, and not long after, the Vale Straight was in sight.
The Straight was actually more of an enormous canal, crafted by the Druids during the brief alliance between themselves and Kokinne to open a clear sailing route from Syr Vale, the High Elven homeland, and Port Westwind, Kokinne’s principal port. The magical Druids actually sundered the landmass clean in half with their sorcery to make the Vale Straight.
And along with this unusual display of cooperation came the Vale Bridge, for the dwarves were not to be outdone. Wrought of freestanding stone, a hundred yards wide and an amazing twenty-five miles long, the Vale Bridge was possibly the most incredible of dwarven constructs. The bridge gently arced over the glistening waters of the Straight, and was lined on either sides with tall, sturdy crenellations fifty feet thick and thirty feet tall. Each crenellation was followed by a gap of like size, allowing travelers to enjoy the dazzling view. The most innovative feature the dwarves added was the accommodations. Every fifth crenellation was hollowed and contained two chambers, the innermost for travelers to sleep and the next empty except for a large bin. It was custom for travelers to bring a bit of hay to store in the bin, so travelers with horses could have something to feed their beasts with.
When the five travelers took their first steps on the Vale Bridge, they mutually decided to rest before walking the full twenty-five miles. Still, it was nearly three miles before they found a shelter without a Kokinne flag flapping above the door, the symbol for occupancy. They entered the small but clean dwelling and immediately dumped their gear in the second chamber as Robyn tied her steed to the hitching post outside.
Kinsha went to the window of the equipment room, a hinged wooden slat with a securing bar, and swung it open, enjoying the glory of the sunset on the water. He watched the spectacle until long after the sting had faded from his eyes as the others slept. What would it be like, he wondered, traveling by himself? The idea both scared him and excited him.
He stood there, gazing out to sea, until very late, contemplating the events of his short but turbulent life. He purposefully avoided considering the Druidic prophesy, as he had been doing since discovering it. The High Elven Seer knew about it, yet failed to tell Kinsha any details, and continued to withhold his knowledge even after Montonalon’s defeat. The writing on the tapestry, his sudden enlightenment of its meaning, was still a mystery. Had he been named after this Age?
Or had this Age been named after him?
Lost in thought, Kinsha only registered the movement in his window after it was gone. Startled from his daydreaming, the draconian hopped away, quite certain that something had been moving in the window!
Although the moon was just a sliver in the sky and there was almost no light, Kinsha could see quite well, thanks to his draconic heritage. He stalked silently to the far corner of the room and drew out his natural powers, disappearing momentarily. The invisible half-dragon waited patiently.
After what seemed like an eternity, the eager thief dropped back down, rappelling through the window. He must have seen Kinsha in the room earlier, but either couldn’t see him well enough to tell he wasn’t human, or simply did not care. The burglar was short and slim, wearing black clothes and carrying a sizable haversack. He crept silently through the chamber and eased the door open, into the room where Kinsha’s friends slept.
The draconian was confused. There were plenty of valuable things lying, seemingly unguarded, in this chamber. Why would the thief risk capture by going into a room full of adventurers?
Suddenly afraid for his friends, Kinsha stepped forward and grabbed the man roughly by the arm, thinking to take him by surprise and throw him down. Unfortunately for the draconian, the man reacted well to Kinsha’s presence, possibly even expecting him to be there, by slashing at the draconian with a dagger that Kinsha hadn’t even seen. The blade cut deeply into his wrist, forcing him to relinquish his grip. He hollered for his allies but was frightened to learn that the sound fell dead before it left his throat.
Kinsha realized that the thief was an assassin, and he had not been moving silently; the whole chamber was silent, all sound magically subdued.
Another weapon appeared in the assassin’s other hand, something like a miniature version of a scythe, and came sweeping across. The draconian stumbled back, stunned by the sudden and fierce onslaught of quick jabs and swipes by the twin weapons. He tripped over some of the scattered equipment and fell, feeling the bite as his enemy’s dagger found flesh. Instead of pursuing, the assassin backed up and tossed his dagger expertly at his prone opponent.
No stranger to combat, Kinsha deftly kicked out, catching the blade with his boot. He shrieked as the blade stuck him in the foot, but again, no sound could be heard. Cursing himself for not wearing his swords, the half-dragon fell into a meditative state and felt his golden-hilted weapon lying not too far away. He pulled at it with his will and the sword came to him just as the assassin bore down on him with the small sickle.
The sword got there first, appearing in Kinsha’s clawed hand and erupting in golden light. He sprang to a kneeling position, favoring his injured foot, just in time to parry the assassin’s attack. A twist and a slash dropped the weapon, along with its grasping hand, to the floor. The assassin’s mouth popped open, his intention to scream, but of course, Kinsha heard nothing.
Not even the plop when the unarmed assailant’s head fell to the floor, or his body, which followed shortly thereafter.
Staggering quickly to the next chamber, Kinsha roused his companions. Confused expressions soon turned to worry as they realized the nature of the eerie silence, but a quick gesture from Darla dispelled the magic.
“What’s going on?” Zolan mumbled, casting about for his weapon in the darkness.
“Assassin,” Kinsha reported. “Came in through the window.”
The five adventurers gathered their belongings quickly, intending to leave under the cover of night. Scilla sacrificed a portion of her Healing power to patch up Kinsha’s wounds. Robyn then slipped out of the window, using the assassin’s rope to haul herself onto the top of the crenellation.
Kinsha led the others out the front door, a sword in either hand. A well-placed kick blasted the portal from its rusted hinges, and as expected, a shadowy figure waited on either side, against the wall. Instead of fighting them there, however, Kinsha dove forward, tumbling in between their swift attacks and coming up ten feet away. The two new assassins turned to face the dangerous draconian, and were therefore unprepared when Zolan came in between them, swinging his double-sided weapon to connect simultaneously with an enemy’s head and the other’s ankle, killing the former and dropping the latter to the ground. He was then forced to roll aside as a crossbow bolt sliced for him.
The bolt cracked against Scilla’s shield. Standing protectively in front of Darla, the Paladin scanned about and saw the archer, laying flat on the roof of the opposite crenellation-dwelling. She relayed the information to Darla, who prepared a spell to deal with the concealed foe.
As soon as Robyn reached the rooftop, a hulking, axe-wielding beast waylaid her. Two heads taller than the slender elf, and easily outweighing her by several hundred pounds, the half-ogre possessed the strength of an ogre and the cunning of a man and had never been beaten in personal combat. His dark cape and clothing blended naturally with the shadows, well enough to avoid even the keen elven eyesight of his quarry. He had lined up his cut before she had even cleared the roof, and now the blade was descending fast, whistling through the air.
Robyn was hard pressed indeed, but she rose to the challenge. Without breaking the momentum of her climb, she tumbled between the brute’s legs and came up behind him with a boomerang in hand. She flicked her wrist, and the missile shot out, slamming her opponent between the shoulders just as the axe struck the stone, audibly cracking the solid dwarven construction. Robyn winced.
The boomerang, however, did not pierce the half-ogre’s thick hide, and the weapon fell uselessly to the floor. A malicious grin splayed across his ugly face, the beast stepped toward his seemingly frail prey and took a measured stroke, not meant to do any harm, but to test her reflexes. Robyn easily dodged the attack, but became worried, realizing that her foe was no novice. She decided quickly to use more deceitful tactics. She held up her hands and put on a terrified visage, backing up slowly.
Chuckling in an inhumanly deep voice, the half-ogre came on, stepping over the inert boomerang and holding his axe high and back, preparing for a killing stroke.
Robyn fought down a smile of her own and flicked her wrist, activating her magical bracer, the one linked to her fallen weapon. The boomerang suddenly came to life, lifting off the ground and flying madly fast straight to her waiting hand.
Instead of going to the elf’s grasp, it struck the half-ogre in the buttocks and fell once more. The beast gasped in surprise, thinking that he had let down his guard enough to allow an enemy to sneak in behind, and whirled around to meet the new threat. He found nothing and immediately recognized it as a ruse. He spun about again, expecting an attack from the clever elf.
And rightly so, Robyn’s second boomerang crashed into his face just before her sword sliced for his belly. The skilled half-ogre retained enough sense to scramble back, barely avoiding the slash, swinging his axe in a huge arc to discourage pursuit. However, the elf had no intention of relinquishing her advantage, so she rolled under the attack and leaped up, kicking at the lead arm to lock it in place. She couldn’t have held it for long, but all she needed was a moment to put her sword to work on the beast’s face. The elf went for his throat but missed, cutting a gruesome wound on his lower jaw. The half-ogre, for the first time in his long experience, fled the battle by jumping off the bridge, falling the hundreds of feet to the icy black waters of the Straight.
Kinsha and Zolan, standing back to back, found themselves engaged with no less than seven novice killers, all trying to weave their way through defensive flurries and finding no luck, while Scilla and Darla methodically cleansed the rooftops of crossbowmen. The attackers all soon lost their courage or their lives, those able to flee doing so in haste.
Robyn descended swiftly from the crenellation. “Time to go,” she calmly stated. “There are more assassins approaching from the north.” Kinsha turned and spotted them, a score or more dark shapes moving swiftly towards them.
“Agreed,” muttered the draconian. Motioning for the others to follow, he sprinted away from the pursuers.
The night was eerily quiet, the only sound being the footfalls of the fleeing group, particularly the armored Paladin, and their heavy breathing. It seemed as though they were the only people for miles, as the trailing assassins made not a whisper. Their run lasted for several hours, until the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon.
“It seems our friends have called off the chase,” remarked Scilla.
“Must be the daylight,” said Kinsha, shrugging. The draconian yawned loudly, which tapered off into a kind of roar, and collapsed against a crenellation. He had not slept at all during the tumultuous night.
“We must keep moving,” said Darla. “Resting here on the bridge would leave us vulnerable to another attack.”
“The road to Kokinne is too long to travel without rest,” Scilla argued. “We’re still many days from the city.” Zolan nodded his accord. They all turned to Kinsha for a decision.
He thought for only a moment before saying, “Let’s clear the bridge, go a mile or so into the forest, then make camp. If we are still being followed after we rest, we’ll turn around and make them pay for the trouble.”
It was early afternoon before they found a suitable campsite, nearly three miles off the North Road, a small clearing much like the one in Robyn’s glade. Gleefully in her element, the nimble elf easily ascended a tree, promising to keep a keen watch on things while the others slept, assuring them that she felt wide awake.
Truly exhausted, Kinsha emptied his coin pouch onto the soft grass and curled up on the pile.
A thick blanket of smoke rolled over the draconian’s sleeping form, forcing him awake with a fit of coughing. Alarmed, Kinsha staggered to his feet.
The glade was on fire. The flames consumed every tree, every twig, and every blade of grass. The smoke was unbearable, as were the screams of Scilla and Zolan, who were melting from the intense heat. Their sizzling flesh splattered down onto Kinsha from above, for his friends were dragons, flying far overhead. Panicked, he scanned around for some exit, a release from this nightmare, but that just made it worse. He spotted Darla, his love, clutching the fatal wound he had dealt her under the influence of a potent illusion, blood pouring from underneath her hand, out of her mouth, and her eyes. The blade was suddenly in his hand, the hilt blisteringly hot even through the silk wrap, the blood of Darla dripping freely to the scorched ground.
A hint of movement in the void of darkness outside the blaze caught his attention. A pair of evil red eyes glared at him, eyes that unquestionably belonged to the Lord of Shadows. The dark figure stepped into the flickering light.
Montonalon had indeed become decrepit since Kinsha last saw him, but that only enhanced the terror the draconian felt welling up inside him. The necromancer’s flesh was rotted and, in some places, missing altogether. His wings had ugly tears throughout. Worst of all, the great scar on Montonalon’s face, the result of his first encounter with Kinsha and his dangerous sword, was festering with disease and glowing a slight red. The flesh around the scar and the wounded eye was completely gone, leaving the blackened bone visible. The monster held a short rod of pure gold, with a round blue stone mounted on top.
Kinsha fumbled with a few words, trying to make some sort of defiant comment, but his horror was too great.
Say something, insisted his little voice. Anything.
“So…what brings you to my subconscious?” was all the draconian could muster. Montonalon chuckled, a sinister rumble, which did nothing to alleviate Kinsha’s tension.
“Pitiful creatures, you mortals. Ruled by your fears,” muttered the necromancer. His eyes glowed fiercely with a sudden malignant glee. “On your knees, boy!”
The Shadow King’s terrible shriek split through Kinsha’s defiance like a razor. The half-dragon fell as commanded. He would have done anything Montonalon demanded. The golden scepter waved before Kinsha, entrancing him, controlling him with fear.
“Hand the Crownblade over! You are not fit to carry such a device,” screamed the Lord of Shadows. Trembling, Kinsha lifted his sword hilt-first to the necromancer’s outstretched claw.
A flash of light and a thunderous roar shattered the trance. In an instant, wrathful hate flooded into Kinsha, replacing the paralyzing fear. He flipped the sword over and struck, slashing the surprised Montonalon across the wrist.
The nightmare melted away slowly, but not before Kinsha caught a glimpse of his savior. The glowing figure of Rumia Lightfoot, with a sword and whip of pulsating light, stood nearby, clothed only in a holy radiance. Angelic wings graced her slender frame.
Her heartwarming smile was all of the dream Kinsha could remember when he awoke when the next day’s sun peaked over the horizon.
Dobo is a fine name for a dog. You guys can go to hell.
1) My wayward sister Becky is pregnant (again).
2) My landlady has moved out. I may have to move out soon too.
3) I got a Tivo and dvd recorder to make the video reels the club plays before each show.
4) One of our dogs got run over by hobo #2. She not dead, which is good I suppose.
5) The D&D campaign is going well.
6) I am financially stable and more or less well fed.
7) I wrote more story...
After declaring his title, Robyn Lightfoot had no choice but to release them. Scilla went to her two stricken companions immediately and used the last of her Healing powers on them both, just enough to wake them up. Darla, her wounds more severe, was repaired first. The young woman sat up slowly, rubbing her head and muttering some incomprehensible stream of complaints, before coming to her senses enough to remember what had happened.
“What just hit me?” she yelled, hopping to her feet and scouring about for her staff. The movement cost her dearly in balance, and she swooned. Luckily, Kinsha was standing by, ready to catch her. The draconian set his Princess lightly back down.
“I apologize for the damage my boomerang caused to your face, Lady Kokinne,” said Robyn, patting the triangular weapon resting comfortably at her belt.
Darla’s eyes shot open when she spotted the flesh and blood of their former companion, her reaction quite similar to Scilla’s. “Rumia?” she exclaimed.
The elf smirked. “Who is this Rumia you speak of?” she demanded.
“A Paladin, a friend of ours,” said Scilla, “and your mother.”
Robyn looked astounded. “You know of my mother?
Scilla nodded gravely. “She was my master, taught me the ways of the Order.”
“Was?” said Robyn. Her voice had suddenly become weak. “What happened to her?”
“She perished in battle, protecting me from the Lord of Shadows,” said Kinsha solemnly. “Her sacrifice allowed me the chance to strike him down.”
The elf nodded, tears glistening in her blue eyes. “I suspected as much. My mother and I never got along well, but we share the blood bond, and I felt her pain keenly. I am glad her death was an honorable one, though I should expect no less from her.” Scilla nodded her accord.
Robyn considered for a moment, and then said, “It would please me if you all spent the night here. Take care with your fire.” As soon as she was finished speaking, the unusual elf darted into the forest.
Kinsha shook his head. “That one is strange,” he remarked. Scilla nodded once more. They went about dousing the fire and went to sleep without another word.
When the first rays of sunlight filtered through the forest’s canopy, the adventurers were already up and preparing for the long walk home. With all of their gear packed, they set out, leaving clearing and the glade.
Surprisingly, Robyn was waiting for them out on the plains, mounted on a fine steed, laden with traveling gear. The elf waved and rode to meet them.
She pulled the reigns on her horse just before Kinsha and said, “I have spent the night in contemplation, and have decided to accompany you on the road.” Darla looked on her sourly, not liking the elf much.
Kinsha, however, smiled. “And why would you want to do a thing like that?” he asked.
“Your path will lead you back to the Lord of Shadows,” she declared grimly, “and I want to be there to fight beside you, to avenge my mother.”
Scilla grinned at the thought, offering Robyn a warrior’s handshake, which the elf accepted enthusiastically. Zolan and Darla were not so welcoming, still sporting bruises from her enchanted boomerangs.
The five travelers loped their way across the plains over the next few days, enjoying the rolling beauty of the open land and the sunshine on their faces. They made excellent time and reached the West Road much sooner than expected, the road that connected Daln to the bustling Port Westwind. They stuck to the road then, warning the few travelers they passed of their trouble on the river. Over the down time of tedious travel, the group had become joined. No longer was any enmity held against the elf, but instead a tight friend-ship had been formed between them all. And Scilla particularly, who longed for her slain mentor, enjoyed Robyn’s company.
Soon, the smell of sea spray compromised the memory of the corrupted stench of the Daln River, and not long after, the Vale Straight was in sight.
The Straight was actually more of an enormous canal, crafted by the Druids during the brief alliance between themselves and Kokinne to open a clear sailing route from Syr Vale, the High Elven homeland, and Port Westwind, Kokinne’s principal port. The magical Druids actually sundered the landmass clean in half with their sorcery to make the Vale Straight.
And along with this unusual display of cooperation came the Vale Bridge, for the dwarves were not to be outdone. Wrought of freestanding stone, a hundred yards wide and an amazing twenty-five miles long, the Vale Bridge was possibly the most incredible of dwarven constructs. The bridge gently arced over the glistening waters of the Straight, and was lined on either sides with tall, sturdy crenellations fifty feet thick and thirty feet tall. Each crenellation was followed by a gap of like size, allowing travelers to enjoy the dazzling view. The most innovative feature the dwarves added was the accommodations. Every fifth crenellation was hollowed and contained two chambers, the innermost for travelers to sleep and the next empty except for a large bin. It was custom for travelers to bring a bit of hay to store in the bin, so travelers with horses could have something to feed their beasts with.
When the five travelers took their first steps on the Vale Bridge, they mutually decided to rest before walking the full twenty-five miles. Still, it was nearly three miles before they found a shelter without a Kokinne flag flapping above the door, the symbol for occupancy. They entered the small but clean dwelling and immediately dumped their gear in the second chamber as Robyn tied her steed to the hitching post outside.
Kinsha went to the window of the equipment room, a hinged wooden slat with a securing bar, and swung it open, enjoying the glory of the sunset on the water. He watched the spectacle until long after the sting had faded from his eyes as the others slept. What would it be like, he wondered, traveling by himself? The idea both scared him and excited him.
He stood there, gazing out to sea, until very late, contemplating the events of his short but turbulent life. He purposefully avoided considering the Druidic prophesy, as he had been doing since discovering it. The High Elven Seer knew about it, yet failed to tell Kinsha any details, and continued to withhold his knowledge even after Montonalon’s defeat. The writing on the tapestry, his sudden enlightenment of its meaning, was still a mystery. Had he been named after this Age?
Or had this Age been named after him?
Lost in thought, Kinsha only registered the movement in his window after it was gone. Startled from his daydreaming, the draconian hopped away, quite certain that something had been moving in the window!
Although the moon was just a sliver in the sky and there was almost no light, Kinsha could see quite well, thanks to his draconic heritage. He stalked silently to the far corner of the room and drew out his natural powers, disappearing momentarily. The invisible half-dragon waited patiently.
After what seemed like an eternity, the eager thief dropped back down, rappelling through the window. He must have seen Kinsha in the room earlier, but either couldn’t see him well enough to tell he wasn’t human, or simply did not care. The burglar was short and slim, wearing black clothes and carrying a sizable haversack. He crept silently through the chamber and eased the door open, into the room where Kinsha’s friends slept.
The draconian was confused. There were plenty of valuable things lying, seemingly unguarded, in this chamber. Why would the thief risk capture by going into a room full of adventurers?
Suddenly afraid for his friends, Kinsha stepped forward and grabbed the man roughly by the arm, thinking to take him by surprise and throw him down. Unfortunately for the draconian, the man reacted well to Kinsha’s presence, possibly even expecting him to be there, by slashing at the draconian with a dagger that Kinsha hadn’t even seen. The blade cut deeply into his wrist, forcing him to relinquish his grip. He hollered for his allies but was frightened to learn that the sound fell dead before it left his throat.
Kinsha realized that the thief was an assassin, and he had not been moving silently; the whole chamber was silent, all sound magically subdued.
Another weapon appeared in the assassin’s other hand, something like a miniature version of a scythe, and came sweeping across. The draconian stumbled back, stunned by the sudden and fierce onslaught of quick jabs and swipes by the twin weapons. He tripped over some of the scattered equipment and fell, feeling the bite as his enemy’s dagger found flesh. Instead of pursuing, the assassin backed up and tossed his dagger expertly at his prone opponent.
No stranger to combat, Kinsha deftly kicked out, catching the blade with his boot. He shrieked as the blade stuck him in the foot, but again, no sound could be heard. Cursing himself for not wearing his swords, the half-dragon fell into a meditative state and felt his golden-hilted weapon lying not too far away. He pulled at it with his will and the sword came to him just as the assassin bore down on him with the small sickle.
The sword got there first, appearing in Kinsha’s clawed hand and erupting in golden light. He sprang to a kneeling position, favoring his injured foot, just in time to parry the assassin’s attack. A twist and a slash dropped the weapon, along with its grasping hand, to the floor. The assassin’s mouth popped open, his intention to scream, but of course, Kinsha heard nothing.
Not even the plop when the unarmed assailant’s head fell to the floor, or his body, which followed shortly thereafter.
Staggering quickly to the next chamber, Kinsha roused his companions. Confused expressions soon turned to worry as they realized the nature of the eerie silence, but a quick gesture from Darla dispelled the magic.
“What’s going on?” Zolan mumbled, casting about for his weapon in the darkness.
“Assassin,” Kinsha reported. “Came in through the window.”
The five adventurers gathered their belongings quickly, intending to leave under the cover of night. Scilla sacrificed a portion of her Healing power to patch up Kinsha’s wounds. Robyn then slipped out of the window, using the assassin’s rope to haul herself onto the top of the crenellation.
Kinsha led the others out the front door, a sword in either hand. A well-placed kick blasted the portal from its rusted hinges, and as expected, a shadowy figure waited on either side, against the wall. Instead of fighting them there, however, Kinsha dove forward, tumbling in between their swift attacks and coming up ten feet away. The two new assassins turned to face the dangerous draconian, and were therefore unprepared when Zolan came in between them, swinging his double-sided weapon to connect simultaneously with an enemy’s head and the other’s ankle, killing the former and dropping the latter to the ground. He was then forced to roll aside as a crossbow bolt sliced for him.
The bolt cracked against Scilla’s shield. Standing protectively in front of Darla, the Paladin scanned about and saw the archer, laying flat on the roof of the opposite crenellation-dwelling. She relayed the information to Darla, who prepared a spell to deal with the concealed foe.
As soon as Robyn reached the rooftop, a hulking, axe-wielding beast waylaid her. Two heads taller than the slender elf, and easily outweighing her by several hundred pounds, the half-ogre possessed the strength of an ogre and the cunning of a man and had never been beaten in personal combat. His dark cape and clothing blended naturally with the shadows, well enough to avoid even the keen elven eyesight of his quarry. He had lined up his cut before she had even cleared the roof, and now the blade was descending fast, whistling through the air.
Robyn was hard pressed indeed, but she rose to the challenge. Without breaking the momentum of her climb, she tumbled between the brute’s legs and came up behind him with a boomerang in hand. She flicked her wrist, and the missile shot out, slamming her opponent between the shoulders just as the axe struck the stone, audibly cracking the solid dwarven construction. Robyn winced.
The boomerang, however, did not pierce the half-ogre’s thick hide, and the weapon fell uselessly to the floor. A malicious grin splayed across his ugly face, the beast stepped toward his seemingly frail prey and took a measured stroke, not meant to do any harm, but to test her reflexes. Robyn easily dodged the attack, but became worried, realizing that her foe was no novice. She decided quickly to use more deceitful tactics. She held up her hands and put on a terrified visage, backing up slowly.
Chuckling in an inhumanly deep voice, the half-ogre came on, stepping over the inert boomerang and holding his axe high and back, preparing for a killing stroke.
Robyn fought down a smile of her own and flicked her wrist, activating her magical bracer, the one linked to her fallen weapon. The boomerang suddenly came to life, lifting off the ground and flying madly fast straight to her waiting hand.
Instead of going to the elf’s grasp, it struck the half-ogre in the buttocks and fell once more. The beast gasped in surprise, thinking that he had let down his guard enough to allow an enemy to sneak in behind, and whirled around to meet the new threat. He found nothing and immediately recognized it as a ruse. He spun about again, expecting an attack from the clever elf.
And rightly so, Robyn’s second boomerang crashed into his face just before her sword sliced for his belly. The skilled half-ogre retained enough sense to scramble back, barely avoiding the slash, swinging his axe in a huge arc to discourage pursuit. However, the elf had no intention of relinquishing her advantage, so she rolled under the attack and leaped up, kicking at the lead arm to lock it in place. She couldn’t have held it for long, but all she needed was a moment to put her sword to work on the beast’s face. The elf went for his throat but missed, cutting a gruesome wound on his lower jaw. The half-ogre, for the first time in his long experience, fled the battle by jumping off the bridge, falling the hundreds of feet to the icy black waters of the Straight.
Kinsha and Zolan, standing back to back, found themselves engaged with no less than seven novice killers, all trying to weave their way through defensive flurries and finding no luck, while Scilla and Darla methodically cleansed the rooftops of crossbowmen. The attackers all soon lost their courage or their lives, those able to flee doing so in haste.
Robyn descended swiftly from the crenellation. “Time to go,” she calmly stated. “There are more assassins approaching from the north.” Kinsha turned and spotted them, a score or more dark shapes moving swiftly towards them.
“Agreed,” muttered the draconian. Motioning for the others to follow, he sprinted away from the pursuers.
The night was eerily quiet, the only sound being the footfalls of the fleeing group, particularly the armored Paladin, and their heavy breathing. It seemed as though they were the only people for miles, as the trailing assassins made not a whisper. Their run lasted for several hours, until the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon.
“It seems our friends have called off the chase,” remarked Scilla.
“Must be the daylight,” said Kinsha, shrugging. The draconian yawned loudly, which tapered off into a kind of roar, and collapsed against a crenellation. He had not slept at all during the tumultuous night.
“We must keep moving,” said Darla. “Resting here on the bridge would leave us vulnerable to another attack.”
“The road to Kokinne is too long to travel without rest,” Scilla argued. “We’re still many days from the city.” Zolan nodded his accord. They all turned to Kinsha for a decision.
He thought for only a moment before saying, “Let’s clear the bridge, go a mile or so into the forest, then make camp. If we are still being followed after we rest, we’ll turn around and make them pay for the trouble.”
It was early afternoon before they found a suitable campsite, nearly three miles off the North Road, a small clearing much like the one in Robyn’s glade. Gleefully in her element, the nimble elf easily ascended a tree, promising to keep a keen watch on things while the others slept, assuring them that she felt wide awake.
Truly exhausted, Kinsha emptied his coin pouch onto the soft grass and curled up on the pile.
A thick blanket of smoke rolled over the draconian’s sleeping form, forcing him awake with a fit of coughing. Alarmed, Kinsha staggered to his feet.
The glade was on fire. The flames consumed every tree, every twig, and every blade of grass. The smoke was unbearable, as were the screams of Scilla and Zolan, who were melting from the intense heat. Their sizzling flesh splattered down onto Kinsha from above, for his friends were dragons, flying far overhead. Panicked, he scanned around for some exit, a release from this nightmare, but that just made it worse. He spotted Darla, his love, clutching the fatal wound he had dealt her under the influence of a potent illusion, blood pouring from underneath her hand, out of her mouth, and her eyes. The blade was suddenly in his hand, the hilt blisteringly hot even through the silk wrap, the blood of Darla dripping freely to the scorched ground.
A hint of movement in the void of darkness outside the blaze caught his attention. A pair of evil red eyes glared at him, eyes that unquestionably belonged to the Lord of Shadows. The dark figure stepped into the flickering light.
Montonalon had indeed become decrepit since Kinsha last saw him, but that only enhanced the terror the draconian felt welling up inside him. The necromancer’s flesh was rotted and, in some places, missing altogether. His wings had ugly tears throughout. Worst of all, the great scar on Montonalon’s face, the result of his first encounter with Kinsha and his dangerous sword, was festering with disease and glowing a slight red. The flesh around the scar and the wounded eye was completely gone, leaving the blackened bone visible. The monster held a short rod of pure gold, with a round blue stone mounted on top.
Kinsha fumbled with a few words, trying to make some sort of defiant comment, but his horror was too great.
Say something, insisted his little voice. Anything.
“So…what brings you to my subconscious?” was all the draconian could muster. Montonalon chuckled, a sinister rumble, which did nothing to alleviate Kinsha’s tension.
“Pitiful creatures, you mortals. Ruled by your fears,” muttered the necromancer. His eyes glowed fiercely with a sudden malignant glee. “On your knees, boy!”
The Shadow King’s terrible shriek split through Kinsha’s defiance like a razor. The half-dragon fell as commanded. He would have done anything Montonalon demanded. The golden scepter waved before Kinsha, entrancing him, controlling him with fear.
“Hand the Crownblade over! You are not fit to carry such a device,” screamed the Lord of Shadows. Trembling, Kinsha lifted his sword hilt-first to the necromancer’s outstretched claw.
A flash of light and a thunderous roar shattered the trance. In an instant, wrathful hate flooded into Kinsha, replacing the paralyzing fear. He flipped the sword over and struck, slashing the surprised Montonalon across the wrist.
The nightmare melted away slowly, but not before Kinsha caught a glimpse of his savior. The glowing figure of Rumia Lightfoot, with a sword and whip of pulsating light, stood nearby, clothed only in a holy radiance. Angelic wings graced her slender frame.
Her heartwarming smile was all of the dream Kinsha could remember when he awoke when the next day’s sun peaked over the horizon.
Dobo is a fine name for a dog. You guys can go to hell.