Date: Friday, January 02, 1998 7:29 PM
From: Sharon/LadyXan
" So, there is truly nothing that can be done, Milady?"
" Xanthia, you know there isn't. We've tried everything."
" I know, " she sighed turning from the window to look upon the Lady, her Mistress. " It's just I had such hopes that this time, " she stared down at the floor, blinking away tears.
" I know, child. What are you going to do now? How does this effect how you feel?" Xan shook her head and turned toward the window again, gazing out. She bit down on her bottom lip.
" It is a hard thing to accept, but I am resigned to it..." her voice wanders off a moment, " In the midst of great sorrow there shall also be great joy. "
" You've decided then? " The Lady asked with a quirked brow.
" Aye, Milady, I have. " The Lady nodded her head sagely.
" I am glad for your sake then. I know how torn you have felt. Tis not an easy thing to make decisions where the heart is concerned. " Xan turned to face Her, a slight soft smile crossing her lips, lighting her eyes.
" Actually, Mother, once I quit denying myself, it was an easy thing to know. I give up one hope of a Dream to pursue a Dream. "
" And you are happy with thy choice, Daughter?" Xan smiled again, thinking of the man....
" Aye, Milady, I am. He is everything I could ever wish for. "
" Then I am happy for you. I must ask thee however, what of the Other?" A brief cloud passed across Xan's eyes when she thought of him.
" He was a fertile hope of my dreams, dashed away by my past and by Fate and in return I have found a love that I still can not believe is mine for the taking. He thinks he is not good enough for me, but in time, I hope to convince him otherwise. "
The Lady moved to place her hand upon Xan's head softly. Xan bowed her head, her eyes closed, feeling the Love and Peace flow from one to the other. There was a gentle
touch upon her cheek and then nothing.
Xan looked up and sighed, staring at the spot where the Lady had stood a bit before.
Crossing the room to her desk, she shifted papers around until she found the missive she was
reading. Nibbling on her pen, she wondered upon which Quest she would ride on.. For ride
she would.. this too was a part of her Destiny. She could only hope that the Love she had so recently found, would not be lost to them both because of her decision....
Date: Sat, 3 Jan 1998 18:23:45 -0600
From: Diana/Wenn & Co
(E & Rob... you guys can decide to kill this bit or not but... It's Wenn all over, ;)
Wenn rose from her chair as she could see Thorak's speech was winding down. She faced the stout dwarf, arms crossed, one hand lifted to her chin as she watched the diminutive fellow complete his ranting. She did not know why Simon had been selected. She did not believe anyone dared stick a sword in her son's hand without her permission. She most certainly would not cater to the whims of a fellow who had kidnaped her son and seemed bent on sending him to possibly his death.
There was a very long pause and Wenn stood with arched eyebrow letting all the words of the scrappy dwarf sink in. She looked at him, glared at him really. Her mind awhirl trying to sort through what must be done. Only one thing was obvious to her as she looked at him. Only one thing was an easy decision and so came to the front of her mind. It was inconsequential and forestalling the hard decisions but she needed time to think. The rest would require much more consideration and besides, she needed Simon's side of this whole affair.
So, Wenn said the one thing she knew for sure... in a tone that brooked no discussion nor argument from the stubborn dwarf. Wenn leaned a bit to look Thorak directly in the eyes and said in a quite firm tone "I will consider your words and this dilemma, but in the meantime... YOU... need a bath."
Date: Monday, January 05, 1998 2:41 AM
From: Lady Ione
Ione looked out the window of the Lady's hut. She could see the waters of the lake lap up on the shores of Avalon. It had been many months since she had been across those waters, and she longed for the solace that trip would bring her. She looked back towards The Lady. "She has gotten worse ", Ione thought to herself as she looked into the woman's eyes. Ione feared the worse, the impending death of the Lady of Avalon. "Ione? Where are you, my child?" The voice startled her. "I am here. Are you all right? What can I get you?" The Lady placed her hand on Ione's "You must go across the lake."
Confused, Ione pressed the woman. " Why? I have no business in the other world. I must stay with you." "There is someone there, someone who needs you more than I." Ione began to fear the worst. She had not heard or seen anything to make her worry about her friends. "A woman, cold all around her, blood everywhere, lots of blood" "Who, can you tell me who?"
The Lady closed her eyes and was quiet, for what seemed like an eternity. "She is surrounded by her friends now, but there still is blood. You must go and help her." "I cannot leave you here!" "I will be fine. Callean will take care of me and I will await your return. Go!" Timidly, Ione backed out of the hut and went to prepare for her journey. Not knowing what she would find when she reached the shore.
As the barge reached the shores of Camelot Ione saw the shadow of a man. "Milady," The Waterwalker spoke "this man has been sent to take you to WolfKeep." She could see the grave look on Chamberlain's face. "Who is it?" "Elspeth she's bleeding and we can't stop it."
When they arrived at the keep Ione was taken straight to Elspeth. She was lying on a bed at the back of the keep. Wenndolyne followed Ione and gave her a full report on Elspeth's injuries. "Wenn, if you don't mind staying around just for Elspeth's support." Wenn nods her head and takes Elspeth's hand.
Ione closes her eyes and begins to fall into a trance. A white glow encompasses her and Elspeth. Ione places her hands on Elspeth's most vital wounds first, hoping that it's not too late, then she moves to the more superficial. As the glow fades, Ione moves herself to the nearest chair and looks to Wenn. "Elspeth, Elspeth, please, speak to us."
A faint mumbling is heard and Wenn and Ione go to the bedside. "Where am I?" Elspeth opens her eyes enough to see Wenn and Ione. "What happened to me?" "Everything is fine now, " Wenn replied "Ione has healed your wounds and now, my dear, you must rest."
"Has Lerrad returned? Has anyone found him? Wenn, please tell me. I must know" Wenn looks at Elspeth, takes a deep breath, and wonders what to say.
Date: Mon, 5 Jan 1998 14:44:34 -0500
From: Anne aka Lore/Jaede/Yandora/Anne/Seardina/Sayrah/etc..
In a silent glade the moonlight washed over the features of a clearing, when of a sudden the earth crumbles and up rises the bent figure of Seardina. Standing at only 4'9", her grayish blue eyes drift over the foliage around her as an evening zephyr gently fingers her long white hair about her wrinkled face.
Drawing in a deep breath of the sylvan air, she notices a slight taint blowing from the direction of the farmlands nearby. Her gnarled fingers clasp a walking stick as she heads towards the source of the taint. Shortly, she finds herself standing in the middle of a field, where the crops that had been planted lay shriveled and wilted. Not a sound she can hear, as even the insects have left the field to find purchase of food somewhere else.
The brown robed figure bends down and reaches her crooked fingers to the earth, taking up a handful and watches as it crumbles and disperses. An angry light fires in her eyes as the figure straightens. "Famine's work, but why...it is not the time."she says in a rusty whisper.
Reaching down again she grasps another handful of the soil and opens a pouch bringing forth a portion of a magical essence which she adds to the soil, then spits into the mixture she clutches forming a paste. Holding the paste aloft she closes her eyes and draws her strength from within. Her form commences to glow a warm yellow in the cold moonlight then her hands seemingly burst into yellow and orange flame. The paste in her hands dries then changes as the flames wink out.
Tired, she summons up the last of her energy and blows gently on the compound in her hands causing it to take on a pulsating shimmer. With a flick of her wrist, she lets fly the shimmering powder forming a cloud overhead that lengthens and thins to cover the farmland sinking into the earth from where it came.
The aroma of fertile earth returns to greet her as she nods with satisfaction, breathing deeply of the restored richness to the land as she slowly sinks back into the ground and the earth closes over her.
Date: Wed, 07 Jan 1998 15:03:06 -0500
From: Ernie/Simon/Lerrad/Tuckian/etc
Simon stood outside the room, peeking through the crack in the door and dodging, as best he could, the eyes of the little man who'd they'd brought back to the Keep as he spoke in long sentences and strange words to Wenn. He quietly listened as Wenn stood and stared for a while at the little man, Simon's hand running along the handle of the sword and his throat beginning to, quite absentmindedly, hum a small and familiar tune.
He swallowed and backed away from the door, taking up the sword and cradling it in his arms as his eyes still searched the tiny crack for the best view of the goings on in the other room. As Wenn spoke the few words that she did, Simon almost giggled at their content, but only knew he would certainly be spoken to next..that Wenn would have a conversation with him and that he'd have questions to answer. He frowned at this, hoping there would be answers for him about all this.
Simon lowered the tip of the sword's blade to the stone floor and turned, dragging it along behind himself as he walked. "Simon.", he heard Wenn's soft, but purposeful voice from behind him and turned suddenly. "Yeah?", Simon said with wide eyes.
"We need to talk, little one.", Wenn glances back into the room she'd just exited as the door to it shut behind her with a loud slam.
"I know." He says quietly. Simon lifts the sword the a vertical position and sighs..."Yer gonna ask me some questions that I dunno what to answer." He sighs again at his own words, seeing Wenn begin to nod before he can even finish. He leans his chin on the end of the sword and the blade immediately plunges into the stone floor, almost topping Simon. He straightens with a start, backing a few steps and looking from the sword, now firmly embedded into the stone floor, and back to Wenn, who's expression is somewhat shocked as she approaches quickly..."Um..I didn't mean to!", he says quickly.
"It...I... I didn't, I promise!"
Wenn rushes to his side, ignoring his words, and pulls him from the sword as if saving him from a wild animal. Simon cranes his neck around her leg to watch the weapon as he is being pushed away. "Simon..I.. I don't know about this.", she looks at the sword, touching her chin in thought, "There must have been a hole in the floor there.", she steps to the sword and takes hold of it, urging with a glance that the approaching Simon stay away. Wenn pulls at the handle, grunting a bit as Simon had never seen her do before. He grins, almost giggling at her struggling with the blade stuck there.
Wenn releases the handle and stares at it as she speaks, Simon knows the words are not meant for him though..."It must be lodged in there somehow.", she raises her face to the stairs and calls out, "Chamberlain..I need you up here please." Moments later Chamberlain moves down the hall toward them, Simon backs against a wall to watch, kicking his feet a bit in place and eyeing the sword and the two standing there next to it.
"Yes, m'Lady Wenndolyne?", Chamberlain says, already eyeing the sword then looking from it to Wenn then to Simon. Wenn nods, "I cannot get it out myself. Could you help me?"
"Certainly, Madam.", Chamberlain says confidently, then moves to the sword and pulls at it. He then takes hold of the thing with two hands and pulls harder, grunting and turning red in the face as he does. Simon has always been quite impressed with Chamberlain's strength.
He helped Wenn carry in all those papers a few weeks ago and those were big boxes.
Simon stands quietly, craning his neck to look at the sword around the two as Chamberlain finally straightens, tugging on his tunic to straighten it.."I cannot, Madam. Perhaps the stone around the sword will need to...removed first." Wenn frowns, looking at the sword, "Perhaps.", she moves away with Chamberlain, discussing the arrangements and possible repairs of the floor afterwards.
Seeing them move away from the sword and not taking much notice of him at this point, Simon takes this chance to quickly step to the blade. He looks up quickly at the two then takes hold of it and tugs slightly. The sword slides out of the stone with the appropriate sound, causing both adults to turn back around in shock only to see the boy holding the sword upright with a rather shocked look of his own.
Simon looks at them both, "I didn't do it."
Date: Wed, 07 Jan 1998 17:32:32 -0500
From: Ernie/Simon/Lerrad/Tuckian/etc
Lerrad shifts his head against the worn pillow. The pain had gotten worse in the past day, so much so that he was finding it difficult to move even the slightest bit. He'd already stopped trying to sleep, nothing could help him do that. His nights were filled with sleepless listening to the moaning of those dying nearby.
He moves under the blanket, shivering a bit at the cold air coming through the tent wall. He could thing of nothing else but Elspeth. Seeing her face where ever he looked and hearing her voice in the silence and calling out to her when it became too painful to bear. That is all that kept him alive, he had decided. The thoughts and memories of the woman he loves. The happy memories and the sad thought of never seeing her again. He was surviving because of her and the memories he carried of their time together. It was only on this bitterly cold morning, as the pain had grown too much to take and even a breath caused him to wince, did he truly wish it to end.
He'd seen others in the camp die and all of them had gotten sick long after he had. Those he knew in the camp had come to call him "Old man" because of this, but now, as he lay on his cot in a tattered tent, he said a silent prayer for death to find him. The pain was just too great and his heart could no longer sustain him. This body was fading now...he knew it and all he could think was of that woman he loved and hope that her future would be happier than now.
Lerrad tries to move his head again, struggling with this simplest of actions and mumbling aloud in his pain. A nurse, Lauren, shuffles to his side and, without asking, retrieves a cloth and wipes his forehead.
Her two son's had died two weeks ago, but she had not left her post, not even to watch them be buried. In her efforts to save their lives, she'd contracted what they all had..the word they did not say aloud there at this camp of sorrows. She had caught their plague..caught their disease...and was going to die.
She stares into Lerrad's face as she works, her eyes empty and sad and her face marked with the familiar scars of this illness. She takes up a second rag from a bowl of clean water and squeezes it into his mouth. Lerrad swallows painfully as the water drips past his cracked lips and down into his throat, not having the strength to protest this effort to prolong his life.
As she leaves his side and moves to the next bed, Lerrad watches for as long as he can, then slowly closes his eyes. At first, he feels the peacefulness of sleep creeping up upon him, his mind wandering and his body light and numb from the pain. In his mind's eye, Lerrad spies a dim light beginning to surround him, but he does not feel fear or the urge to open his eyes..rather an overwhelming peace and love. Suddenly, he feels nothing..and everything...feeling an integral part of the world he'd lived in, the warm light surrounding him growing in intensity.
Lerrad reaches out, not with his hands or arms, but with an essence that he now is. As he reaches, the light and warm grows more intense, building as he moves further on toward it. He thinks to himself that surely he has died and that he should feel the sadness of that event, but he can only move on toward the beautiful warmth and the loving light.
He settles finally, stopping the movement that he'd felt since closing his eyes and feeling the loving caress of the light move about him, supporting him. His mind's eye glazes with wonder at what is happening and a single thought echoes to him, but he knows not where, but knows somehow from who..."Come, my child. Rest. You are here now and you are fine."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that afternoon, Lauren gathers a clean roll of bandages and returns to the tent where Old Man is staying. It is time to change his wrappings since it has been since that morning that she's been able to be there and he has been bleeding quite a bit lately. She takes up the supplies that she needs and turns, her weary eyes not lifting from the dirt floor of the tent as she enters. Her thoughts are on her own son's and their fate and now that fate which is her own.
As she approaches the cot, she sets the supplies down onto the table next to the bed, her eyes still not taking in the sickly form that she views only when she must. Lauren turns a quick glance to the cot, then back to the table taking up a blade to cut the cloth to the proper sizing. She stops and turns again to the cot and stares a moment, dropping the cloth onto the floor.
It took a moment for Lauren to register what she was looking at, but now all that she can think to do is slowly back away. For there, where Old Man had been sleeping...near death, was a rather large wolf with brown fur just laying upon the cot and staring up at her with somewhat familiar eyes.
Lauren continues to back away slowly, keeping her eyes on the beast and the blade firmly gripped in her hands before her. The brown wolf hops off the cot and follows her toward the tent's door, tilting it's head as if curious at her reaction. When she reaches the tent door, Lauren turns and runs out into the clearing of the camp, yelling for others to come help..that a wolf had eaten the remains of Old Man.
The brown wolf looks about at the camp, then dashes off into the forest, seeming to understand her words and knowing the potential outcome of such a tale.
Date: Thu, 08 Jan 1998 16:48:07 PST
From: Daniel/LordWolf & Co
~~ For the liberties I am about to take, may those who know have mercy on me ~~
A lone horseman moves along a path that is used but little. He has heard tell of a village that is deep within the rain forests of this land. A village of the Damned it is called by the locals. Through over heard conversations he had learned that it is truly a village of the sick. Living in these conditions seems to breed all manner of sicknesses that there are no known cures for. It is to this village that those people are sent. As the rider plods along the trail he smiles to himself, think that soon the place of his destination shall be over flowing with inhabitants.
Pestilence chuckles through miss-shaped lips covered in scabs of rotting flesh. As the illusion drops from his mount as well, scores of soars appear upon the wasted animal leaking puss and other foul fluids. A village of souls already infected he thinks to himself. A place to call home perhaps, a place dedicated to those that already knew his kiss of corruption. Pausing at a sudden smell assault that is left of his nose his smile widens as the stench of disease and decay greet him like a long lost friend.
Ahead he spies the village, a small group has gathered to welcome him into their midst. Drawing closer, there are those among them that recognize him on site and a quiet muttering of, "Lord Pestilence, Prince of Plagues" ripple through them. Pestilence retain the tattered reminisce of his smile and slowly rides into their midst. Arms reach out to touch him as he passes through them in the hopes of ending their suffering sooner that would be normal.
Suddenly there are gasps of disbelief mixed with cries of joy and tears of happiness. Each individual that touches Pestilence or his horse is suddenly cures of whatever ills them. Stopping his sickly hag in the middle of the village Pestilence waits as the whole of the village turns out for a touch and the hope of being cured. To the last man, woman and child they are cured. As the last lays hands on him, he kicks the nag forth again, his heels ripping the horses sagging skin.
In the village behind him the inhabitants grab what items are their and start to leave. By being cured they no longer need remain her, shunned by the rest of the world. Pestilence rides on into the rain forest and none see the sickly grin stretch across his face causing soars to break open and leak their vile liquid down his face till it appears as if the being known as Pestilence is crying.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wind blew the sand about them as they struggled to cross the desert. They had been called fools for attempting the crossing at this time of year but the pay had been to great to pass up. A rich Jeweler had a rare shipment of Diamonds he wanted to get to Port city of Jubal before the final ship left in the wake of the coming winter. The promise of a winter spent in Jubal with gold lining his purse had been to great to pass up and so he had taken the camel train out when no other would have dared to.
Cursing at his turban slipped again and pulled the draping cloth covering his mouth, he quickly spat out the sand and readjusted it again for the gonzillenth time. Suddenly the camel stopped in it's tracks and refused to proceed. Call the stupid beast the misbegotten son of a tax collector as well as every other name in the book he walks to the front of the beast and grabs the reins and pulls. The camel rewards his effort with a snort and a bit on the hand. Yanking his hand bake before he can lose and fingers, the enraged driver takes out his whipping stick and proceeds to lay into the flesh of the camel in an effort to make it move.
Suddenly there is a lessening of the storm about them and he think that at long last the storm as blown itself out. Once more he urges the stubborn animal to move as the sand quiets and the sun shines through heating the earth once again. Cursing and pulling the man doesn't notice the black robes figure until it's shadows suddenly falls across him. Startled the camel driver turns and regards the stranger. His first thought is that the person under those robes must be crazy to be wearing black out here in the middle of the desert. Dropping the reins of the camel the man turns to face the robed one and offers the traditional bunji greeting to him in his native tongue.
Others of the caravan soon spot the stranger and move over to see what is amiss. Many are hot and sweaty from moving the camels with about as much success as this one. The robed figure looks to the man, then glances to the whipping stick and then to the welts on the camels backside. The driver, following his gaze chuckles and says, "They are just stupid animals. It does not really hurt them." The figure regards him saying not a word. "Is there something you wished for stranger of the dunes?" The man grins as do a few others here and there at his words.
The figure nods once and answers in a voice as cold as the crypt, "They feel it."
The man blinks as a shiver runs down his spine. Not wanting to show fear and knowing that there are fourteen others with him and forces a smile and responds, "So what if they do? They are just stupid beast!"
Again the robed figure nods before replying. "And if you should kill them by your actions? What then?"
"What then," repeats the driver. "Well, then we eat good tonight!" and the man laughing at his own words as other nod their agreements.
The figure nods again. "Then you shall feast this night like no other." Death raises a hand and suddenly every camel, right down to the last one falls over with a loud thump as they hit the sand. Several of the drivers rush to their animals only to find them dead and growing cold. The driver turns back to the robed man only to find him gone. Glancing down, he sees that there are no footprints in the sand just before the return winds of the storm blow the sand from his view. Without the camels to carry the water supply, the drivers know they all will be dead before long.
Date: Thu, 08 Jan 1998 22:14:53 -0700
From: Dan and his cast of thousands
The leather wings stroked against the air, lifting him into a spiraling circle as the battle raged on, below. The streamlined shape of the flying lizard gleamed with the tint of gold as the sun flickered briefly through the overcast sky and caught on his scales. Celaynth paused at the pinnacle of his brief arch, his slender neck craning down to survey their progress. The enemy had been heading towards a formidable town, not far from here, when their regiment had been ordered to intercept and delay them. And they were doing their task well. Already several holes had opened up in the enemy's flank, and the foot soldiers were maintaining a strong lead on the daemon army, mostly due to their skilled battle commander.
Claynth felt honored to be a part of this regiment. And truly, he was doing his part, providing support for the non-flying soldiers, below. His moment of thought faded like a dissipating cloud as he returned his mind to the combat. His powerful wings expanded to either side to take in the passing air caused by rising thermals from the ground. He used them to glide, sweeping over his enemy like a golden vulture, his tail trailing through the sky behind him.
His wings spilled air as he tipped his nose down to descend, the ground rapidly rushing at him. Fire kindled in his belly as he took in a deep breath, which was soon released as a gout of white hot flame, which caused the air it passed through to crackle and pop in protest, even after he ceased his attack.
He caught another updraft, and soared high amidst the thunderous cheer of the humans at the sight of their smoldering foes, many of whom were dead before their charred and blackened corpses could hit the ground.
Gracefully, he soared away from the turmoil, banking ever so slightly to the left, so as to eventually complete a circle which would take him back to the fray. He had no worries. Their victory was assured, as they were stuck on the ground, where they were vulnerable to bombardment from the air. And already they seemed to realize this, as they adjusted their formation, drawing away from the humans.
Celaynth let out a triumphant roar at the sight of the scattering, his mind too closed to allow for any other alternative as to why they spread out. Fate smiled cruelly, and he was given a different answer to his guesstimate, seconds later.
A crackle of electricity tore into the scales on his side, seeming to come from nowhere, and sending a sharp jolt of confusion into him, to accompany the searing pain. His wings faltered, but by force of will, he remained aloft, his neck lashing around as he sought for the spellcaster from whom it had come.
A form crashed into him from the same side, nearly at the same time as he glimpsed it, his eyes widening in surprise for a few seconds before somersaulting backwards through the air, locked in a death grip of thrashing claws and biting teeth.
The blue dragon had come from above; to aid the reinforcements which even now, trickled into view on the ground. And it had no intentions of losing. Celaynth fought back, just as viciously, but his mind clouded with pain and exhaustion; the battle had been going for so long. His body numbed with desperation, and he slashed at what he thought was an opening, his wings beating rapidly, from time to time, coming in contact with his enemy's. Try as he might, he could not push himself from his foe. And a mighty roar rushed from his lungs as a honed claw tore into his shoulder. He darted his head forward, his teeth closing on whatever they could find. He was rewarded with a scream of deadly rage from the blue dragon, which immediately twisted through the air in an attempt to dislodge him from his forepaw.
Far below, the tide of battle changed. Fresh riders, and daemons splashed against lines of weary humans, and faltering knights. Blood flowed across the ground, seeping into the infertile soil. Cries of anguish and dismay spread through the ranks of the regiment like wildfire, and soon they were being routed, several men dropping what weapons they could still lift, and turning tail, only to be cut down from behind.
Celaynth didn't see any of it. His pain torn mind only registered the fact that he was going to die. A scale fell from his glistening chest, spiraling many feet to the ground, and the hind paws of the Blue locked with him, scraping along his body, to find purchase.
The gold dragon made a last effort. He pulled the Blue dragon closer, and feinted first one way with his head, and to his luck, the Blue went for it. In that moment of distraction, Celaynth sprung forward, jaws clamping tightly over the Blue dragon's neck. A draconic cry filled the air, but was cut off abruptly, accompanied by the crunch of shattering vertebrae as Celaynth wrenched the neck of the Blue too far to one side.
His mind weakly registered the Blue dragon dropping limply from his grasp, to land with a resounding echoes of thunder, off the floor of the battlefield. His wings steadily stroked the sky slower now, and he turned his eyes towards the ground, uncaring disbelief filling them, and mixing with the sorrow he felt for the dying humans.
The pain somehow seemed lessened. He felt almost good as his body began to relax. His wings slowed even more, before finally coming to almost a complete halt. He tumbled earthwards, a shattering crunch coming to his ears as he fell onto his side, his wing awkwardly curled beneath him. He lay still, his one eye slowly blinking, and registering the faces which approached him. Not the kind and forgiving faces of the Hosts of Light. These faces leered at him as they approached, fresh blood dripping from their crude weapons, to the ground.
One stepped before them all, a malevolent laugh drifting to his ears, seeming from a distance. Celaynth slowly blinked the one eye he regarded the creature with, the fire fast dying within him as he tried to concentrate. It did no good, no matter what he tried. The battle was lost.
The figure stood by his side. He could only watch helplessly as the jagged sword cleared it's scabbard with the chilling ring of metal on metal. The leering face intently started towards the Gold, his pleasure in this visibly obvious.
The sword rose, and swung around in his grip, the movements fluid and precise, the wicked tip gleaming in the low light. The hands came down, and his whole body jarred as the blade slid effortlessly into his chest, biting through bone, and sinew, finally striking the core that was him.
His gaze grew fathomlessly blank as life left him, his lifeblood spilling from around the blade, and pooling on the ground around him. He hardly felt it as the weapon left him, and the daemons roared their victory, beating swords on shields decorated with human skulls and teeth. Celaynth's once great form shuddered once more, one last breath spilling silently from his massive lungs to mix with the putrid air of the battlefield. And for the last time, Celaynth, Gold Dragon of the North, lay still..
E-mail comments and/or corrections to Diana/Wenn & Co