Balefire, his mood somehow improved after hearing Twilight's retelling of the little fable, stood up in his stirrups, stretching as he waved his staff at the approaching Mea. The dark elf tried to stifle his smile at the pleasure it brought him to see the arcane nimbus flaring along the rune-carved staff, but even knowing that another few yards of travel might suppress the magic again could not entirely dampen his unusually bright spirits.
"Ho, Mea! Well found, M'Lady! "Tis glad I am you found us, and that you appear well. Something about this land does make the Art diminish or go awry, and so we thought we had lost you. A good omen that such is not the case. Arkay knows where your mount may have gone, but we have redistributed the pack animals' loads, and there is a mount for each of us. What's more, I shall do you a favour, in gladness at seeing you." The big Warmage alighted from his mount and proceeded to unbuckle his saddle, talking all the while to the ever-nearer Mea. He handled the heavy war saddle as if it were no heavier than a tablecloth, as he swung it over onto the back of one of the larger pack horses and started tightening the girth.
"I shall let you use my saddle, and I shall make do with a couple of saddle blankets. "Tis no great thing; I've done as much before, and we have no great distance to ride. Somewhat less than a day, I'd wager, and for that long 'twere no large sacrifice, if not exactly comfortable. If we were likely to do cavalry manoeuvres, I should miss the stirrups, but that seems unlikely. Be my guest, Mea, and mount up."
From my point of view, I was beginning to doubt my Magicka abilities, cause I could see Balefire's staff glowing, so I'm not a quitter and tried some cleaning cantrips , and nothing happened but by the time I arrived at Balefire's Horse, I did feel a tingle going down my spine, if this was because of Balefire's presence or ......... well lets try it out, while calling the old cantrip to mind once again, I rubbed a little bit of dried soap between my fingers and .. Bless the gods, it worked I was all clean again, no more sand and dust hiding in unmentionable places (ahem), still it made me feel a lot better to get to Ol' Red Eyes with a nice fragrance, mind you it's not exactly a bath, but sometimes a girl gotta make do.
"So" I said cheerfully " are we going to do something about J'layah's sister or are we gonna relate campfire stories" grinning from ear to ear, and I know what that grin can do to guys, especially when I give them that toss of my hair with that little glint in my eyes.
"Let's move out, Bale Honey," I crooned with a wicked smile as I noticed that really big saddle on the pack horse......................
It gladdened J'layah's heart no end to see Mea casually saunter into their makeshift camp, apparently unharmed and unfazed by her solitary trek through the wasteland. She'd even managed to arrive looking refreshed and immaculate; with not a single speck of dust or bead of sweat to be seen anywhere......now *that* was a classy entrance! Even the bookish Alduin looked up from his writings, his eyes widening slightly when she tossed her mane of dark, luxuriant hair.
At Mea's mention of her sister, J'layah leapt to her feet and addressed the group. "Would you like Twilight and I to scout the perimeter of yon citadel," she indicated the dark stronghold with the rose Balefire had given her, "in order to discover what we are dealing with? If fortune smiles upon us we may unearth a weakness in their defences, or perhaps even a secret entrance, though I do not doubt they are already well aware of our presence." With that, she reached into her backpack for a scroll case, unscrewed its cap and carefully dropped the rose into it for safe keeping. As she replaced the cap she regarded her companions, awaiting some response to her suggestion.......
Hearing the tale of the Archmage's dagger, and feeling slightly out of place among all of the old friends gathered around him, Torgath almost found himself wishing that something would happen, anything, to get him out of Balefire's shadow.
He watched the one they all called Mea approach, and sat impassively as they were all reacquainted with each other. Mea suggested that they leave, and Torgath was inclined to agree, when suddenly the sunlight faded away.
"Funny," said Twilight, "It's too early to be dark." They all looked upwards to find a large shape blotting out the sun.
"It's not dark," said Torgath ominously, "Asmoneas approaches."
Balefire drew his sword as Torgath dismounted. "No!" he exclaimed with a force and determination that caused even the giant man to pause. "Please, it must be done by me. I can't explain why, but if you so much as lift a finger against that dragon, I will kill you, or die trying."
Torgath drew both of his swords, ignoring the looks of stunned anger by his companions. The heat and cold of his two Katanas caused moisture to condense on the ground.
The dragon screamed, and began his descent. At seemingly the last moment, Torgath clanged his swords against his chest, and promptly disappeared. He reappeared on the dragon's back, and jabbed both Katanas between the scales, causing the dragon to scream in pain, and plummet to the ground. Asmoneas hit the ground face first, causing Torgath to fall directly in front of the grand dragon's face.
Then, Asmoneas made his fatal mistake. He opened his gaping maw to devour Torgath whole. Just as it seemed he would be swallowed, Torgath Rammed both swords into the roof of the dragon's mouth. The dragon thrashed and writhed, and while he was distracted, two bolts of God's fire came shooting out of his gauntlets down the beast's throat. He then took his swords and carefully crawled around until he was hanging from the beast's horn, and shove his swords into the ear canal of the monster, piercing its brain.
As the dragon's death throes slowed to a halt, Torgath severed its head with three cuts of his swords. He muttered some words of magic, and the head disappeared as Torgath had so few moments ago.
That done, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, and turned around, ready to face the music for speaking to Balefire so insolently.
Bemused at the vehement response, but seeing the dragon as the greater threat, the Warmage gestured assent. He readied a Wrathbolt, though, and kept his sword unsheathed. No mercenary ever grew old by acting rashly, and there was clearly something afoot besides Torgath having an irrational death wish. A geas of some kind, perhaps, or a quest on which something Torgath wanted or needed depended. Balefire had been threatened many times, and knew the difference between a threat and an attack. If Torgath wanted first crack at the dragon, even if he failed it would provide some insight in how to fight the beast. It almost seemed a pity though...the scholar in him regretted that the first confirmed sighting of a dragon appeared destined to be a violent one.
***Torgath drew both of his swords, ignoring the looks of stunned anger by his companions. The heat and cold of his two Katanas caused moisture to condense on the ground.
The dragon screamed, and began his descent. At seemingly the last moment, Torgath clanged his swords against his chest, and promptly disappeared. He reappeared on the dragon's back, and jabbed both Katanas between the scales, causing the dragon to scream in pain, and plummet to the ground. Asmoneas hit the ground face first, causing Torgath to fall directly in front of the grand dragon's face.***
Well away from the site of the dragon's abrupt landing, Twilight and Balefire exchanged wry smiles: Torgath certainly had some interesting tactics. Their professional interest warred with their desire to help their new companion, but they held back a moment more, fascinated by the unexpected scene. Twilight looked ready to gallop into the fray, but Balefire gestured her to wait.
***Then, Asmoneas made his fatal mistake. He opened his gaping maw to devour Torgath whole. Just as it seemed he would be swallowed, Torgath Rammed both swords into the roof of the dragon's mouth. The dragon thrashed and writhed, and while he was distracted, two bolts of God's fire came shooting out of his gauntlets down the beast's throat. He then took his swords and carefully crawled around until he was hanging from the beast's horn, and shove his swords into the ear canal of the monster, piercing its brain.
As the dragon's death throes slowed to a halt, Torgath severed its head with three cuts of his swords. He muttered some words of magic, and the head disappeared as Torgath had so few moments ago.
That done, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, and turned around, ready to face the music for speaking to Balefire so insolently.***
Returning his claymore to its scabbard on his back, Balefire addressed the newly arrived Mea Culpa, his expression impassive and his voice tone neutral. "Mea, allow me to introduce Torgath, newly arrived and, albeit a bit precipitate, clearly quite adroit. Torgath, I have the honour of introducing Mea Culpa, who is not only as deadly as she is lovely, but is also a truly gifted sparring partner."
With a small quirk of his lips that might almost have been the beginning of a smile, the big dark elf remarked, "Nice work with the dragon...for a moment there it didn't look good for you. Had it been me, I probably would have attempted to speak to the...ah...late dragon. Might have gotten eaten for my trouble, I suppose, but mayhap not. Without a head, the question becomes academic, of course. At the very least, you have provided us with considerable entertainment, and Alduin with some very interesting material for his journal. I'll wager the bards will be singing of Torgath Dragonslayer before the year is out."
"Do you think," the Warmage continued in his mild conversational tone, "that you could satisfy my curiosity about why it was necessary that you attack the dragon alone? Or perhaps," his mild tone changed only slightly to include just a hint of whetted steel, as his half-smile vanished, "you were intending to make another threat or two?"
Torgath bowed low, hoping that his lack of breath would be attributed to his being winded from his fight with the dragon. "An honour, milady," he said, and turned to Balefire.
Torgath sighed, and nervousness crept back into him. "I'm afraid, my good man, that a full explanation can not be given as of yet. All I can tell you is that the life of everyone I hold dear depended on that dragon's head being taken, and taken by me alone. Perhaps when the whole situation is over, I can explain more. I apologise for my harsh words, but if my family died, I would have tried my best to kill you." He looked up into the giant's eyes. "Lucky for me, I didn't have to."
The mage levitated through the hole and outside the wall. Thinking he'd find Skeetr in a jumble on ground the thirty feet below, he strained his eyes, but saw only sand. A gasping caught his attention and he found his pray perched on a small protrusion. A very large grin, then smile, came to his lips and he couldn't hold back his laughter. A loud booming laugh escaped him, offering further proof that he truly had gone insane. Killing this boy was the only thing on his mind and as he regained his composure, he focused in on the small man he was about to make toast. His brow lowered and his hands raised. He brought the fireball spell to mind and started his incantation. With the last word he thrust his hands forward. Nothing happened. Had he said something wrong? Then the mage could feel the levitate spell wearing off. He quickly tried to re-cast it, but to no avail. He had used all of his manna in his chase of this whelp.
Not thinking, but to get at the boy, the mage started towards him. Just as he came within reach, Skeetr jumped to another small cone protrusion ten feet below and a few feet away. Skeetr landed perfectly - this time having prepared his landing. The mage's eyes widened as they followed Skeetr down. Then his levitate spell wore off and he dropped like a stone. Not a shout or a curse was heard from the man as he fell. His mind had turned in on itself - some would say he snapped - after losing his quarry in one more (and final) attempt.
Skeetr saw the mage pass by and watched him fall. The super heated air distorted his view near the ground, but he did see the man land. No movement was noticeable from the mage. The thirty foot fall was enough to break the man's body.
Too stunned to think, Skeetr just sighed. Crouched on his perch, he chewed the remains of the foul leg and twiddled with the tip of his tail.
Thoughtfully, the scarred mercenary held Torgath's gaze for a long moment, weighing his words and the look of utter sincerity in his eyes. At last, a wry smile appeared on his dark visage, and a hint of admiration shone from his crimson eyes. "I can only applaud the courage of one who would risk all for his family, friend Torgath. As Twilight would be happy to tell you, I am wont to use harsh words betimes, myself. Indeed, you may have noticed it, yourself. You took a double risk, comrade, in attacking the dragon and in threatening me...we shall let the next few days provide you insight on which was the greater risk. Be that as it may," and here the Warmage sat up straighter on Stormwind, raising his voice to be sure that Alduin could hear him clearly, "let it be known to all that I hold Torgath doubly honourable, and call him friend. I have fought countless times for gold and glory; I can only admire a man who fights for love."
Twilight nudged J'layah and whispered, none too softly, "As if he'd never done the same, himself. Sometimes my swordbrother strives too hard to maintain his image. Torgath has made a friend, it seems. I pity his enemies, for now Balefire will consider them his foes, as well."
Pointedly ignoring Twilight's stage whispered comments, Balefire looked around at the surrounding members of the party, noting their lengthening shadows, and said, "The sun sinks near to the horizon, and dusk will be upon us soon. Night falls quickly in the desert, and while I am loath to leave this oasis where the Art may be used, I would fain advance closer to the citadel before full dark forces us to camp. Distances in the desert can be deceiving, but I fear that citadel may best be attempted by day, and I do not think it reachable, even for a reconnaissance, while light lasts this day. Shall we move out?"
Skeetr remained perched on the wall for quite a while. He rested for a bit, physically and mentally. After a few moments he intently surveyed his surroundings. Barren desert was all that greeted him. It was more unnerving than the place he'd just escaped.
The sun was beginning to set and he couldn't quite decide on what to do. The last place Skeetr wished to be was back inside, but his experience as a traveller told him that *any* cover after nightfall was better than no cover. Protection from weather and rogues was always a top priority. Who knew what that desert held? He did know there to be dangers inside, but he'd avoided them before - he could do it again.
This was it then. It would be difficult, but Skeetr needed to climb back up into the hole. He was already thinking of places he'd seen that could possibly be good for hiding as well as thinking of areas he should avoid. Tomorrow morning he'd re-evaluate his situation and decide what to do.
With a grunt, he jumped for the next highest cone. Using the strap from his pack like a lasso, he looped it over the end of the cone and pulled himself up and over. He started to slip a bit, but the strap was worn with age and very abrasive, it held nicely. Another couple moves like that and he was climbing in the hole created by the mage's fireball spell.
Skeetr climbed down and cautiously walked over to the room where he had been strapped to the wall. He remembered there being quite a few things of interest in there and wanted a closer look to see if there was anything useful. The worry that someone would come looking for the dead mage crept up on Skeetr, so he planned on making his search of the room brief. He peeked in the doorway, then quietly stepped in. He hadn't noticed a mirror before, then again, he was in a hurry last time he had been here. Skeetr stepped over to it. He peered into the glass, looking at himself. Then something started to change with his image. It was almost as if... "Wow", he gasped and then his mouth fell open in amazement.
The picture twisted and twirled. Slowly coming into focus and showing a view, like a window, looking out onto the desert. It displayed a distant view of a small group of people. Skeetr knew nothing of what this mirror was doing or who the people were. He could see the glint of armour and weapons and, by the size of some, he recognised them to be warriors. The mirror twirled again and then was filled with the image of a hand. It was a large hand with one ring.
This magic mirror was too confusing to Skeetr and he decided to leave it alone, continue his search of the room and make his way. He still needed some food and water before he would find a hiding place for the night. This was actually the first time since Skeetr had been trapped in this place that he knew when night really was. There were two tables loaded with items, most looking to be potion ingredients, but Skeetr knew some of them to be edible. There always seemed to be water of some kind around, he couldn't understand why, but didn't care - he took a long drink from a bottle.
The only weapon that was light enough for Skeetr to pick up was a small steel tanto. He tucked it into the strap of his fanny pack. He was becoming more and more willing to do anything to get home. If he had to fight, so be it. Finished his immediate task (Skeetr decided that he had spent enough time searching the room), he started thinking ahead of following the hallway to the right, to areas he hadn't been before. He hadn't seen very good hiding places in his travels the previous day and thought that he'd explore a bit more, besides, this area may become very dangerous when (if) the dead mage is discovered outside. Skeetr turned to exit the room. In the doorway was an elderly man in priests robes. The man looked so frail that he might fall over any moment.
Skeetr felt his luck drain away like it was liquid and being sucked from his body through a straw. He could see no escape with the man standing in the doorway, the only exit. Skeetr saw the glint of the swirling mirror in the corner of his eye as the man lifted a wand. In an instant, everything in the room became ice. The walls; tables; the mirror; even Skeetr - frozen like a Popsicle. The man stepped up to Skeetr and pushed his frozen figure aside. The statue of Skeetr slid all the way across the room before stopping with a "thud" against the wall. The man stepped up to the mirror. It's frame covered in ice, but the glass untouched by the frost. He spoke a few words to it, viewed the image shown there, then turned and walked away, his face as expressionless as the ice coating on everything in the room.