> One more step. The warmage gathered his mighty will, scattered to the far
> reaches of his being by the Word of Command. One thought was his rallying
> point; The Heart and Blood are connected! The barrier that made them separate
> entities was very thin now. A new plan slowly formed, though it was difficult
> to concentrate. The Word would not be gainsayed, and it was a battle to keep
> his mind from wandering into oblivion.
>
> Time krept. His muscles tightened. He began to take the final step.
>
> "Now now now now now!" A thousand distant voices screamed at him. Elfiran.
> Cromm. K'tarin. Lorialla. Alduin. J'layah. Mea. Twilight. Others. All the
> voices and faces of those he had ever met came to him from the mists of
> memory. Although he didn't know it, he whispered the word himself.
>

"Now...now..." The Word was compelling, cloying, and the warmage
trembled with the
twin efforts of resisting and trying to concentrate.  The Heart and the
Blood are
connected.  A plan...there was a plan...what?  "Now...now..." Balefire
whispered
the words to himself, unnoticed, unknowing, as he chased down the
corridors of his
mind for the tattered edges of his fleeing thoughts.
"Now...now...together...connected...now...now...NO!"  He snarled
defiance, for
suddenly he had his answer, and his denial rang out triumphantly.  The
Heart and
the Blood flared brighter together, and the warmage curled his powerful
arm up so
the glowing ring throbbed at shoulder level.  The Heart pulsed in time
with the
Blood, and -- though none noticed -- with the scarred mercenary mage's
heartbeat.

"*I* am the Bearer of the Blood, skulker in shadows, and it is mine to
use.  To
use, maggot who crawls in corruption, as *I* see fit.  I, too, can draw
on the
power of the Heart, dweller among bones.   It flows into me through the
power of
the Blood...they call to each other, to be joined and to create an
abomination,
but it shall not be so.  Do you think yourself capable of facing me
*now*,
diseased offspring of vermin?  Now that I tap the same source of power? 
You, who
have tittered and cackled to yourself here amidst the dark-shrouded
remains of
heroes, have sought to compel me, to use me as a tool in your insane
dream of
reviving an eldritch monstrousity.   You have used Words of Power on
*me*, mad
one, sowing the seeds of your own destruction; now shall you reap what
you have
sown, fool: a deadly harvest.  Know that you are not the only one who
knows such
Words, fornicator with noisome slime.  I, too, have studied the ancient
mysteries,
yet here, in this place, I refrain from using them, lest the fabric of
reality be
torn asunder."

Fixing Veer'Shule with his steady, crimson gaze, Balefire planted his
staff firmly
on the floor with his left hand, his right continuing to hold the
glowing
bloodstone ring at shoulder height.  "Let us see how you fare in a final
contest,
a contest of your Words and my Art.  Of your paltry will against mine." 
The
red-mailed warmage threw back his shoulders and snarled, his voice
ringing and
echoing among the shadowed corners of the hall, "Die, now, fool, and
take your
nightmare plans with you to Oblivion!"

The very air seemed to thicken, and energy crackled around them, as the
two foes
strove to bend the ancient power to their wills.  A sourceless low
vibration
began, building slowly into a rumble, and dust began to sift down from
above,
sparkling and swirling in the fiery pulsing glow of the Heart and the
Blood.

In the shadows, something stirred...