Chapter 1: Battle of Azrian

The mist rose high, almost higher than the clouds, and spread out far, reaching into the surrounding woods and touching the farmlands that formed the borders of the small town, snuffing out the early morning rays of sun and brining back the night once again. The front ranks headed by Vasilios of Eslin and the other captains of the Azrian and Yeidin army charged forth and disappeared into the mist, the second line still waiting for their signal to join the rest.

The mist hovered around them, and the waiting soldiers could hear the happenings in the not so far black distance as they moved according to plan: The Umbrovians of Yeidin held the blackness of the mist, concealing themselves and their Lumerian allies from both eyes and senses of the enemy, who did the same. However; the united Yeidin were ahead of their enemy by one step: their use of the Light magic. The Lumerian soldiers kept close to those Umbrovians who did not merge with the blackness, waiting for their warning. As the Umbrovians felt the approach of the enemy, they signaled their allies, and the opposing forces would be greeted with a blinding, burning flash of white magic the moment they stepped out of their shadows to attack.

It was a good plan of attack; since the enemy could not sense their counterparts, but not without flaws. Still waiting with the black silhouette of a crow perched on his shoulder, Odei scanned the faces of some of the surrounding men of the second line, they too waiting to enter the fray; many of them were new comers, arrivals of no less than a few hours, and their attempt to conceal their confusion was not convincing… that was the problem of this war, there was simply no time even to get fully organized, and many men here were not sure of what was to come.

Odei’s heart beat fast as he slightly shifted his weight from side to side in an apprehensive habit, gloved hand tight around the blue hilt of his sheathed claymore. He was not nervous of the dangers of the battle itself, he had faced many ugly things in his 33 years of life… including two aristocratic, old hags back at Pendragon manor… but at this moment it was the changes within him that were frightening. The mist touched him, and he could sense everything. From heart beats, to thoughts, the pain as light seared off the flesh of the dark, the fears, and the excitement of every dark entity. In the past Odei could simply sense the presence of a dark individual within the range of a limited distance, but now everything was flowing through him, and even worse: Every small ounce of darkness and evil within each beating heart on the field seemed to call out to him, waiting for a demand.

That was a gift belonging to Einkhiel, why was HE now possessing the same skill?

The crow fluffed his wings in protest, and odei nodded his head in concent, clenching his teeth, chest rising as he sucked in one last, deep breath, forcing away his doubts from his mind. Origin was far behind, he could sense her and thought it strange for they were to enter battle as a team, but he did not take it to heart for she was that way; a loner, distant and unclear, at times cold as ice, or warm and affectionate, ever shifting just like Freya.

At that, he decided not to wait, and tapped into his Surdani magic. Any tiny existing shadow near him began to expand in a liquid, rippling motion until a pond of black ink formed beneath him, black veins creeping up his legs, the long glove of his right arm deteriorating within seconds and flaked to the ground in pieces to reveal the marked arm. In a blink of an eye, Obsedian – the crow- followed in a dive as Odei unsheathed his sword and sunk into the black puddle beneath him before it too completely vanished, leaving behind empty ground surrounded by shocked onlookers.

Among the large crowd of the second line, Histlan stood silently, her chin inclined as though she was watching the darkness ahead where the fray had already begun, it was, perhaps a misleading impression though, one that was righted almost immediately for any who could see her available features and the fact that her eyes were not one of them. The curve of her nose pushed past the soft fur of her hood's lining and her lips pulled flat in a tight line, no amusement on her expression, the rest was covered by the hood that was pulled down securely to her cheekbones. It kept the higher portion of her face warm in the cold, though when the wind blew hard enough, it demanded to be felt all over. Such stark weather for formidable circumstances. She'd gotten used to the cold earlier that morning when she'd anxiously woken up early... that seemed long ago now. The cold was the last thing on her mind still. For her own part now, she was 'watching' what was going on as attentively as she could. The sudden darkness was not in her sight but in her senses, she could feel it, the way it floated and shifted like a storm that stood ahead of them, vast, intimidating and taunting in what it made unknown to all the men and women who stood there now awaiting what fate would throw at them.

Whispers played even in her covered ears with secrets, encouragement, tidings and doubts that were not hers to hear but were adressed around her. She was sure the knuckles of her one hand under her thin glove were white from the grip on her juttes, and she tried to calm her beating heart to stay ready to keep her breathing on a reasonable level while she waited patiently. All she could do now was wait, she'd arrive but a day or so ago and had offered her assitance when she'd heard of the nature of their efforts. Sure that this was not what the wise woman had meant when she'd told Histlan that sometimes there was nothing one could do but fight. For in fact, all living was fighting in one way or another, or rather that's how she'd come to see it over the years. ... Maybe, just maybe though, this was exactly what the old woman had meant. Inside Histlan knew either way that it was a heavy-hearted nugget of wisdom born from only necessity in its telling from her wise woman.

She was here though, and this is what she would do. Fate would bring what it wanted. She would deal with it how she could.

Her attention was pulled away from her own thoughts and whispers as she felt another rising tide of darkness. Her head turned and she aimed her attention over towards the man so ready for battle. She'd felt him before from a far, something strange and deep in the feelings, like he reminded her of a hole so dark and of such depth that one could not see the bottom. It was a disturbing feeling, and she shifted uneasily as Odei charged into battle. Feeling as though behind him all should follow, but it seemed more whispers arose from spooked onlookers.

With a heavy exhale she decided that waiting was no longer appropriate and she readied her self. Physically and mentally, preparing in her mind instead of idly remarking on things. She began to shut things out and her expression though severe before became an unpleasant impression of concentration. She commanded silently with her thoughts for the signal to sound. She could not turn back now, so it was high time to push forward.

(Origin)
Origin ripped the blindfold from her eyes the moment the mist consumed her, descending like a demon into the fray. Her heart was beating wildly throug her ears, that she could not control, not the glow of her eyes in the darkness, a painful reminder that a bit of her stil lwanted to be in the light. She dodges bodies flailing in the dark, jumping and runnign as swiftly and nimbly as a child in a field, unhindered by obstacles.

She'd seen Odei drift into his shadow. There would be no telling where the old man was until the mist cleared. But that was of little matter, She felt a pull deep within her to dig her claws into raw flesh.

From the corner of her eye she saw the snarling beak of a half gryphon come towards her. her nails were quick and deadly, she slashed it's neck, nearly decapitating it with force, and throwing its handler beneath it during death throes. She used the carcass to catapult herself deeper into the fray. Descening as a harbringer of death upon the preoccupied and unsuspecting. She didn't come forward and declare battle. She played dirty.

Her gums began to ache, the same strange feeling she had when she craves sweets. But she knew it was not sugar root she craved. She ran her tongue along her sharp and enlongated teeth. She wanted blood.

She dispatched another shadow with her nails, and fought back the sudden urge to feed. Where had this feeling come from? She had no taste for blood, that she knew of. She continud on her blind rampage, no longer concentrating on the fight, but on subduing the feeling in her teeth.

She landed on tw light feet, resting for a moment in a slight empty space near a tree. How far had she wandered? She slipped off her nail cones. The poison in them was far from gone, and they were useless until she could sharpen them again. It would be up to her new dark skills and that wicked little knife at her hip.

The hairs on her back stood up. She felt dark power not a few feet away...everyway. She could not place it, but she felt trapped.

(Olorafien)

The elder brother launched himself from the high boughs of the tree, barely making a sound, except for the crash of a corpse into the lower branches. He'd been watching the female since she'd stood atop the town wall. She was even prettier up close.

Usually he and his brother fought side by side, but Vasquiri had let him run off his merry way, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, while the younger brother took his time in aiding the slower, less effiecient soldiers. A pity. They could have perhaps shared this rare treat. A Maski, so far from home.

He sniffed the air. It had been a long while since he'd smelled the fragrance of a female. It was all he could do not to bite her right then and there, trapped in a mortal body as she was. But she had that wicked little knife with her, one that was probably coated in charms. He lurked back for a moment, circling, listening to her heart race in her chest, hear her breath hitch. She couldn't tell where he was.

"Hello there, Pet" he cooed, morphing into his bodily form and moving so close that his presence was as a tight blanket. She struck out blindly, her glowing eyes shifting around, like a caught dear. Olorafien felt a slight sting as his arm recieved the glancing blow. His fingers automatically wove a binding spell, a strange one that fed off of the power of its victim. The female locked up tight, obviusly she had more power than she knew how to use. Obviously ill trained in the use of her skills while on the Upperworld, he mused.

He pressed against her, so close that his breath moved the tiny hairs on her neck. His teeth elongated, sharp and glistening under the glow of her eyes. His onstrils flared as he caught another whiff.

"I know who you are," he said, grabbing her face and examining it closer, "Your death will be all the more beneficial to me. Won't it, 'Nalu?"

[[Origin is free for saving. But you gotta do it quick, or I'll plot twist it some other way.]]

Sachieal scanned the darkness in a way that seemed to comfort him. The darkness encircled him on every side, and yet his vision was perfect. His blades of ice struck true on some vile creature that looked as if its body was one giant scar. Sachieal deftly seperated its head from its body and continued to move on.

Sachieal moved deftly in the darkness, his speed carying him farther into the darkness than he imagined possible. He lost track of distance in the void, but that was just fine. He could only describe this darkness with one solitary word:

Home.

An Impish being charged Sachieal from the left. It was a tiny thing, with a head all too large for its minescule body, and the pickaxe it carried was definitely pointed in Sachieal's direction. Sachieal made quick work of sidestepping the creature and rending through it's meager torso with a single spear of his ice.

As the creatures fell around him, Sachieal's heart beat began to pulse irregularly. It grew stronger, the blood in his veins began to pump slowly. Battle was coming to affect him, and it felt as if his heart was to explode. He fought back the bloodlust, it was horrid enough that his fingers were beginning to elongate, the normal nails transforming into wicked claws. Raised mounds began to sprout from his back, sending shears of pain through his body.

Sachieal needed more carnage, more pain, more blood. He grabbed for the nearest soldier of the dark and tore at his throat with his now elongated fangs. The blood ran down inside him faster and stronger with each gasping drink.

Sachieal finished draining his victim and tossed him asid, he was much too focused on his wicked transformation. The blades of ice had long since recoiled, but new wings of blood and bone, white as his skin sprouted from his back. Their charred feathers hung loosely from the Angel-torn flesh. Sachieal cried out in pain, and the cry morphed into a raging howel for devine justice.

Sachieal tore through the darkness, quicker now than even before. His claws found flesh, but he did not stop to question if the creatures he struck survived. He caught glimpses of the creatures falling, clutching at the blood that sprayed forth from their throats or clawing at their intestines as they fell onto the already bloodstained grass.

Sachieal felt a surge of a new darkness. It was as if someone from Hell itself had called out to him using magic. He followed the feeling, past warriors dead or fighting from both sides. He ignored both pleas for help and cries of attack, he was focused entirely on finding the source of such power.

Not far from a great tree stood Origin and a man that he had not seen before, but Sachieal knew of him well enough at first glance. The darkness radiated off this man, Sachieal could smell it, and practically taste it as he rushed forward in impossible silence toward the back of this new man. He seemed to be much to close to Origin for comfort, and he decided in a split second on a course of attack.

Sachieal brought Hellfire through his hands, lacing his talons with the flickering form of the deep purple flames. He flew forward, eyes intent on the strangers back. Sachieal entered striking range and his flaming claws flew forward, their target: The strangers spinal chord.

He would take it out and make it a trophy.

Though quite small in comparsion to the numerous major battles Vasilios had fought in, this one was perhaps the most difficult. Vasilios was literally the blind General leading a blind army, well... excluding the Umbrovians of course who could clearly see through the shadows, yet each mortal and Lumerian had a dark comrade to guide them, warning them and preparing them at the approach of their enemy. So as did the Umbrovian captain at his side who possessed a telepathic talent - at least vasilios was spared the strain of having to listen to the dark warlock as he fought for the captain fed him info through his thoughts, and the status so far was positive; they were not yet gaining ground, but nor where they losing either, which was a lot better than what Vasilios feared might be the outcome.

Then the dark captain finally located their target; "They're here... " and sure enough, before he could finish his sentence, Vasilios, the Captain and a throng of following soldiers burst through the mist and came upon the unsuspecting captains of the enemy, much as was their aim to eliminate any leading figures as soon as possible with the hopes of throwing the enemy into panic. Sharp blades clashed and the fight between leaders began.


Obsidian squawked in protest as he soared some short distance from his master, now standing quite still in the void of black magic, urging him to make a move, a decision and to plunge through, back into the present where they might fight, but Odei seemed obviously lost in his own world and disinterested in the battle at hand.The Blackness that Odei practiced was different from that of the standard dark magic, it was the ancient art of the Surda, now rare and unfamilliar to most. The dark warlocks created a black mist, a combination of both delusion and shadow magic where they passed through it as one would through a portal, but Odei's techniques were of pure black magic. He literally was standing at the dark edge of the Auralis, looking into the blackness from the battle below. It was like being in a pitch-black tunnel where in the distance small doors flickered with light... he but had to choose one to suddenly re-appear amidst the battle and fight the unsuspecting enemy there...

But that was not what was going on through his mind. Odei felt the clash of foreign voices, words and memories in his mind, a jumbled blur that made no sense to him and yet at the same time felt familiar, he was momentarily detached from himself as he tried hard to make sense of it all until he understood what it was he wanted, forgetting all about the battle and instinctively sensing the direction of his new-found 'target' somewhere near the borders of the Field and finally he moved forward, leaving behind a confused and worried Obi.



Soraya paced the observational deck installed the night before for the convenience of the higher leaders to observe the battle raging on below. They were not pleased; they outnumbered their enemy and yet they had expected to gain ground by now.

Soraya sneered at the backs of the observant, annoyed men, as she had warned them earlier that this fight would not be so simple- she felt it. She was just about to break thier trance with an angry insult when suddenly she felt it again - that dark sensation she rarely comes across, the practice of the ancient magic her father taught her, and that of which Lorven went on about forever... it was coming from the battle Field.

"What was that you..." a Lieutenant turned to speak to her, but Soraya was nowhere to be found, having vanished from the deck.

Olorafien sensed the approach from a ways off, the sick, stinking feeling he felt whenever another strong magician came near. He waited until his attacker came close, then dematerialized into a mist.

Sachiels blade embedded itself in Origin's side, nearly crushing her hip as it went through. As he dematerialized, Olorafien released his numbing paralysis on the girl. She screamed, a shriek of the underworld, clutching at her side in immense pain. A major nerve was severed, she shrunk to the ground unable to hold herself up, and staring at Sachieal in horror.

She remembered nothing of her paralysis, or of the vanished Olorafien. All she could remember now was the piercing ice blade that had rendered her useless.

She mustered enough strength to block out the pain and scoot back out the tree, holding her dagger defensively against him.

Heaven help him, Sachieal struck the wrong target. Teleportation of some sort struck down his plan as he struck down Origin. His blades tore into her hip down to a nerve and rattled off the bone. He retracted as quickly as he struck, moving to not strike the girl, but her attacker.

Origin sat with her dagger held in his direction, her eyes wide with terror. Sachieal fought back the urge to roar in fury and burn the entire god forsaken battlefield to the ground. He could not do such things, they would disrupt his plans for redemption. Sachieal sucked in a deep breath and called forth all his magics. His claws and fangs receeded, they'd only hinder his negotiations.

Sachieal held his hands up in objection. "Origin, I beg of you, hear out my plea. I did not mean to strike you, but the mage that had you ensnared. I know not his name, but he held you in place with magics that I know not of. I struck not to harm you, but to save you from him. He was moving to kill you, dear Origin. I beg of you, allow me to help you to medical assistance. It is what I need to do to make this right."

Sachieal held out his hand and knealt down toward Origin.

"Please, Origin, the words I speak are truth."

Origin's dager lowered minutely, her hand shaking. She wanted to believe him. He'd seemed the most trustworthy of them all the night before. She looked at him, seeing true remorse in his eyes. She lowered her dagger, but felt a cold icy chill around her wrist.

Olorafien rematerialized, crouched behind Origin with a strong grip on her wrist. In her weakened state she could barely wriggle against his grip. His sharp nails dug into her skin.

"Let us even the playing field," The dark magician hissed, "To the meadow clear?" he said wit ha smile, his long tongue snaking out to lick Origin's ear. She shuddered in revulsion.

"I am a dark artist, but I am a fae of my word. If you defeat me..." He began to fade into the mist, "You may have her back."

They were gone before his words could travel to Sachieal's ears.

[[Origin plays damsel in distress quite well does she not?]]

[[Quite well, indeed. You truly are great with suspense.]]

Origin was gone in a flash; the man had moved in from behind. That roar of fury erupted from his lungs and shook the very ground around him. His fangs burst forward, accompanied by claws laced with jumping purple flames. His wings flew from his back with speed unknown to even his fleeted-feet.

Sachieal's eyes grew stronger and his vision snapped toward the meadow. After another instant, Sachieal could feel the dark magician's power, as well as smell the darkness radiating from him. Sachieal sprung forward, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced toward Origin's location.

Sachieal dug divots into the soft earth as he stopped at the edge of the meadow. He scanned furiously for the evil one.

Sachieal sent forth blades of ice and laced them with his most viral hellfire. "Come fight me, if you are truly of your word!"

Olorafein did not hesitate, his fangs lengthening in his mouth as well, and wings erupting from his back in a spray of unnaturally dark metallic blood. The skin on his nails shrunk back, allowing the sharp spikes to come out like blades. His eyes filled with blood, turning red and glowing with the strange sheen of his blood. He launched himself into the air at Sachieal, schreeching like the demon he was.

Origin's body lay in a heap at the edge of the meadow, paralyzed, unconcious and bleeding.

Sachieal roared in protest to the opposing demon's screech. The demon was fast, but he was no First Fallen. Sachieal knew that if he could get those wings, he could end this once and for all. Time was of the essence, Origin needed out of there; fast.

Sachieal jumped to the side and threw a crescent kick towards the screecher. It was blocked and temperd boot clashed with hellfire-temperd bone, but that was to be expected. It would take a bit of home to send this lesser-demon back to the arms of Lucifer.

Sachieal skipped back and drew forth all the air he could into his lungs. The screecher wasted no time in changing his course to attack him. The demon sped back and forth, zig-zagging as if to keep Sachieal off his aim.

Unfortunately for this opposer, aim was not something Sachieal needed. Flames from the very pits of hell themselves seared in his lungs, and flew forth toward the rushing demon. Sachieal had calculated the angles perfectly, none of the black-purple flames were in danger of striking Origin.

The flames roared, as did Sachieal. He exhaled the fire with all his might, hoping to burn alive his foe. It would not be so, when Sachieal finished throwing flames, his foe stood in the midst of the fire. The demon cast a shield about himself to defend from the assualt.

A few stray embers stuck to the ground and his foe's wings. The foe screeched and flew forth, aiming to sever Sachieal from his life. Sachieal reared his fist back in protest, and sent it forward to deliver the message. Sachieal's bones reeled as they contacted with the demon's outstretched claws, yet he held his fist forward, lacing his clawed fingers within his foe's own.

Sachieal pulled his foe forward, continuing his foe's striking momentum. Sachieal leaned in, and in the slightest of an instant, muttered only the slightest of phrases.

"No more dodging."

Sachieal's knee flew forward into the exposed chest of his foe, sending fire-laced breath from his mouth in one violent exhale. Sachieal's onslaught wasn't to stop, not by any means. Angelic fighting techniques were for taking down demons, and it was God's only true blessing that he was taught them before he was cast out of Heaven.

Sachieal grabbed his foe's wing. It was brilliant black and much more whole than his own. The metallic blood that covered it burned Sachieal to the touch, but that wasn't a hinderance by any means.

Sachieal conjured forth all his energy and expelled it in an incantation.
"Lord on High, I call upon you to seal this demon. Let his soul burn mortal back in the hell from once it came!"
Fire, not purple-black, but brilliant gold rushed forth from Sachieal's words and down his arms. The fire jumped from his claws to the reeling demon's wing, smothering it in Holy light.

If Sachieal could keep the demon from escaping back into darkness, the flames would burn him through, charring his soul and ridding him from the world evermore. Sachieal chuckled as the demon hissed in response. Victory was assured, the demon could not but move.

Sachieal wasn't prepared for the demon's retaliation. The screecher drove blade-sharp fangs into Sachieal's shoulder. Their points buried themselves through tendon and bone, and Sachieal screeched his own pain-filled protest. He threw his hands forward and pushed the vile creature off, his arm burned with pain not unlike one of Lucifer's lashings.

The demon reeled backward, grinning at his triumphant assault. Sachieal stepped forward, drawing a blade of ice from his palm to end the demon's life once and for all.

(I havent drawn Olorafien in his full form, but he's not Lucifer's demon. He's a demon elf, like a drow, but with bat wings (no feathers srry I didnt tell u ). I'll have to make an encyclopedia entry for their kind :/. I wont hold you accountable. though )

Olorafien licked his lips, staggering back and nursing his torn and charred shoulder. Metallic blood dripped from his forehead into his eye. He did not have the power nor the speed to launch an attack now, and it would take a while for these wings of his to heal. He mustered enough energy to blend with the mist, and retreat to the infirmary safely nestled behind Lorven's military lines. He cursed himself as a dark shaman began to clean his wounds. He'd underestimated his opponent.

No matter though. He'd have the 'Nalu soon enough. Vasquiri could always be counted on.

(Origin)
The girl woke in immense pain as olorafiens paralysis released her. She screamed in sudden suprise, dragging herself up and looking around, disoriented.

"God, damn this all." Sachieal rushed toward Origin, his arm burned as if a blade had torn it from his body, but that was not of his concern at the moment. Sachieal's foe had dissapeared into the darkness, and it was by his own folly that he let the damned creature go.

Sachieal knealt next to Origin, inspecting her wounds without laying a single hand upon her. "Miss Origin, I sent the demon away. I am going to take you to get medical attention." He extended a hand to lift her, but hesitated. "Miss Origin, I won't lift you unless you understand that it is not my intention to harm you."

He let his hand rest on your shoulder. "Come, Miss Origin, let's get you someplace more calm."

[gone to bed]
Origin turned her face away, her face covered in shame and remorse, "Alright," she muttered.

She felt herself being lifted, not without pain though. Her hip hurt something fierce, and she refrained from crying out. It had been a long while since she'd felt a pain akin to this. She cleared her mind and concentrated on her toes. A trick she'd learned to block out the pain when it was so mind numbing. She concentrated on the little specks of dirt between her toes, the feeling of air beneath her, the fur in her boots, until the searing pain in her hip was no more than a dull throb.

Sachieal moved with grace much unlike someone locked in battle. He lifted Origin with ease that was to be expected, she was a tiny thing. It would be a long while till they'd be back behind the front lines. Sachieal was not willing to risk running through the battlefield of darkness.

Sachieal skirted the shadows carefully. If any vile warrior was to jump from the veil, he would have to either flee or lay Origin back down and enter combat. As much as one like Origin would chide him for it, Sachieal was not about to let Origin out of his arms. It was not an embrace in a romantic sense, but Sachieal was glad that he was working to repair the damages he had brought.

They were both silent as Sachieal moved toward camp. His heart rushed every time he felt darkness approach, but it soon dissapeared as he rushed forward.

After what seemed like eternity, they arrived at the medical camp. The sun betrayed the true time, it still was not much past when the battle began. Sachieal nodded toward a busy Calcifer as he entered the facility. A medic directed him to a bed, which he gently laid Origin on. She was a strong one indeed, holding back the signs of pain with such mastery.

Sachieal turned towards the exit, stoping only to speak to Origin briefly. "I understand if my actions have allowed you to distrust me. Think no less of yourself, the fault was entirely mine." He smiled at the girl. "I'll bring back the demon's wings for you, sooner or later."

Sachieal sprinted off, back toward the shadow of the battlefield.

"Alantar!" Vasilios called out to his ally, though he knew well it was too late; the Umbrovian captain was dead even before his lifeless body hit the wet earth. Another second and if Vasilios did not tare his eyes from the torn body of the fallen comrade, he too would have met the same gruesome end as at the last minute he dodged the spelled sword of the enemy’s own dark captain. Vasilios skidded back, almost losing balance on the slippery earth, swinging around to bring his spelled sword up against the enemy’s. The captains’ blade rippled with purple-black flames, igniting an acrid stench that burnt Vasilios’s lungs and nostrils.

Vasilios’s sword was spelled too, of course. He wouldn’t irrationally fling himself into battle raging on between Umbrovians, being the simple mortal he was. He had his sword forged with the black Roshan Iron, well known as a protective alloy against black spells and magic… but it was not strong enough against this captain’s sword. With an eerie, demonic growl, the captain brought down his sword to meet vasilios’s a second time, the dark, flaming metal finally breaking through the protective spells and the sword fell apart as if it were made of wood splintering into a million shards.

Vasilios fell on his back, hand crashing against something hard and cold like iron… instinctively his fingers curled around whatever it was as a last resort for now he was left with no options as the dark captain stood above him, raising the sword again to bring it down one last time. Clenching his teeth, enraged eyes fixed on the masked face, Vasilios readied to fling the iron object at his enemy’s head… but just as the sword came crashing down, a black spear-like shape soundlessly streaked through the air, cutting clean right through the captains helmet before splattering into black liquid, tainting the head and shoulders. A minute later and Vasilios felt the heavy thud of the captain’s writhing body as it fell, head and shoulders now melted away into a rotting, oozing horror. Vasilios put an arm against the lower half of his face in an effort to block out the stench and looked up at the sound of a strangled cry; the second captain of the enemy now with the same spear embedded into his chest.

Turning to follow the source of the two dark, liquid ‘spears’, Vasilios felt a mix of emotions; surprise, relief, anger… and a hint of dread as he found Odei in a state that he always knew that the man was, but had never seen before: A Surdan warlock.

And that damn demonic horse of his… well… now a ‘crow’...
Vasilios jumped to his feet, relieved to be rescued from the enemy, yet not sure now if he needed to defend himself against THIS rival of old. He made to speak, but noticed that Odei’s thoughts where somewhere else, the man’s eyes glazed over with the dark magic, leaving only two silver specs against black, fixated on something in the distance.

Vasilios followed the gaze of the silent Odei, until he barely made out in the not so-far distance as the mist gave way for some few seconds, the enemy’s observational deck where the rest of their leaders orchestrated the battle below. Vasilios turned questioningly back to the warlock, “Odei! What are you…” but only to catch a glimpse of the man now once again disappearing into his dark world in a ripple of blackness.

Origin disliked being exposed in any way shape or form, no matter how dire the injury, and she made that fact well known, not allowing a single male medic anywhere near her bed. They came trying to remove the cloth from around her wound, and she would have none of it. It would take a work of the gods, or a woman, to get her to calm down.

She cast an empty vial at the next one who mustered up enough courage to approach her, this time with a sedative. The pain she was in only spurred her on.

(Vasquiri)
Vasquiri killed coldly, without joy or remorse, simply striking down those in his path, numb to all that was around him. He could not think. His brother was injured! The great Olorafien was disabled and bleeding, nursing his wounds back in the infirmary. He knew everything that had happened during the short time, he'd seen the man who tore his brother's wings and stolen the female. And he had an image of Olorafien's almost capture burned into his mind. The face was unmistakeable. He could almost smell her ,the most sought after female in all of Elisett, 'Nalu, the prince's betrothed.

So this is where she'd gone off to. He'd capture her for his brother. For them both.

Vasquiri's blade buried itself in the throat of another soldier, before an idea suddenly rushed into his head.

Olorafien! I shall restore us to T'rissolin's favor! To all of Elisett's favor. You shall have your throne again Brother. he thought through their link.

He felt a sense off doubt creep over him as he tore into another enemy, "Trust me, G'eldiirn," he whispered, more to himself than his nicknamed brother. Having resolved himself, he whirled around and sunk his blade into the skull of the foot soldier that had been following him, retrieving it and making his way back towards his former allegiance's lines, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

calcifer saw many medic talking.She walked over to them and was listening for about a minute or so when she her the name orgin she looked into the room they where by and saw her laying there."i will help" her she said quitly.She slowly walked into the room and looked at orgin.Calcifer knelt down beside her "may i help you orgin?" she said quitly

Histlan's head rose from her concentration in the ranks, her whole body was starting to expect battle to become survival. All the darkness was unnerving and reminded her of frightening times but somewhere in there was where her will to fight lied greatly. This time she had a reason at least. Rather... a less selfish one, and that seemed to make a great difference. Within all the energy that remained around were the intentions, good and bad in their respective places. Strong and weak like all the cries that sounded out.

However, something suddenly felt different, and as she raised her head, it was decipherably wrong. There were dark intentions within the base. They were hard to pinpoint and hold on to, like they shifted, with genuine respoinsibility and bitter resentment. She did not try to understand them for long, rather she filtered out the other noises as best she could. Darkness surrounded her mind, and for a moment it was as though she was thoughtless, but when she came back to herself, she no longer stood on the same grounds. She stepped out from darkness. Cold cruel darkness into the limited light and she raised her chin once more, to look upon this being without actually seeing him.

Gloved hands pushed together and from both being in one hand, she separated her juttes quickly as each hand came to posses one. Stepping forward with little expression on her only partially visible face, Histlan stood in Vasquiri's path a few yards ahead. "This place is not for you." She stated without emphasis but strictly fact, and though her inclination did not change she finished with, "Please, leave." For what reason these curtasies were presented was not in position of her stance or tone of her voice but they were presented nonetheless. But, there she stood with back straight and assured defiance, feet apart and grip tight.

Sachieal fled further into the darkness. The battle had not yet worn him thin, and the pain from the searing tears in his shoulder kept him alert. His blades continued to find many foes as he plunged throughout the battlefield.

As the time wore on, his thoughts trailed to the others. It had been a long while since he had caught sight of Odei or Vasiloos, nor any of the others. Worry began to set in. What if they had not survived?

He had not the time to think more on the subject, the battle was raging on, he'd know soon enough.

((Ok guys, i'm going to try and add a bit of twist to this battle... lets see how your characters will react to what's coming.))

“Hold the shield!” The Lieutenant of the Marithias* army roared, feeling the slow yet prominent shift of the wooden beams beneath his feet, the floor of the deck groaning under the pressure of the energy radiating at the two conflicting spells; the primary leaders doing all they could to hold up their protective dark shield against the downpour of black streaks surging forth from what appeared to be a rippling black ‘hole’ in the sky hovering some short distance above them. One of the leaders felt his arm begin to break under the pressure until finally the flesh of his hand and upper arm burst open. With a strangled cry the mage fell to the floor, the others now also losing balance and control, the force of the offending blows catapulting them across the deck.

“Get up! GET UP! HOLD IT!” The Lieutenant cursed, eyes now wide with fear yet still determined. He did not understand it, he knew he was up against dark magic… but what form? Urging the others to rise and hold their stand, he flipped around, fingers already glistening with beginnings of the shielding spell… then paused as Odei suddenly was there, soaring a foot above the deck before them.

The leaders, now all on their feet again, stood momentarily regarding the man; pitch-black patterns snaked about his skin, one bare arm completely emerged in blackness, around it the fabric of his clothing and armor slowly flaked to the ground like dust. His face was also marked with the black ripples, making him appear more of a creature of the dark than human, and the silver specks amidst the blackness of his eyes regarded the men in turn with a calm expression.

The leaders jumped back with alertness, igniting their shields as quite suddenly Odei lifted an arm towards them, palm up, fingers spread and glowing with a harsh bluish sheen, but his attention was taken from them as Soraya too reappeared.

“Son of a dog! Finally, a Surdan!” she laughed. And as she readied an attacking spell, Odei could see that she too was of his kind. It had been months since he had come across another warlock practicing his same, dying magic. Surdani black magic erupted against one another, the force shattering more than half of the deck as the two battled. A powerful blow and Soraya reeled back, now slightly doubtful about her reckless approach – the man was skilled. The blackness in Odei’s eyes flickered and vanished as they turned completely colorless – and then something changed. The dark magic began to drip from him, falling to the ground and spreading to join further tendrils of black ink spilling out from all the dark corners and shadows about him, until it would seem a puddle of blackness grew beneath him, and grew and grew…

Odei finally realized what was happening, snapping out of his trance. Fanged grin vanishing into a startled expression. It was Abaddon… but he did not call the Umbri… why was it here? HOW? With a pained snarl, Odei clasped his darkened arm as pain shot up through it and consumed him as he tried his best to call back and block the spell of the Surdani demon, but before he knew it the puddle now turned to sea, within its bottomless void the leaders, and all of the remaining soldiers of Marithias’s still waiting for their signal to join the battle, were dragged into it and consumed by the darkness of the Auralis. If the spell was not stopped, so too will the Allied army vanish.

Black wings spread out from Soraya’s back to carry her to a safer distance as she watched the world slowly sink into Odei’s black spell. “What are you doing? Stop!” She gasped knowing well what the spell was.


*A neighboring country, these people are allied to Lorven, and therefore are the Yeidin’s current enemies.

Vasquiri stood up straight, closing his mind, cutting off the open path to his brother, who mildly protested before he coccooned himself. No one could infiltrate him now. His will was set against it. He lowered his scimitars into his scabbard and held up his bloodied hands, smiling wide, his sharp fangs glistening.

"I do believe I am more suited to this battle than you Pretty One, " he answered, casting up a shield to keep others out of their confrontation, "Did you not know that those of the dark... how you say? Umbrovians are on your side as well? You may not have met me before I am Vasquiri a male from the lands of- GET UP!"

In a split second wings shot out from his back and her grabbed Histlan by her arms, lifting her into the air, "I do not know you, can you fly? There are others to be saved!" he pointed to the creeping black that was crawling over the ground, swallowing the enemy side and any Allies that were over there.

He held Histlan by the back of her coat, as he dipped to grab another. Flying with great speed he deposited her and the faceless soldier behind the town wall, far from the slowly creeping darkness, goign to retrieve another.

He had read of this. The Abaddon was an archaic form of magic. Not even the Elisetts were able to practice it anymore. It belonged only to the Surdan race, the oldest form of magical beings on the planet, and the most powerful.

Brother, he called, There is Abaddon, retreat!

He dipped down and retrieved a few more soldiers, depositing them behind the town walls.

((*cuddles Erin* – someone did her homework. 15 coins to you! Wohoo!))

Odei shook violently as he fought back the releasing spell of Abaddon that seemed to flow from him with free will, all the while his turbulent mind was fighting a battle of it’s own as his consciousness – what little was left of it – battled a whisper urging him to release the boundaries he set upon himself, to kill all of the Marithian army, particularly Soraya – his being involuntarily loathing her, though he had never met her in his life.

These feelings were not his, and he knew where they came from… a surge of anger bubbled within his chest and grew. Petrified screams sounded from below from where Odei seemed to be suspended over the black sea and he caught a glimpse as black, long tendrils shot out from the void, seeking out any ounce of anger, hatred and evil within the living beings avoiding it’s expanding boarders and pulling it in to feed off of it all, making it stronger.

Even the black mist slowly began to sink in, a small distance away the battling Marithians and Yeidin still unaware of the advancing blackness still fought on. A few more minutes, and they too would fall victim to it.

“Umbriatsar, heira!” Odei called the Umbri to him, the commands he bade them clear; they would rise from Abbadon’s depths, catch any of those who would fall within, and return them to a safe distance. Odei still fought for control, and did not care if he would piss-off the High demon – Odei did not like being a puppet, and would do what he could to foil the puppeteer’s plans even at the cost of his life.

It was the Sagan pride thing.

Obsidian returned to soar some few feet from Odei, now an awkward form of a griffon-like creature with bloodied snout, oblivious to the stress of his master Obi screeched in protest – Why where they not allowed to feed on the beings as did Abaddon? But Odei was his master, and he would follow the orders. Folding his great black wings, Obi dove into the blackness and after the rising tendrils, tearing at them with claw, tooth and Fuocis.


Soraya watched in horror as half of her allies were being eaten alive by the Surdan warlock’s demon, too immersed in the chaos of the moment to notice Odei’s last attempt to ‘rescue’ even her own men. With a snarl, she turned to him again, arms wide apart, then swinging them forth till palms met she launched the spell, the flaming, purple-blue Fuocis streaking towards the unsuspecting Odei with deadly accuracy.


Vasilios’s attention was slowly drawn from the fight at hand… a slight triumphant smile across his lips – they were gaining ground, so where the words of dark warlocks watching over their Lumerian allies… but then the energy shifted, and the Umbrovians seemed suddenly unsure, something was happening, and in the distance the soldiers could see a thinning in the mist… non of them knowing of the approaching black void.

Sachieal rushed back toward the medical facilities, he had to warn the others and get them all to safety. His wings bust forth as he ran and they carried him faster still toward his location.

The abaddon was coming, he could feel it. Damned mortals and their creating magics too powerful for their control. It was bad enough when we had to watch them fight each other, unable to interfere, as was the rule of both Heaven and Hell at the time.

Sachieal burst into the medical building, almost knocking the door from its hinges. We have to get out of here. Now.

She felt the shield go up around them momentarily, if that was how it was to be then so be it, she'd been prepared to fight alone from the start, but she stood a touch confused as he sheathed his weapons, and though she could not see his hands she could smell the blood on him. And yet, he spoke words of a collected man now to her. Though her nose scrunched up slightly when he labeled her without knowledge of her name. 'Pretty one' seemed an inappropriate petname, but she said nothing of it, instead spoke on in answer to the real words. "I am aware, and I am here, it is all that matters. It is -" His sudden shout and change in urgency of what he was saying made her perk up as well, but then she knew why because she could feel it. The horrendous darkness that was growing and consuming from deep in the heart of the battlefield.

It was so strong, so corrupted and hungry the very notion of its existance and the feel of its power hurt her deep down inside, as though there was some sort of burning deep down that was growing with dread. She moved quickly though, her feet pulling her to get from Vasquiri's reach instictively. He'd been so quick and she suddenly distracted that he'd gotten a hold of her and next thing she knew the wind was in her face and the ground no longer under her feet. For a second it was terribly confusing but she could hear the movement of his wings and she hurried to answer him, hands abandonning her weapons to grab a hold of him not wanting to be thrown. "I cannot!" She said quickly.

Others that need to be saved? She tried to settle the feeling in her gut and concentrate on the rest of the armies but it was difficult. One hand let go of Vasquiri and she pushed back her long hood, feeling the cold suddenly on so much more of her face. Then her fingers pulled the sash that covered her eyes down from its place and let it hang around her neck. Her pale eyes spidered with darkness blinked sensitiviely for a moment but they followed the length of his arm to look to the grand chaos. "Oh no." She said softly and looked with wide eyes.

As she shifted to be held only by the back of her coat, a hand instinctively held with a desperately firm grip to Vasquiri's wrist, fearful of being dropped. When he'd dropped the soldier and her off, a far distance from the pit of choas, felt him head off once more. Not sure of what drove her to do so, but she cupped her hand around the sides of her mouth and shouted to him, "Keep your wits! Be careful!"

Her gaze shifted to the other soldier, feeling that she too must dive into action. "When more come, you must keep them from fighting." With that she pulled her hood back over face, sunk in the feeling of where she was standing then sunk back into a shadow, emerging once more upon the battlefield with speed. She moved forward to two men who were still fighting and grabbing them both by their arms pulled them back, all three returning to behind the town's wall as she pushed both bewildered men away from one another.