Tome IC Chapter VI-3

Archives: http://www.freewebs.com/mireldeynurp...eforbidden.htm
Previous thread: http://boards.swirve.com/board.cgi?b...34&startmsg=61
Krystals recieved:
Golyn
Terrae
Amulet of Tears(??)
Flammis
Rose Shards(??)

Krystals of the thread:
Magnus
Ever-piercing Arrows(??)

Undiscovered Krystals:
Colomunis
Fortis
Deitis
Equinox

Random Quote of the Thread:
"Someone once told me that no one can put a price on life...however, when push comes to shove, that price suddenly becomes negotiable."
~Straight Jacket

= Vox Immortale =

Vox cursed as he lost track of the Vampire. His attention was pulled away as something sharp tore through his shoulder. In a fit of rage, he searched murderously across the ramparts of the upper levels and saw the shadow of a moving crossbow man. He made quick of the scoundrel by hurling a spear in the crossbowman's direction, piercing the poor man in the chest.

As he did so, the mercenaries were beginning to reform and renew their attack upon the minotaur half crescent. A few almost knocked him off his horse as the shaft stung his body, but something made them cover their eyes; almost as if a bright light were burning the retinas. Puzzedly, Vox looked around, then at his sword, and then his arms before realizing that he was glowing a godly white. The mercenaries, though reinvigored, began to scatter like confused geese as more began light to shined on him. The minotaurs seemed unaffected and continued to fight, but the enemy fighters seemed to cower before his brilliance.

It took a second before the heir of Immortale realized who was aiding him and it was none other than Publoaf. Punching his sword into the air, Vox bowed his head in thanks to the pixie, grateful for Publoaf's assitance, then advantageously took the situation into his own hands by spurring his war horse into the fray. A few reckless mercenaries that had gotten too close to the minotaurs' defensive line began to fall as he hacked them into pieces. Others became blinded by Publoaf's piercing white light and Vox's ruthless demeanor. This did not frighten a good number of others in the back and some of them attempted to get around to the minotaur's flanks.

A group of roughly a dozen mercenaries, led by a charismatic fighter circled around while Vox was distracted and ferociously spear charged a small gap in the minotaur's right flank. These mercenaries, from Vox's observation were well trained and battle hardened and unless something drastic happened, they would surely be rotting corpses before the end of the day. Vox was about to turn around when 5 mercenaries stormed through his light and gutted his horse. He beheaded one, but in the process of slashing another, three of them knocked him off ...

BAELRAK

Grinning, flush with his newfound power, Baelrak eagerly leaps forward to meet the minotaur's charge, ignoring the pixie nearby - a minor annoyance at most. He smells the stink of unfamiliar magic about the beast, but he doesn't care. Energized, half-drunk on Celestaari blood, he's more than a match for anything a lone minotaur can throw at him. Arms spread out, claws bloodied, he throws himself at the half-bull creature with a maniac grin on his face... and is swatted aside like an insect.

The vampire screams as the mighty blow sends him crashing through assorted stacks of creates, barrels full and empty, and one of the supporting pillars of the warehouse; the roof creaks threateningly, then partly caves in and rains loosened tiles down on the combatants below. His body a knot of fiery pain, Baelrak scrambles free of the assorted derbis. The minotaur has some abnormal sort of power, he realizes too late, enough to match what a drink of Celestar blood can give him.

He has to flee. The minotaur is far, far too powerful for him. It hurts, to be beaten so utterly even in the moment of his triumph, but as long as he has the Celestar to use as a hostage and for her blood, there's always hope that he live to fight and win another day... and he got what he came her for, didn't he?

He needs a distraction, something to let him get away with his prize, before the minotaur can get him or Nyx can finish killing Dante and find him. Still full of heightened power from Tempest's blood, Baelrak raises both hands and sends unholy energy pulsing into the air. Both floors of the warehouse are littered with corpses of the mercenaries by now, ample fodder for the spell that follows: Tendrils of blackness sprout around the fallen corpses, seeping into the slowly-cooling flesh. Seconds later, shadowy, black forms erupt from the corpses and solidify into black-skinned horrors with fang and claw - souls of the vengeful dead, turned into monsters. Long spines protrude from the back and the limbs of their humanoid forms, and their eyes glow red in the semi-darkness of the warehouse.

These are no slow, lumbering horrors of a novice necromancer's creation - they move with speed and purpose like a predator on the hunt. Six of the things burst onto the attic floor, rushing after the minotaur to attack him; one takes a swift and frighteningly powerful swipe at the pixies as it passes by. The thump of inhuman feet on the floor below warn that more are approaching.

On the floor below, one of them sprouts from the headless corpse of Vox's latest victim, dead for less than a minute. Reaching for the nearest living victim, it grabs two of the mercenaries attacking him by the throats and snaps them in its mindless fury. The remaining sellswords turn on it and hack it to pieces, granting Vox a brief moment of respite.

Even as battle erupts anew in the building, Baelrak wastes not a moment. He has to escape here with his prize, and the distraction can't have brought him more than a few precious seconds. Working quickly, he strips Tempest of her ragged gown, tears it into long strips of cloth, and binds her hands, feet and wings, taking care to foul them enough that she can't attempt to fly. Heaving the still-unconscious Celestar over one shoulder, he steps onto the balcony and leaps out to land, catlike, on the street below.

OOC: ...the long promised post....


IC:
A flash of light blinded many of the humans present as an ethereal being appeared. Dolomi, the creature that was in possession of the rose shards and Kabrasis' Terrae, came in to Vox's aid, a flare of his robes the only noise that was made from his entrance. Because of the brilliant flash, Vox's horse bolted, and ran away from the battlefield, his terrified screams lengthening and disappearing into the ever-darkness of the mercenary’s minds. Dolomi made sure that the creature escaped unharmed, guiding his mind away from the tumult.

Reaching out a hand, Dolomi said, "Immortales! Here, take my hand!" as he clasped hands with the downed human. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the pixie, his illusions not quite enough to hide him from Dolomi's ancient eyes. "Pixie! Follow in our wake! You needs must escape!"

And then a dark figure passed in front of his eyes, and for the first time in many decades, he was caught off guard. One of the vampires had called up the spirits of the dead, and they were vengeful. Cursing in his native tongue, he grabbed Vox’s shirt, and threw him towards the door. “Get out of here! You fragile beings won’t live through this battle.” Then, with a mouth that seemed very human like, an inhuman hiss exhaled through his teeth as he pulled out the Rose shards, and called them awake.

“You have summoned, partner?” the shards asked Dolomi in his mind. “I sense fear around us, and the Masters of All are not pleased.”

“Shut it, Deitis,” Dolomi said, throwing the shattered remains of the Kline Krystal in the air. “Just help them! Catch that unholy vampire before he escapes with one of your Children of the Skies!”

The shards hovered in mid-air, at about eye level. The shards were floating with tips pointing towards the ground and the sky. Bowing, the tips pointed first towards Dolomi, then shot off with inhuman speed in many different directions. Dolomi snarled then, saying, “Destroy with the Holy Powers, consume with the Purifying Flame. Deitis! Arise once more to claim your due!”

And the shards winked out of existence. Dolomi threw his hands up, one towards Dante to protect him from the flux of power that was about to crash forth, and one towards the door, to trap that same power in the room, preventing it from doing any damage to the main structure of the building or the closely built buildings a mere 4 feet from the building they were in. His mind was also projecting, looking for any of their allies that he might’ve missed in the tumult, and fisting around them to shield them.

And then Deitis released her power, which was said to rival the anger of the gods with the sole exception of Patrist, whose thoughts created Deitis in his dreams. There was no flash or fanfare of the power that Dolomi felt rolling though the building, no sound that belied the anger of the gods.

The mercenaries, whom the main force of the blast was directed towards, suddenly fell to the ground as if a great weight had pressed suddenly against their shoulders. Then, the first sounds, was the cracking of something hard. The mercenaries started to bleed from their eyes, ears, and noses. Some convulsed for a moment before death took them in its sheltered cloak. There was no screaming, no shouts of pain. Only the sounds of Dante fighting Nyx, the nighttime bustle of the warehouse district, and the sounds of the skulls of the mercenaries being crushed, and their brains mashed inside.

Just as suddenly as the Rose Shards disappeared, they reappeared in front of Dolomi, their color dull and the voice in his head nearly lifeless. “Dolomi, our partner, one of us is still following the second vampire, but the rest of us must sleep. If the vampire that she is following goes anywhere strange, or finally stops moving, she will let you know. It is the Shard of the Nor’ Northeast that has followed him…be wary…”

And so the shards inner light was extinguished and they all fell into the hands of Dolomi. Dolomi was also exhausted form shielding so many people and from keeping the power of Deitis locked inside, so he knew that he could not fight Nyx with Dante. All that he could do was stagger outside, and fall against the side of the building, contacting the Shard of the Nor’ Northeast with his weary mind.

“They are heading on one of the side streets,” he said aloud to those that were still present. “However, Nor’ Northeast doesn’t know what street it is. You will have to find the other Vampire on your own.”

Mr Orion speaks….

“…and so the battle progressed, the mysterious Dolomi destroying the mercenaries that were inside the building, as well as killing the undead monstrosities that had been awakened by Baelrak. Exhausted, he sat against the warehouse most of the night while the others were fighting the remaining cohorts of Nyx, and tracking down Baelrak and his Celestari captive.”

Once again, the bell rang for the day to end. Many students left, but Dimitri stayed behind like he had been doing for the last half of the quarter. Tired, Orion sat down behind the desk, his face in his hands. Dimitri walked over, and sat on the corner of the desk. “So, Grandpa, I have a question for you.”

Orion huffed out a laugh, a smile appearing on his face. He lifted his head from his hands, and looked directly at his descendant. “You always do. What will this question deal with today, young Dimitri?”

Dimitri smiled, leaning forward a little further. In a lowered voice, he said, “So, how can you give so much detail about the events that occur in this myth? There are a lot of things that you say that are not detailed in the text that you passed out to us the first day of class. Also, the idea of Patrist being the Father of All, and his one true son being Valen sounds a lot like the Christianity. You know, the Triune, with one of his fallen messengers, in this case Asterael, acting as the ruler of Hell.”

Orion laughed slightly, and looked down at his papers on his desk. “You know, Dimitri, you can be a lot more perceptive than what many people give you credit for. The reason I embellish the story like I do is because I have seen things that make me think that that must’ve been how it was like back in the times that this myth was written. As for the Triune between Patrist, Valen, and the Goddess of Doves, like you mentioned, I believe that my tribe and Christians follow the same God, because if you realize, Latin for Father is said very similar to Patrist, and the Triune is known as God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, which is always symbolized by the Dove, hence the Goddess of Doves. Patrist and the Goddess of Doves never walked the earth, but it is said that Valen did a long time ago, just like the Christian Jesus, and he told of him returning to the earth again when the world is to be destroyed, just like Jesus. However, Valen is said to have come to the earth before Jesus was known, and in that time period, it was said that the son of Patrist would come to the earth four times, not two. The first and third were to teach those that he had taken under his wing, the second to bring about great change, and the fourth to bring about the destruction of the world. The first happened long before this story ever took place, the second will happen soon in the timeline of when this story is, the third when he was called Jesus by Humanity, and the fourth to bring about apocalypse.

“To me, Dimitri, the world is an ever changing place, whose face is constantly undergoing reconstructive surgery, and new features are added on a yearly basis. Cities that once were are now gone, people that once existed sleep forever in the earth, becoming fossils for archeologists to find, or their bones forever preserved by the sands in the desert. It is just how the world is, and how it will continue to change, even after the End Times…”

Jumping and dodging ever back out of Nyt's reach, Dante was slightly pleased to see the sword swings moving with a little less speed then before, a little less strength and ferocity behind them. It had been a desperate gamble, jamming that dagger into Nyt's back, but whatever power lived within the blade had done what Dante had not been able to on his own... it had weakened the vampire. However, as Nyt swung his sword yet again, his teeth bared in pure anger at the constantly moving opponent before him, Dante realised that Nyt was still anything but weak. Tightening his grip on the dagger, Dante knew that, even though his chances of victory were better then before, it was still anything but certain, and would have to be hard fought for.

Waiting until Nyt lashed out with his sword, trying to skewer Dante on the tip, Dante dodged to the outside and, seeing his chance, quickly moved in to Nyt's arm, flicking the tip of the dagger out and drawing a long gash along Nyt's sword arm. Crying out in pain, Nyt stepped back, looking at the wound that had been made, before it closed over. But, standing with his back near a wall, Dante took comfort from a sight that would have made other warriors despair. Yes, Nyt's wound had still closed over with as vampire's wounds do... but it had taken longer, so much longer, for the regeneration to kick in. With every moment that passed in this fight, Nyt grew weaker and weaker, while Dante's own wounds were reknitting, apparently being helped by whatever magic helped hurt Nyt. Unfortunately, it seemed Nyt was realising this too, and, attacking with a cry of feral rage, was trying to end this as soon as possible.

Using the dagger to parry and block Nyt's furious swings and thrusts, Dante found himself getting slowly pressed back against a wall, losing ground all the time. Assessing his options hastily, Dante knew there was no way for him to get past Nyt... he'd be cut down before he made it... and fighting such a dangerous enemy with his back against the wall was also not an idea that would keep him alive long. However, the walls were weak... it was a desperate ploy, but no less risky then anything else at this time. He just had to time it right, and so, waiting and watching for his chance, Dante saw it when Nyt made a vicious thrust for his neck, putting all his power behind it. Stepping slightly to the side, Dante quickly swapped his dagger to his broken arm, and, putting it up and gritting his teeth against the pain, deflected the course of Nyt's sword, while with the other arm he grabbed Nyt and pulled, taking him off of his feet and swinging him around, to break through the rotten wall behind Dante.

Letting go of Nyt, and letting his body slide along the roof outside, Dante walked through the hole in the wall, returning the dagger to his strong hand. The gentle breeze of the night was cool on his face, and the scents of the city reached him, filling his head. Any other night, any other time, Dante would have been happy to savour the sensations, before going off on a hunt. But, here, tonight and now, Dante had a very serious job to finish. Watching Nyt climb slowly to his feet, Dante waited.
"This isn't over Dante!" Nyt called out, silence his only reply. "You think throwing me through a wall will hurt me?"
"I can see it has." Dante said simply.
Nyt laughed, a dark, grim chuckle. "Well, maybe you're right then. You've gotten better than I thought... though I wonder how much of it is that dagger." he jeered.
"It's simply a weapon, Nyt. A tool." Dante shot back. "And a warrior never drops a weapon that's helping him win."
"No honour then?"
"There may have been." Dante said darkly. "Before you attacked Tempest. Before you brought my friends into this. You lost any honour a long time ago."
"Well", Nyt said, tightening his grip on his sword, "now I don't feel so bad about this."

Lunging staright at Dante, Nyt drew his sword back, preparing to strike. But Dante had been waiting for such a blow and, ducking neatly to the side to avoid the downward strike, came up outside of Nyt's guard and plunged the dagger deep into his chest, hitting Nyt's toughened, dead heart. Spinning around, using the dagger to lift and guide Nyt's body, Dante leapt and slammed Nyt against part of the roof that retained it's former strength, pinning him between wall and dagger. Lashing out with his other hand, Dante took Nyt's sword and threw it back across the roof.

"So", Nyt said, after a few seconds, looking down at the dagger run through his chest as it glowed with barely contained power. "This is it, hm?"
"It didn't have to end like this." Dante said.
"Mercy, now?"
"No, just a statement."
This earnt a laugh from Nyt. "Well, who said it was ending?"
"What game are you trying now?" Dante demanded, twisting the dagger a little.

Nyt grimaced with the pain. "No game. Don't you get it Dante? I'm an assassin."
"I know that. I'm not an idiot!" Dante growled.
"One has to wonder." Nyt replied, smirking at his own joke. "After all, an assassin doesn't get into these messes, such petty squabbles, for a personal reason."
As Nyt's words sunk in, Dante's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, I see you get it now. Someone hired me." Nyt said, a small trail of blood running down from the corner of his mouth. "Someone else, wants you dead. This was never about our history, never personal. It was business. And you know, with me gone, I think they may just decide to visit you themselves." Nyt said, his mocking smile grating on dante's already tried nerves.
"Who? Who hired you?" Dante asked, pressing his face, fangs bared, close to Nyt's.

His only reply was smug laughter.

"Sorry, client confidentiality." Nyt said, before suddenly turning serious. "But I swear to my gods, if you don't finish me off now, they won't need to show up in person. I will heal, then hunt you down and finish you. But not before I finish off that wh-"
Nyt's threats were cut short, as Dante sunk his fangs into Nyt's neck, and began to drink deeply. Dante's thoughts were swirling out of control. Who had hired Nyt? Where was Tempest? What was going to happen next? But all of them were quickly lost in the swirling pleasure that filled Dante as he drained Nyt's life slowly. Filling himself with the enriching blood, much more powerful than that of cattle or human, Dante felt his wounds reknitting, his bones healing, his bruises fading, even as Nyt's head to slump against his neck, and his flesh began to wither and toughen to a leather, before rotting away altogether. Dante kept drinking, only stopping and pulling away when all he tasted was ash. By then, it was too late, Nyt's body decaying, becoming as skeletal figure, before fading into a pile of dust. Looking down at the dust, Dante watched it blow away in the breeze, dried blood hanging all over him, as he sheathed the dagger that had saved his life. It was time to collect his swords and meet his friends. Nyt was gone, though Dante's troubles were not. Despite being filled with the blood of a true vampire, Dante wondered where Tempest was now... and just who it was that had hired him.

OOC- There we go. Sorry for the novel length guys. LOL. Anyone wants to RP Dante walking out of the warehouse to them looking like hell, feel free. Otherwise, will try and post again soon.

IC: Talc and the circle of minotaurs did everything they could to hold off these new beats that had suddenly grown out of the dead mercenaries. Talc had every intention of going to help Vox out, but that apparently wouldn't happen as these things were rushing them quickly. A new addition quickly showed up however, and made short work of those beasts. Talc did a quick headcount, nobody was lost. Treyn and Trayn had some minor cuts and bruises, Talc had a slash across his forearm and Terra just a minor bruise on her cheek. Their attention turned to the whole in the ceiling, wondering what was happening with their brethren in the upper parts of the warehouse.

Tealc cursed silently under his breath, this vampire was getting away. Terra decided to stick her head up and see what was going on. Tealc heard her coming, turning quickly to her. "Tell the others I chase what has taken our friend." He said in a hurried voice as he sprinted to the balcony and leapt to the streets below. A quick sniff of the air led him after this vampire. Tealc sprinted, giving chase barely 2 seconds behind his prey. He still felt every ounce of power that Tempest's spell and Columnis were lending him...and he would need it.

Terra landed back in the warehouse with a grim look on her face. She knew that Tealc's mind would not be changed. "Tealc's chasing after that thing that took Tempest." She almost regretted saying that as she spotted Dante out of the corner of her eyes. Talc nodded and patted her shoulder as the minotaurs gathered themself to figure out what to do next.

Tealc arrived at the edge of the city walls to see the vampire talk flight with an odd set of wings. Growling he had gotten there a second too late to catch and stop the vampire. He shook his head for a moment, staring up at the sky after the thing had left.

A long time ago, before there had been a vampire called Baelrak there had first been a boy.

There was not much of his earliest past that he chose to remember; Baelrak was not sentimental by any means. He couldn't even recall his name. What he did remember was that he had been born far away from gleaming Starcenter and the other great cities of the north, far from all the prosperity and glory that the human race in its strength could muster.

That year there had been plague, and he had watched his father and two brothers die choking on their own blood as black sores burst over their horribly disfigured bodies. They burnt the corpses, he and his mother and his three siblings. By then it was late autumn, and with three less men on the farm that year's feeble harvest would never be collected in full. There was the cold dark of winter to look forward to, taxes to pay and mouths to feed. Nobody could offer help; it was, by and large, a tale of suffering repeated throughout the plague-stricken lands.

When the slave caravans arrived, his mother sold him. Without money, the family would not last through the winter. He did not blame her. He knew, even then, why she had made that decision: To let one child go, so that the others may live. And she chose the brightest and strongest of her remaining sons, the one who had the best chance of surviving in the merciless world beyond.

They led him away from that hopeless village, leashed by the throat in the middle of a long train of children. Four times he tried to escape, and four times the slaver dogs foiled him. There were whippings, of course, and when spring came the slavers hired them out to work in the farms as the slave caravan made its long, adrous journey to the great cities. From dawn to dusk the children toiled, first in the fields and then in the inns, tanneries and mills of whatever town they happened to be passing by. Life blurred into a cycle of backbreaking work followed by exhausted sleep huddled together in stinking, filthy wagons, with the threat of a beating hanging above their heads perpetually. Baelrak's only consolation was that he was not a girl. All he had to endure was hard labor and the slavers' whips; the girls, and some of the younger, more effiminate boys, frequently had to suffer worse.

When he arrived the next autumn in a city whose name he could not pronounce and which he'd never even knew existed, he was no longer the innocent youth that his mother had sold to feed a family. The journey had hardened him, made him stronger and more determined than ever to win his freedom. Perhaps it was that look in his eyes that sold him to the elegant, black-gowned lady that came by the first day he was put on the slave market; she lifted his chin with a gloved finger, looked into his eyes, and smiled mirthlessly. As he looked back he realized, in a moment of wonder and dark terror, that she was not breathing and there was no life in her ghostly, pale skin.

That night, in an act that was bestial and horrifying and not at all erotic, the vampiress who bought him drank of his blood and made him drink of hers, and turned him into something that was neither alive nor dead.

In a night he had gone from lowly slave to a vampire, a creature of terror and power, one of precious few of the Forbidden races left in the world. Even then, there was no freedom to be had for him. His mistress had not raised him up out of compassion alone. He was now a pawn, a soldier fighting in the power struggles of that city's dark, undead predators. The vampires ruled there in all but name, a rare case where one of the Forbidden races flourished, but there were too many of their kind, fighting over an ever-dwindling herd of prey, and nothing even remotely resembling a leader or governing body amongst them. The strongest ones gathered slaves and followers about them and every night there was war in the dark streets.

He tried once, clumsily, to usurp his mistress, and very nearly lost his immortal life for it. Only pure chance saved him - a rival vampire prince decided to help him flee to spite his former mistress. That was how Baelrak found himself, on the sixth year of his life as a vampire, nursing his broken body in an abandoned mill.

At last he was free. Still nothing in a world of things far greater than he, still without wealth or fame or power to his name, but alive and free.

After recovering, he became a mercenary. The years spent in that dark city of the vampires had turned him into a vicious fighter. They had also instilled in him a desire to become something greater, to gather enough power to himself that he might never again relive those helpless days as a slave and then a pawn. But he was just one warrior in a world full of deadly warriors, and it wasn't until one fateful night when he came across a run-down shrine that

It was the remains of a shrine, truly, kept standing only because of its historical importance. There was nothing holy left in here. This was one of the sites where the Celestaari had first came to earth centuries ago, to bring humanity civilization and and peace, the custodian told him, nervously showing him about at his request. It worked, for a while, but then there was war, and they were driven back to their great sky-cities, dying by the millions in the process. Baelrak had asked out of idle curiosity, and was about to leave, when he observed that the custodian was unusually nervous. Sensing something amiss, he pressed hard, threatened, and was rewarded with the man breaking down and begging for his life.

It took some time to get the full story out, but Baelrak gathered that Celestar blood was a powerful magical catalyst. Highly desired by vampires, in fact, because it could boost their dark powers vastly, enough that several powerful ones of his kind had been here to search the temple for clues, and there had been some deaths amongst the custodian staff. There was, sadly, no live Celestar in the temple. Or anywhere else in the world, for that matter. Baelrak himself had reservations about taking seriously the tale of a witless caretaker in the run-down skeleton of a shrine. But he dutifully filed away the tidbit of information should it prove useful at a later date.

That date was a long time in coming. It was twenty years later, when he had grown successful enough as a mercenary to begin looking for work in the very heart of human civilization, and perhaps win a lucrative contract from some noblewoman or lord who desired an exotic bodyguard. Not all of them thought of vampires as monsters, he'd learned; to have some dark, predatory creature as a bodyguard was considered fashionable in some circles. And Baelrak might have spent the next decade like that, as a showy toy for some pampered human, had he not gotten wind of a certain vampire called Nyt.

He no longer had a beating heart, but the news still sent an electric shock of excitement through him. Mercenaries were wanted to ambush one half-vampire freak by the name of Dante... and, impossibly, his Celestar lover. A live, breathing one. The pay was very good, but by then Baelrak had a far greater prize in mind than mere money.

That was how he found himself on this night, the last survivor of the battle at the warehouse, fleeing through the darkened city with a bound Celestar on one shoulder.

Where he went, dogs barked and people stirred in their sleep as though a nightmare passed overhead. Baelrak could no longer feel the shadows he'd summoned; something had wiped them all out. There were strange and great powers at work tonight. Again, not for the first time in his life, he felt that sense of bitter disappointment, reaching out for something greater only to have it crushed and trampled before his eyes. He had grown patient and persistent over the years, though, and was not discouraged for long. He still had his Celestar captive, and there might even be ways he could gain something from tonight's defeat.

For one, he now knew that this Ranna and her odd band of Forbidden had access to some strange and uncommon magic. Possibly stranger even than the powers of the Forbidden themselves, now that he thought back to the minotaur in the warehouse. Baelrak had fought minotaurs before, and they were strong but not THAT strong. If he could find a way to steal this magic for his own... A satisfied grin warmed his features. He would have to investigate this, search for clues - beginning with his lovely captive right here.

They would be after him, but the vast amounts of power loosed tonight - first the Celestar's spell, then his own magic and the minotaur's, and now this - would help mask his escape and make it hard to track him down magically. He paused, close to the city wall, making sure he was safe before looking down at his prize. Tempest was still unconscious, securely bound with the remains of her clothing and clad only in her undergarments. Once upon a time, he might have felt the first stirrings of desire, looking at her naked form, but now his lifeless body was dead to the pleasures of the flesh. Another old part of him, sacrificed long ago.

He bent his head to her throat and gorged himself on her blood like a tick, feeling unearthly power build in him as the magical catalyst did its work. Bones and tendons creaked as his undead flesh reacted to the newfound power. His muscles bulged and swelled and ghastly, bat-like wings burst from his back with a horrible ripping sound. Baelrak flapped them once, twice, and then soared into the dark skies, carrying his prize in both arms.

Wings fluttered.

Tiny wings.

Miniscule when compared to the impact generated by the clashing of two titans. Tealc and the vampiric villain; one imbued by light, the other on power unfairly taken.

Never had the gravity of insignificance weigh so heavily on Publoaf's shoulders, as when he was powerless to stop the charging vampire. Both he and Inboot were determined in their onslaught, throwing psi blasts at the impenetrable skull of the undead. It seems mind tricks held limited sway over the feral musings of a beast.

A newcomer, fortunately on the side of the forbidden, suddenly appeared. With his mysterious powers, he commmanded the pixies to leave, to which Publoaf initially ignored.

Leave? Tempest still needed to be safe.

Fear. The black mark tainting Publoaf's list of achievements. As the putrid corpses rose to life in a frenzied state, threatening with hands guided by unknown black magic, Publoaf fled. Inboot, having seen more death than Publoaf in his career as a Pixienaut, was vigilant in his retreat. He misguided desperate rakes by the rotting hands with simple illusionary tricks, far too difficult for their basic instincts to discern from the original.

Publoaf collapsed at the window sill, where Flare remained to watch over Freya. His chest heaved rapidly, cold sweat drenching his brow. He was not ready. Size did matter. No amount of enthusiasm and optimism can save a fly from a messy death at the end of a swat, if Fate decreed so.

Inboot immediately went to consultation, fearful for the illusionist's wellbeing.

"Catch your breath, Publoaf. We are safe here."

Responding by burying his head in his hands, Publoaf held mum.

Remembering the new being's command, Inboot did not wait for a second invitation. He hoisted Publoaf to his feet, as Flare cradled Freya in her able arms, having received the telephatic note from Inboot. Without a second look, they left the battlefield, escaping just in time before Dolomi and Deitis combined to eradicate the vengeful dead.

All watched in mixed anxiety and admiration at the display of power before them. The warehouse seemed to pulsate with concentrated energy, and it was clear that much of the aftershock of such outburst was being contained by an equally potent spell.

The performance ended with a sour note when Publoaf spotted the fleeing vampire, a bound Tempest as his bounty, having earlier abandoned the doomed warehouse. Something new emerged from Publoaf's bosom. It was anger. Righteous anger at his cowardice and the injustice of the crime. In an ideal world, good always triumphs over evil. But in this world someone needed to stand up to make sure the fact remains.

Publoaf wanted to help. And if battling mercenaries and zombies were out of his league, tracking Tempest's weak but detectable mind signal was the least he could do.

Like a pixie on a mission, Publoaf gave chase. Inboot protested too late, and could only entail his volatile and emotional comrade, hoping to keep him out of direct harm's way.

"Publoaf! This is crazy! We cannot stand up against an empowered vampire without help," Inboot desperately tried to convince Publoaf.

Again, the pixie replied with silence, his face etched a stern and focused look. In his mind, he pictured a thousand ways to punish the crime. Inboot flinched, mouth gaping slightly at the receipt of a stray impulse. A horrid sneak peek at the extend of Publoaf's drastic change.

The vampire paused to feast, and though enraged, Publoaf hid from plain sight, conscious to his limitations. Inboot was about to heave a sigh of relief when Publoaf begun to gather energy. All of his energy. Eyes shut, brows furrowed, hands clapsed together in full concentration.

'Stop it! What do you think you are doing?' Inboot paged with his telepathy, wary of alerting the vampire of their presence. 'Do not do anything foolish!'

'Take me somewhere safe. I still want to live.'

Before Inboot could react to Publoaf's cryptic clue, blue tendrils of magic leapt from Publoaf's head like stones skipping on water. They gathered around Publoaf, forming a ring. Inboot gasped, finally realising the extend of Publoaf's desperation.

The ring suddenly expanded rapidly, with Publoaf the epicenter. As it engulfed beings with a conscious mind, it stuck like a parasite. Nearby residents woke from nightmares into stupor; fell from drowse into coma. As much as pixies messed with brains by altering what it perceived, the opposite is also possible. Exerting himself, Publoaf released a spell capable of turning the mind temporarily numb, unable to process even the smallest fraction of light or vibration. Unfortunately, it also renders the caster at the same state due to exhaustion.

To less intelligent and more intuitive beings like animals, the spell has a limited effect due to the lower reliance to the mind. Nevertheless, senses will still be scrambled, and severely disturbed, at least. Inboot nearly failed to repel the effects of the spell, pulling out a last minute shielding of his psyche. Oblivious to what effect the spell had on the vampire, Inboot dragged Publoaf's now unconscious body to the nearest hole for shelter.

He hoped that the immense power of the spell would bring the others to their location. Even if minor, the effect of the spell would at least give Tealc or Dante a fairer chance against this monstrosity.

If Inboot had spared a peek outside, he would've seen the futility of Publoaf's
action as the now mutated vampire stalked the skies with ghastly wings, perhaps just a little too late.

bumpy :P