Rifted Bloodlines: Prologue

[Cathbadb]

I really like where this is going. Please continue.

[HawtMama]

Ary! want more pweeze! xD Loving it!!

[Arynite]

Part 18:

Cyril's voice rolled down the hallway like snowball on Iron Pine Peak, growing louder and angrier with each passing moment. "Those heretics stole our most holy artifacts. If this keeps up, every Defiant and cultist is going to view the Guardians as easy pickings!"

Artifacts? Lord Ferrin Cosmin's elven ears perked up in interest. Ferrin liked artifacts. He was one of the most successful collectors in all of Telara, having completed 278 sets so far. It was rumored that some Bahmi had collected 279, but Ferrin had never met him.

"I'm surprised they didn't try to rescue their friend," replied a muffled voice. It sounded like Shirall.

"Highly suspicious," Cyril agreed.

Well, of course it's suspicious. Wasn't that obvious? Ferrin listened for the response, but it came out too muffled. Bah, he needed to get closer. He slunk down the corridor, looking for a better spot to listen. Cyril and Shirall were in one of the side rooms. The trick was finding a spot close enough to hear, but far enough to remain inconspicuous.

"Do you have any idea who the Bahmi was?" Cyril asked next, his voice crisp and clear.

Ferrin smiled. He had found a good spot to eavesdrop. Even better, it had a bench. Ferrin plopped down onto the soft red velvet, lounging with his head and feet propped on opposite armrests. Did he feel guilty about spying on his leaders? Not really. Besides, if the Vigil didn't want rogues, then why on Telara would they ascend them? Ferrin toyed with a small leaflet of paper, eavesdropping shamelessly.

"At first I thought he was just a really stupid Bahmi, but now I think it was an act," said Shirall. "He told me he wanted to trade artifacts, but apparently 'trade' means 'steal'."

Ferrin froze. Could it really be true? The fabled Bahmi artifact collector had been here, in the very heart of Sanctum, and he'd missed it? Bummer. Finally, he looked down at the paper in his hands. It wasn't some college kid's homework, as he had first assumed. A tiny emblem rested in the center of the scroll, pulsing with the tell-tale glow of planar magics. It wasn't any guild emblem that he recognized. Could it really be? Chuckling to himself, he stood and stretched before strolling down the hall.

Fwip. A light breeze ruffled his hair.

Huh, what was that? Confused, he turned around. The corridor behind him was empty. Shrugging, he continued on, brushing aside the strange feeling as he made plans.

----------

One problem with revive spells, was that they didn't restore you back to full health. They only undid the worst of the damage that killed you in the first place.

Kymari grunted, the wounds from her previous battle with Shirall and the Sanctuary Guard aching sharply. They felt as raw as the moment she had been stabbed. Worse, even, but at least she was alive. She had worried the Guardians would kill her, possibly in a more permanent way than the usual. Still being alive was a good sign, right?

The clatter of plate and metal footsteps sounded somewhere nearby. "Get up ya traitor scum," said an unfamiliar voice.

Kymari opened her eyes, giving the Sanctuary Guard a blank stare. On second thought, maybe her situation still hadn't improved.

When she didn't immediately comply, a plated boot reached out, kicking her in the ribs. She grunted again, closing her eyes against the pain.

"Careful," ordered a different, but equally stern voice. "We still need her conscious enough for the inquisition. None of the cardinals will want to waste a drop of healing energy on this najmok dung.

Najmok dung?! Kymari clenched her fists, pained dulled by the sudden surge of anger. She forced her eyes open just in time to see two pairs of gauntleted hands grab her arms, dragging her to her feet.

Disoriented, she looked around. The carved stone walls of Sanctum surrounded her, but she didn't recognize the room itself. Sanctuary Guards lined its perimeter in an excessive display of manpower. Seriously? They still considered her that big of a threat? It was flattering, almost, except for the fact that a single unarmed bogling could have taken her down at the moment. Trying not to betray how much effort it took, she straightened, only wincing slightly at the pain in her chest.

A guard wearing a Captain's badge approached, checking to make sure her wrists were still bound. Satisfied, he gave the other guards a nod. Then he turned back to Kymari. "Don't even think about trying anything. My soldiers won't hesitate at the opportunity to cause a traitor any additional discomfort."

So comforting.

Kymari left her thoughts unsaid as her escort marched her down the hall. They entered a new room with more gruff faced guards and more unfamiliar scenery. Three individuals sat at a long table, waiting patiently as the escort approached. They were the only unarmed members in the room, appearing fully at ease in their broad hats and formal robes. Kymari didn't know much about the Guardian government structure, but she knew about the Council of Cardinals. High ranking members of the holy order, the cardinals often convened to discuss issues concerning the dragon cults, and now apparently rogue defiants as well.

"Kneel," barked the captain of her escort.

That could be problematic. How was she supposed to kneel if the two guards still held her firmly in place? She opened her mouth to point this out, but someone kicked the back of her knees. Simultaneously, the guards also let go of her arms. The floor came rushing up to meet her. Cheaters. Carefully, she picked herself up.

"You are to stand trial for your crimes against Telara," said one of the cardinals, a woman with flawlessly smooth skin. Only the cold iron in her eyes detracted from her beauty. "However, we have decided to forgo a public trial and present you with an opportunity to confess in private."

Kymari scanned the faces of the cardinals, trying to guess their intentions. They sat attentive, watching her with equal interest. What were they fishing for? Evidence than she wasn't really a High Elf? Kymari cocked her head to the side, considering. Well, it was already fairly obvious, wasn't it? She didn't see any point in lying. "I disguised myself," she said. "Because it seems this world is plagued with fools who assume outward appearance reflects the inward soul."

The council sat motionless, seemingly unaffected by the truth she presented or the insult she implied.

The sole man of the group answered first, his expression icy calm. "It is by actions, not appearances, that we judge others. When the Eth, the Kelari, and the Bahmi turned their faces from the Vigil, threatening Telara with forbidden magic and technology, we acted accordingly. It is not foolishness, child."

"That matter also isn't the primary reason we summoned you," said first cardinal. "Tell us where you hid the stolen artifacts. The council may be magnanimous."

Artifacts? Kymari had no idea what they were talking about. Artifacts were generally objects of great knowledge or power.

Kain's Command tent lay before her, filled with a mismatched collection of armor, maps, books, and trinkets. Arynite held up Kymari's lost pair of daggers. Kymari gratefully accepted the items, sheathing them on her belt. She had spent months saving to get those crafted; there was no way she was leaving them behind just one battle after acquiring them.

Arynite went back to riffling through Kain's desk, but Kymari took a step forward to stop her. They had what they came for, why take more? Then Kymari's eyes flickered back to the empty crates at her feet. The wave of death energy washed over her, turning her stomach into swamp goo. Something about those empty crates seemed wrong. Some of the artifacts the Guardians collected were dangerous, like the fabled Remnants of Aedraxis. But if the Guardians recovered such treasures, no proper priest of the Vigil would send back empty death tainted boxes after cataloging their contents, would they?

The thought hit Kymari like a Stormcaller's thunderbolt. Whatever was in those boxes never reached a priest's hands. It had been stolen, and they thought she was the thief. Her eyes widened and she closed her mouth, speechless.

"See?" growled the last cardinal, also a woman. "I told you we should leave this matter for the inquisitors. She isn't going to give us any useful information."

The captain of the guard shot the cardinal a questioning look. "Do I escort this prisoner out?" his eyes seemed to say.

The cardinal's head tilted a fraction, the start of a nod.

Aw man, I can't believe I'm doing this. Kymari took a deep breath. "Wait."

The nod stopped. All eyes in the room focused on her.

"These artifacts you're talking about. Were they in Kain's office?" asked Kymari.

The group of cardinals shared a glance. Finally, the third one nodded slowly. "Yes."

"I didn't steal them," said Kymari. "They were gone by the time I arrived in the tent. All I found were the empty boxes."

The second cardinal narrowed his brow. "That's an obvious lie. None of the eye witnesses reported you present for the invasion beforehand. Likely you stole the artifacts then, and returned to retrieve your weapons."

The first cardinal nodded in agreement. "Knowledge of those artifacts was strictly guarded. You shouldn't have known of their existence. I concur with Visc; you're obviously lying."

"I found the magical residue they left behind," said Kymari. "I'm surprised nobody else noticed it sooner."

The third cardinal shook her head. "I'm not. The entire region was saturated in taint from the death invasion. The real question is, how were you able to pick up on the tainted artifacts in such conditions, hmm?"

Kymari sighed in frustration. How dense were these Guardians? It was like they wanted her to admit she had some extraordinary Regulos-granted powers or something. Kymari gave the cardinals a hard look. "You think I'm a cultist."

The cardinals stared back with hungry gleams in their eyes.

"No wonder I'm still here," said Kymari. "If you thought I was a Defiant, you would have just killed me and been done with it already."

"What did the Endless Court promise when you joined?" asked the first cardinal. "Is that where you got such a convincing disguise?"

"You've got it all wrong. I'm not a cultist!"

[HawtMama]

You.are.torturing.me.

What happens?! xD

[Arynite]

Turns out this week is a double feature. I might try for a third section later, but no promises!


Part 19:

Avel faced off his three opponents: the mage, the rogue, and the boy.

The mage struck first, raising his staff. A bolt of energy leapt down the narrow hallway, heading straight for Avel. Too easy. Avel thrust his arm up, blocking the spell with his human shield. The unfortunate technician absorbed the attack, crying out in surprise as his body compacted into a small furry squirrel.

Avel smirked. Did the Ethian mage really think he could defeat Avel with such simple spells?

Voosh!

A bolt of death energy streaked past his outstretched arm, sending the squirrel scampering out the door. What in the void? In place of the Ethian mage stood a collection of dark creatures, as formless as the void itself. Another one of the creatures lobbed a bolt of energy at Avel, narrowly missing his leg.

Avel couldn't count on luck to keep him safe from their attacks; he needed to counter those shadowy creatures. Quickly. He waved his hand, gesturing toward the shades. Magic pooled within earth beneath their incorporeal bodies, releasing a cloud of miasma. It smelled like a freshly opened grave, which was a good approximation of what the spell actually entailed. Avel inhaled, taking in the sweet smell of decay. The shades shrieked, consumed by the same power from the plane they originated. With any luck, their caster had perished along with them.

"No." Someone sobbed quietly in the corner.

Avel turned his attention toward the speaker. It was the boy. Leaking unstable magical, he was clearly untrained. A small ball of lightning coalesced in the boy's outstretched hand, growing as it drew on the unstable energy. The ball reached the size of small melon before flying free. It landed at Avel's feet, degenerating into a collection of harmless sparks.

"Fool boy," Avel laughed. "You should have run when you had the chance; I can deflect anything you manage to send at me."

"Deflect this," whispered a nearby husky, but clearly feminine voice. Something bit into Avel's side. He looked down to find a small shiv embedded in his kidney. Void it, he had lost track of the rogue.

Avel howled in pain, sinking to his knees. "Regulos, help me," he croaked. The gates of death opened, whispering to him as he sank to the ground. Then he sank through the ground. His feet disappeared into the carved stone beneath him, quickly followed by the rest of his body. Death energy enveloped him, consuming flesh and shattering stone. Jagged bones protruded from his back like a pair of ghastly wings. Cloth made from darkness shrouded the rest of his new lich form. Avel did not need to fear death. Avel was death. He drifted over the rubble, searching for his next target.

Another small dagger stabbed at his shroud of darkness, leaving behind a small puncture. Foolish rogue. More darkness replaced the open hole, repairing the damage. Then, without a second glance, he lobbed a ball of death energy to his right. The plague bolt slammed into the unsuspecting rogue, catching her square in the stomach, throwing her into the wall. The body crumpled to the floor and a new aroma of death filled the corridor.

The surge of death energy maintaining Avel's lich form collapsed, leaving behind a new body of mortal flesh. Avel looked around, human once more. Sort of. Slowly, he placed his fingertips on his unusually pointed ears. The body those foolish so-called technicians had constructed was some sort of elf. A copy close enough to the original body housed the original soul quite well, but someone had modified this vessel. For a displaced spirit like Avel, it was the perfect container. Ironically, he had come up with the idea from watching the Abyssal, not the Endless Court.

Something sniffled down the hallway. Another threat to eliminate? Avel spun, setting eyes on a teenage boy at the foot of the rogue's corpse. A boy? Where had he come from? Had he seen this boy before? Avel frowned.

"You killed my friends!" Lightning gathered in the boy's hands as he readied a spell.

Avel continued to frown. How did I not notice this boy? Something smacked into the back of his head, hard. He keeled forward into a rolling dive.

The Ethian mage stood behind him, apparently not as a dead yet. "Run, Raff," ordered the mage.

"Mark!" The boy cheered before bolting down the hall.

"You tricked me," Avel accused, pointing a crooked finger at Mark. "What is this strange power that can toy with a person's mind?"

Mark smiled, clearly pleased with his trick. "Run back to Regulos, little minion. Soon he will grant you the death you deserve."

Avel glared back, his face growing darker. "I demand you tell me."

It was too soon to summon his Lich form again, but Avel had enough magical charge stored to fuel a different kind of spell. He stretched out his arm and a beam of death energy shot across the room; not from himself to Mark, but from Mark to himself. A soul purge. Under ordinary circumstances, such a spell would merely sap the life of an enemy. Enhanced by the power of Regulos, it could do more. It could literally purge souls.

Mark screamed as the death energy tore into the very essence of his being. Knowledge filled Avel's mind. He absorbed spells to turn men into squirrels and shackle the wind itself. Spells to disorient an enemy, to confuse him into attacking his own friends. Also among them was the spell Mark had used on Avel to make him forget Raff's existence: Memory Wipe. It was almost a shame that Regulos' victory was coming so soon, leaving so little time to savor the spoils of war. If only he had discovered it sooner. As Avel's spell continued to drain knowledge from Mark, he found a solution. A failsafe? An anchor in time? Did Regulos even know about this?

"No," Mark gritted his teeth. "You c-cannot use it!"

"Oh?" taunted Avel. "And who is going to stop me? You? I've stolen all your skills. You're too weak to fight."

"The Ascended," Mark rasped, a beam of energy shooting out from his staff. "I'm sorry."

Void it, Avel hadn't seen the staff. He moved to counter the spell, but something made him hesitate. This wasn't a known spell; it contained death energy, and something else less familiar. Life? Too curious now, Avel merely watched as the bolt made its way across the room, flying into the corpse at the end of the hall.

The corpse at the end of the hallway leaped to its feet, no longer a corpse, but a living being once more. Golden cat-like Kelari eyes stared back at Avel in defiance, a fiery blade flickering into her hand.

"Stop him, Kymari," shouted Mark. His voice was surprisingly strong for a man so close to his death. "He intends to use the failsafe."

Soul purge still active, Avel sifted through Mark's knowledge in search of an explanation. This rogue was ascended. She should have taken a new body and fled halfway across Terminus by now. How was it that she was back here, returned to an old body? Even Avel, a necromancer with Regulos-granted powers, couldn't do that. It would take an object of great power, possessing technology similar to that of the resurrection forges used in ascension, to pull off such a trick. Avel's eyes fell to Mark's staff. Could it be? Avel reached for the weapon. His hand brushed against polished wood and he felt the ancient artifact's energy flowing within. Yes, he thought. Mark's knowledge confirmed his own theory. He reached to pull the staff from Mark's dying hands. Power surged through the weapon, knocking Avel over backwards. He landed, hard.

"It's soulbound," Mark gave a weak chuckle.

"I already have your soul," Avel growled, rising to his feet. "If you could use it, so can I."

"No," Mark answered weakly. "It doesn't work that way."

"No," Avel denied, knowing it to be true. Avel would never possess such a weapon. Not in this timeline, anyway.


----------

Curses, I lost my last guild rally scroll. Arumen sighed, making mental note to buy a new stack as soon as she returned to Merdian. Carefully, she tied the empty pouch back onto her belt as she continued walking. The wind picked up, whipping auburn hair into her face. Overhead, rainclouds threatened to dump their contents on the trio of Defiant ascended. She paid the clouds little heed, her gaze focused on the lands below them, lush and green. She squinted, hoping to spot the Defiant foothold tucked away in the trees. Something shimmered over to the far left, just at the edge of her vision. She should tell Arynite and Brakkin. Casually, she walked over to her two companions and placed an arm on the Kelari's shoulder. Brakkin, the large Bahmi, gave the pair a questioning look.

"I just noticed the squirrel fur on your boots. Very fashionable, Arynite," said Arumen.

The pink haired Kelari turned her head, smiling slyly. Among their friends, 'squirrel' was code for 'spy'. "You noticed?" Arynite asked, feigning pleasure. "Do you know exactly how many plat I paid that tailor?"

"No more than two," Arumen replied, tilting her head to the side. Two sneaks, one clearly following the other. "Although if I had to guess, I'd say one, plus a second as an unexpected tip."

Arynite frowned, deciphering the code. "I think I'd like a second opinion." Not waiting for a reply, Arynite spun around. Her eyes quickly fell to the rocky outcrop where the sneak hid. "Step out before I drown you out," she demanded of the pile of rocks.

A few seconds passed before the air shimmered again and a rogue popped into view. Blond hair, light skin, and blue eyes revealed the prowler to be a High Elf. His leather outfit, dyed to match the color of his eyes, was adorned with silver trim. A rich High Elf.

"Who are you?" asked Brakkin, his deep Bahmi voice carrying across the mountainside.

"Lord Ferrin Cosmin, Guardian of the Vigil, Master Antiquarian, and senior member of T.G.A.S.," the High Elf bowed with a flourish.

"T... gas? Is that an antacid or something?" asked Arumen, wrinkling her nose.

"Telaren Geological & Archeological Society, actually," Ferrin answered smoothly. "We're an interfactional organization dedicated to the exploration and documentation of the world of Telara."

Brakkin's eyes lit up as he smiled. "You collect artifacts? Will you trade with me?"

"Brakkin," Arumen sighed. She folded her arms and glared at Ferrin. "This is no time to talk shop. Tell us why you're here, Guardian."

"I found the rally scroll you left behind, and took it as open invitation. I'm looking for a Life Bulb," answered Ferrin.

Was that some sort of joke? The High Elf's face was completely neutral, no hint of a smirk in sight.

"I have one of those," replied Brakkin. "If you can trade me a blue I don't have yet, we're in business."

"I've got duplicates of most of the Silverwood and Gloamwood sets. Got anything in mind?" asked Ferrin.

"Blueprints to the Vault of Heresy," answered Brakkin.

Ferrin's face fell. "By the Vigil, Bahmi! You're asking for the only one I don't have." He paused. "Although I do know a fellow who might have one. He's a pale elf, goes by the name of Avel. You know him?"

Avel? Arumen frowned. "There's no Defiant by that name."

"Actually, he works for the Endless Court," Ferrin replied smugly. "As I said before, T.G.A.S. is an interfactional organization."

"What? Are all you Guardians insane?" demanded Arumen.

"How can I contact him?" asked Brakkin.

"No!" Arynite practically shouted at him. "We're not contacting a member of the Endless Court to make a stupid artifact trade."

Arumen cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Well, since this conversation is going nowhere, let's change the subject. Who is your other friend with you, Ferrin?"

"What are you talking about?" Ferrin spun around, looking behind him.

A pocket of air on the mountainside shimmered as another rogue materialized into existence, giving the group a tiny wave. The motion ended with a dagger popping into his hand.

"Shirall," Ferrin greeted him flatly.

"Hullo fair elf," said Brakkin.

"Uh, Brakkin, that's a Mathosian, not a High Elf," said Arumen.

Brakkin gave a small shrug. "He's taller and skinnier than the other guy. He's gotta have elven blood in him somewhere."

Shirall blanched at the statement, but didn't comment.

"Shirall, do you know how I can contact this Avel person?" asked Brakkin.

Shirall gave the Bahmi an icy glare.

"He's in charge of catching cultists," Ferrin explained. "Didn't do too well on his last mission."

"No thanks to you," Shirall growled.

"Anyways," Ferrin continued. "If you want to contact a member of the Endless Court, you should try asking an undead. They'll probably know where he is."

"An undead." Shirall rolled his eyes. "I should just walk up to the nearest undead and say 'excuse me, can you tell me where I can find a certain member of the Endless Court?' I'm sure that will work."

"There's some undead just down the hill," Brakkin offered.

[Ascended One]

Great story so far! Can't wait for more!

[Arynite]

Part 20:

Avel's charge ran out at the same moment his victim convulsed, dying at his feet. The staff of his dreams shattered into pieces, raining toothpick-sized splinters everywhere. No! He needed that staff. Grasping at the tiny wooden sticks, he almost missed a blade flying toward his kidney. Again.

"Stupid rogue," he growled, barely jumping aside in time. Waving his arms, half spellcast and half panic, he fired off his newly acquired polymorph skill.

The rogue shrunk, turning into a squirrel. It lasted about three seconds. The magic imploded on itself and Kymari retook her original form, gleaming daggers surging forward.

Desperate, Avel called forth a plague bolt, hurling the ball of death energy at the rogue. It flew too high, sailing straight over the short Kelari. She was too close! A dagger nicked his leg as Kymari darted past, dodging Avel's swinging fist. Avel tried his spell again, hurling a second plague bolt. This one flew low, catching the rogue's feet. Kymari fell to the floor, her legs dropping dead beneath her.

Avel waited warily, anticipating another trick. A thrown dagger embedded itself in his left arm. Void it! Gritting his teeth, he pulled the dagger out. He didn't have enough magical charge to use another soul purge, so he let loose yet another plague bolt. Not very original, but effective none the less. It landed perfectly, delivering its concentrated burst of death and disease. The rogue's body shuddered, overloaded with foul magic.

Avel let out a sigh of relief, until he realized his mistake: If the rogue knew she couldn't defeat Avel, she would head for the failsafe next. She would get there before him, and alert the past. His plans to use the failsafe as a ticket to power and Regulos' favor would be ruined.

Clink clink. Clink click. A strange sound echoed down the hallway. Moments later, a familiar shadow appeared along the wall and a wyvern rounded the corner, its claws scraping against rough stone. It crossed the last of the distance to Avel with ground devouring leaps, landing gracefully as his feet.

"Hello, brother," said the wyvern. "I see you've acquired a new form."

Avel looked the wyvern up and down, his lips twisting in amusement. A frown of displeasure creased his brow. "What took you so long?"

"Had to kill a bunch of technicians on the way in," answered the wyvern. "Quite tasty. One of them even reminded me a little of squirrel. Oh, and Regulos knows about your plans. He said to hurry it up. If that rogue makes it through the failsafe, we're finished."

Avel nodded thoughtfully, but didn't move. "There's still one other problem I haven't solved. Once I get back to the past, everyone is going to look at this body and wonder what in the void I am. I'm an elf, but I don't look like a Kelari or a High Elf. I've read all about Telaren history; they won't accept me."

"Then disguise yourself. You've got that new polymorph thing. Use that."

"On myself?" asked Avel, incredulous. With his knowledge and skills, the polymorph spell could probably be tweaked. The spell's effects didn't last long in its current form, mostly because the bulk of the spell's energy was consumed maintaining a shift in mass. Stuffing a man into a squirrel's body was like trying to stuff a swimming pool into a picnic basket. A polymorph that conserved mass and only focused on cosmetics could be maintained longer. Much, much longer. In theory.

"Practice on one of those," the wyvern nodded at the corpses of the rogue and mage.

Avel turned his attention to the corpses, looking thoughtful. Yes, it might work. Carefully, he called forth the polymorph spell, focusing only on changing his target's skin color. Squirrel brown, he willed. The skin of the Kelari at his feet turned from dusky gray to a sickly dark yellow.

"Try again," the wyvern smirked.

Avel focused harder, willing the color to lighten. He thought it just might be working, when the wyvern let out a yelp. He turned to look at the wyvern, but something bit his stomach. He looked back down to find a small hole in his robe, bleeding steadily. The rogue was gone.

"She wasn't dead, you idiot," the wyvern snarled. Before Avel could reply, it sped down the hall, raptorial legs wheeling.

Avel jogged after it, clutching his bleeding stomach and side.

The next hall opened into a larger room with a heavy metal door. Or what had been a heavy metal door. Hanging from one hinge, battered and dented with a hundred tiny pockmarks, it didn't make a very good door anymore. Avel charged through the narrow opening, legs pumping. The smell of decaying flesh filled his nostrils as he passed by a few of Terminus' defenders. Some bore claw marks, likely from a run in with one of Regulos' creatures. Most had horrifed expressions glued to their faces. All of them were dead.

"Hurry up," said the wyvern for the eighteenth time. "She's getting away." It ran ahead, pacing back and forth. "Can't you shape change or something? Grow wings again and fly?"

"Would take- gasp- too long." Avel panted out the words between gulps of air.

The wyvern stopped its pacing and crouched low, its belly touching the ground. "Get on."

Avel stared at the creature, giving it an are-you-serious look. Wyverns weren't large enough to carry a man long distances, but they did have enough unnaturally strong muscle for a short flight. "Fine." He walked over to the creature and shimmied onto its back. He had barely gotten a decent grip around its neck when the wyvern lifted off. Leathery wings beat at the air and howling wind filled his ears.

Below, the ground rushed by at a maddening speed. Above, unnatural purple clouds snaked between deathly tendrils. Where was the rogue? He scanned the barren terrain, hoping to spot a fleeing figure.

"Over there," said the wyvern, angling downward.

The howling increased in pitch as they gained speed. Avel squinted, still looking for the rogue. Something flashed on the ground ahead of them, growing brighter as they drew close. An exceptionally dark cloud loomed nearby, unaffected by the light.

AVEL.

It was the voice he heard in his head all the time. Not his own voice though. Regulos. Avel finally got a good look at what was generating so much bright light. Metal gears spun around a platform and tubes of planar energy snaked around its base. It was a machine. An Eth machine. The failsafe.

YOU HAVE FAILED ME. AGAIN. YOU WERE TOO SLOW, AND THAT ASCENDED JUST USED THEIR CURSED MACHINE. IF I CANNOT HAVE HER SOUL, THEN I WILL HAVE YOURS INSTEAD.

"Void it!" Avel nearly lost his grip as the wyvern banked sharply left. A giant phantasmal hand swiped at the empty air in their former flight path. "Aim for the machine. It's our only chance!"

The wyvern plummeted once more. The wind shrieked. It was the same sound they would be making shortly, if they didn't get away. Light filled their vision. The dark clouds fell away, replaced by clear blue sky. The unbroken landscape of Freemarch greeted their trembling shoulders. Port Scion, still smoldering, sat behind a crumbling bridge. They were through the failsafe.

Thud!

Avel and the wyvern glanced down at the unconscious figure at their feet.

"What's that?" asked Avel.

The wyvern prodded at the fallen figure with its snout. "I think it's some sort of guard. Probably supposed to be watching the failsafe to make sure creatures like us don't get through."

"Weird. Guess we're not too far behind the ascended. Let's focus on finding her before she goes and rats us out." Avel looked around in frustration. Unlike the future, this past version of Freemarch seethed with life. Hideously healthy green grass covered the sloping lands around the failsafe, dotted with disturbingly wholesome bushes and trees. If he were a pathetically weak rogue trying to hide from a powerful mage like himself, what would he do? Avel looked out over the landscape again, spotting a lone fox ambling its way through the grass. Of course! The rogue was a Kelari; she would hide in plain sight. Avel blasted the fox with a plague bolt. It fell over with a cry.

The wyvern sniffed at the corpse, coming up with a wet nose. "That's not her, idiot."

Disappointed, Avel looked around more. Movement on Port Scion's vast bridge caught his attention. His head swiveled, his eyes landing on a fleeing figure. The rogue.

"There!" The wyvern jumped excitedly, also spotting her. "Quick, use one of those new Dominator spells you learned. We need to make sure she doesn't get away again."

Storm Shackle, thought Avel. That should work. He spread his arms, gesturing at the figure on the bridge. Magical energy gathered at the rogue's feet.

Wheeee.... BOOM!

A magical shell exploded at Avel's feet instead. He jumped in surprise, losing focus on the spell. What was going on now? He backtracked the projectile's trajectory, following it to the opposite side of the bay. A row of cannons sat lined up along the shore. Light flickered from one of the hollowed out tubes, followed by a high pitched wail.

Another shell exploded next to the rogue. She jumped, nearly losing her footing on the bridge. Then she turned back, looking straight at Avel.

"Now!" hissed the wyvern. "Cast it!"

Avel cast.

The rogue pitched forward, falling straight off the bridge and into the murky water below.

"Gah! What did you just cast?" the wyvern demanded.

"Memory wipe," Avel replied sheepishly. "I figured if she didn't remember who we were, she might stop running." He stared into the deep murky waters with anticipation. The rogue didn't resurface.

[Cathbadb]

Well this certainly explains the memory problems though you kinda lost me with the futuristic part not being explained as to where everyone was in the time-line. Had to re-read several times. Still, this has me on edge and I wonder what's going to happen next. I suppose it can't end well for the Kelari Rogue as the Guardians are so very black and white when it comes to how they see the world.

I had thought about writing a FF of my own to explore the repercussions of a Guardian who actually questions the benevolence of the Vigil and if they are really doing what's best for Telera over all when they have a clear bias against certain races.

I'm eagerly waiting for the next chapter.

[Arynite]

I've gotten permission from my guild to add a fan fiction section to our guild website. You can find all the old sections from Rifted Bloodlines on our Fan Fiction page. I also fixed a few typos and minor lore/PoV breaches, and I added some screenshots for fun. Enjoy!


Part 21:

"I can't believe we're doing this," Arumen muttered to Arynite.

The two of them sat on a patch of lush green grass at the foot of the mountainside, watching as Ferrin and Brakkin tried to talk some unfortunate ghastly spirit into revealing Avel's location. The spirit stood in the shade of the trees, almost indistinguishable from the dense wet fog that hung in the air. From the occasional bursts of maniacal laughter the spirit emitted, Arumen guessed that the two crazy artifact hunters weren't having much luck.

Arynite said nothing, shooting a cold glance toward Shirall.

The Mathosian stood apart from both groups, returning the glance with a scowl.

Arumen caught the exchange and gave Arynite a questioning look. "Usually I'm the one in favor of picking a fight with Guardians, but it seems like you two are the only ones ready to have at it. Do you know him from somewhere?"

"We met in Scarwood."

"Oh?" Arumen raised an eyebrow. "He the one who killed you in that fight you won't talk about?"

Arynite flinched, but shook her head. "Actually, it was Kain's void spawned axe that got me. That rogue got Kymari. I'm worried about her, Arumen. What if she's the one who you saw in Sanctum? What if they have her? This could all be a trap to get us too."

"Would we act any differently even if we knew it was a trap?" Arumen smiled wryly. "We've always been a reckless group."

Arynite shook her head. "I don't know. This whole situation doesn't make any sense, but all anyone seems to care about is artifacts." She gestured toward Brakkin and Ferrin, but then froze, her eyes going wide in surprise.

Shirall stood a few paces from her outstretched arm, eyeing the pair of Defiant distrustfully. Arumen hadn't even seen him move, which probably meant plane shifting was involved. "This is taking too long," Shirall said. "Cleric, if you have any way to force words from that foul undead's mouth, I suggest you do it."

Arynite looked at the Mathosian, her face unreadable. "I'm not an Inquisitor," she snapped.

"It doesn't have to be an inquisition," said Shirall. "It's an undead. Threaten it with holy life energy. Or unholy life energy. I don't care."

"I'm a Warden, not some stuck up Sentinel," said Arynite. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her canteen. Liquid sloshed inside as she tossed it at Shirall.

Shirall caught the item, inspecting it like some foreign object. "What is this?"

"It's the closest thing you're going to find to a holy water decanter," Arynite answered. "Now go use it on that creature so we can get on with this stupid charade."

Shirall vanished, flickering into existence beside Ferrin. The other rogue jumped out of the way as Shirall thrust the canteen in the undead creature's face. A ghastly howl carried across the clearing, followed by more screeching laughter. The laughter didn't last long, however, as next Shirall upended the canteen over the creature's head.

"Yaaaaargh," moaned the undead. "He's in Iron Tomb. Ow. Ow. Ow. It's the truth. Please, please let me go."

Shirall stared at the creature a long moment before nodding. "Thank you." He tossed the canteen aside, sliding a dagger through the spirit's neck in the same motion. Although it was incorporeal, it cried out, dissolving into the mist. "Let's go."

----------

Avel hummed to himself, polishing a ceremonial dagger. As he placed it on the candle-filled altar, he caught sight of the wyvern skulking in the shadow of a nearby sarcophagus. The wyvern, now in its native body of leather and scale, apparently still hadn't forgiven Avel for the most recent prank. No matter; their work was almost finished. With a smile, he recalled the ending to that void-blessed day, so many months ago...

Avel swam for hours, searching for the missing ascended. He scoured the bottom of the death tainted bay in Port Scion, working his way out into open ocean, coming ashore miles away on the banks of Silverwood. Smoke filled his nostrils and nearby cries filled his ears. Curious, he crept through the trees, making his way toward the battle.

Two Eth danced around a cluster of burning figures, stabbing with their short blades while a third called down a hailstorm, pelting the creatures with ice. Water swirled at a Kelari's feet as she directed healing spells at her allies. A nearby Bahmi sat, rifling through a burlap sack, ignoring the fight around him. The Defiant made quick work of the invasion, destroying the flaming creatures within minutes. Victorious, the group crowded around the charred remains.

Avel squinted, trying to get a better view. There was something else besides fire creatures on the ground.

"Can you revive her?" asked the mage.

Avel squinted harder. Something about that soot-coated bit of metal seemed familiar. Yes, that was the dagger that had stabbed him. This was the corpse of the ascended he sought. What if they revived her? What if she still remembered and told them? Worry grew in his mind until the party finally rose, returning to their mounts.

They rode away, eldritch steeds shooting up clouds of ash and dust. Once the Defiant were out of sight, Avel walked into the clearing and stood over the corpse. Flapping wings beat at the wind behind him as the wyvern landed. The dark leathery creature walked over to inspect the corpse, sniffing with its toothy snout. "Good job, genius," said the wyvern. "Someone knows about your new pet. You're lucky they didn't take the corpse with them."

Avel's jaw tightened. "There's not much of a corpse left for them to take." It was true. If Avel had been seeking a new corpse for his old necromantic arts, he wouldn't have even bothered with this one. The fire had been so hot, that even the fallen rogue's weapons were bent, melted from the heat.

"It's a shame you don't have that staff," the wyvern remarked. "This would go a lot faster."

Avel nodded, still standing over the corpse. Something only slightly charred caught his eye. He bent over to pick up the object. Turing it over in his hands, he realized it was a small pouch. The wyvern came over and sniffed the pouch as well. "Cat gut," he remarked. "Pretty rare artifact. Might be worth something in a trade."

Avel continued to examine the object, until movement at his feet drew his attention. The corpse's arm, now covered in a new layer of flesh, twitched.

"She's reviving," said the wyvern. "Get ready."

Kymari bolted upright, dagger in hand.

Smack! Avel swung his staff, delivering a solid blow to her skull. It was the same move Mark had used on him. Quite a fun skill, when you weren't on the receiving end of it.

Avel quickly disarmed the unconscious rogue, making sure to remove any sharp objects that might find their way into his insides. He confiscated her twin daggers, a few smaller throwing knives, and a small linen satchel. Next, he opened the satchel, dumping its contents to the ground. Out came two strange jars and two sourcestone shards: one red and one blue. He picked up a jar, inspecting it. It appeared to contain a thick golden fluid of some sort. He untwisted the cap and carefully sniffed its contents. "What in the void is this?"

The wyvern wandered over and stuck its nose in the container. The tip of his snout came out yellow. "Gah!" he rubbed his nose in the dirt, replacing the golden spot with a brown smudge. "It's a beauty cream. Apparently, since you ruined this lovely Kelari's skin tone with your incompetent spellcasting, she's gone and gotten herself a few cosmetics. This one is almost perfect for a High Elf disguise, although she'd have to wear goggles to hide those eerie Kelari eyes. Quite problematic, since such accessories aren't exactly popular among cultures who abhor magitech. The other jar there is probably good for Kelari coloring, which gives me an idea: you turn her into a High Elf and let her go."

"What?" Avel blinked in disbelief.

"Well, not a real High Elf," the wyvern elaborated. "Just make her look like a High Elf. You're worried about her going and warning other ascended about us, right? We don't have any effective means of keeping her prisoner and we can't afford to babysit her every minute. Wipe her memory again, make her look like a High Elf, and dump her on the Guardians' doorstep. Even if she does start to remember anything, it will only confuse her more. The Defiant will never believe a High Elf, and if she tells the Guardians, they'll declare her a heretic. They'll lock her in their Vault of Heresy, and that will be the end of our problems. Unless."

"Unless?" Avel frowned. "Tell me wyvern; what's the flaw in this plan?"

"Not a flaw," the wyvern snapped. "An opportunity. But we'll need to find that staff of yours first. Go ahead, make the changes now."

"They won't last forever," Avel warned. "If she sustains too many injuries, the spell will break."

"What about augmenting the spell with sourcestone?"

"Huh." Avel considered the idea. Firsthand experience had demonstrated that the defiant ascension process used sourcestone to create the body. Could it later be modified? Only one way to find out. Avel gripped the pieces of sourcestone in his hand, concentrating on his stolen transformation spell. The skin on the elf beneath him lightened, losing its dingy tint. Carefully, he reworked her facial features, masking the Kelari traits with High Elf ones. Once satisfied, he opened his palm once more. Only the red piece of sourcestone remained. "Ah, leftovers." He moved to pocket the shard, but it leaped from his fingers, taking on a life of its own. Avel reached for it again, but it bounced along the earthen ground, almost mockingly.

"Soulbound," the wyvern muttered.

"Void it."

His smile faded briefly as he recalled the unrecoverable sourcestone. It was one of the few flaws in his plan, but that no longer mattered. More importantly, he had recovered the staff. Not yet soulbound to an owner in this timeline, Avel had taken the powerful artifact for himself. He had used it to revive the foolish Kelari in Scarwood, condemning her to the Guardians' cruel fate. If only she had known it was Avel's plan all along. It was almost a pity she would never find out. He paused, thoughtful. His eyes drifted over to the sarcophagus. The wyvern shrunk further into the shadows, but Avel ignored it. He had a new plan.

[Arynite]

Part 22:

"The Council of Cardinals finds you guilty of conspiring with Regulos and the Endless Court. You are hereby sentenced to an eternity on imprisonment in the Vault of Heresy."

Kymari's mouth opened, a brief flicker of surprise crossing her face before transforming into a fiery stare. She squared her shoulders, facing the cardinals. "Why aren't you listening to me? I'm not a cultist. The real culprit who stole your artifacts is still out there."

"Take her to the abbots," ordered one of the cardinals.

Kymari shrugged off the nearest guard's grip, standing firm. "You've got to listen! I know I should have told you the truth sooner, but don't make the same mistake I did. We've got a better chance at getting to the bottom of this if we work together."

The guards finally regained their hold. One of them leaned over to whisper into her ear as they shoved her out of the room. "Don't worry, the abbots won't keep you locked up forever. They like to take their prisoners out from time to time for little chats. The painful kind, of course."

Kymari's eyes darted left and right as they crossed the central dome. These Guardians were fools if they didn't listen. She needed a way out before they made things even worse, but she was still too weak. Even breaking the guards hold for those few moments had taken too much effort. The guards dragged her into another chamber, ignoring her increasingly frantic stares.

No surprise, the next chamber was filled with abbots. They were a mixed collection of ages and races, but upon spotting the escort, they formed a half circle, clustering around the newcomers.

The captain of her escort bowed, addressing the abbots. "The council wants this heretic locked away."

The body of abbots stared back. "In the vault?" one of them asked timidly.

"Where else?" The captain of the guard rolled his eyes. "We can't exactly lock her in a cupboard."

"Lord Captain," said a scrawny young abbot. "Abbess Katia is usually the one who performs the ritual, but she is away in Scarwood Reach."

"Then you perform it," the captain of the guard huffed.

The scrawny abbot's eyes bugled. "If we must. Give us a moment to prepare." Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small blue book. He flipped it open to the first page and began reading.

Kymari continued her search, looking for a way out. The longer she looked, however, the more she felt something else was wrong. She glanced back at the abbot who read his little blue book with a distracted look on his face. The guards shifted, bored. The abbots weren't starting their ritual already, were they? She tried to speak, but found her mouth frozen in place. Familiar magic tugged at her very essence, seeking to tear her soul away. Her eyes tried to widen in panic, but even that didn't work. With a horrible wrenching sensation, everything went dark.

----------

Kymari awoke to dim candlelight flickering overhead. Cold gray walls surrounded her, threatening to seal her in. She bolted upright with a yelp, leaping free of the stone prison. Her eyes swiftly scanned the new surrounding walls, and with a sinking feeling she realized that she was still trapped in another prison of sorts. Carved stone encased the room on three sides and a set of steel bars barricaded the forth. She was trapped in a cell of a dungeon. In fact, the original object she had mistaken for a prison was actually a block of carved limestone. A sarcophagus? Strange, she frowned. Usually you place dead people in those, but I'm actually feeling alive.

Footsteps sounded somewhere beyond the cell. Quickly, she ducked behind the sarcophagus, sending something scuttled along the rough stone floor. The rat darted under the set of narrow steel bars and then through a pair of sturdy black boots.

"Welcome, Kymari," said a strangely familiar voice. The owner of the pair of boots, an elf in black mage's robes, stood on the other side of the bars. He tilted his head, his eyes reflecting red in the dim candlelight. In his hands rested the staff. Mark's staff. "I just couldn't bear sending you off without saying goodbye. Did you know you left a perfectly good body behind in Scarwood Reach? I was going to feed it to my pet wyvern, but he insisted I keep it around for special occasions."

"Avel," Kymari hissed, peeking out from her hiding place. She finally looked down, noticing the color of the skin on her arm. It was pale gold. High Elven skin. Her eyes fell to the staff in Avel's hands. "You're the one who stole the artifacts in Scarwood Reach. By the Vigil, that wasn't some poor Guardian I was trying to save from a death invasion. It was you!"

"A Defiant swearing by the Vigil?" Avel chuckled, shaking his head knowingly. "Thank you, Kymari. That was priceless. At least you finally remember who I am. And just so you know, you never actually met a Messenger of the Vigil. I doubt they'd actually bother speaking with your kind. However, my winged friend here, the Harebrain of—"

"Harbinger," a voice from the shadows corrected.

A bolt of magic briefly lit the dungeon. "Ahem, Harebrain of Regulos," Avel continued, "makes a decent actor when given a little disguise of his own. And so do you, by the way. You played your part perfectly, blending with the Guardian culture right up until you betrayed them. Tell me, what do you think will happen when I use this staff on your corpse after your soul has been imprisoned in the Vault of Heresy?"

"Trick question," she answered. "You won't be sending me back, because I'm sending you to the Regulos. Even if I can't do it alone, I'll tell every Guardian and Defiant I see about you. They'll come and hunt you down, and I've never seen Regulos bring his minions back. Not alive, anyway. And not ascended. If he could, I imagine he'd revive every skeleton in every graveyard."

"Wrong," said Avel. "I can send you back to your other body with a wave from this staff. And even if you tell the Guardians, they won't believe you. They'll dismiss the claim as a lie; a pathetic last minute attempt to delay the inevitable. They'll imprison you in their vault and your eternity will be filled with anguish. Unless of course, you pledge yourself to Regulos. Join him, and be spared."

"Don't delude yourself, Avel. You've already tried erasing my memory and killing me a few times. We both know I won't go along with you plans." Kymari narrowed her eyes.

"Bold words, ascended." Avel smiled again. "But that's all they are: words. You'll fit into my plans either way. I asked you before: what happen when I use this staff on your corpse after your soul has been imprisoned in the Vault of Heresy? The Guardians want this artifact for good reason. It is powerful; powerful enough to breach their vault. When I summon you, it will open a gateway, leading out of the vault and straight into the plane of Death. Not only will Regulos' imprisoned minions be freed, but he'll have plenty of souls from the other planes to feast on. Including yours. Last chance to change your mind."

"Doesn't she get a third option?" asked Shirall's voice. "I was thinking, 'drop dead you endless scum,' would be a good one."

"What?" Avel spun, searching for the speaker.

A Bahmi wearing a robe and sandals stepped forward, an oversize fruit clutched in his well-muscled hand.

"Artifact hunters?" Avel burst out laughing. "You're too late. I traded them all away already, except for this staff of course. They were only a side-plot to keep you all distracted while I accomplished my real goals."

Kymari darted to the edge of the cell, tugging at the bars. "He plans to unseal the Vault of Heresy and give its contents to Regulos. We have to stop him."

"Stand back," ordered the Bahmi.

Kymari backed up, hastily summoning rift guard as she crouched against the far side of the wall. The Bahmi tossed the fruit, aiming straight for the base of the bars. It landed in an explosion of light and sound, turning bits of rock and metal into flying projectiles. The debris battered at her shield, but it held.

Kymari leaped over the fallen debris, landing next to the Bahmi. "Thanks," she said. "Want to help me kill this creep?"

"Sure."

"I'll help too," said another voice. Arynite stepped forward to stand next to the pair.

"And me," another voice added as a familiar looking Ethian rogue materialized out of thin air.

Shirall appeared as well, standing a little ways off from the rest of the group. His gaze met Kymari's and he smiled sadly. "I guess we get to have one last fight. Don't hold back this time; we're on the same side."

Kymari smiled briefly before turning her attention back toward Avel. This was how everything should be: the ascended united under one banner to defeat a common enemy. The Nightblade's fury filled her, and a spike made of pure flame materialized into her hand. Confidence swelled within her as she aimed for Avel's head, letting the projectile fly free.

Time slowed down. The flaming dagger flew toward its target. Then Avel smiled, waving his staff. Glyphs filled her vision and the world fell away. When it came back, she lay on the floor, looking up at Sanctum's carved stone ceiling.

"About time," growled the captain of the Sanctuary Guard. "Continue the ritual, abbot. We haven't got all day."

[HawtMama]

Love it! Keep it up Ary!

[Tristaynia]

Wow.

I'm not huge on the fan fiction etc usually, but these are really, really good!

I'll be following this story eagerly from here on, can't wait for the next!

[Stefanea]

Sooooo good! I'm eagerly awaiting the next part!

[Arynite]

Apologies for the long wait! But don't worry, I'm not giving up yet! I've got finals coming up, but I managed to slip in some time for completing the next section.

Part 23:

Shirall watched the dagger streak through the air, illuminating the chamber in its fiery brilliance. Finger lengths from impact, the flames vanished, winking out liked a torch doused in water. The High Elf version of Kymari collapsed soundlessly to the floor.

Avel stood in the middle of the underground chamber, staff extended from his last spellcast. An eerie smile played across his broad lips, colorless in the weak beams of sunlight that found their way through the cracks in the ceiling. Those beams of sunlight, along with a few clumps of candles scattered at the bases of emptied sarcophagi, did little to bring warmth to the increasingly chilled cavern.

Arynite, the cleric, knelt over Kymari's fallen body, checking for a pulse. From the empty expression on the cleric's face, it was obvious there wasn't one. Arynite rose with clenched fists and narrowed eyes. "Don't just stand there. You all heard about his plans to unseal the Vault of Heresy. I'm no Guardian, but I'm not letting Regulos get his hands on that." As if to emphasize the point, a ball of shimmering liquid shot from her outstretched hand, splashing into Avel's robe.

The mage looked down at his drenched robe with a scowl. Looking up again, he regarded the cleric coldly. Death energy snaked along the length of his staff as he shifted into a new spellcasting stance. Dark shadows emerged from the stone floor beneath the cleric's feet, sending her scurrying away.

The rest of the group burst into motion.

Shirall dashed forward, his dagger aimed straight for the dark mage's heart. Lightning flashed before his eyes, but he had anticipated the counter attack. As the force of the thunder blast knocking him back several paces, he plane shifted, teleporting directly behind Avel. The mage glanced back in surprise as Shirall's dagger surged forward once more, piercing the mage's thin cloth armor. Energy crackled around the pair of them.

"Look out! Warlock armor!" Arynite's warning echoed across the crypt.

Brakkin, who had used the distraction to charge into battle as well, halted mid-swing. Somewhere in the shadows a bowstring sang out as Arumen's shot flew wide.

Shirall was not as lucky. The death energy surged into him. Someone screamed. It sounded strangely like his own. Instinctively, he plane shifted to safety before doubling over in pain. Footsteps approached from his left, and he looked up as Arynite crouched by his side. More energy filled the air and he tensed until he recognized the spell. Healing energy flooded through him, soothing away the worst of the pain.

"Be more careful, Guardian," the cleric muttered. Then, rising to her feet, she hefted her hammer and ran back toward her friends. Shirall rose to his feet once more and followed. As much as he hated cooperating with the Defiant, they needed to work together if they were going to defeat Avel.

"Can you nullify his armor?" Brakkin turned toward Arumen, giving the rogue a hopeful look.

"No," Arumen winced as she expertly swung her bow over her shoulder and pulled out a lute. "I thought that other Guardian rogue was supposed to be pretty well attuned to Marksmen, so I changed roles before started fighting."

Shirall cocked his head to the side. Where was Ferrin anyway? He scanned the chamber, spying a shadow crouched at the other end of the room, as far from combat as possible.

"Ferrin," Shirall growled.

The other rogue merely shrunk further into the shadows, the silver trim on his armor trembling faintly. No help there.

Avel gave the group one final knowing snicker before striding forward to inspect Kymari's lifeless body for himself. Apparently the mage had judged his magical armor as enough of a deterrent to prevent further attacks. He was probably right. If barely scratching Avel had seriously wounded Shirall, then any serious assault on the mage would probably kill the entire group before serious damage was done.

"This is pointless," said Arumen, echoing his thoughts. "If we can't get that armor down, we need to disarm him. Without his staff, he can't complete the ritual. Can you do that, Shirall?"

Shirall considered the possibility and nodded slowly. "I think I can, but I'll need someone to distract him. Be ready to heal me again if anything goes wrong."

"We'll give him a performance to remember," Arumen promised, caressing the lute with white-gloved fingers.

"You're going to play music?" Shirall asked as doubts filled his mind. "I doubt even the best performance could hold his attention."

"I said it was going to be a memorable performance. I didn't say anything about it being good." As she strummed the musical instrument, the first few notes proved her true intentions were to play a song that was anything but good. Wailing notes filled the dungeon like thousands of banshees returned from the grave.

Without waiting to see if Avel reacted to the racket, Shirall vanished from sight, letting his instincts guide him soundlessly toward the mage.

Avel knelt at the foot of Kymari's body. Unlike Arynite, his face held no concern for the fallen rogue. He chanted under his breath, a series of harshly whispered syllables barely audible over the bard's performance. Frowning in frustration, Avel increased the volume of his chant.

Shirall reached Avel's side unnoticed. He extended an arm toward the staff, held casually in one hand by the kneeling mage. Shirall paused, taking one final calming breath before pulling at the staff with all his strength. It was a gamble; warlock armor reacted to direct attacks on the mage, but Shirall didn't know how it would react to attacks on the mage's weapon. The staff slipped free from the chanting mage's fingers. It had worked! Teleporting across the room untouched, Shirall ran for the nearest open doorway as Avel's voice cried out behind him, loud and... triumphant? Shirall glanced back, just in time to see a pair of vortexes appear between the mage's outstretched arms.

Unlike the common vertically oriented tears that ravaged Telara, these tears appeared sideways, their points of convergence connecting the tears like two halves of a fallen hourglass.

"Too slow, Mathosian," Avel called out. "The gateway is opening."