A knock on death's door, a trek into the abadoned city, for truth

[noir]

((hey everyone, id really like this thread to have at least 2 more people joining, and iit would be amazing if more would join, and a character can join at any time, trust me ill leave it open so any one can join the fold, well, hope you like it))

The lab was dark, or at least darker than usual. Len, Professor Ubo’s assistant thought this same exact thought as he stepped into the cavern esc lab, usually the professor had cast an illumination spell, or on his weak days, lit the various candles strewn around the lab. But neither method of illumination was present now, the lab was totally, and utterly immersed in a veil of darkness. Len stood there, just out side of the lab, at the threshold between the darkness, and the light of the early morning, the only thing separating him was the opening in which would have stood an old, scratched and tarnished, stained oak door. Now, in its stead were splinters and random pieces of the once bronze hinges lying on the floor, and imbedded in the door frame. Len was obviously scared, he kept seeing horrible images of thugs beating professor Ubo, and even worse stealing their research, it was obvious something was wrong, and with the gruesome killings that had occurred the night before Len wanted to find the professor, and figure out what had happened.

“Professor” shouted Len, nothing, no response

He shouted again “professor, it’s me, are you alright”, again nothing

Len took a step back and placed his right hand over the corresponding eye, a move he did when thinking “this is odd, the professor always scolds me when I first come in the morning, and especially since I’m late”

Len was sure now that something was wrong, but what he thought, he shuddered, better not to think about that now, must find the professor. Len took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the lab, straight into the darkness.

“Professor” Len shouted again, and as before, there was no reply.

Len pulled a small, ragged golden stone, covered in deep black runes out of his satchel, and blew softly on it with his warm, frightened breath, causing a light to cascade out of the small thing to form a source of light that would allow Len to find his professor. But something was odd; Len knew the sunstone he carried in his hand was of the highest quality, though it seemed as if the darkness around him was pushing against the golden light it emitted. Thought dwindling, the light emitted from the stone shone on the remains of Professor Ubo’s lab. The sturdy wooden desks, piled almost ceiling high with research notes and complex models of silver, ivory, gold, copper, and other basic materials, that had been strewn about the lab haphazardly, were now splinters and random chunks of the wood they were constructed with on the floor, in the walls, and in the ceiling, as if something with immense strength and ferocity had gone through the lab taking it’s force at throwing and breaking the desks. Len was frantic he could research notes torn to shreds, and models that had taken months to build lying broken and in pieces on the floor.

“ughhghghhgghhghghughghghgh” came an unsettling sound in the rear of the lab, the area where the shadows were the most thick, the place where the Professor’s quarters were.

Len could only see a foot or two in front him by the time he reached the Professor’s door, and the source of the odd sound. Len was set back when he saw the professor’s door, it was, pristine. The hard wood still glistened from the lacquer that covered its surface. Len was shocked, he had to look twice, but it was as he feared, the darkness that covered the lab, was pouring out from under and around the edges, like a thick inky cloud. Though he could feel the skin on the back of his neck prickling, Len felt compelled, drawn to open the door, to go further into the darkness, to challenge its depths.

“Professor” muttered Len, more to himself, than to receive a response “are you in there, are you alright”

A groan erupted from behind the pristine hard wood door, a groan of the likes Len had never heard, filled with fear, anger, and most of all absolute sadness.

“Professor Ubo” Len screamed into the lacquered wood, filled with new life from this small indication of his professor’s livelihood “it is me, Len, sorry I’m late, there is rumor of a plague, and there was a vicious attack, are you alright, and what happened to the lab, did you mix some volatile compounds….” Len stopped; he had just reached for the polished bronze handle that would gain him access to his professor’s room, instead all he felt was an icy wind blow over his hand and wrist.

“What is this” Len muttered as looked at his hand.

Len was a young man, in his twenties, and had come from a collection of small islands of the port of Cheale. As such he was muscular, and his skin deeply tanned, and his hands were thick and calloused, the darkest, and strongest parts of his body. Though what Len now looked at could not be his hands, there, in front of him, in the place where his right hand was supposed to be, was a thin, grey hand, crippled and shriveled, as if it belonged to a man three times his age.

Len shuddered “Surely this is a joke on Ubo’s part” thought Len, “it must be, there’s no other explanation, unless, NO” Len began to hyperventilate, his chest heaving in and out, in and out.

There was another groan from behind the door; this one was louder, as if some had just been stuck with tremendous. This time Len was sure that it was the Professor’s voice, after seven years of being yelled at from a person, and one could tell their voice no matter how it was changed, by pain, or in this case something more.

“AAAAHHHHHUGHGHAAHHHHAAHHHHHHHH” bellowed the professor’s distinct nasally voice from behind the pristine door

Len felt his heart racing he needed to get to the professor, and soon, this last scream, Len had only heard something similar once before, when he had witnessed an execution of a notorious thief, it was the scream of death. Though Len looked down at his hand, or what had replaced his old hand, he gritted his teeth, and moved his left hand towards knob, but before he could, Len heard a creak and the door slide to the left, as if on its own accord.

Len was taken aback at what he saw in his masters quarters “by the gods Professor” proclaimed Len, his voice shacking from fright, “what have you done, what in all the hells have you summoned to this plane Ubo”

There was a deep, nasally cackle from what stood in front of Len, a cackle no human throat could produce, a cackle that in it’s self exuded darkness, like the ink that came from its mouth, and passed across the lab, clouding it in darkness. A smile pierced the darkness; the teeth glowed with unholy light, shining with malevolence the likes that Len had never seen before. Len bowed his head, knowing full well what fate he was about to face, and he closed his eyes, tight, tighter than he had ever before, trying to think of the islands that he had been born on, the waves slowly hitting the shore, the sun high and bright in the clear blue sky, and it was done, the infestation, had begun.

__________________________******************___________________________

Four weeks later, just outside the abandoned Naladi two men stand on a large rock formation twenty or so feet away from an encampment forming a makeshift village for those who had escaped the infested city. The man farthest from the village was sitting on the edge of the rock formation, one leg folded under the other, the latter hanging off the ledge, his bare feet swaying in the light breeze. Though he was sitting, and wearing loose fitting robes, one could tell he was extremely lithe, and that he was a man of considerable hieght. He wore loose fitting robes as black as a starless night, with a blood red vest occasionally popping in and out of the night’s folds. Underneath he wore loose cotton pants, suspended just below the knee, resting lightly on his slim calf muscles. For his feet, he wore nothing, but from a distance it would appear that he was wearing some sort of low cut leather slab, upon closer inspection one would find feet so calloused and covered in dirt and muck that they might as well be leather. Though the fact that he wore no foot protection would draw attention in it’s self, this was not his only defining feature. His face was as thin and as emaciated as his body, his skin was pale peach, with a tint of grey, and his hair was as black as his robes, but when the sun hit it just right, shades of deep purple and violet could be seen in the unnaturally straight black mass. Two pointed ears stuck out of the black curtain that was his hair, every now and then one would see them twitch and move, as if independent from their host. The most striking detail though were the man’s eyes, covered by the black curtain one most likely would never see them, but if one did happen to, one would see two slits covered in scars, scars wrapping around the nose, cheeks, ears and anything else in their way, but the scars did nothing to impair his vision. Though he would rarely allow his eyes to view the world “raw” and uncovered, for underneath these scar covered slits lay a gateway into what he really was, and something about his true identity scared people, and caused them to do uncharacteristic things, mainly violent, and mainly towards the eyes owner. Luckily the man had a talent, magic, and he used his ability to hide his “disfigurement” from the world, by covering his eyes in a veil of sorts, one that let him see out, but other couldn’t see in. Those that looked upon his eyes would simply notice large, purple irises staring at them, and the man would rather have people be wary of him for other reasons than his ominous eyes.

He moved slightly, to better feel the wind, and a clinking arose from the depths of his robes folds, the man looked down and checked on his most precious of belongings, they were safe. He looked longingly at the ancient long sword and matching knife, he was thinking was times past, happy times, which were few and far between for him. On a closer look one would see that the blades were easily a couple of hundred years old, but unlike most blades their age, they held no magic in them, nor a spirit of immense power, they were simply blades, given to the man as a sort of gift long, long ago, in fact they were given to him the same night he got his most precious gift of all, his name, Noir.

Suddenly a strong gust blew by, and Noir leaned his head back to feel the wind more pleasantly, and saw that his fellow chosen was still standing behind him, leaning himself on a small withered tree, as if he carried on his shoulders a tremendous weight. He was significantly shorter than Noir, but was much more muscular than the latter; this was only accentuated by the man’s dark tan skin. Like Noir he had odd eyes, or so they seemed to Noir, they were a green common only to those with elven blood in their veins, and with his face as it was, a slender, angular masterpiece, the mans lineage was prominent. He wore a dull and faded multi colored patch work poncho which was complemented by the man’s bleach blonde hair, and his sharp green eyes. Under the poncho he wore a loose white cotton shirt, a thick black leather belt with a bright gold clasp and buckle, which held up his thick brown leather pants, which were tucked into similarly thick black leather boots. At his right, propped against the same try as its owner, was a thin rapier, with an elaborate silver guard, and a gleaming white porcelain handle. It was sheathed in a thin, plain black leather scabbard that looked weathered and beaten, as if from constant use.

The two men stood watching what had once been Naladi, once a golden city, now a grey, lifeless collection of buildings squished into one small area, surrounded by thick grey walls.

“Scary isn’t it black head” said the tanned elf

“I don’t know” replied Noir, somewhat on edge; he had just met the man yesterday.

“C’mon me boy don’t give me that, just tell me straight” interjected the tan elf

“Sorry Leonal” Noir said, genuinely apologetic “you’re right, it does look….well intimidating”

Leonal laughed with his light, yet masculine voice “you’re not much for words are ‘ye?”

Noir nodded in approval, he wasn’t much a talker, he it (speech) cumbersome, and felt as if he was breaking some unspoken law by doing so (speaking).

“So when did the old crone say the others would arrive” said Leonal

Noir had to think, it was four, no five days ago he had arrived at the make shift town, and encountered the strange, vagrant old woman. And she was old indeed, her face was weathered and wrinkled, the skin on her body was stretched tightly across her bones. She looked as if she’d been on the ocean all her life, her being deeply and evenly tanned. The old woman’s eyes seemed to glow with unholy light, and as if they were beings their own here eyes always lead one to gaze directly into her milky golden irises. She wore a collection of tatters, rags and scraps, all haphazardly sewn or thrown on to form a cascade of faded colors and textures that mad a long robe. Both her clothes and herself were covered and caked with mud and dirt, and Noir could definitely smell something far worse on her. She grabbed him on the arms with a feverishly strong grip, the dir and grime rubbing deep into Noir’s new black robe, it was the best he’d ever had.

“The first” she said in quick raspy gasps “You’ve finally arrived, arrived to help us all”

He moved his down as if to look at her, leaving his eyes closed, he hadn’t had time to cast the spell on his eyes yet.

“The blind that sees” the old woman gasped, her heart beat racing

Noir could feel the energies flowing through her as she talked to him, energies that were the most powerful he’d ever felt. Though he couldn’t identify them, but he knew one thing, they weren’t normal, or for this matter supposed to be on this plane of existence.

“Black head” Leonal was yelling “ho, Black head you still with me”

Noir felt a strong hand on his shoulder; it was gently shaking him, waking him from his thoughts. Noir was startled, but woke from his memories and gave Leonal a soft touch on the arm to signal he was awake.

The tanned elf laughed “thought you’d left the land of the living me boy”

Noir nodded, and stood up, brushing the dust from his robe, and giving a long groan as he stretched his limbs.

“So” Leonal added “when did the old crone say the others would arrive”

“Two nights and three days from yesterday” Noir answered

“So, on the ‘marrow” asked Leonal

Noir nodded, more would come, how many he didn’t know, but more would come, more souls drawn to the plagued city, more to search its depths, more to fulfill the old crone’s visions.

[Theldarin]

Two men sat on a broken hillside overlooking a grey city. One was armed and armored, all in black and gold, his body completely hidden behind its iron shell. His sword, sheared from a single stone, leaned against a convenient rock beside him. Beneath the protective gear he appeared old and weathered, skin roughened by the sun, burnt and bronzed into a deep brown, rough like aging bark. It was dry and leathery, stretched over compact bone, giving him a wiry, emaciated look only accented by the burning lights of silver-violet eyes. He looked like he could have grown in the hillside, tougher and older than ancient roots. He was the younger of the two.

The other was all in soft, unrelieved brown, sturdily made and fitted to his warrior’s build. His skin was smooth, touched by the sun but barely darkened, his expression without lines of care, his eyes dark and smooth and cold.

Both had seen the entire lives of the new gods. The end of the Purge. The beginning of the Cataclysm. One had lived to see the first gods, had known the drow when they were still the Eldar, saw Armoria in its first golden days.

He sat on the broken slope, in human form, appearing all of eighteen years of age. Eighteen thousand might have been closer.

The younger of the two could have asked his companion, “now what do we do?” if he had any curiosity, or any doubt. His companion could have answered “patience” if the other man was the type to speak at all – he wasn’t. Words were rarer for him than roses in Aissur’s winter. Neither really said anything at all, of course. They were both old enough to understand the meaning of patience and the question went unasked, its answer unspoken.

Content, if not in each others’ company, then in what they had been sent – or called – here to achieve, they said nothing.

Theldarin shifted slightly. His dark cold-forged iron armor scraped softly, the plates gliding over each other. Thick and rough, still showing the battered imprints of the hammer used in their forging, the armor protested the movement softly. Frost from the early morning air gilded its black surface, dulled the gold inlay, stiffened the armor just enough so that it hesitated before moving.

He was a good foot, almost two, shorter than his companion, all dense bone and compact form, with wide shoulders and long arms and a deeply slanting brow. Even beneath the protection of his heavy plate, his face masked by the facsimile of a face that was his visor, it was obvious that the armored man wasn’t quite human. His build was all wrong, his stance awkward, the proportions of his bodies totally off. Confusing him for a man would be like confusing an elf for a dwarf. He was neither, nor an Eldar or a Centuar or any other common existing race.

He had learned not to offer an explanation, learned to let others come to their own conclusions. Perhaps he was created by magic. Perhaps he was a half-dwarf, outcast from his people and clean-shaven to deny his heritage. Perhaps half a hundred other possibilities. He didn’t care; he was thin and wiry, weathered skin and silver-violet eyes. He was cold iron armor and a sword of stone and that was enough.

Lost one beloved of the stars, the crone had hissed, and cackled with laughter. Theldarin had not answered her, feeling Darkness from Beyond moving through her and knowing she knew no more than she had said.

At the sound of his motion his companion looked at him. Smooth-skinned and clean-shaven, even that slight movement making his muscled frame rippled with suppressed power, short dark hair and eyes like black night… an athletic eighteen-year-old frame for a mind as old as the world. The irony was not lost on Theldarin. Black eyes slashed through his own violet-silver gaze and just as quickly left; not a sign of weakness but a betrayal of strength. Kovach Dastrovsky had no need to let his eyes linger: he saw what he wished and it changed nothing.

For all their similarities they made unlikely companions. A paladin who had outlived his gods, a creature so powerful the gods, one god, had chained him beneath her Temple to keep him in check. An undead member of a long-dead race, wielding a sword of stone, and a living member of an immortal race, with a wooden staff. One with an open mind, looking for the keys to unlock his past. The other, closed down and shut off, his memories carefully regulated, precisely controlled, cordoned from his thought and left lying in the darkness of his mind.

The silence was thick, like glass, or ice. Finally Theldarin broke it, his voice rough and whispery, dry leaves or aging parchment. “You are older than I, Dastrovsky,” he said. A vague memory stirred. A castle, nay a Temple, all carved from ice and high in the mountains. A beautiful woman, powerful and deadly, with dark hair and black wings and an enchanting voice, might in one hand and vengeance in the other. In her shadow, still and silent, chained more securely than iron, a young man. Eighteen years old. The memory came rolling out of the hidden darkness of Theldarin’s past, ten thousand years or more in the past. “Older,” he agreed with himself. “Yet you are here. Why.”

“I was so commanded.” Flat, even, emotionless. That was all. I was so commanded. To what powers Dastrovsky was bound Theldarin could only guess, but he was certain in his guesses. The ice Temple belonged to Retribution. Ten thousand years later and a new goddess reigned and still the dragon was bound to her will. A slave to her desires. Humbled to obey her commands.

“As was I,” Theldarin said, with a dry laugh in his tone. “Or so the Stars say. The dream-paladin told me to seek them, in the dying city. So here I am.” He nodded at the grey walls some distance from him. “But is this the place? I doubt it, but I shall look.”

Dastrovsky didn’t answer. Theldarin did not really expect him to. The unspoken answer to his unasked question hung on the air. Patience.

“She called me the ‘lost one beloved of the Stars’,” Theldarin ventured at last, his gauntleted hand closing over the simple hilt of his great stone sword. “What did she call you?”

“The living memory of ice,” Dastrovsky said. For the first time the undead ered-ithil heard something, emotion or flavor, in his tone. A hint of distant thoughtfulness where there was usually nothing but smooth, unmarked stone.

Abruptly the dragon who was human rose to his feet with the smooth grace and agility of a weaponsmaster. “There is someone moving on the far hill,” he said, sliding his fingers along the smooth wood of his staff.

Theldarin, too, rose. “I see them,” he said, and rested the wide blade of his sword across his right shoulder with easy balance. “Shall we go?” he said and, without waiting for the answer that would never come, began to pick his way across the broken slope.

[Rhea]

The evening light - common, and yet still a beauty to even the most untrained of eye sorts. Glowing and basking in it's own glory, large ball of flame would follow it's usual path out and over the horizon, only to appear later on in a matter of hours, rising instead of setting. Sure, the fading of said light wasn't exactly exciting to most these days, thus resulting in the lack of attention it often recieved. More 'important' features were often put into it's place instead, brushing the magnificent light back and away to the farthest corner of the mental mind, doing nothing but gathering dust. To a particular someone, however, such a time was probably the most exciting part of the morning and night. Or, to say the least, the most respected. In small words, the evening provided a time of release, comfort, and just plain relaxation. The chance to be one's own self was more than just a gift in a certain view point, by far.




And that certain one just happened to be Rhea Castillo.



It's easy to say she was.. uncomfortable with her own self, or even just they way she had been structured. Not having the honor to wear the title 'Full' or 'Pure Bred' anywhere along the lines of her life, said one had made several attempts to atleast appear the part. Such as hiding one of the most obvious aspects of her features - The large Falcon-like wings that portrayed from the female's back naturally by forcing them to fold in an uncomfortable manner. With tight wrappings, somehow it was managed to bandage the wings onto her back flat enough to slip on a red-ish blouse with white coating on the insides, a waist worn armour plate wrapping around in a fit fashion. Along the cufflines, they flare a tad, easy to roll up if need be. Which, currently, they were. Leather black leggins addorned bottom half, with matching black boots to trail it all up. Not flashy, but it fit for her current actions comfortably enough.



Being the half Harpy and half Human she was, of course feathers were in select places. Such as on the backs of both her hands - Hidden easily by simple gloves. Trailing in along her hair in bits and pieces, those she bothered not with. It'd be too much work to even consider hiding all the small baby feathers. They weren't that obvious anyways, so it was no big hassle.



In present time, Rhea could be found overlooking a strange and grey city on a short hillside on the eastern side of the city, a pack slung over her shoulder and wings exposed. It was evident on how she'd arrived. Brows furrowed on her face as piercing Falcon-like eyes scanned the oblong city, finding it near impossible to actually look within it. The thickness of the fog-like substance was much too great, and looking into it was impossible. For atleast herself. Thoughts motored across her busy mind and buzzed around annoyingly. What in the name caused this?



Ms. Castillo had no idea.



Glancing around at the hillside she had stumbled across, shoulders rolled back in a shrug, thus resulting in her dropping the pack that had been on her back on the ground with a light thud. Not much was inside it, but it was needed none the less. Different colored eyes trailed down on a small patch of grass just infront of her boots and Rhea took the invitation to seat herself down on it. Shifting around comfortably and drawing knees closer, head tilted to the side curiously at the scene just across. The small hill that the half Harpy had settled on wasn't exactly high up in elevation. But it did have a small height over the city. From there, female studied the strange scene, feeling a deep energy spurt from it.



"I don't know about this place.." Rhea concluded and squinted across and over the black mass, trained eyes spotting little movement on a slope far across the other side. It looked like there had been other traveler's here, or at least ones who knew what they were doing and most likely held a purpose.



Herself? Quite the opposite.



Rhea was mearly just a nosy passerby who just so happened to have flown her way on over, still on that mini quest of ers to aquire her own Phoenix - Or atleast an equally unique pet for herself. Growing ever more curious and sticking her nose in where it probably didn't belong, head cocked upwards to the sky to check the amount of daylight. It was increasingly getting darker, and the life beings that female had spotted distantly off as small speaks were to be assumed they hadn't see her enter. So, it was safe to say in her part they wouldn't be looking over and across the distance anytime soon. Picking herself back up and giving one last look to the heavens, wings spread and flapped with two powerful pumps, dust and dibris flinging in every which direction. Slowly rising off of the ground in a near straight vertial action, Rhea attempted to view the city from the top side. Once a good clear distance from the ground, the flapping began to increase and the effort remained the same. Head cranned to look at the black mass and she grumbled. Same thing here too. Shrugging and letting herself slowly ease back down the the ground, arms crossed as she pondered on what the next course of action should be.



Should she just continue on with her flight, or risk something happening by walking into the city? Rhea didn't know, thus she didn't move.

[noir]

((I’m not trying to say anything about your characters with this little part with Leonal ranting; this is just for a story element))

“Damn that old hag” shouted Leonal “it’s been twelve nights, twelve whole nights when they were supposed to be here, when we’re supposed to be in the damned city”

The two chosen standing and sitting on their usual spot on the rock face a ways from the makeshift Naladi. Leonal was standing by the tree as he had for the past twelve days. Noir sat like always with his bare feet hanging off the edge, though now he held a long wooden shaft, with a dark, rough, spear head standing at the end, fastened by two bronze bolts, this was a gift from Leonal, as Noir had no money.

Noir looked up at his flustered companion, their eyes met, and Noir saw the impatience in his glowing green eyes.

“I know” Leonal replied “calm down” he said with a annoyed tone “but we’ve been waiting for the ‘fellow chosen’ but by the gods how could she have been so off”

Leonal began to storm off, but stopped and instead opted to kick a fock or two.

“We wait” pronounced Noir, catching Leonal’s attention

“I know” said Leonal his voice steadier and slower “but every night that passes another villager goes missing”

Noir looked over at Leonal, he could see small tears running down his tanned face.

“I just can’t stand doing nothing while these people suffer” he stifled

Noir thought for a second, and then remembered what the old crone had said something about demons from the broken city moving out.

“Demons” Noir said, pointing towards the east, the direction of the abandoned city.

“Yes I know that’s where the demons are coming from” Leonal replied, annoyed “from the pit of the city as that old hag put it”

“No” Noir said “the forest” he moved his hand again, straightening it “no trees”

Leonal took a second look, then stood up to reassure himself of what he saw, and to his surprise there was a small area barely visible to his trained eyes were no trees stood in the middle of the forest.

“Well I’ll be a griffin’s uncle” pronounced Leonal “there have got to be at least a handful of demons down there”

Noir looked up at Leonal; he looked back at him a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You know” Leonal said with a smirk “the old hag didn’t say anything about entering the woods”

Noir thought to himself for a second, then said “will it help them” Noir asked, looking back at the makeshift village.

“It might black-head” Leonal answered, staring at the void in the forest “if demons are in fact down there, and we can manage to kill them” Leonal paused

“Kill” Noir said

“Yes, we have to kill them, unless you know another way” Leonal said

“Fine” said Noir

Leonal smiled, his bright white teeth gleaming in contrast to his dark skin “so I finally get see you fight” Leonal laughed

Noir stood up, grabbed the spear Leonal had bought him, and began trekking down the Cliffside, walking towards the supposed demon encampment.

________________________****************************____________________

“Do you have any idea where we are?” moaned Leonal

Noir nodded, he had lost his bearings long ago, sometime before sunset at least.

“Great” spouted Leonal, stopping, resting on his silver rapier “and you’re supposed to be the dependable”

“I’m not leading” Noir reminded Leonal

“Yeah, yeah” Leonal retorted “at least I…..” Leonal stopped, his pointed ears perked high in the air.

Noir could feel it too, something was a miss, it seemed as if the forest were crying.

“Friend” Leonal whispered “I think we found what we were looking for”

Noir didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to they both knew that what had just been said, was the truth. Noir began moving his hands, and murmuring the arcane symbols and words.

“Forsvinn” Noir whispered, and the spell was done, he could feel the warmth come over him, and he saw Leonal having a small fit over the odd sensation going up his body.

Noir moved over and placed his hand on Leonal’s shoulder “calm” he said, and Leonal slowly calmed down, his heart beat slowing.

“Sorry” Leonal said “I didn’t know what was going on”

“Invisible” Noir said, turning his head and looking at their discovery

He was astonished at what he was seeing, through out all of his travels he had never seen so many demons in one area with it being a blood bath, let a lone five demons of varying species.

“Well will you look at that” Leonal whispered, sweat pouring down his angular face “these must be the bastards that have been attacking the village, look over there” Leonal shuddered “bodies”

Noir saw them to, or what was left of them, the demons had picked most of the bodies dry, and those that weren’t, Noir couldn’t force himself to look at them.

“You know anything about these things” Leonal whispered to Noir, his hand eagerly rubbing his rapiers ivory hilt.

“No” Noir replied, and then whispered “watch”

And they did, until the sun began to sink low enough that the moon could be seen on the opposite end of the sky.

Of the five demons that stood in the desolate circle where no trees stood but once had, only one was female, and it seemed that she was the leader. She looked as stories say a banshee would, her hair was mild and unkempt, her eyes were a yellow in place of white. Her skin was racked and lumpy, sores covered her bare arms and shoulders, some came up to her flat, rather unpleasant face. She wore red stained rags; they barely covered her sickly body. She kept the others on a short leash constantly beating them and yelling, her voice compounded Noir’s assumption the woman was indeed a banshee.

Two of the demons were the brunt of most of the banshee’s yelling’s and beatings. They were monstrous beasts, standing almost as tall as the surrounding trees, even though they stood with their heads hanging low, and their back hunched over. One was a dark blue, almost grey; there other was a bright brown, almost red. Facially they were extremely similar, as if they were related (“If demons can be” thought Noir) thick horns protruded from their temples, they were the same color as their huge, jagged teeth, a sickly yellow. The two lower canines were especially large and jagged, popping out from between the two thick meaty lips. Their eyes were small, and beady, hidden under their thick brow. They had short stubby legs and long, thick meaty arms, their bellies were large and bulbous, hanging over the leather loincloths they used to cover themselves.

These tow creatures seemed to be friendly with another one of the demons. This one seemed male, but it could be either, Noir knew how demons were odd in many ways. The demon was small and yellow with green dreadlock esc extensions that looked like they might be hair of some sort. It had long legs and squatted like a frog ready to pounce. Its limbs were long and skinny, like its body. Overall it seemed as if it had placed skin over its tall body that was much too small. What most struck Noir was that this creature had no eyes, none, not even sockets where they should have been.

The last remaining demon was what prevented Noir, and most likely Leonal too from moving, it was impossible to tell anything about it. It wore a dark stained cape that covered its whole body, on its head it wore a hood and a large leather hat that cast a shadow where its face would have been.

“What do we do?” Leonal said, gesturing towards the demons

Noir stopped watching the demons and began to think “what would be the best way to approach this” It was hard though; he had little to no information on these demons, and diffidently didn’t know what their fighting capabilities were.

“Come on Black head” whispered Leonal

Noir was beginning to get annoyed by this name Leonal had given him, or maybe it was Leonal’s impatience that bothered him, either way Noir felt somewhat annoyed towards his Elvin companion.

“Don’t know” Noir whispered back, his false eyes glinting with a tinge of anger, which Noir knew leonal didn’t see.

“Well isn’t that just great” spit Leonal, a little louder than he had intended

“What was that?” Noir heard a gruff voice say

“Somethin’ in the bushes” replied another rougher voice

“I smell something” a small ragged voice proclaimed “it’s sweet”

Noir dared not move his head to see the faces of those who spoke these words, they might see the movement, or hear it, and they already suspected something.

“I smell death” exclaimed another voice, it was more like a whisper really, and it seemed as if the words were notes in a whistle, it made Noir’s whole body go cold “something sweet and something dead”

There was a long silence, and Noir thought for sure they could hear Leonal’s heart beating, to Noir it was like a tremendous drum beating right next to him. Suddenly Noir heard Leonals heart speed up, and felt the heat coming off his body increase, then he was gone, rushing straight into the center of the demons, breaking the invisibility spell and revealing both him self and Noir.

“Raaaaaaaawwwwwrrrrrrrr” screamed Leonel as he bolted head first into the giant blue demon, drawing his silver rapier with his left hand, Noir could feel the winds shift as he drew the sliver of a blade, it was wrapping the wind around it.

Noir threw himself at the blue demons red double, tightly griping the back end of the crude wooden shaft that composed most of his spear; his left hand was gently wrapped around the midsection, only there to steady it as he ran. The poor thing didn’t even have a chance to turn, but that was perfect for Noir, he knew from his training at the dojo that the ear lead straight into the brain, and a hit there was sure to be fatal. Noir felt the familiar ‘click’ as he lost control of himself, and he jumped up, level to the beast’s head, moved his right hand to the base of the shaft, and pushed, feeling the cheap metal slice through the eardrum, and then go deeper, and deeper, until Noir felt no resistance from the spear.

“Nooggggggullll” screamed the red thing as it fell, a dark grey blood flying every where, covering Noir, and the ground around it.

The world seemed to be in slow motion, Noir watched as the creature fell to ground, not quite dead yet, but definitely not a threat any more. Suddenly Noir saw a flash of yellow, and felt a hard blow on his left side, and arms wrap around his midsection, sending him and the arms owners flying to the right, slamming into one of the surrounding trees, Noir heard at least one of his ribs crack, and heard his shoulder pop out of its socket, then a tremendous pain surged through his body.

“Dirty dead” screamed the yellow blur as they both went crashing to ground, its grip still tight around Noir’s waist

As they were falling Noir saw Leonal fighting with the banshee, Noir also saw the remains of the blue giant demon that he had been fighting before, it was torn to pieces, grey blood was every where, the pieces lying next to the red demon that he had killed. Noir’s vision popped back to Leonal, and he was amazed, it seemed as if he was cutting the trees that stood in front of him with every swing that missed the banshee, (which was all unfortunately), then Noir felt his dislocated shoulder hit the hard ground, popping it back in, then out again, more pain.

“Die, die, die” screamed the yellow blur, and Noir felt a flurry of fists beating on his chest, neck and face.

The blur stopped and Noir got a good look at it, seeing it was the yellow demon that looked like a frog, the thing with no eyes. Noir felt a tug on his belt, and felt a pang as he saw what demon held in its slimy hands, it held Esic, his precious dagger. It began to laugh, and raised Esic above its head, its laughter growing with every second, Noir then felt something very rare to him, rage.

“Put him down” Noir murmured “put Esic down, NOW”

And with that word, Noir saw the blind creature begin to twitch, and it made horrible noises, dropping Esic, and grabbing its face, and letting out a horrible scream, then its head exploded, throwing a horribly smelly green blood through the air, and all over Noir, and his new clothes.

“Did I?” Noir said trembling as both the blood of the red giant and the yellow frog seemed into his skin and cloths, staring at the headless corpse that lay in front of him.

There was a horrible screech from where Noir had seen Leonal, it was as if all the pain that could ever be experienced was thrown out through a throat, in the form of a scream, a horrible scream that scratched at Noir’s soul, or at least what he thought was his soul. The scream slowly faded, and Noir got up off the ground, picked up Esic, and tried to find Leonal, he was cleaning his blade on the red demons loin cloth.

“I couldn’t hit her” Leonal murmured to himself, not knowing that Noir had heard him clear as day “why couldn’t I just kill her like the others”

Noir walked over and stood a foot from Leonal, who had now place his rapier in its sheath, “it’s alright” he said, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible

Leonal looked up, his eyes were filled with tears, though Noir could tell that he was at the very least calming down “thank you” Leonal stood up straight and brushed some dust off his clothes “they got away, the banshee and that cloaked one”

Noir nodded, he could still see their silhouettes in the distance running towards the abandoned Naladi walls, towards the open gate that led into the city depths.

“Should we….?” Leonal stammered, staring at he slowly fading shadows “should we go after them?”

“No” Noir said, hoping Leonal would accept that, they had to wait until the other arrived, until those ‘chosen’ came to save the city, he looked down at the red demons corpse, there was no point in trying to get his spear out of the things head, “another lost lance” Noir thought to himself.

“Then we should go back to our little out cropping, and camp out for another night” Leonal paused “damn that old hag” with that the two chosen men turned their backs to the abandoned city, and made their way back to the small cliff that they spent most of their days on, ready now to wait for the others to come, the others that would most assuredly come, in time.

[Liken]

Liken soared over the night sky looking side to side for the city called Naladi. Some old crone had told him to go to the city. There he could strangely help the city. And then maybe then the seraphim would leave him in peace. And all would be forgotten. He was supposed to meet a few others for his journey.

As he flew over the forest he heard the familiar screeching of dieing demons. His own kind. But Liken was disgusted with his own kind. They had no sense of pride. His long stay with the seraphim brought him some sense of pride. Of who he was and where he came from.

He came upon a clearing in the woods and could see multiple demons being slaughtered by two other figures. He looked down upon them all. Liken sighed to himself. 'They got what was coming to them.'

He dropped down after the two figures left and looked around the battle site. It looked like there was no contest between the fighters. A spear was logged in the head of one of the demons. He ripped it out and surveyed the spear. "This is the crudest spear i have ever seen." He said dropping the spear.

Liken tired of the battle zone dug his feat into the ground, and pushed off the ground leaving a crater as he took to the sky. His black armor pushed back into his blackened skin. He gave out a loud yell as he rocketed into the sky. His sword bounced around on his back.

He watched the two figures walking back to a hill top that overlooked the city. Instead of flying over to the two he flew into the city. He flew just above the building tops. The city looked deserted to him. Every window was dark no lights anywhere. He left the city and flew back into the clouds.

Liken bolted over to the hillside where the two men sat. He landed down on top of the rocks. He stood himself up strait and looked at the two. He thought to himself before speaking. 'What if they try to kill me? No they won't.' Liken looked through his hood with his bright red eyes and spoke.

"I take it the crone sent you two?" He asked the two men.