Choice 2. Stay and fight the hosts of darkness?

Teeth gritted in a snarl as he shook his head, he replied, “No.”

Brown eyes widened in surprise, Khorasan’s mouth flapped open chagrined. “They are your responsibility Gregor--”

“--No. They are not. I’ll be damned if I'm going to keep risking my neck for them. Now, you do what you want, but I’m done with them,” and stalked away. They were not her, and he was done trying to make up for his past mistakes.

Moving to stand alone atop the ridge, he sat down to wait. This was not a fight he was going to run away from, and who knows there may be gold in it for him.

Breathing slowly to pass the time, he thought of his first home in the Red Lands, a small squalid thing built of mud and thatch, and wondered if he had ever been happy there? Or was that when everything had gone wrong from him. Running away to join the first adventurer that had passed by hunting some ghoul that had been preying on towns in the desert. He had been so naive, hungry for adventure, and all he had gotten was blood.

Bones beginning to stiff from sitting in place too long, he could smell the cookfires being put out behind him, thought about just leaving, when the largest army he had ever seen began to emerge from the forest. Monsters, creatures, beasts from the underworld all gathered together in an assembly that should have terrified the world. Their army swelling out from the trees, valleys, and lowlands like a great tide pool of flesh that seemed to stretch on forever. Demons thronging the morning skies beating leathery black wings that darkened the heavens. Massed ranks of goblins beating spears to shields, and grey-furred giants that shook the world with their slow lumbering strides. And along with it all were crowds of undead warriors that looked like they had been dragged out of their graves. Grey flesh broken apart to expose yellowing bones, bits of armor from an ancient war, and hollow eyes that saw nothing, dragging rusted blades.

The hunger for battle that began to thrum inside Gregor, reminding him of a tempest that kept growing in size as he grinned, and started his way down. This is what he was born to do.

(Target Demons.)

Lost Flame dropping into his hands like it was an extension of his own body, he could easily pick out the mines and caltrops laid out across the rocky slope with his new senses. The voices that called out to him from behind, ignored as he set his sights on the demons that blackened the sky. Imps summoned by the dark mages to act as their foot soldiers for the armies of darkness. Alone they were nothing more than insects to him, given his newfound powers, but in flocks this size, they would need to be crushed.

Heart bubbling with a simmering cold rage he couldn't seem to control, he felt himself beginning to change, his skin burning like a furnace, a part of him knowing and accepting that he was different now. The familiar hunger and battle fever that had always been a part of him, mixing in with something else as each step he took drew in power, until he felt like he was burning alive. Blue flames bursting out of his pores like molten hot magma that flowed out into his greatsword, turning it into a flaming azure beacon that licked the air with tongues of fire. Spells he had no idea that he knew, flooding the back of his mind. Blood Tears, which melted flesh from bones. Demon's Lash, which fed on nightmares, and God's Fury, which called down bolts of holy fire.

(Blood Tears. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "weep tears of blood," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to watch the imps circle the skies like carrion birds waiting to feed, when one by one hundreds plummeted to the ground. Blood pouring out from every orifice as they screeched their death rattles.

(Demon's Lash. Mana 50.)

+2 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "go to sleep," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to watch the imps circle the skies like carrion birds waiting to feed, when suddenly they screeched with fury, and dove down to attack everything around them. Goblins, giants, mages, ogres, all of them forced to hide in the cover of the trees as firebolts rained down, killing each other in a chaotic mayhem of blood, guts, and gore.

(God's Fury. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "taste the suns," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to watch the imps circle the skies like carrion birds waiting to feed, when bolts of pure light rained down to strike them one by one, their bodies transformed to ash. Their wild screams of terror drowning the air with their noise.

(Target Giants.)

Lost Flame dropping into his hands like it was an extension of his own body, he could easily pick out the mines and caltrops laid out across the rocky slope with his new senses. The voices that called out to him from behind, ignored as he set his sights on the giants. If those big bastards ever got up here, it would only be a matter of time before their defenses fell, and he hadn't come all this way for nothing.

Heart bubbling with a simmering cold rage he couldn't seem to control, he felt himself beginning to change, his skin burning like a furnace, a part of him knowing and accepting that he was different now. The familiar hunger and battle fever that had always been a part of him, mixing in with something else as each step he took drew in power, until he felt like he was burning alive. Blue flames bursting out of his pores like molten hot magma that flowed out into his greatsword, turning it into a flaming azure beacon that licked the air with tongues of fire. Spells he had no idea that he knew, flooding the back of his mind. Blood Tears, which melted flesh from bones. Demon's Lash, which fed on nightmares, and God's Fury, which called down bolts of holy fire.

(Blood Tears. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "weep tears of blood," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to watch giants loom out of the forest treetops, grey fur matted with sweat as they swung huge clubs, when one by one they collapsed to their knees. Blood pouring out from every orifice as they screamed their death rattles, their voices like thunder as they fell twitching to the ground.

(Demon's Lash. Mana 50.)

+2 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "go to sleep," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to watch giants loom out of the forest treetops, grey fur matted with sweat as they swung huge clubs, when suddenly they howled, the whites of their eyes rolling in their skulls as they lashed out at everything around them. Goblins, demons, mages, ogres, all of them forced to break apart as clubs came crashing down, killing each other in a chaotic slaughter of blood, guts, and gore.

(God's Fury. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "taste the suns," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to watch giants loom out of the forest treetops, grey fur matted with sweat as they swung huge clubs, when bolts of pure light rained down to strike them one by one, their bodies transformed to ash. Their wild screams of terror drowning the air with their noise.

(Target Mages.)

Lost Flame dropping into his hands like it was an extension of his own body, he could easily pick out the mines and caltrops laid out across the rocky slope with his new senses. The voices that called out to him from behind, ignored as he set his sights on the dark mages and their undead allies. If those black-hearted devils were allowed to gain control of the battlefield, they could decimate them from a distance.

Heart bubbling with a simmering cold rage he couldn't seem to control, he felt himself beginning to change, his skin burning like a furnace, a part of him knowing and accepting that he was different now. The familiar hunger and battle fever that had always been a part of him, mixing in with something else as each step he took drew in power, until he felt like he was burning alive. Blue flames bursting out of his pores like molten hot magma that flowed out into his greatsword, turning it into a flaming azure beacon that licked the air with tongues of fire. Spells he had no idea that he knew, flooding the back of his mind. Blood Tears, which melted flesh from bones. Demon's Lash, which fed on nightmares, and God's Fury, which called down bolts of holy fire.

(Blood Tears. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "weep tears of blood," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifting upward to watch groups of dark mages emerge from the forest surrounded by armies of undead, when one by one they collapsed to their knees. Blood pouring out from every orifice as they screamed their death rattles, their undead allies no longer leashed, turning on each other.

(Demon's Lash. Mana 50.)

+2 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "go to sleep," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifting upward to watch groups of dark mages emerge from the forest surrounded by armies of undead, when suddenly they howled, the whites of their eyes rolling into the back of their skulls as they lashed out at everything around them. Goblins, demons, giants, ogres, all of them forced to break apart as fireballs, lightning lashed them, armies of undead killing each other in a chaotic slaughter of blood, guts, and gore.

(God's Fury. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "taste the suns," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifting upward to watch groups of dark mages emerge from the forest surrounded by armies of undead, when bolts of pure light rained down to strike them one by one, their bodies transformed to ash. Their wild screams of terror drowning the air with their noise, while their undead allies no longer leashed, turned on each other.

(Target goblins.)

Lost Flame dropping into his hands like it was an extension of his own body, he could easily pick out the mines and caltrops laid out across the rocky slope with his new senses. The voices that called out to him from behind, ignored as he set his sights on the hordes of greenskins. Made up of hundreds of different tribes from all across Caldasher, they were the biggest threat, simply by sheer numbers alone.

Heart bubbling with a simmering cold rage he couldn't seem to control, he felt himself beginning to change, his skin burning like a furnace, a part of him knowing and accepting that he was different now. The familiar hunger and battle fever that had always been a part of him, mixing in with something else as each step he took drew in power, until he felt like he was burning alive. Blue flames bursting out of his pores like molten hot magma that flowed out into his greatsword, turning it into a flaming azure beacon that licked the air with tongues of fire. Spells he had no idea that he knew, flooding the back of his mind. Blood Tears, which melted flesh from bones. Demon's Lash, which fed on nightmares, and God's Fury, which called down bolts of holy fire.

(Blood Tears. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "weep tears of blood," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to focus on the thousands upon thousands of goblins that swelled the ranks of the dark mages, when by the hundred they collapsed to their knees. Blood pouring out from every orifice as they screamed their death rattles, their voices like crashing waves of thunder as they fell twitching to the ground.

(Demon's Lash. Mana 50.)

+2 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "go to sleep," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to focus on the thousands upon thousands of goblins that swelled the ranks of the dark mages, when suddenly they howled, the whites of their eyes rolling into the back of their skulls as they lashed out at everything around them. Giants, demons, mages, ogres, all them forced to retreat, killing each other in a chaotic slaughter of blood, guts, and gore.

(God's Fury. Mana 50.)

+1 Morale.

Hand reaching up to the heavens, he spoke softly, "taste the suns," and could feel his skin prickle in the gentle morning breeze. His gaze lifted upward to focus on the thousands upon thousands of goblins that swelled the ranks of the dark mages, when bolts of pure light rained down to strike hundreds, their bodies transformed to ash. Their wild screams of terror drowning the air with their noise.

Gregor, his heart racing, left breathless as a wash of energy left his body, his legs turned to water as he stopped to take in deep breaths of fresh air.

It had been so simple. Speak the words. And watch them die. Only it felt wrong to him. Where was the blood? Where was the pain?

Lips parched with a sudden thirst, he watched the massed ranks of the goblins begin to waver at his approach, battle standards that proclaimed each tribe from the Aroy to the Nagar shaking with fear as he left behind blackened soil in his wake. The thick stench of their foul odor hitting him squarely on the nose as demons shied away from him. Lightning slashing the air around him, while arrows, spears, and firebolts flew down in impossible waves that blocked out the suns.

(Summon a shield. 10 Mana.)

-10 Mana.

Hand held up again, he felt the flames hungrily roar to life, and with a single dismissive flick of the wrist, he surrounded himself in bright blue flames that ate everything. Only the attacks did not end there, wave after wave struck his shield, until he could see nothing at all. A never-ending deluge of arrows, spears, and firebolts filling the air around him, and scoured away by liquid hot flames that began to weaken.

Grimacing as a few arrows got through, he tried to strengthen the shield, when something shot out of darkness towards him. Greatsword able to knock it aside, when he felt it latch onto his throat, dragging him down, down, down into nothing…

Death.

(Counterattack with Fireball Barrage. 20 Mana.)

-4 HP.

-20 Mana.

+2 Morale.

Realizing there was no way he was going to make it through this without doing something, he held out his hand, drawing power into himself. He didn't know how he did it, but it came to him, filling him with light and life, before exploding out of him in huge orange balls of fire that coursed through the heavens in blazing arcs. Each of them clearing the skies overhead, while driving back the red-skinned devils that circled him like carrion birds.

The few arrows that got through burnt away by blue flames, but not before stinging his flesh. The crowds of goblins that waited for him below, ululating and beating spears against shields, their hungry yellow eyes glowing in the sunlight.

(Run. Mana 1.)

-2 HP.

-1 Mana.

He knew it was foolish, perhaps even insane, but with no other choice, he began to run down the slope at a gallop, his legs fumbling across the rocks. Slipped and fell, bounced back up, and threw himself into the wind. Arrows rebounding off the rocks around him, when he felt himself fly through the air.

Heart thumping inside of his chest, he realized he had jumped, and leaped, again and again, catching more speed down the slope, his body moving so fast downhill, he feared he would lose his balance, when he looked up, and saw that the sky was clear. Gazed back down to see why, and saw goblins milling about near the treeline, hungry yellow eyes slitted with fury as they banged spears against hide bucklers.

Then he smiled because he remembered what Siwen would always say to him before a battle. "If you must die, die with glory!" Gregor, who had only ever been interested in gold, unable to help but bark out a laugh as he stood there alone facing a horde of enemies.

This would be a glorious battle.

Skin bursting alive with roiling blue flames, he pushed himself forward, heard the crackle and crash of thunderbolts, and lifted his voice up to the sky. His heart beating like a drum as he howled into the wind, his chest rumbling with laughter as thunder clouds boiled overhead to shower him with torrents of rain. His boots squelched through mud and dirt as he took one step after the other, before he heard a roar from behind him, and looked back up to see wave upon wave of galloping centaurs rumbling down from between hills with pennated lancers brought up in a dizzying array of color. Bronze armor dirtied by the mud as they pounded towards them with golden banners fluttering in the wind behind them. The moment he saw them, Gregor knew they would all die. Brave fools that they were, they would all be slaughtered in a matter of seconds. Unless...unless he...

(Summon an army. Mana 50.)

Seeking the fire he felt flaring inside of him, he called out to something, felt its answering cry, and screamed, "come to me, you who wait to serve!" His voice somehow amplified a thousandfold as circular slits of light ripped open around him to release entire battalions of humanoids the size of ogres, their bodies covered in layers of black steel that smoked, and helms that revealed burning red eyes. The roar of the flames that surrounded Gregor, scoring a path through the rock as he began his own charge. The quivering horde of goblins almost quailing with fear before him as his voice took up the ancient battle cry of his people. Its sound vibrating within his chest along with the heavy sound of pounding footsteps.

We break the storms!

We shatter the skies!

We ready ourselves!

For we all must die!

His body plunging deep into the chaotic swirl, striking like an avalanche, his blade hacking into their flesh in delicious spouts of fresh blood. Goblins screeching in fear as they held up their flimsy hide bucklers as they were burnt alive by roaring blue flames, yellow eyes wide with fear as he drove them back beneath the shade of the trees. His eyes searching the thick undergrowth for mages as he launched volley after volley of fireballs, greater, and more powerful than any of those blasted mages could ever have summoned, and laughed as he ripped demons out from the trees. The flood of power, ebbing and flowing inside of him like a serpentine beast as he kept pressing forward, certain that they would break and flee. Dimwitted giants, trampling over their own allies in their haste to reach him, before he motioned, and brought down lightning. The act so simple, he wanted to scream for joy as the whole world cracked and rumbled beneath him. The thunderous crash of lightning, pounding the ground again and again, when the magic slipped from his grasp and he fell.

Panting breathlessly as he fell to his knees, he quickly stumbled back up to his feet, when a trio of ogres that had been about to run, turned to look back at him with broad smiles, the fear gone from their eyes as they hefted maces the size of goats. His army dissipated to nothing as he realized he was all alone again, the blue fire faded to nothing.

(Run back.)

-5 HP.

Time slowing down as he tried to understand what had just happened, he could hear the goblins beat their spears with fury, hear the roar of the giants, and started to run back. The wind whipping sweat-soaked hair into his eyes as fireballs rained down like crashing waves behind him, the sword the only reason he was still alive as he lopped off the leg of a dapple-skinned goblin that tried to gut him, and kept running. The firebolts that chased at his heels, warming his legs and spine as he scrambled up the slope. His mind numb as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Where had his power gone?

(Face them.)

Time seemingly slowing down, Gregor knew he had to fight, and quickly advanced towards them, when a dark mage appeared on his right. Young, fair, and quite beautiful in her silk black robes, the she-elf grinned at him, and wove her fingers casting bolts of fire. The undead warriors with her, cutting off his line of retreat, fleshless faces sagging as they dragged rusted weapons behind them.

(Break free of the ring of undead and flee.)

-7 HP.

Struck by bolts of fire as he rolled aside, he winced in pain, and fled, his legs taking him towards the undead who swung their weapons wildly, before Gregor hacked one apart. Greatsword slashing it in two to separate the midsection and torso, and leaped through the gap. The wind whipping sweat-soaked hair into his eyes as fireballs rained down like crashing waves around him, the sword the only reason he was still alive as he lopped off the leg of a dapple-skinned goblin that tried to poke him through the eyes, and kept running. The firebolts that chased at his heels, warming his back and legs as he scrambled up the slope. His mind numb as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Where had his power gone?

(Kill the mage.)

Surrounded with no way out, he rushed forward to attack her, her blue eyes twinkling with delight, when something struck him from the side, forcing him into a roll. His head banging up against a tree as he looked up in a daze to see the ogres and undead closing in on him, her fingers weaving another spell.

Cursing as he tried to get back up, darkness latched onto his feet, and for a horrible heart lurching second he saw the mace that flashed towards him. Violet colored eyes, staring down at him in disappointment, then nothing…just nothing...

Death.

(Shield them. Mana 20.)

-20 Mana.

Seeking the fire he felt flaring inside of him, he called out to something, felt its answer, and screamed, "guard them!" His voice somehow amplified a thousandfold as a shield of light sprang up over the heads of the horselords. The roar of the flames that surrounded Gregor, scoring a path through the rock as he began his own charge. The quivering horde of goblins almost quailing with fear before him as his voice took up the ancient battle cry of his people. Its sound vibrating through him along with the heavy pounding of hooves.

We break the storms!

We shatter the skies!

We ready ourselves!

For we all must die!

His body plunging deep into the chaotic swirl, striking like an avalanche, his blade hacking into their flesh in delicious spouts of fresh blood. Goblins screeching in fear as they held up their flimsy hide bucklers as they were burnt alive by roaring blue flames, yellow eyes wide with fear as he drove them back beneath the shade of the trees. His eyes searching the thick undergrowth for mages as he launched volley after volley of fireballs, greater, and more powerful than any of those blasted mages could ever have summoned, and laughed as he ripped demons out from the trees. The flood of power, ebbing and flowing inside of him like a serpentine beast as he kept pressing forward, certain that they would break and flee. Dimwitted giants, trampling over their own allies in their haste to reach him, before he motioned, and brought down lightning. The act so simple, he wanted to scream for joy as the whole world cracked and rumbled beneath him. The thunderous crash of lightning, pounding the ground again and again, when the magic slipped from his grasp and he fell.

Panting breathlessly as he fell to his knees, he quickly stumbled back up to his feet, when a trio of ogres that had been about to run, turned to look back at him with broad smiles, the fear gone from their eyes as they hefted maces the size of goats. His allies surrounded and slaughtered one by one as he realized he was all alone, the blue fire fading away to nothing.

(Run back.)

-5 HP.

Time slowing down as he tried to understand what had just happened, he could hear the goblins beat their spears with fury, hear the roar of the giants, and started to run back. The wind whipping sweat-soaked hair into his eyes as fireballs rained down like crashing waves behind him, the sword the only reason he was still alive as he lopped off the leg of a dapple-skinned goblin that tried to gut him, and kept running. The firebolts that chased at his heels, warming his legs and spine as he scrambled up the slope. His mind numb as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Where had his power gone?

(Face them.)

Time seemingly slowing down, Gregor knew he had to fight, and quickly advanced towards them, when a dark mage appeared on his right. Young, fair, and quite beautiful in her silk black robes, the she-elf grinned at him, and wove her fingers casting bolts of fire. The undead warriors with her, cutting off his line of retreat, fleshless faces sagging as they dragged rusted weapons behind them.

(Break free of the ring of undead and flee.)

-7 HP.

Struck by bolts of fire as he rolled aside, he winced in pain, and fled, his legs taking him towards the undead who swung their weapons wildly, before Gregor hacked one apart. Greatsword slashing it in two to separate the midsection and torso, and leaped through the gap. The wind whipping sweat-soaked hair into his eyes as fireballs rained down like crashing waves around him, the sword the only reason he was still alive as he lopped off the leg of a dapple-skinned goblin that tried to poke him through the eyes, and kept running. The firebolts that chased at his heels, warming his back and legs as he scrambled up the slope. His mind numb as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Where had his power gone?

(Kill the mage.)

Surrounded with no way out, he rushed forward to attack her, her blue eyes twinkling with delight, when something struck him from the side, forcing him into a roll. His head banging up against a tree as he looked up in a daze to see the ogres and undead closing in on him, her fingers weaving another spell.

Cursing as he tried to get back up, darkness latched onto his feet, and for a horrible heart lurching second he saw the mace that flashed towards him. Violet colored eyes, staring down at him in disappointment, then nothing…just nothing...

Death.

(Do nothing.)

-5 HP.

...Unless he helped them...But he would not. If the damn fools wished to die, then let them die. The roar of flames that surrounded him, scoring a path through the rocks as he began his own charge, the centaurs torn apart by arrows in screams of blood as fireballs blew them apart. The quivering horde of goblins, surging forward in an angry wave as his voice took up the ancient battle cry of his people.

We break the storms!

We shatter the skies!

We ready ourselves!

For we all must die!

His body plunging deep into the chaotic swirl, striking like an avalanche, his blade hacking into their flesh in delicious spouts of fresh blood. Goblins screeching in fear as they held up their flimsy hide bucklers as they were burnt alive by roaring blue flames, yellow eyes wide with fear as he drove them back beneath the shade of the trees. His eyes searching the thick undergrowth for mages as he launched volley after volley of fireballs, greater, and more powerful than any of those blasted mages could ever have summoned, and laughed as he ripped demons out from the trees. The flood of power, ebbing and flowing inside of him like a serpentine beast as he kept pressing forward, certain that they would break and flee. Dimwitted giants, trampling over their own allies in their haste to reach him, before he motioned, and brought down lightning. The act so simple, he wanted to scream for joy as the whole world cracked and rumbled beneath him. The thunderous crash of lightning, pounding the ground again and again, when the magic slipped from his grasp and he fell.

Panting breathlessly as he fell to his knees, he quickly stumbled back up to his feet, when a trio of ogres that had been about to run, turned to look back at him with broad smiles, the fear gone from their eyes as they hefted maces the size of goats. The last of the centaurs butchered as he realized he was all alone, the blue fire fading away to nothing.

(Run back.)

-5 HP.

Time slowing down as he tried to understand what had just happened, he could hear the goblins beat their spears with fury, hear the roar of the giants, and started to run back. The wind whipping sweat-soaked hair into his eyes as fireballs rained down like crashing waves behind him, the sword the only reason he was still alive as he lopped off the leg of a dapple-skinned goblin that tried to gut him, and kept running. The firebolts that chased at his heels, warming his legs and spine as he scrambled up the slope. His mind numb as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Where had his power gone?

(Face them.)

Time seemingly slowing down, Gregor knew he had to fight, and quickly advanced towards them, when a dark mage appeared on his right . Young, fair, and quite beautiful in her silk black robes, the she-elf grinned at him, and wove her fingers casting bolts of fire. The undead warriors with her, cutting off his line of retreat, fleshless faces sagging as they dragged rusted weapons behind them.

(Break free of the ring of undead and flee.)

-7 HP.

Struck by bolts of fire as he rolled aside, he winced in pain, and fled, his legs taking him towards the undead who swung their weapons wildly, before Gregor hacked one apart. Greatsword slashing it in two to separate the midsection and torso, and leaped through the gap. The wind whipping sweat-soaked hair into his eyes as fireballs rained down like crashing waves around him, the sword the only reason he was still alive as he lopped off the leg of a dapple skinned goblin that tried to poke him through the eyes, and kept running. The firebolts that chased at his heels, warming his back and legs as he scrambled up the slope. His mind numb as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Where had his power gone?

(Kill the mage.)

Surrounded with no way out, he rushed forward to attack her, her blue eyes twinkling with delight, when something struck him from the side, forcing him into a roll. His head banging up against a tree as he looked up in a daze to see the ogres and undead closing in on him, her fingers weaving another spell.

Cursing as he tried to get back up, darkness latched onto his feet, and for a horrible heart lurching second he saw the mace that flashed towards him. Violet colored eyes, staring down at him in disappointment, then nothing…just nothing...

Death.

Thoradar

Face impassive as he watched from the newly made ramparts, Thoradar could only feel a chill cold inside, the tension that filled the air, causing more than a few of his warriors to nervously shuffle their feet beside him. The raging carnage of battle below, a thing never seen before as one man, one human, butchered a path through hordes of enemies. The roars of fire, lightning, and ice that shattered the air, drawing murmurs of fear as armoured soldiers stared down with more than a few having to be shoved back into their line by their commanders. Thoradar himself, tempted to get a better look at what was going on in the trees as the warrior of fire blazed like the suns, his fiery greatsword wreaking havoc as fireballs shot up towards the smoking black skies. The rank odor of burnt corpses, decay, and blood thick upon the air as he felt his heartbeat slow. No mage alive could do this. The long sweeping arms of the horde, slowly cut to ribbons as he heard a voice sing in the breeze. "My life for glory! My life for blood! My life to take another's life! I am the sword! I am the knife! And I am the butcher's axe! Come, and face me if you dare!"

None of it should have been possible. The repeated words, a chant that seemed to hang in the air as legionaries who recognized the battle cry took it up, their voices filled with awe, hard men that had fought a thousand battles with tears in their eyes as they sang. Thoradar murmuring the words to himself as though trying to understand what was happening, when abruptly the glow of fire was gone from the forest. One moment there, and gone the next.

Heart lurching in his chest, he could hear the howls of fury from below, mimicked by the sharp intakes of breath from above as Khorasan pointed his finger to a single warrior racing towards them, triggering mines, and being hit by fireballs as he kept getting back up.

The elven mage who had joined Thoradar’s side quietly, quickly recognizing the danger to his friend, and lifting his arms up to unleash thick billows of grey fog, only for it to be burned away as fleshless corpses, closed in on Gregor from behind.

Sword hilt gripped tight in his hand, Thoradar knew he was going to regret giving this order, but he roared, “open the gates! Archers forward! Infantry behind!”

Thorader leaping over the wall in a roll that bruised his ribcage as he stood up, shortsword held out in front of him as an armored column of warriors sprang out from the gates to fan out on either side. Khorason floating down to gently land beside him with a smile, the triple thick line that formed up, quickly advancing forward, drawing and knocking an arrow in a single move, when Thoradar roared, "kill those bastards!"

The whip-crack command, sending a flurry of volleys one after the other as flights of arrows took to the skies, the ballista crews rattling back on winches, before spears whooshed through the air. Thoradar who could feel the warm glow of adrenaline, bellowing, "For the King! For the Legion!" The bellowed warcry falling from every mouth as they charged.

~*~

Breathless, surrounded by steaming piles of corpses, Gregor had a hard time believing he was still alive, his greatsword slick with blood as he stared around him. The bloodsoaked battlefield, a nightmare of torn up limbs, corpses hacked to pieces, fields of arrows and spears that riddled the slope, and blackened soil. The few hundred that had survived, standing there in a daze or weeping tears on their knees. Gregor himself, caught between guilt and anger, but that was mostly due to the man in burnished white steel that had strode the battlefield comforting weeping soldiers, his two companions, a dwarf, and an elf of all things. It should have been him reaping the rewards for this victory, and yet this bastard had shown up in the nick of time to save them.

Determined to give the little mudsap, a piece of his mind, he began to stride over towards the lordling who stood there with arms folded up behind his back, when black smoke rose up around Gregor, seized him by the arms, and flew him through the air. Gusts of black smoke that itched against his skin like salt on a wound, until finally he was dropped down into a forest. His body striking tree branches as he landed in a clearing beside a murky brown lake, head ringing with dizziness as he looked around him at a strangely surreal scene. The smoke that had held him, coalescing together into the figure of a man with knifelike fingers, black ridges along its crooked spine, and smoke that poured out from it's skin. It's hiss a harsh whisper as it spat, "you and I have unfinished business, Gregor. You owe me a life."

(Attack.)

Greatsword leaping into his hand, he struck with speed, moving before the blade was even out of its loop, the Shadow Hunter vanishing into black smoke that swirled around him.

Neck hairs prickling as he swung again and again at the air, Gregor knew he was in trouble, before he felt something slide across his throat.

Touching the blood that dripped down his chest, he felt darkness descend over him. His last thought was that he should have blasted the pukedrinker with a fireball. Not that it would do him much good if he hit nothing…

Death.

(Speak.)

Backside still throbbing from the landing, Gregor knew he was too badly wounded to fight again so soon, and grumbled, "what do you want, shadow? I thought you had learned your lesson back in Harthorn."

Red slitted eyes filled with amusement, the Shadow Hunter grinned revealing wicked pointed teeth. The black smoke that writhed around it, dark and ominous, before it let out a heavy sigh, "I had thought to slay you here, but now I wonder if it would not be better for you to live."

"And why would you do that?"

Long fingerlike talons waved in the air, the Shadow Hunter sighed again, "I've grown weary of this world, but perhaps you can do something for me. Answer me this one question, and I will let you live?"

Not sure what else to do, Gregor nodded his head, and to his surprise the creature of smoke smiled revealing pointed yellow teeth. "Good, here is my question to you. Why do you still fight, Gregor? Why do you cling to this life, given all that you have lost?"

Chest heaving with rage, he growled, "what do you know of my loss?" His hand moving to the greatsword on his back.

Red eyes seeming to glow from within the darkness, the Shadow Hunter met Gregor's hot gaze. "I know everything about you. Now answer the question."

(Refuse.)

However Gregor was in no mood to play games. Greatsword leaping into his fingers, he growled, "no," and watched the Shadow Hunter vanish into black smoke that swirled around him.

Neck hairs prickling with a dark premonition, Gregor swung his head wildly searching the smoke, before he felt something slide across his throat.

Touching the blood that dripped down his chest, he felt darkness descend over him. His last thought was that he should have killed the pukedrinker when he'd had the chance…

Death.

(Answer, what other choice.)

Hands thrown up into the air, he replied sourly, "what other choice do I have? I will not go quietly to my grave."

(Answer, to make amends.)

Unable to keep his voice from shaking, he replied, "there is one I have wronged, and need to make amends for it. She was everything to me, and now she is gone…"the last words choked out of him.

(Answer, because living seems better than dying.)

Gaze drifting to look beyond the creature to the trees, he replied, "because living seems much better than dying a pointless empty death without meaning."

But whether he gave the correct answer or not, Gregor did not know. The Shadow Hunter simply nodded his head. "I will make a pact with you, Gregor. Blood for blood. Allow me a taste of your sweet life force and I will allow you a taste of mine. In exchange I will no longer be your enemy unless you make me so. Are we agreed?"

Not exactly sure that he had much choice, he nodded his head, and watched the creature draw blood from his chest using its claw, and touch it to its lips. The moan it released, putting Gregor in an awkward position as he quickly did the same, his sword cut shallow in its smoky hide, and put the blade to his lips. The instant burn filling Gregor with warmth and life, and wondered if he should kill the creature now?

The Shadow Hunter who hadn't moved at all, however suddenly crumbling into smoke and gone with a final hiss, "the pact is sealed. Blood for blood, a life for a life," as it cackled, and fled into the darkness.

Epilogue

Later that day.

Fury boiling up inside of him, Sadis choked back a scream as he flung books aside, knocked over furniture, and destroyed paintings with a flick of his wrist. All of his work undone, all of his ambitions crushed beneath the boots of orcish troops, and this upstart Lord Gauldyron. Some Lordling Hero from the Red Lands that had come from nowhere to snatch victory out from under his grasp, the whole messy affair smelling of fetid dung, and he knew he would be the one to be blamed for it.

Hands thrust down onto his desk, he bent over the cold slab of obsidian stone, fingers touching the runes, and took deep breaths. He needed to leave before they came for him.

Dark energies swirling all around him, he focused his mind on Vanclar, one of the many lands where he had a stronghold, when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, and looked down to find bloody claws poking out through his intestines. His startled gasp, "who?" Turned to shock as he saw Fengral, the lithe Shadow Hunter contemptuously shaking the blood from it’s claws as it murmured, "Blood for blood, a life for a life. The pact is sealed."

Several Weeks on in Zarkan

With King Tarok's newly conscripted troops on the march, the Orc King had smashed apart the tribal armies of Caldashar with the help of Lord Gauldyron, a powerful Red Land nobleman who is said to have mysteriously appeared on the eve of battle. Proclaimed a hero to the orcish people, Gauldyron had helped drive back the remaining dark one holdouts, recapturing lost strongholds, and forcing them out of Orkeylium. The celebration in the Capital, a loud and boisterous affair that Gregor had not even been invited to, despite everything he had done for them. It would have been enough to simply be rewarded with gold, but instead he had been ignored, and shoved aside into the darkest recesses of Zarkan to eat scraps in the streets. Khorasan, his one time friend and companion turning him away from the gates of his palace as news came of the slaughter on the roads, hundreds of defenseless refugees butchered and eaten.

With no choice but to leave, he had decided to travel further south, perhaps there he would find opportunities in Vanclar. In any case, he had no desire to see Caroline again.

End of Book 2

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In the Future: For the next couple of weeks I'll be working on a bit more editing, and then publishing Book 2 of Heroes and Legends, followed by some fanfiction, and possibly a Book 3 which will feature Kaldrakas’ plight to free his people from slavery. If you’re interested in showing your support follow me on Facebook, purchase a copy of Book 1, or simply donate. Any amount is appreciated. Thank you, and I will hopefully get back to work on writing a new story soon.

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