A Call to Arms

[RevenantsKnight]

Greetings, everyone. This story's a series that I have on The Dark Library (http://tdl.diabloii.net) to which I will soon be adding more chapters (well, one for the moment, but more if things go well.) I'm going to post a new chapter every couple of days so that forum-only people don't feel overloaded; if you want to read ahead, for lack of a better term, you can check out the chapters at TDL. New stuff will appear in maybe a week, so if you've been following along already and don't have time/want to make any comments, this thread might be a little boring for a while. Comments are welcome, though; despite the fact that these are already posted, I'm still looking to improve these pieces if I can. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these, and thanks for your time!

N.B.: Chapter One was written originally as a standalone piece, and about a year before the other three chapters, so if it feels much different from my other posts and the rest of the story, that's because it was essentially written by a different writer. Despite this, I've been unable to read it in the right frame of mind for editing, so I apologize in advance for any errors that I missed.

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Chapter One: A Call to Arms

And all was there for us to see...

There were many signs pointing to Diablo’s return to strength, all of them staring us in the face like lidless eyes. I suppose it should have been obvious, but at the time, we were so drunk with our victory over the darkness. Diablo’s apparent death had indeed imbued all in the West with new hope, but that vision of a future was little more than a figure in the mist: one second later, it is gone, enveloped by the swirling tendrils of water and air. We were too blinded by our own joy to recognize the Wanderer for what he was, Diablo’s twisted form made of our nameless savior; as he wove his tendrils of corruption around us, we looked away, telling ourselves that no dark power could possibly hold sway over a great Order that had brought about the fall of a Prime Evil. We did not question him, as we believed he had seen the worst of Hell’s fury, a force far beyond anything a mortal had ever known. Of course, he had, and it was indeed a fell power darker than anyone could have imagined.

When our heroes of the battle beneath the tainted cathedral began to demand more control over the Sisterhood, we acquiesced, and granted their every whim out of gratitude for what they had done against the darkness. We believed they had found a new vision for us, and that if they could defeat the Lord of Terror himself, they could certainly lead us to glory. Their deception of the Order was not quite total, though; a handful of our Sisters, who saw through the haze of joy and euphoria, stood opposed the ascension of the veterans of Tristram, and left the monastery in protest for the eastern lands, or the cities of Westmarch. I am happy for them; they are the lucky ones.

Under the new guidance of the few survivors of the hunt for Diablo, the Sisterhood took a radical turn from our distant influence and careful vigilance of old. The ruling Sisters began to exert increasing control over the region around the monastery, especially the Rogue Pass to Lut Gholein. Those passing through were made to pay a tax, and those who protested, arguing that the highlands west of the great desert had always been a free land, were slain and their goods stolen. When powerful merchants and minor lords challenged our methods, some of our best warriors were sent into the heartland of the fallen kingdom of Khanduras, tasked by our leaders to extend the reach of the followers of the Sightless Eye. Many never returned from these quests, and I now believe they were designed to remove those who most fervently opposed the forces of Chaos, and embraced the true Light with all their hearts.

“We have arrived, my Lady.”

Elarinn turned to face Hallar, the leader of the caravan she had traveled with across the burning sands of Aranoch and through the mountains into the darkened forests of Khanduras. She nodded, and then gazed out over the twisted trees lining the road, down to the black shadow in the distance, like a smear of tar on the horizon. Behind her, the caravan guards conversed among each other in low voices, armed but unready to fight, and the beasts of burden fidgeted anxiously. However, none of this penetrated her consciousness; all her thoughts were focused towards the defiled structure looming ahead, and the fell power that emerged from within.

“Thank you, my good sir. You have courage indeed; no one else would dare come within fifty leagues of the old monastery.”

Hallar shrugged. “I do what I must to get by,” he replied. “Trade is the lifeblood of many in Lut Gholein, and my work is the only way to eat, even in better times.” The lines on his weather-worn face deepened as he frowned. “But why exactly did you ask to come to this old cathedral? If the rumors are to be believed, the very heart of the demonic corruption in the region may be here.”

She smiled grimly at this rather direct inquiry, eyes still fixed on the dark shapes ahead. “You are a bold man, indeed. Some would kill you merely for asking that, you know.”

Hallar mirrored her dark smile. “In my line of work, it often pays to ask such questions, despite the risk involved. Information may be sold or traded, and, like I said, I do what I must to get by.”

The expression of sardonic amusement faded from Elarinn’s face as she spoke, her sight fading out of focus as her mind drifted away from the world, recalling memories of better times. “I once lived here,” she said, her voice taking on the toneless horror of one fascinated and stunned by events past. “I have come to see if anything is left and to avenge what is not.” Her deep brown eyes opened onto her soul, and as Hallar looked in, he saw sorrow and pain crystallize into cold fury. Surprised, he took a quick step back, and regarded her with newfound caution.

“I suppose you are well prepared to do so,” he began slowly. “Unfortunately, I cannot take you any further. I must make haste to Entsteig to deliver my shipment.”

Elarinn nodded again, not taking her gaze from the monastery. “Safe journey, then,” she murmured. Around her, her traveling companions set themselves into motion, almost fleeing for the comparative safety of the wagons. Driven by their leader’s words and their fear of the ancient battlements, the merchants and sell-swords under Hallar’s command moved with haste; in contrast, Elarinn stood motionless, not even turning to acknowledge a final, rushed farewell from Hallar. To her, none of them mattered; they might as well have not existed. All she saw was the shadow in the distance, rising from the earth like the headstone of a giant.

As the sounds of the departing caravan faded into the distance, Elarinn finally managed to wrench her eyes from the black spires of the Order’s home, which darkened the northern horizon with its deep shadows. She opened her traveling pack and pulled out her instruments of war: a suit of hardened leather, worn and light like the cast-off skin of a serpent, a well-used dagger, several quivers of arrows, straight and balanced, and her bow, a supple piece of yew with a bronze grip and glowing glyphs etched into the wood. A good thing that merchant didn’t see these, she thought grimly. They would have made my true affiliation clear, and no traveler would have harbored a Rogue after hearing the many rumors of demonic corruption seeping out from the depths below the cathedral. Many would be quick to judge, and would not consider the possibility that my Sisters are innocent. Most of them, anyway.

Elarinn took her time strapping on her armor and weapons, pulling tight the leather band of her dagger’s wrist sheath and fastening a quiver to her belt with particular care. Brushing a lock of auburn hair out of her face, she repacked the rest of her meager supplies and shouldered the bag. She then pulled an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it to the bowstring, then drew up, pivoted towards a jug of water left behind by the caravan, and released.

The iron-tipped projectile ripped right through the container, spraying tiny beads of water that glittered in the twilight and pinning the flask to a tree. Smiling grimly, Elarinn stepped over and grasped the clay vessel, then pulled her hand away as the object cracked at her touch, and seemed to hang in midair, pieces suspended around the arrow, for a moment before covering the ground beneath with whitish shards. A good shot, and a clean kill, she thought, pity that jug wasn’t a demon’s head. Satisfied that her skills had not atrophied during her stay in the East, Elarinn placed another missile in her bow, took a deep breath, and began down the winding road to the darkened cathedral.

For those of us who were blind to the corruption seeping through the Order of the Sightless Eye, the return of the demonic forces to Khanduras was sudden indeed. Seemingly overnight, the ruling council of Rogues and their supporters became twisted mockeries of their former selves, running rampant through the once-holy grounds of the cathedral, slaughtering those who stood against them. The local creatures, the quill rats and the yetis, began attacking travelers with the ferocity of the possessed.

Some of the survivors fleeing the inner sanctum of the council even say that Lysan, the most outspoken and commanding hero of the battle of Tristram, has taken on a hellish form and may be the embodiment of a demon lord on the mortal plane. Other great warriors, like Battlemaid Sarina and Blood Raven, have also become something other than human and are leading the tides of the enemy against us, as they once led the warriors of the Sightless Eye into the depths of Tristram’s labyrinth. I fear that Hell has sent more than just its legions this time, and that we may not possess sufficient strength to drive them back into the Abyss. What remains of our Order is falling back to the gates of our ancestral home, where we may be able to delay the enemy long enough to let the villagers escape.

The walk to the town on the fringes of the monastery grounds was short; no demonic figures rose from the shadows and trees lining the road to oppose her. And yet, Elarinn couldn’t help feeling very unnerved by the absence of a dark presence, as if the evil that spawned here had sucked this land dry and moved on. She could discern no life at all, no birds, insects, even rats, only a pall of decay and gloom that seemed to hang over the twisted trees. Nothing she had ever known was as oppressing, as consuming, as the brittle grasp of death here in the heartland of Khanduras. She glided over the grassless ground with a careful, fluid stride, warily checking the road and trees for signs of a demonic presence. Only the barest traces of a frown, tugging at her youthful features like the bony hands of tiny goblins, betrayed any sign of stress as she approached the outskirts of the settlement by the monastery gates.

The town itself was completely deserted, as if all the inhabitants had suddenly vanished into the mist, and the same stifling air of lifelessness, omnipresent and suffocating like wet cotton robes, only underscored the lack of human activity. The domiciles on the southern fringes of the community were weathered but mostly intact, their worn hinges creaking like old joints and the tired beams drooping under the weight of ages. All were largely Spartan, with ragged holes for windows and few furnishings, skeletons lacking the heart and vitality their residents would usually provide. Several of them had open doors, and inside, the objects and tools of everyday life lay scattered on the floor.

Elarinn didn’t see that many signs of a struggle; perhaps the townsfolk had fled before the invading legions of Hell. The untouched state of the houses made her suspicious, though. A mass exodus, she thought, would breed panic and destruction, leaving a good deal of the settlement in a state of ruin. Of course, some houses were falling into varying states of disrepair and neglect, like old soldiers do when they age and are forgotten, but such things were normal in country settlements where many of the inhabitants possessed relatively little coin. This was much more eerie, as if every living being had been yanked off the mortal plane by an invisible hand.

As she made her way towards what was once the town square, she heard a multitude of voices, conflicting sounds that fought to overwhelm each other in volume. Creeping silently through the empty streets, she approached cautiously, then flattened herself against a building and listened. What she heard made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her grip on her bow to tighten: the braying speech of a goat demon. Elarinn managed to make out some of the words the foul creature said, villagers, force, pillage, though most of the creature’s meaning escaped her. Having only a minimal command of several languages of the damned, she could do little more than listen and hope that a familiar word or phrase floated by on the air. A second voice, higher in pitch and faster than the first, stabbed the air with a series of short, sharp outbursts. The two sounds clashed and intertwined, a discordant cacophony of demonic tongues joined soon after by more high-pitched, almost squeaky sounds.

Elarinn risked a glance around the corner of the building, and her gaze fell upon a foul creature that seemed to be half man, half goat, with blood-red fur that seemed to glow in the evening darkness. Next, her attention jumped to the sickly yellow goblin-imps clumped opposite the demon, perhaps six of them, one carrying a large staff and knife, the others armed with swords and axes no greater than her arm’s length. She pulled her head back behind the wall and swore softly. Apparently, the legions of Hell aren’t quite done here, she thought, and grimaced in anger and disgust.

Silently, Elarinn pushed herself off from the building and began to follow a street that circled around the town center. Perhaps, if there were no demons that could come to the aid of those in the plaza, she might try to slay them and discover some clues as to what evil might lurk inside the monastery itself. To her, the group of monsters looked like some sort of scout force, heralding the movement of demonic legions into the town.

As she advanced down the worn cobblestone street, she caught the barest glimpse of a humanoid figure inside a building with the sign of an inn hanging from the roof. Ducking down under the window, she readied her bow and quietly called upon the power of the Sightless Eye. Magical energies surged through her body the moment she spoke the last syllable of the ancient chant, reaching out and opening her mind to the astral plane. She started as her newly augmented senses took in the aura of the figure within: it was as cold and forbidding as an open grave. Gritting her teeth, she forced her mind to focus on the creature’s physical presence, probing it tentatively, as if she was examining a piece of spoiled meat that was several days old to see if there were any parts that still might be edible. Her questing tendrils of thought wrapped around the being, feeling a cold, still heart, empty veins, and decaying flesh. Undead, she thought, probably a former villager.

She concentrated her mental extensions on the foul abomination’s head, counted to two, then jumped up and loosed an arrow towards the glimmering focus of energy. The missile impacted on back of the monster’s head with such force that the creature’s skull ripped apart, spattering the room with fragments of rotting meat. As the rest of the body dropped to the wooden floor with a dull, wet thud, a look of grim satisfaction spread over Elarinn’s young visage. Her dexterous hands placed another arrow into her bow as she glanced around warily, scanning the buildings for more zombies. Seeing none, she continued her circuit around the town square, stopping intermittently and invoking the powers of the Sightless Eye to reveal any enemies.

The rest of the houses along the road were as empty as the others she had seen on the southern fringes of the village, with the same air of abandonment and palpable corruption. Elarinn shook imperceptibly upon seeing the deserted buildings, many of which had been home to friends and filled with the merry ringing of conversation not too long ago. It was, she reflected, almost as if Hell had driven away the mortal residents of this once-peaceful town so its own foul spawn could come and populate the skeletal buildings, making a foul pit of darkness to blight the mortal lands of Sanctuary. The constructions seemed to long for the presence of demon masters, blackened hearts to strengthen dying wood and metal. Her mind reeled at the thought of entire cities of demons spanning the great plains of the West, necropoleis blackening the fertile fields and lakes, rising from the ground like foul pustules.

Shaking her head, Elarinn thrust those gruesome images out of her mind, the muscles of her jaw tightening as she forced herself to remain focused. Enough of this, she told herself. Do not think about what will happen if you fail; there is time for only action now. Her fist clenched around her bow and she bowed her head for an instant, then looked back up, her heart strengthened with a grim resolve.

Soon, she returned to her original point on the south end of the plaza, and looked in once more, scanning the open ground and small piles of debris. The handful of devilkin and the goat demon had been joined by another zombie, but this one was a world apart from the mindless body Elarinn had shot down in the inn. The creature’s skin shone a bright blue-green in the dying light, the color of disease, reminding Elarinn of the gangrenous wounds she had seen among injured soldiers in the army of Khanduras, that battered force returning from its ill-fated war with Westmarch, tattered remains of the last actions of the Black King Leoric before the rise of Terror.

Upon seeing the monstrosity, a wave of horror and dread washed over her, as if the wet blanket of gloom and death closed around her had been wrung out and the foul droplets were seeping into her mind. She saw not one corpse but many, thousands of fallen soldiers, dying for Khanduras and their lord, so much of the West turning into only sweet-smelling decay and death. The torrent of emotions swept her away; she found herself on the verge of crying when she regained her mind, crying for all that was lost and consumed by the forces of Chaos. Gasping, she staunched the hot flow of salty tears with a mighty effort and shook her head viciously, angry that her concentration could be broken by a seemingly trivial occurrence. By the Sightless Eye, she thought, pull yourself together; nobody ever said vengeance came easily.

Tightening her grip on her bow, she peered out again into the gloom of the town square, searching for the best demon to kill first. The goblin-creatures will run when I shoot one of their number, she thought, remembering back to her lessons of battle underneath Tristram, where she was a mere apprentice, hiding from most agents of darkness and watching her Sisters slay entire packs of the enemy in moments. Zombies are a bit slow, so if I kill the goat demon and then the big imp, I should have all the time I need to slay the lot of them. With her plan firmly set into her mind, Elarinn took a deep breath, blew half of it out, stepped into the plaza, and loosed an arrow at the goat, aiming right for the creature’s left eye, a blood-red orb encompassed by rings of black.

The iron-tipped missile whistled through the air and jolted slightly, then fell to the ground, its white fletches and dull grey head tinted with shining black ichor. Howling in pain, the monster dropped its crude scythe and clutched at its head; howling in fury and bloodlust, the gremlin-warriors charged, waving their small swords and axes and leaving the walking corpse standing dumbly in the middle of the square, as if rooted to the spot by the sudden action, such a contrast to the slow death and suffocation of the village. Elarinn yanked a second arrow from her quiver in one practiced motion, drew up, and sank a second whistling spirit of death into the blood-red goat creature’s chest. The demon collapsed, and the Devilkin shrieked in utter terror and ran, howling curses into the still air.

The rest of the fight passed in a blur for Elarinn, one indistinct mass of pulling out arrows, drawing up, shooting, hearing the sounds of pain and fear, just another fight in the tainted cathedral of Tristram. As the cries of the dark creatures filled the empty night, she continued firing, mechanically, as devoid of human life as the blighted town and vacant woods. When she stopped launching arrows, her mind reentered her body, and she collapsed, falling onto the arrow-studded corpse of the goblin-creature with the staff. Elarinn rested there a short while, breathing shallowly, then rose, shaking. Her breaths were labored, as if she were standing on top of Mount Arreat, the night air raking her throat like icy blades, then boiling out, molten steel and flame.

She began searching the town square and bloodied monsters, moving slowly, as if her body had aged thirty years in the last ten minutes. After picking through the corpses of the demons and finding little other than their dropped weapons, all of which she could not use with skill, Elarinn came across a small pile of bags, lying next to the side of the meeting hall. One of them, a leather satchel smelling of herbs and ink, held several slender blue bottles and a sheaf of paper. The tarnished but intricate copper clasp had a delicacy about it; Elarinn thought it looked rather out of place, both on the worn pouch and in this tainted land. After seeing the suffocating emptiness of the town and the gloom of the surrounding trees, nothing in the world around her seemed worthy of such fine craftsmanship and beauty.

She opened the satchel, planning to take the potions, and then, on a whim, took the entire bag and placed it in her traveling pack. Finally, she cast a final glance around the courtyard, empty of life once more. After ensuring that there was no more to be done in the abandoned town, she made her way to the settlement’s north edge, pausing every few minutes to search for any foes. There, standing between worlds of emptiness and death, Elarinn steeled herself, invoked the power of the Sightless Eye, and began down the wide dirt path towards the forbidding, blackened gate of the once-holy monastery.

After an hour of dodging more squads of goat demons and fallen ones, Elarinn finally reached the gates of what had become the tomb of so many of her fellow Rogues. The bushes and grasses surrounding the monastery, once so neat and well trimmed, had grown wild and tall, their leaves and branches twisting over each other like many gnarled arms, all reaching for different things. From a hiding place in the overgrown vegetation, Elarinn peered down the path, shivering in the night’s cold embrace. Rumors and stories passed from merchants and travelers like fleas and coins suggested that many members of the Order had been slaughtered, and many of those who were not became corrupted mockeries of their former selves. However, it appeared as if the Sisters had put up valiant resistance.

Piles of dead demons were everywhere, with arrows protruding from the heaps like needles in gruesome pincushions. There were no dead Rogues to be seen; likely the few survivors had taken the bodies to prevent the forces of Chaos from defiling them and disturbing their eternal rest. A handful of skeletons armed with bows stood guard by the massive, battered wooden doors, their grinning skulls swiveling slowly on their exposed vertebrae. A light breeze swept across the bushes and the path, rustling the leaves; the undead archers seemed to stir as the gentle force of the air brushed over their yellow bones. They act as if they were still alive, Elarinn thought, perhaps they are recently dead and raised. She grimaced at this, wondering if she would soon be fighting the mortal remains of some of her former comrades in arms.

Suddenly, the great doors of the monastery flew open with a bang, and the skeletons’ heads swiveled towards the sound; they stood stock still, bows hanging at their sides, as if to salute a greater demon as it passed by. Now, thought Elarinn, now while they are distracted, and she rose halfway from her prone position, pulling back the shimmering bowstring with ease. And then, she saw the creature, a figure from her oldest and darkest nightmares.

It stood several heads above her, but it massed far more; it could barely manage to move its yellow-orange girth through the opening without running over a skeleton archer. Despite this, it moved with surprising speed, undoubtedly blessed with hellish energies. Muscle and thick rolls of fat swathed its body; a clawed hand waved a massive hammer as it growled and snorted at its undead minions. Two small horns, pointed like miniature daggers, protruded from the top of the creature’s portly head. Elarinn saw none of this; her mind perceived an image from the darkest corners of her memories, a fleshy demon with a blood-spattered apron and a wicked cleaver, slicing through tens of panicked townsfolk armed with pitchforks and torches. No, no, not again, she thought desperately.

This time, the tears flowed uncontrollably, burning her dirty young face and pooling in the hollow of her throat. Through the salty flow and the haze of the past, she saw only death; she stared, horrified, as the world around her whirled into destruction. Only her reflexes from training as a Sister kept her from screaming aloud, throwing down her weapon and fleeing as fast as she could run into the wilderness, seeking only to hide from the beast, from her memories and fears.

When she finally returned to her senses, she stifled her last sobs, wiped the tears from her face, and began looking in her pack for the potions she had found earlier; perhaps they could help her regain control of her mind and body. She yanked out the leather satchel and pulled it open, tearing off the intricate copper clasp in the process; the piece of metal fell back into her pack, clinking quietly against the few coins at the bottom. Moving with the raw speed of passion, she uncorked one of the bottles and sniffed the contents, which held a faintly medicinal odor. This might help, she thought.

After drinking the brew, she felt some of her mental haze clearing, and her connection to the power of the Sightless Eye seemed heightened. I’d better drink the other one too, Elarinn decided, and then I’ll get the hell out of this blighted land. Lut Gholein should be safer; I don't know why I ever decided to come back. Her slender fingers reached out for the second bottle, feeling the worn leather of the bag, and the paper... Elarinn stopped, then grasped the pile of parchment and pulled it out, her sight running over the hasty black scrawl. By the Sightless Eye, I know this handwriting, she realized. This was written by Akara; she must have survived Hell’s onslaught.

Her heart lurched at the description of the Council’s fall and the hopeless battles against the demonic tide, but no tears flowed from her reddened eyes to stain her scratched and worn leather armor. The words seemed to flow from the paper to touch her soul itself, sounding a clarion call to arms, an irresistible force pulling her back into the land of Khanduras to do battle with the onrushing waves of Chaos. Upon reaching the end of the manuscript, her hand tightened around her bow and her jaw set, unmoving, solid as the stone walls of Harrogath. To hell with Lut Gholein; I shall not dishonor my Order and my comrades by running any longer, Elarinn thought grimly. It is time I returned to them and stood side by side against the armies of Hell.

She rose, brushing dead leaves and dirt off of herself, and began gliding from bush to tree, leaving the growls of the demon floating on the air behind her. And as Elarinn slipped away into the overgrown forest, following the faint traces of a desperate flight, she felt the Sightless Eye looking down upon her, lighting her path to vengeance with its all-seeing gaze.

Even if we fail to hold back the tide of Hell’s fury, we must continue our struggle against the forces of darkness; we shall fight from the woods and moors, until the last of us fall. We cannot flee this onslaught; the Three have come for our souls and bodies, not to despoil our lands and corrupt the animals. If we hide, they will never stop hunting until we are found, so we must stand against them while we can and hope to fight them off with the aid of the Light. This is a battle for our very souls, and the Order of the Sightless Eye shall stand firm until the end. May our actions of defiance herald the resistance of all humanity.

[Clarke667]

Comments are welcome, though; despite the fact that these are already posted, I'm still looking to improve these pieces if I can.

I've got a few things to say.

Number one is: Get down with yo' bad self. Which is to say, I really really liked this. A little heavy on the old description, sure, but I can't say that's necessarily problematic. Sometimes it's good to go slightly "overboard"--in a few instances (mostly at the very beginning), it felt a bit bogged down, but the rest of the time I got a very clear sense of thereness, which, of course, is awesome.

Number two is: I may have snared a few errors...

The missile impacted on back of the monster’s head with such force that the creature’s skull ripped apart, spattering the room with fragments of rotting meat.

It's the "on back" that seems to jag the sentence—“on the back", maybe? I know this is a very small problem, but the sentence around it is just so friggin good that it's a shame to have it less than perfect. I hella liked "spattering the room with fragments of rotting meat." Violence is so nifty!

Here's another little bit that grated on me...

It was, she reflected, almost as if Hell had driven away the mortal residents of this once-peaceful town so its own foul spawn could come and populate the skeletal buildings, making a foul pit of darkness to blight the mortal lands of Sanctuary. The constructions seemed to long for the presence of demon masters, blackened hearts to strengthen dying wood and metal. Her mind reeled at the thought of entire cities of demons spanning the great plains of the West, necropoleis blackening the fertile fields and lakes, rising from the ground like foul pustules.

And then, three paragraphs later:

Upon seeing the monstrosity, a wave of horror and dread washed over her, as if the wet blanket of gloom and death closed around her had been wrung out and the foul droplets were seeping into her mind.

So that's "foul" three times. Not an egregious error, sure, but a synonym or two would be nice.

And number three is: You can bet your *** I'll be reading the rest of this. You've really hooked me with this one, and I'll be waiting with baited breath and all that jazz to devour the rest of it. So good show, old chap.

[RevenantsKnight]

Number two is: I may have snared a few errors...

Yes, I think you did. Thanks for catching those.

I hella liked "spattering the room with fragments of rotting meat." Violence is so nifty!

I was actually a little worried at first that this was maybe a touch too graphic, but since I never got a complaint about it...Anyway, if you thought this was the best part, I should warn you in advance that this particular story's not too violent in general, and this is about as much so as it gets. So far, anyway.

So that's "foul" three times. Not an egregious error, sure, but a synonym or two would be nice.

Heh...can you tell that I basically wrote each sentence without looking at the ones around it? This is the sort of thing I meant when I said that I might have missed some errors, so extra thanks for spotting this.

You've really hooked me with this one, and I'll be waiting with baited breath and all that jazz to devour the rest of it. So good show, old chap.

Thanks very much. Hopefully, the rest won't disappoint.

Thank you for your comments and time!

[RevenantsKnight]

Chapter 2: Into the Shadows

It’s so silent here.

Crouched amidst the exposed roots of a giant oak, Elarinn cast a glance ahead of her, and then to her right, probing the gathering darkness for a flicker of movement. Finding none, she pushed off the tree’s rough bark, rose halfway and began to glide forward, her right hand tightening around her dagger’s grip as she padded softly over the leaves and branches carpeting the forest floor. These fallen beings protested quietly at her passing, releasing a faint series of snaps and crunches as her scratched, knee-high boots pushed down upon them. While part of Elarinn winced at the noises, fearing that they would be loud enough for some wandering beast to hear, her tension eased slightly as the sounds reached her ears, filling the empty silence around her.

I never will like this deathly stillness that has possessed the forest, she thought, and frowned in quiet discontent as she reached another great tree and dropped down to the earth once more, holding the honed metal of her weapon ready to strike as her hardened leather jerkin rasped quietly against the dirt.

The air around her was still and cool, rustling no leaves or branches, devoid of life. At least it’s not like being back in the tunnels and caverns under Tristram, since there’s no corpses here.

Despite her revulsion and lasting horror towards those memories, she drew little comfort from her thoughts. Though the warmer fumes that swirled under the blackened cathedral had been heavy with the scent of death and demonic corruption, she had found them strangely invigorating at the time; the presence of a concrete Evil had left her almost eager to seek out her enemy, even if afterwards she found no rest, crying out in the night, awakening from a battle and a death in a cold sweat. Here, among the dead air and these towering trees, made jet black by the Nightlord’s cloak, Elarinn felt as if she had been plucked from the surface of Sanctuary and dropped into another world, alone save for the company of shadows and a nameless fear.

From her cover, she could see the forest extend around and above her into the darkness, the deep shadows of the night merging with each other, forming twisted hands or ghostly specters in her young, unfocused imagination. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she turned her gaze to the tree in front of her and closed her eyes, so as to give herself time to steady her mind and body. That action, born from blind, naïve hope, did nothing to dispel the forest’s gloomy aura, as the lack of bird songs and animal calls assailed her ears once more, the eerie silence as frightening as any shadowy wraith.

Her eyes flew open as she shook her head violently. Damn this silence. There used to be robins everywhere in these woods, singing all day. I walked here once, traveling to this land’s blighted heart with Iris and Feyla, and I remember being cheered by the birds’ pleasant chorus. Feyla and I were at ease here, walking among the trees and verdant leaves, bows hanging at our sides. Iris, being the leader of our little band, stayed alert, using her connection with the Sightless Eye in the place of her own vision, but I could tell that the forest strengthened her spirits as well. That was a good time, before the blackened cathedral became known to me. She began to smile at this happy memory, the ends of her lips twitching upward and then collapsing back into a grim, bloodless line under the weight of the forest’s gravelike silence and her own growing dread.

The stillness of Elarinn’s surroundings did more than instill a sense of loss in her soul; as unnerving as the paucity of birds and beasts was for her, a greater apprehension, one that had taken root in her mind days ago, now began to push its way into her consciousness. Nearly three days ago, as she fled the defiled walls of the Rogues’ ancestral home, she’d drawn upon her connection to the Sightless Eye in an attempt to divine the location of the surviving members of the Order. Instantly, a column of brilliant light seemed to appear in the distance, its incandescence piercing through the black night to guide Elarinn’s steps. She’d followed it cautiously, moving through the deepest clumps of wilderness to hide from roaming demons as she journeyed towards the faraway point over the horizon.

However, as the sun chased the stars overhead in the sky again and again in eternal pursuit and Elarinn grew weary in both body and mind, the light’s strength began to fade. Finally, as the last of Elarinn’s mental links to her celestial lord began to fail, she managed to make out the place under the waning light, a moor bordered on the north by a river and a wood, with open Khanduras plain to the other three sides. From there the path to the base of the light was hidden by a vast expanse of trees and hills, though the river flowed unbroken into the forest.

She’d done her best since then to find that river, seeking another source of guidance to supplant her wearied senses and mind; the stars, hidden by the black trees, were of no use to her, and there were precious few towns in this wilderness, long an empty land rife with bandits. Although she could tell that the water lay somewhere close, the forest seemed to twist around her at all times, almost as if seeking to keep her within its grasp, disorienting her and forcing her to stumble about blindly. I know they are nearby, or were at one time; I only pray to the Sightless Eye that they have not been discovered and overrun.

Elarinn’s grip on her dagger tightened in anger and frustration, the small weapon itself a reminder of the Sisterhood’s and her own weakened state. I never believed I would wield any blade or axe in my beloved bow’s stead, and certainly not this pitiful knife, she reflected, and yet, here I am.

She had long since exhausted the meager supply of arrows she had purchased before leaving on her journey, and even if she had had any, they would have been little help, as her bow had fallen into disrepair and now languished in her pack, unstrung. Without wax to keep the weapon’s string from becoming brittle, her bow was more a liability than an aid in a fight.

Barely a year ago, the Sisters of the Sightless Eye were in every city of the West, a power rivaling kings. Now, in this darkening hour, the few followers of the Order who remain can hardly keep their bows ready for war. Still, as long as leaders like Akara remain, the Sisterhood will stand fast against the dark tide until its last warrior falls. Even though her body may be old, Akara’s faith in the Eye and the Light is unshakable, enough to inspire an army.

She paused for a moment, lying still as her sight probed the twisting shadows ahead, then reached down to a satchel resting beside her left hip and hooked her slender index finger into a ragged hole in the leather, pulling up the flap. Delving into the bag, she carefully took out a sheaf of paper, tattered on the edges, the ink faded slightly. She flipped through the pages slowly, squinting in the darkness, looking over the words that had led her here, into the wild heart of Khanduras, in search of the remnants of her Order. Though Elarinn had read them many times during her flight westward from the monastery, Akara’s writings still lifted her spirits, briefly dispelling the eerie fear that the forest’s gloom and her desperate state had instilled in her.

Her happiness did not last long, though; the cruel truths detailed within the elderly woman’s journal soon crept into Elarinn’s mind. Of course, spiritual strength means little if the Order lacks the soldiers to fight its battles. By her account, most of those who fought at Tristram are dead or corrupted, and those who remain loyal have not seen enough battle...or enough winters, for that matter.

Her eyes closed as she contemplated the grim state of the Sisterhood, and then opened, wet with the tears she withheld, as she thought back to her comrades at Tristram. I do not know what became of Iris and Feyla; both were still tasked to patrol the highlands surrounding the monastery when I left for Aranoch to protest the rise of Lysan’s faction. Iris never joined that group of veterans; although she was a hero of the battle against Diablo in her own right, she did not seek power like they did. As for Feyla, she was still too young to be anything but just another faceless Sister to the council. Hopefully, their distance from those damned traitors kept them from being corrupted. By the Light, I hope they managed to escape that deathtrap. If they didn’t, I pray that they fell in battle at least, instead of turning to the forces of Chaos.

Elarinn paused for a moment, blinking away twin pools of salt water, then shook her head in sad reflection, placed the paper back in her bag, and looked again into the gloom ahead. Finding nothing, she rose to a crouch and then glided forward, her slight figure dancing in and out of the shadows. A patch of thornbushes caught at her traveling pack as she passed; she twisted slightly and broke into a run, the bag coming free with a snapping sound. Driven by fear, she ran, her heart pounding loud in the silence, finally stopping behind another massive tree and taking cover once more.

She then whipped back towards where she had come from, dagger ready in a white-knuckled hand, half expecting an inky outline to leap out of the gloom at her. Her sight took in the collection of dark shapes, great trees and low shrubs made ominous creatures by the night, and her face twisted into a mask of concentration as she gazed around warily. After several minutes of searching, she leaned heavily against the trunk of the tree behind her, shaking with exhaustion, wide awake with dread.

I’ve got to get out of this place soon; I’m beginning to look for hungry beasts in every wood, seeing demons in every shadow. She shook her head again, and slumped downwards, sitting at the base of the tree, the back of her armor rasping over the bark.

It’s a bit like trying to hunt this supposed wanderer, the hero of Tristram. If all the rumors are true, then he’s been seen over the last few weeks in far-off Scosglen, the desert of Aranoch, the Tamoe Mountains, and the city of Kurast itself. At least at Tristram, we knew where our enemy was; despite his minions infesting the cathedral and the warrens below, we could plan a strike against the Lord of Terror himself. This time, we are not ready, and the evil is moving, casting its shadow over the Eastern lands after blighting Khanduras. This wanderer is nowhere to be found, and yet he has spread fear across all of Sanctuary. I felt it, even behind the stout walls of ancient Lut Gholein; rumor and tale passed from person to person in the market, whispers floated through the air of the palace, heralds of the coming storm.

Elarinn sighed as the misery of her thoughts washed over her, and shivered, rubbing cold, tense hands over the sleeves of rough cloth covering her arms. She raised her dagger as if to throw it into a nearby clump of bushes, out of a despondent certainty that it would be useless against any enemy, then tightened her fist around the leather-wrapped handle and let the weapon fall to her side.

I am still alive, she reminded herself firmly, and so are many other Sisters. There is much that we can do still, even in our weakness. With what remains of the Order, and perhaps the remnants of Leoric’s armies, Khanduras might survive to see the end of these black days. And rumor speaks of an army gathering in Westmarch, ready to fight against the Evil on its doorstep. Given time... She sighed again, recognizing the desperation of her hopes, and shook her head. All that is not of the present; the Order is scattered, Khanduras leaderless. And for me, it is not yet a question of what power “we” have, but what strength remains in my body and mind. I believe Akara’s words, trust her that we must fight the forces of Chaos to whatever end awaits, but I can do little alone, without a bow, and lost in this damned forest.

A rustle in the leaves of the trees overhead startled Elarinn out of her reflections, her dagger hand jumping upwards reflexively into a defensive position. Her deep brown eyes danced from side to side, widening as she tried to discern the source of the sound among the many dark silhouettes above. Finally, after several minutes of anxious searching, her sight picked out a shadow flitting among the dying leaves, and she whirled to face it, drawing upon the dregs of her mental energy in an effort to reveal the being’s identity. Her mind, exhausted though it was, managed to focus her remaining contact with the Sightless Eye near the creature, and presently a dim light shimmered into existence, illuminating the dark branches and shriveled brown leaves above.

Elarinn blinked several times as she adjusted to the dull yellow light of the mental torch, then looked up into the trees and beheld a raven. Her eyes widened in recognition as the faint glow played over the animal’s black feathers, and a palpable wave of relief washed over her like a cool breeze. The bird, unlike the many other creatures she had encountered during her trek into the heartland of Khanduras, did not become crazed with bloodlust upon seeing her and swoop to the attack; rather, it canted its head to the right and stared down at her, as if judging what danger she posed.

Cautiously, Elarinn followed the creature’s gaze, and then lowered her weapon and looked back up, though her hand remained wrapped tightly around the dagger’s handle. Apparently satisfied, the raven blinked once, its black head bobbing up and down. It then cawed once, and took to the air with a quiet rustle of feathers and a light push off of its branch. Elarinn chased the bird with her eyes, watching as it flew between two clawlike branches, then landed gently and turned back toward the young Rogue. Its black eyes glittered in the soft glow of the yellow light as it stared back at her again, and then jerked its head back over its shoulder, as if to indicate that she should follow. Seeing her hesitate, it cawed again, this time with a note of what sounded like impatience to Elarinn, and began to flap its wings in short, brisk bursts.

Elarinn’s gaze flickered up and down the creature once more, and then to the waning light of her magic torch and the deepening shadows surrounding her. Although days of hiding from packs of fiends and twisted animals had made her wary of anything that could be a spy of Hell, the bird’s almost human manner reassured her. Perhaps there are forces other than the darkness at work here; for such an untainted creature to exist here means that there is a haven from this cursed land nearby.

Pausing again, she shuddered as her memory recalled Akara’s manuscript; more than anything else, she feared falling to the corruption that took so many of the Order’s greatest warriors. For that reason, she had run from every demon and beast she had encountered on her journey, and slain the few that had the temerity to pursue her. After days spent in shadows, she was now poised to throw all her efforts away and follow a creature into possible damnation.

And yet, if I do nothing, what fate awaits me among this darkness, other than death? She frowned and bent her head slightly, then straightened, her mind made up. She took one step towards the raven, then another, the point of her dagger dancing from side to side as she shifted her guard.

As she neared, the creature took to the air again, and set off into the shadows, its black body almost disappearing into the night. Nervously, Elarinn quickened her pace, her auburn hair swishing around her head noiselessly and caressing her shoulders as she tried to watch the bird ahead and the trees and bushes at her sides all at once. Then, spurred on by the creature’s fading form, she ran, no longer caring about the noise she made or fearing ambush by demons; all that mattered to her now was the raven, and its promise of finding a way out of the forsaken wood. As she ran on, boots crunching against leaves and branches, bushes scraping over her armor, her face took on an expression of pure calm, a peace born of hope, and strengthened by action.

The journey seemed like hours to Elarinn, moment after moment of running over the forest floor littered with holes and branches, of dodging around giant trees and twisted shrubs that seemed to appear out of the darkness of the forest itself, all in pursuit of the barest trace of movement among the branches overhead. In truth, it had been hardly minutes; when she came upon the clearing in the forest, a roughly circular patch of open ground with moonlight spilling through the open space above and casting a pale glow over her surroundings, she found that she was breathing hard, but otherwise felt ready to run a few more miles.

Staring at her from across the clearing was the raven, perched on an oak tree’s branch at head height. Elarinn’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at the bird, wondering why it had led her here; the clearing, though well lit by the moon’s silvery light, felt no different than the forest surrounding it, under the thrall of a great Evil. Stepping into the middle of the open ground, she looked around herself, weapon ready, and then, finding no enemy, upwards to the sky, eyes scanning the stars. There’s still a few more hours of night, at least…Suddenly, a soft crunch sounded among the trees to Elarinn’s left, and she paused for a heartbeat, surprised that the deafening silence had been broken by such a diffident sound. Then her mind seized upon the noise’s meaning as she heard it again, and she whirled, her dagger seemingly appearing in front of her face in a close guard.

The man stood on the edge of the clearing, empty hands dangling by his side in what Elarinn presumed was meant to be a peaceful gesture. A cascade of long, straight blond hair spilled down his back and over his fur cloak, made from some beast’s full pelt, draped over a tunic made of what looked like brown stone. As he moved, parts of the garment changed form, becoming almost fluid, before hardening around his body once more. Below that, he wore heavy leather breeches and boots, though Elarinn saw no metal on his person. She could not make out his face, as it was hidden in the shadows of the trees around him. “I offer my greetings, Sister,” he said, his words spoken slowly and carefully, tinged with an accent that Elarinn had never heard before.

Elarinn nodded in response, and replied, “As do I,” holding back her initial surprise with an effort. “I must wonder, however, who you are and how you know of my allegiance to the Order,” she continued, keeping her weapon raised. His head tilted slightly and his body stiffened at this, then, after a pause, he stepped forward, revealing a pale visage twisted into a wary mask, and two restless light blue eyes. As he did so, the raven cawed, and then flew to the man’s shoulder and perched there.

“My name is Faeldh, priest of the Caoi Dúlra, though your name for my kind appears to be Druid,” he began cautiously. “I have journeyed here from the northlands to fight the corruption that twists the earth and its creatures, though all this should not be news to you.” Elarinn frowned, both puzzled and calmed by his words. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see a fabled earth-shaman here, given the demonic forces at work, she thought. I know little of their kind, only what I have heard from Akara and the other learned Sisters, though I thank the Sightless Eye that he is not an enemy. “Why do you say that I should know who you are?” she asked after a short pause, looking back into the druid’s eyes.

The druid shifted from side to side uneasily upon hearing this, and his brow furrowed as he replied, “You have not seen me or my comrades around the encampment? Odd…” and his voice trailed off as he studied her face, this time much more carefully than before. As he did so, his body tensed ever so slightly, and his right hand curled slowly around a heavy wood cudgel hanging at his side. Simultaneously, the raven took wing once more, resting on a branch to the young Rogue’s right, now staring intently at her with its deep black eyes.

Elarinn noticed none of this, however; she was struck speechless by the stranger’s words, uttered almost as an afterthought. An encampment; there must be others who stand against the darkness nearby. And if he recognizes me as a Rogue, then perhaps some survivors of the Order’s flight are among them…She blinked twice, then let her dagger fall to her side, convinced that it would be of no use to her now. “An encampment,” she repeated slowly, still struggling to accept the avalanche of surprises that the last few minutes had contained. The druid remained still for a few seconds, blue eyes jumping from her face to her lowered weapon and then back again, before nodding slowly. Upon seeing this, Elarinn blurted, “And are my Sisters there?” desperate to learn more of her comrades’ fate.

“There are some,” replied the druid, “though they have not fared well of late. From what I have learned, they were forced to flee-”

“I know, they were driven from the Monastery,” Elarinn finished. “Can you lead me to this encampment?”

The druid held up a hand in response, his face a solemn mask. “I would first know who I am guiding into our haven,” he began. “With the curse of the Burning Hells sweeping through this land, one survives only by caution and the grace of the Light. Given the enchantment’s affinity for your Sisters’ souls...” He let the implicit accusation go unsaid, and his grip on the weapon at his side tightened as he spoke, as if he expected no response from Elarinn other than a hurled blade or a berserk war cry.

She smiled tightly at his reaction, and returned her weapon to the sheath strapped to her left forearm. “I am Elarinn, apprentice warrior of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. I was not at the Monastery at the time of its fall; I lived in the Eastern city of Lut Gholein for the last few months.” She paused, awaiting a response, and received none. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I returned here after word of the Order’s corruption crossed Aranoch, and now seek to find my comrades in arms, and intend to stand with them as long as I must.” On an impulse, she added, “I desire neither power nor glory; I merely wish to answer the call of the Sightless Eye and the Light.”

At this, the druid nodded and finally spoke, traces of a smile dancing across his face for an instant. “Behind the Wanderer follows a storm to ravage both nature and humanity alike. We will need the strength of every last believer in the Light if we are to weather this tempest.” With that, he made a motion with his left hand, revealing a scroll of white parchment bound by a blue fabric ribbon. “The encampment is not far from here, but the road is perilous, patrolled by hellspawn and maddened creatures. This is safer, although perhaps unnatural.”

Unraveling the ribbon, he spoke several words that seemed somehow familiar to Elarinn, and suddenly a burst of light filled the clearing, causing her to wince and close her eyes. When she looked back up, she beheld a giant oval of shimmering blue light. Its center, unlike the brilliant edge, was perfect blackness, a bottomless hole that seemed to seize the surrounding light. “An astral gateway,” she breathed, and took a step backwards, eyeing the portal cautiously.

During her time at Tristram, she’d seen Iris, and many other adventurers, use such magical means to travel between the depths under the tainted cathedral and the town itself. Elarinn herself had never crossed over to another plane, and had no desire to now, even if it was only for an instant. Memories of neophyte sorcerers and ignorant mercenaries stumbling out of the ether, gibbering madly in terror, filled her mind’s eye, causing her to shudder violently. And yet, if this is the only way to my Order...

Seeing Elarinn hesitate, Faeldh turned to her, and motioned towards the rift in the air. “We cannot tarry here; demons may be drawn to the energies of the gate. Come, your Sisters wait for your return.” Still, she remained motionless, caught between her fear of the world beyond and her desire to return to her comrades. I swore to myself that I would return to them, although I would be of little use if I arrived insane. And yet...what loyalty to the Order can I claim if I turn away now?

She stared into the ebon void standing in front of her and set her jaw, gathering her resolve. This is merely another test of devotion, she told herself; there is no difference between walking through this gate and taking the oath of the Sisterhood. I am ready; let the outer planes do their worst. They shall not shake my dedication to my comrades, nor my belief in the Sightless Eye. With this thought etched firmly into her mind, Elarinn bit her lip, and then stepped forward into the portal, her body weak with confusion and fatigue, her heart buoyed by a hope that had almost died in the hungry silence of the forest, and now grew stronger with each passing moment.

[Clarke667]

First an apology: I'm half asleep and on strange medication, so this might end up being a bit scatterbrained. Write this tomorrow when you're clear-headed and fully awake, you say? Bah! No fun in that.

Well, you mentioned previously that there wasn't going to be a boatload of keen violence in this story, and quite frankly, that had me worried. But hey, worried for naught; A Call to Arms is hella good, wicked gore or not. Do you think, though, that in the next chapter you could have Elarinn step on a puppy or something?

Kidding.

A few things:

the stars, hidden by the black trees, were of no use to her, and there were precious few towns in this wilderness, long an empty land rife with bandits.

I really don't get this. At first I just thought you wrote "an" when you meant "and", but even then it doesn't make too much sense to me. Did you mean "...and there were precious few towns in this wilderness, a long and empty land rife with bandits"? And even then, it's sort of odd to describe a wilderness as "empty". Isn't a wilderness, by definition, not empty? Or maybe I'm totally missing something here.

I never believed I would wield any blade or axe in my beloved bow’s stead, and certainly not this pitiful knife, she reflected, and yet, here I am.

A small formatting problem: you italicized "she reflected" along with everything else.

Another thing that irked me--pretty much all of Elarinn's thoughts were plot-exposition. I understand that that's what an interior monologue is useful for, but after a while it became sort of weird that every time Elarinn had a thought, she took the time to fully explain it to the audience. Take this bit for example:

There used to be robins everywhere in these woods, singing all day. I walked here once, traveling to this land’s blighted heart with Iris and Feyla, and I remember being cheered by the birds’ pleasant chorus. Feyla and I were at ease here, walking among the trees and verdant leaves, bows hanging at our sides. Iris, being the leader of our little band, stayed alert, using her connection with the Sightless Eye in the place of her own vision, but I could tell that the forest strengthened her spirits as well. That was a good time, before the blackened cathedral became known to me.

Near the middle of this, it really stops looking like the girl is actually thinking to herself, and starts looking more like a Shakespearian soliloquy. The downside of this is that it really pulls you out of the story and makes you realize you're, well, reading a story. Kind of like seeing the ace tucked in the magician's sleeve, you know?

But what comes after it, though...

She began to smile at this happy memory, the ends of her lips twitching upward and then collapsing back into a grim, bloodless line under the weight of the forest’s gravelike silence and her own growing dread.

I really liked this bit. I don't want to seem like I'm totally ragging on your work here, because by and large I loved it. Take the above sentence: it's a great little image, and moreover, it's well executed. It's passages like that that will most likely keep me reading this story, even though Elarinn is probably not going to step on a puppy anytime soon.

[RevenantsKnight]

Clarke667: Thanks for your comments and suggestions. Here're some thoughts of my own:

I really don't get this. Did you mean "...and there were precious few towns in this wilderness, a long and empty land rife with bandits"? And even then, it's sort of odd to describe a wilderness as "empty". Isn't a wilderness, by definition, not empty?

I actually meant that to be as is; the last clause is supposed to be a synonym of sorts to this particular "wilderness," so the sentence could read "...and there were precious few towns in this empty land, rife with bandits" or something like that. As for "wilderness" and "empty," by definition there aren't a lot of people in wildernesses, so that's what the "empty" refers to: the lack of other humans, not the lack of...stuff. Maybe I'll take out the "empty," actually...sounds a bit redundant...

Another thing that irked me--pretty much all of Elarinn's thoughts were plot-exposition. I understand that that's what an interior monologue is useful for, but after a while it became sort of weird that every time Elarinn had a thought, she took the time to fully explain it to the audience. The downside of this is that it really pulls you out of the story and makes you realize you're, well, reading a story. Kind of like seeing the ace tucked in the magician's sleeve, you know?

Yeah...this did occur to me when I read it over again prior to posting. I guess it was my way to try and get information across in the absence of a second character. I'll probably tinker with it more, and this shouldn't happen again, since...well, you'll see.

I don't want to seem like I'm totally ragging on your work here, because by and large I loved it.

Frankly, when I write criticisms of other works, I tend to highlight almost only mistakes, and assume that the author realizes that I think the rest of it's good (unless I make a general statement otherwise.) This thinking goes the other way, too, so I didn't think you were "ragging on my work." (In retrospect, this might be a bad assumption, but oh well.) Thanks for the words of encouragement, though. :)

[RevenantsKnight]

Chapter 3: Homecoming

“Traveling through the astral plane is a truly unnerving experience, or rather the first time you do it is, anyway. When you step through the gate, everything seems to freeze; for a moment, you can look around in all directions and see nothing, no rock or dirt or grass beneath you, no sky above your head. You feel free, as though you were hovering above the earth on a windless, perfect night. Then your destination rushes up from the blackness to surround you, like water closing around a stone dropped into a pool, your brief mastery of Time fades, and your foot falls and touches the ground. You’ll get used to it if you do it enough.”

Iris’s words came to Elarinn’s mind as she hung in the empty blackness, caught in mid-step. She closed her eyes, holding back a sudden rush of panic, and winced as a vibrant blur of blue and green shot skyward around her, then stumbled forward and squinted as the world came into focus.

Gritting her teeth to steady herself, she looked around at her new surroundings, eyes moving from the ruined lengths of some stone wall scattered across the green of the grass to the black shadows of a taller, more recent wooden palisade that, with the river behind her, enclosed a significant portion of land. Next, her vision took in a cluster of tents to her right, and then the glow of a fire ahead. She could make out the dark outlines of perhaps a score of people standing by the pile of burning wood, and the sounds of flowing river water and their conversation mingled to create a quiet murmur Elarinn found most welcome after long days spent in the silent, cursed forest. She judged most of them to be traders by their manner, except for a few cloaked figures who were scattered around the edge of the circle, most of whom held bows. The druid wasn’t lying, then; there are likely some Sisters here at this rough encampment of traveling merchants.

Trying to walk towards the firelight, she found that she had not yet reclaimed her sense of balance from the Ether, and stopped quickly, bending at her knees and waist and letting her traveling pack slide off her shoulders in order to stay on her feet, before her dizziness grew overwhelming. I don’t know how the hell you ever got used to this, Iris, she thought, her initial discomfort giving way to mild annoyance. She shook her head and blinked a few times, then turned her head towards the towering blue oval behind her. The shimmering gate of blue light rippled as Faeldh stepped through and looked around, then nodded to her. “This way, Sister,” he murmured quietly, pointing towards the tents. Still fighting to stay upright, Elarinn shouldered her bag and followed slowly, eyes dancing from the people around the fire to Faeldh’s form, fading into the gloom ahead.

The dozen or so tents were obviously structures born with the haste of necessity. Only three were true tents, of the kind used by an army on the move; the others were fashioned from a patchwork of canvas, cloth and leather and looked as if they would collapse in a heavy rain. As they approached, a familiar sensation began to creep up Elarinn’s spine, causing her to stiffen and reach down to her dagger out of reflex. She’d learned long ago how to use the Sightless Eye’s power to sense danger, especially devices such as arrow launchers or magic triggers. Now, she could feel several such mechanisms among the remains of a stone wall ahead, each holding ashwood messengers of death.

The druid stopped short of the cluster of tents, apparently aware of this as well, and called out into the night, “I have someone you must see, my lady.”

Presently the soft glow of a torch reached Elarinn’s eyes, and two figures formed from the darkness. One was slightly bent with age, her face hidden by a cowl. She walked forward slowly, but had about her an aura of power and calm despite her small stature. The other, illuminated by the light of the torch she carried, was doubtless one of Elarinn’s sisters in arms, her tall, lithe form made angular at the shoulders by her suit of leather armor, similar to Elarinn’s in design. Elarinn paused for a heartbeat, squinting against the gloom at the approaching pair, then strode forward as she recognized the older woman. She came within three paces and then dropped to one knee, head bowed, heart pounding. “See only Truth,” she recited, and then looked up into the shadows cast by the torchlight, the dark shapes concealing the woman’s cowled face.

A pair of thin, weathered hands reached up and let the hood fall, revealing a lined, worn visage and graying hair. “Serve only Light,” the old woman finished in a slow, time-worn voice, and motioned for Elarinn to rise. She did so slowly, so as to ease the burden on her exhausted, burning muscles, and managed her first genuine smile in weeks. “Akara,” she began, and then faltered, overcome by emotion.

Akara stepped forward and grasped Elarinn’s hands with her own, steadying her as Elarinn fought to regain control of her voice. “It is good to see you again, child,” she whispered, her words made shaky by her own relief and joy. At a loss for words, Elarinn instead squeezed Akara’s hands, and she mirrored the action gently, but with a firmness that reassured Elarinn. “You’re safe here, child,” the old woman smiled, hope glowing in her eyes. “Welcome home.”



Elarinn shivered as she walked into the tent after her two comrades, though she had long since grown used to the chill of a Khanduras night. Her discomfort stemmed instead from the scents that hung in the air, a sickly, cloying sweetness mixed with the sharp odor of herbs. Smells like the healer’s house, back at Tristram, she thought, and grimaced as images of maimed townsfolk and bloodied adventurers filled her mind’s eye.

Clenching her teeth, she pushed those thoughts back with an effort and forced herself to look around. In the darkness, she could make out the black shape of a table, and upon it a number of jars, bowls and other vessels. In another corner of the tent stood several low beds, which Akara indicated with a motion of her hand. “Rest here tonight, child. I will return later; I have other things to attend to.” With that, she left, accompanied by the Sister holding the torch, who, Elarinn noticed, had slightly puffy fingers, smooth, unmarked arms, and an earnest, almost awed, expression on her face. Elarinn shook her head and sighed, then pushed up her sleeves and looked down to her own arms and hands, at the patch of skin just behind her left wrist, hardened by countless passes of her bowstring across her forearm.

That child is hardly old enough to begin the training of the Sisterhood, and yet she wears the armor of a warrior. She sighed again, and let her sleeve fall, not wishing to be reminded of the battles in the tainted cathedral that she had fought, only months ago.

Returning to the present, she slowly peeled off her armor and traveling outfit, piling them in a corner of the tent and changing into a sleeping gown she found draped over one of the beds. Next, she padded over to the table and rubbed her face and neck with a wet cloth from one of the buckets on the floor nearby. The rag, a whitish gray before, came away streaked with brown dirt and grime, and she smiled slightly as she folded it up and placed it neatly on the table.

These tasks completed, Elarinn then crawled into one of the beds, wrapping the threadbare covers around her, and let her head fall backwards, savoring the softness of the pillow. Having not slept in a real bed for weeks, she found even the thin mattress a great comfort, and her eyes closed as she let herself fall into sleep’s embrace.

Despite her exhaustion, Elarinn did not sleep peacefully. For the first time since the apparent death of the Lord of Terror, her dreams were gripped by a cold, wordless fear, an alien horror that few mortals had ever felt, and none had ever been meant to know. Once again, she was within the blackened forest, running, acutely aware that some being watched her every move from the maze of shadows around her. She could not make out the form of her pursuer, whether it was demon or beast or spirit, but she felt its malign intent like an icy wind at her back, driving her forward, always present no matter how fast she ran. Finally, she jerked awake, gasping, the blanket around her drenched in sweat.

After lying still for several moments, she closed her eyes, urged back into her realm of nightmares by exhaustion, then started in surprise and opened them again. In the bed to her left, which had been empty when she arrived, she made out a figure, sitting upright against the low board at the bed’s end with the covers over her unmoving legs, silhouetted by the wan light of a candle. Her neighbor, Elarinn noted, wore a robe similar to her own, and her hair, made dark by the dim light, was drawn back into a ponytail in the manner of the older Sisters. Her back was turned to Elarinn, and she appeared to be reading over a large piece of parchment intently, shivering occasionally, perhaps from the chill of the night.

Squinting against the gloom, Elarinn pushed herself up on her arms, trying to get a better look at both her companion and the paper she read. Without turning towards Elarinn, the woman slowly placed the parchment in a small bag on her bed and uttered in a soft, almost sad voice, “You should be asleep. Tomorrow will be far harder on you if you are not rested.”

Her words caused Elarinn to sit up straight in her bed and freeze as shock ran through her. A second later, the surprise gave way to a sort of nascent wonder and hope, as her mind began to grasp what she had just heard. I know that voice. It has to be; I knew she didn’t die at the monastery. Turning towards her neighbor, who remained facing the dirty cloth wall of the tent, Elarinn opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged to fill the void of seemingly perfect silence that surrounded them both. “Is it…?” she finally managed, still staring at the back of the silhouette like a soul bewitched.

The head of the figure nodded in reply, in spite of the fact that Elarinn had barely said anything. “I’m still here,” she said quietly, her words almost lost among the rustling of fabric as the ethereal hands of a breeze began to tug on the tent. As she said this, her left hand reached out to close the clasp on the bag next to her and place it on the low table in the corner. Then, using her right arm to hold her weight, she turned at her waist towards Elarinn, looking over her shoulder, covered by the robe’s thin cloth, and smiled wanly.

Elarinn paused for a heartbeat, her sight playing over the older woman’s features, before leaping out of her bed and enfolding her in a hug that used the last of her waning strength. “I knew you had to have made it,” she breathed, closing her eyes and reveling in a pure joy that she had not felt since the nameless Wanderer had staggered out of the befouled cathedral, holding his bloody sword aloft in a grim, but fitting, victory salute.

“It’s good to see you, too,” the other whispered, and tightened her hug momentarily before letting her arms fall to her sides. Elarinn relaxed her hold and took a step back, straightening up as a grin spread across her face.

As she let go, her companion, no longer held up by friendly arms, slumped back against the board of the bed, and then slid down into a prone position, looking up at her with the same smile as before, causing Elarinn to frown inwardly. She’d known Iris for years, and even though she’d been away for the last few months, she could tell that there was something other than the loss of the monastery and the weakened state of the Order that plagued her. Something seems wrong here...Iris was always careful to keep up an appearance of control during the battles in Tristram, for the other adventurers’ sake as well as ours. Even when we were all in danger of dying, she was ready to lead, fighting as if our victory was assured.

Iris must have noticed her hesitation, because she propped herself back up on her arms and her smile broadened, though Elarinn thought it looked a bit forced. “So you made it back from the East,” she laughed, “quite impressive for a Sister who once ran from even the walking dead.” Although her words were pointed, her voice carried no malice, only a mixture of wonder and silent pride.

Elarinn couldn’t hold back a small smile at her words, and nodded a bit sheepishly. “You know, Iris, there were a few times when I wasn’t sure I was going to get by,” she began, only to stop when the elder Rogue shook her head, her happy expression freezing on her face for an instant. “Stop, Elarinn. I don’t think I should hear your tale, at least not just yet.” Elarinn halted in mid-sentence, and then, dumbstruck, stared at Iris as she continued, her smile gone.

“Kashya will want to know all about your journey back to us, in more detail than you will ever care to remember,” Iris warned, frowning slightly. “Ever since we fled the Monastery, she’s taken to keeping our remaining Sisters close to the encampment, and has become very protective of this place’s secrecy. If she thinks you were followed here, or even to wherever that Druid opened the astral gate…” Iris paused at this and pursed her lips, unwilling to go on.

“Anyway,” she continued after a short pause, “it’s probably better if I hear your story for the first time when she does; Kashya’s very good at reading people, so she’d probably realize quickly if I already knew what you were going to say, and then she might become more…aggressive…in her questioning.”

Surprise filled Elarinn as she heard these words, though not because of Iris’s warning. I never doubted for a second that whoever took over command of the Order would hide away those who remain until we can regain our strength; it’s just that… She furrowed her brow for a minute, thinking, and then looked directly at Iris, her brown eyes focused on her companion’s. “One moment, Iris; is Kashya in command now? I know she led us at Tristram with Lysan and the others, but…”

Her voice trailed off as her respect for the battle-hardened elder warrior overcame her desire to ask the question that burned in her mind; seeing this, Iris queried softly, “What is it, Elarinn? Tell me; it’s better you have all your questions answered now, before you say your piece to the rest of the Order.”

Elarinn sighed, then looked down and gritted her teeth. This is not going to sound good. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “Well…I just assumed that since Kashya had more or less given up on leading the Sisterhood when she declined Lysan’s offer to join her ruling council, back before I left, that you’d take the position, seeing as you’re a hero of Tristram in your own right, and she’s getting too old to lead warriors into battle now.” She winced as the last word faded from her lips; criticizing a Sister so much senior to her went against the teachings of the Sightless Eye as well as her personal sense of honor, and Iris looked rather unfavorably on anything she saw as unnecessary flattery.

She had been right about one thing; Iris’s face turned into a stony, expressionless mask at her words. Elarinn waited in silence for a few moments, dreading her friend’s response. Finally, the older woman smiled wryly, causing the tension gripping Elarinn’s throat to recede. “Kashya’s still got a good bit of fight in her, even if her body isn’t keeping up with her spirit. Besides, we lost many of our best archers at the monastery, so anyone who shoots as well as she does is now a great asset. As for her …retirement, she hadn’t anticipated the events that came to pass. None of us did, after all, so when they did happen, she stepped back up to lead us.”

With the mood in the tent no longer edgy, Elarinn took a moment to look over Iris, letting another wave of relief wash over her. It’s so good to be back with my friends, she reflected, casting her gaze over the other’s visage, which was still young by most standards, though her eyes had an ever-present sense of distance to them, almost as if she wasn’t looking at anything in particular. She’d seen such a look before, in the eyes of some veteran soldiers returning from the ill-starred war against Westmarch, a campaign soaked with hopelessness and horrific defeats for the men of Khanduras.

I don’t remember Iris being like that, even after the fight against Diablo. I shudder to think of what she saw when the monastery fell to the forces of Hell; hopefully it hasn’t changed- She froze, shock evident on her face as a thought surfaced in her mind. “Iris,” she began slowly, turning to her comrade, “where’s Feyla? Did she make it out of the monastery?” Please tell me she survived; she’s even younger than me, almost a child still…

Iris bit her lip, eyes dancing from side to side as she thought. “I do not know where Feyla is now; she has not been at this encampment when I’ve been here, otherwise, she probably would have sought me out. I did see her, though, right before we sounded the retreat. She wasn’t hurt, just exhausted, so I’m pretty sure she made it into the forests surrounding the monastery. Given the changing nature of those lands, though, she could have wandered anywhere. With luck, one of the outlanders will find her and bring her back. Otherwise…”

Elarinn nodded grimly at this, then looked back up as another question rose to the top of her mind like a bubble breaking the placid surface a lake. “Do you know what the Druid, Faeldh, is doing? He said he was here because of the demonic corruption, and that there were others like him here as well, but I don’t know what he’s doing to fight the curse of the Hells. Do you think they could find a way to undo the blackening of the Order?”

Iris shook her head in response, relaxing ever so slightly as Elarinn changed the subject. “I have no idea if the earth-shamans know the nature of the sorcery Diablo cast over this land. I have seen his kin, though; at least six were here two days ago, before they all ventured out into the wilds. There have been other outlanders as well; the tents of a group of Northland warriors are at the far side of the encampment, near the smithy, and there are two other bands near the entrance, one of witches who call themselves Zann Esu, and the other of archers and spear-women from the Sea of Light. Even several death-mages, Necromancers from the East, have been here recently, though they moved on after only a few hours, thank the Eye.” She shuddered at the thought of the bone wizards, and reached down with one hand to pull the blanket up.

“Apparently, they’re all here to find the Wanderer, but they’ve been of help to us.” Indicating the entrance to the camp with a jerk of her head, Iris continued, “There’s a cave just outside here that used to be full of the walking dead and those little imp-things that used to infest the cathedral at Tristram. Some of the northerners went in there and killed them all; now, we’re no longer under constant threat of attack.”

“A cave?” Elarinn repeated, somewhat surprised. “I thought there weren’t any caves east of the Andulon,” she mused, her mind’s eye roving over memories of walking in that underground web of tunnels connecting the woods surrounding the monastery with the plains to the west. Then, seeing the frown on Iris’s face, she asked warily, “Where are we, exactly?”

Iris paused, trying to decide how much she should tell Elarinn, then shrugged and replied, “This is, apparently, what remains of an old Horadric outpost in the region, constructed during their hunt for Diablo ages ago. Akara knew about it, and advised Kashya to bring the survivors here after the battle at the monastery. From what I gather, we’re near to the elder graveyard of the Sisterhood, the one used before the catacombs under monastery were finished.”

“So that’s why the Druid could create an astral gate to this camp,” Elarinn said slowly, thinking out loud. “An old Horadric fortress would likely have some sort of pathway leading to it through the ether.” Iris nodded, and continued, “This place does have some properties of that sort; there’s some kind of enchanted circle carved into a patch of stone at the north end of the encampment. Some of the outlanders have used it to travel to other places well beyond a day’s journey in the blink of an eye.”

As she said this, Elarinn chanced to look down at her arms, which were held behind her back and pushing against the thin mattress, shaking from the effort. “Really, Iris,” she began in a tone of friendly amusement, “I don’t care if you lie down; you’re probably as tired as me.” When Iris merely smiled tightly in reply, Elarinn continued, “Well, then at least sit up or something; that looks almost painful.”

At this, Iris’s face froze again, and this time she didn’t bother to hide her anger. Surprised, Elarinn took a step backwards, unwilling to look upon her companion’s blank expression and burning eyes. By the Light, what’s wrong with her? I make one suggestion, and she turns cold, as if I’m mocking her. I’m not, dammit; I’m sure she can sit up in a bed in... Her jaw fell open as a revelation, enlightening and terrible, filled her mind. “The healer’s tent,” she finished slowly, saying the last part of her reflection out loud. Then, as she began to comprehend the full horror of her thoughts, she fell to her knees, shaking as she held back a torrent of sobs. “No...it’s not possible,” she choked out between gasps, and looked up into Iris’s face, now molded by a resigned sorrow and frustration. “You’re...not...” Elarinn stopped, her tongue failing her, and Iris reached down and threw back the bedcovers before letting herself fall prone upon the bed.

Elarinn rose and looked towards the foot of the bed, then turned away with a gasp. A patch of wrinkled black skin marred Iris’s pale right leg, bare from the mid-thigh down, and from it radiated lines of raised, graying flesh that spread like a foul spider’s web over her body. These dead rivulets also seemed to have jumped to her other leg, where they formed thick ribbons of puckered skin. Although Iris’s legs remained motionless, the dark web seemed to throb, as though it were a parasite wrapped around her. “It’s from an enchanted arrow,” Iris told Elarinn, her voice grim but level again. “I got shot during the retreat, and this curse had time to take root. Akara managed to devise a counterspell, but not before it spread across both my legs.” Elarinn still kept her head turned, fighting a sudden urge to be sick. “What...is it?” she gasped.

Iris shook her head tiredly, a motion Elarinn caught with the corner of her eye. “Akara had some idea as to its nature, but frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that I cannot move my legs.” She spoke much more calmly than Elarinn thought possible, given the circumstances, but underneath her even tone of control was a note of barely suppressed emotion. Is that sorrow, perhaps, or frustration? Frankly, I hope I never find out. Elarinn closed her eyes, the better to hold back her tears, and let out a deep breath as a sensation of abject exhaustion ran through her body, the burst of energy she managed upon seeing Iris again utterly spent. By the Sightless Eye...the monastery is taken, the Order scattered, a great hero like Iris crippled. So much has disappeared in the space of months; is there no end to Hell’s nightmares? We defeated armies of dark servants underneath Tristram; why do we fall now to such a state? Where is the protection of the Light in our darkest hour, so we may rise once more?

“Elarinn.” Iris’s voice shook Elarinn from her lamentations, and she turned, trying not to look at her friend’s tortured legs. “I would ask two favors of you,” Iris continued, her tone quiet and slow, causing Elarinn to wince inwardly. She could tell it was hard for Iris to say those words, after spending so much time at her side. Her refusal to show helplessness during Tristram always seemed to stem from something personal, a deeper reason than just for our morale. That's got to hurt her pride worse than any wound. “Whatever you need, Iris,” she responded quickly, hoping to end Iris’s discomfort as soon as possible. “First, would you pull the blankets back up over me?” Iris asked, smiling wryly and waving towards the crumpled pile of fabric at the foot of the bed.

Smiling to cover her misery, Elarinn bent down and grasped the hem of the bedcovers, and pulled them taut before letting them go and watching them fall over Iris’s prone form. She blinked away another stream of tears as her friend caught the edge of the blankets and gathered them around her. “Second,” Iris whispered, her voice almost too soft for Elarinn to hear, “get some rest. You’ll need it tomorrow.” She then turned away and closed her eyes, letting her head sink into the meager softness of the pillow.

Looking down at her mentor, Elarinn thought she looked somehow smaller than before, like a young girl curled up in her bed, drifting off to sleep on her mother’s words. She’s so...helpless; for the first time that I’ve known her, she seems mortal. At this thought, she let loose the salt rain of her eyes, the droplets running alongside her nose in twin channels and crossing the ravine of her silent mouth before falling to moisten the ground. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she blinked, halting the warm flow of water, and, after a last look at Iris’s sleeping form, climbed back into her own bed, feeling more lost amid the world than ever before.

[0xDEADCAFE]

It took me three separate tries to get through the opening of this story. Not the italicized parts, all of which I thought worked well, throughout the story, but the first page after that. Once the hero got into things it got better and then it continued to get better for the rest of the chapter. But, once again, as with Farewell, I almost never got to read the good parts because of the start.

Now, part of the problems that I have with your stories may just be due to your style and pacing. You take your time with scenes, not hurrying, giving your writing, as Clarke667 put it, a "thereness" which is both riveting and memorable. So it could be just that when I start reading your stories, I need to settle down, and get in sync with pace, and that would explain the feeling I have that they are rough at the beginning and then get better.

But I think there is more to it. I'm now going to assert (and please start imagining gigantic IMHO's virtually everywhere) that you have a kind of habitual wordiness that, on top of your very descriptive style, gives your writing a kind of laborious quality. Or it could be the result of too many revisions. Well I guess I'd better get specific before you bring out the pitchforks.

First, some basic comments, I'll get back to my "wordiness" assertion in a bit:

Their deception of the Order was not quite total, though; a handful of our Sisters, who saw through the haze of joy and euphoria, stood opposed the ascension of the veterans of Tristram
"stood opposed" - shouldn't this either be "stood opposed to" or just "opposed"?

...and left the monastery in protest for the eastern lands, or the cities of Westmarch. I am happy for them; they are the lucky ones. I'm sure you mean they "left in protest" ... "for the eastern lands", but on first read it came off as if their protest had something to do with the eastern lands. This is an example of a sentence that gets better the more times you read it, but on first read it was awkward. Maybe: "...and, in protest, left the..." - I know that introduces a pause but "protest for the eastern lands" is just confusing.


and I now believe they were designed to remove those who most fervently opposed the forces of Chaos, and embraced the true Light with all their hearts. The comma after Chaos suggested to me that "embraced" was in parallel with "designed", which of course makes no sense. Since both "fervently opposed" and "embraced" pertain to "those", I think you should remove the comma; you really want everything after "those" to run together as if it were one thing.


She nodded, and then gazed out over the twisted trees lining the road, down to the black shadow in the distance, like a smear of tar on the horizon. Referential confusion: she "gazed out", she "gazed...down", but she certainly didn't "gaze...like a smear". Inserting a "which" after distance would clarify the reference. Although another word would also be needed, perhaps something like "the black shadow in the distance, which ran like a smear..."


Behind her, the caravan guards conversed among each other in low voices, armed but unready to fight, and the beasts of burden fidgeted anxiously. Okay, here's my first examples of unnecessary wordiness.
- "among each other" seems quite redundant. Consider "the caravan guards conversed in low voices". What's missing? Does this suggest anything other than conversing among themselves?
- "in low voices", while stylistically it might be what you want, perhaps "conversed quietly" would work just as well.
- "armed but unready to fight" - a nice touch but an awkward aside in this sentence. Maybe drop "to fight". Maybe something like: "the armed but unready guards..." I don't think it would hurt the sentence to leave the meaning of "unready" a bit ambiguous. Ambiguity, used in small measure, can increase interest, allowing the reader's mind to wander a bit. In this case, since it is such a non-essential detail, you don't need to be so explicit about it.
- "beasts of burden" - could it be "horses"
- "fidgeted anxously" - how else does one fidget?

To remove all this would leave only: "Behind her, the armed but unready guards conversed quietly, and the horses fidgeted." Is it better? Who knows; maybe it's worse, who can say? Sometimes less is more. It's pretty subjective, but, for me, this is a perfect example of what it is about your writing that makes me want to stop reading.


However, none of this penetrated her consciousness; all her thoughts were focused towards the defiled structure looming ahead, and the fell power that emerged from within. Consider: "None of this penetrated her thoughts, focused on the fell power emerging from the defiled structure that loomed ahead." I'm not saying this sentence is necessarily better, but it is less wordy, has fewer breaks and,as a result I think, reads more smoothly. The real questions is: how essential is it to break "conciousness" and "thoughts" into separate clauses, separated by an essential pause. How important is it to indicate the tower first and then modify it with afterwards with "from within" clause?

This paragraph is another prime example of one that I think could be improved without losing any of your stylish touches or your attention to description. Take out non-essential words, sometimes re-structuring to avoid the need to insert referential phrases like "from within."


All she saw was the shadow in the distance, rising from the earth like the headstone of a giant. Seems to be a confused simile. I can easily imagine the tower and the shadow of a tower, but is it not the tower that rises like a headstone, rather than the shadow?


She opened her traveling pack and pulled out her instruments of war: a suit of hardened leather, worn and light like the cast-off skin of a serpent Since a "suit" can be "worn" (as in someone wore it) it's a confusing placement: is it verb or adjective? The reader doesn't find out until after the fact, which forces a kind mental double-taking.

This is also an example of an aspect of your style which may detract from readability. Consider: "a worn suit" versus "a suit, worn". It's a stylistic choice, but one is clearly smoother than another.

Let me generalize and say that it seems to be a characteristic of your writing to lay out descriptions in a serial fashion; rather than saying "a cold, hard blade" you will tend to say "a blade, cold with..., hard as ..." The latter option allows much more descriptive expressiveness (one of your strengths), but keep in mind that part of the reader's experienceis whether they feel they are getting enough descriptive bang for their reading-time buck. It might help to drop the occasional "cold, hard blade" into the mix, just to keep things moving.

- "skin of a serpent" - another habit seems to be your use of "of a" forms. Ask yourself why "skin of a serpent" is better than "serpent's skin" or "serpent skin"? The latter forms are easier to read, and mimizing the occurence of "of a" / "of the" forms will lend emphasis to the ones you choose to keep.


a well-used dagger, several quivers of arrows, straight and balanced, and her bow, a supple piece of yew with a bronze grip and glowing glyphs etched into the wood. Blah, blah, blah... "straight and balanced" - did we reallly need to know that? "her bow, a supple piece of yew", etc. Consider: "an old dagger, many arrows, and a supple yew bow with a bronze grip, etched with glowing glyphs." Again, not saying this is better (or even good) but there are really only two words in that whole description that really belong in the story: "glowing glyphs", that's really a nice touch. Everything else can go. If you later describe her as using a bow, we will assume she has arrows, that she has as many as she uses, that they are straight, etc. If you write that she stabs with a dagger we will just assume she has one. Get the point? (pun intended) Passages like these are baggage that just detract from all the good stuff.


A good thing that merchant didn’t see these, she thought grimly. They would have made my true affiliation clear, What is the antecedent for "these" and "They"? The glyphs or the whole set of armaments? I also had a momentary pause at "They" thinking it might refer to "merchant(s)"

I'm beginning to think there is a connection between what I perceive as wordiness and frequent referential confusion. It could be that they are linked. It might help to structure sentences in a way that avoids the need for awkward refrence in the first place. Again, the "cold, hard blade" rather than the "blade, cold references blade, hard reference blade/cold, etc."


I'll cease up the blow-by-blow assault at this point. I think you might have used iron-tipped more than once, and she seems to tighten her grip on her bow rather too often, but the bottom line, is that despite my hopefully-not-unfair criticisms above, I really liked the story. In particular, the scene with the Smith and the recollection of the Butcher is etched in my memory.

I was a bit surprised by her outbursts of emotion. Not that you don't set the stage well, she is revisiting her former home and finding horrors at every turn, but the opening scene with the caravan leader left me thinking of her as seasoned, steady, mature, and then later she seems too easily and too completely overcome by emotion. But I still liked those parts. I did not quite believe, however, this part:
and she collapsed, falling onto the arrow-studded corpse of the goblin-creature with the staff. Elarinn rested there a short while, She actually rested willingly on the dead goblin? Or was she so wiped-out that she couldn't move?

I very much liked your treatment of the Rogue "inner-sight" (is that what it's called?) power. The battles were well done. The story was exciting and I am now interested in Elarinn so I'll be reading more.

(BTW, please let me know if I have gone too far with my criticisms. I hope it didn't come across as too preachy or hypocritical, I truly intend this in the spirit of constructive criticism. Much of it may be wrong, but it's all honest. Also I would hate to get you mad at me and lose your valuable commentary on my work, so if you want me to tone it down just say the word.)

[RevenantsKnight]

But, once again, as with Farewell, I almost never got to read the good parts because of the start.

D'oh! You can probably tell that the beginnnings and endings of stories are the hardest for me to work out...it's not uncommon for me to spend three weeks on a starting scene, and then finish the rest in two days.

I'm now going to assert (and please start imagining gigantic IMHO's virtually everywhere) that you have a kind of habitual wordiness that, on top of your very descriptive style, gives your writing a kind of laborious quality.

I agree with you totally on this count. Personally, I like the varied structures and phrasings that accompany this wordiness, but that's because I'm writing the thing, and I can definitely see where you're coming from. I'll be looking for this more in the future.


"stood opposed" - shouldn't this either be "stood opposed to" or just "opposed"?

[expletive deleted] typos. Thanks for the catch.

I'm sure you mean they "left in protest" ... "for the eastern lands", but on first read it came off as if their protest had something to do with the eastern lands.

Check. I'll take another look at it.


The comma after Chaos suggested to me that "embraced" was in parallel with "designed", which of course makes no sense. Since both "fervently opposed" and "embraced" pertain to "those", I think you should remove the comma; you really want everything after "those" to run together as if it were one thing.

Yeah...the "embraced" bit got added after the rest of the paragraph was done, and I tacked it on the end as a separate clause without really looking. Serves me right for being lazy.

Referential confusion: she "gazed out", she "gazed...down", but she certainly didn't "gaze...like a smear". Inserting a "which" after distance would clarify the reference. Although another word would also be needed, perhaps something like "the black shadow in the distance, which ran like a smear..."

Thanks. This sort of thing tends to fly under my radar, since I know what I'm talking about and it makes perfect sense to me. That's why resources like this forum are useful. :)


Okay, here's my first examples of unnecessary wordiness.

Excellent points all, though no, they're not "horses." That was a part I wanted ambiguous, since Hallar is based out of Lut Gholein and might use more...unusual creatures. Thanks much.

This paragraph is another prime example of one that I think could be improved without losing any of your stylish touches or your attention to description. Take out non-essential words, sometimes re-structuring to avoid the need to insert referential phrases like "from within."

Yeah, you're probably right here. I'll read it over in my next round of revisions.


Seems to be a confused simile. I can easily imagine the tower and the shadow of a tower, but is it not the tower that rises like a headstone, rather than the shadow?

I tried to use a little artistic freedom in this paragraph; "shadow" refers not to the one cast by the cathedral but the cathedral itself, since I wanted it to have a bit of an otherworldly feel. Guess that didn't work...

It might help to drop the occasional "cold, hard blade" into the mix, just to keep things moving.

I'll definitely keep this in mind. Thanks.

"skin of a serpent" - another habit seems to be your use of "of a" forms. Ask yourself why "skin of a serpent" is better than "serpent's skin" or "serpent skin"? The latter forms are easier to read, and mimizing the occurence of "of a" / "of the" forms will lend emphasis to the ones you choose to keep.

Yeah...that is one of my habitual writing things. I think it's rooted in my love of phrasings such as this one:

"Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow to the east, whispers of a nameless fear." (from the movie Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring.)


If you later describe her as using a bow, we will assume she has arrows, that she has as many as she uses, that they are straight, etc. If you write that she stabs with a dagger we will just assume she has one.

I'm a much bigger fan of this sort of thing than most people (remember that comment I made on Love at First Fight regarding my confusion over where that dagger came from?) While I do value your comments, I think that I'd find a version that assumes she as a dagger, etc. just as hard to write as you find this to read. I'll probably cut out a few things ("straight and balanced" comes to mind,) but I'd call the rest a part of my style and leave it as is unless a lot of people start pointing it out. Thanks for the comments, though, since they help me figure out what others like/dislike about writing in general.


What is the antecedent for "these" and "They"? The glyphs or the whole set of armaments? I also had a momentary pause at "They" thinking it might refer to "merchant(s)"

Since this is thought by Elarinn, not said by the narrator, I made it intentionally incomplete in that way; adding antecedents to that sentence would make it wordy in my eyes, as it's all perfectly clear to her.

I think you might have used iron-tipped more than once, and she seems to tighten her grip on her bow rather too often, but the bottom line, is that despite my hopefully-not-unfair criticisms above, I really liked the story.

-That was semi-intentional. I didn't plan for that to happen, but after I read it over, I felt that it worked to keep the description the same for arrows each time. Thanks for flagging this; I'll probably change it.

-That was definitely intentional. It was supposed (and will probably continue) to be one of her tics when she gets nervous or needs to focus herself.

-I'm glad you enjoyed it. At least it wasn't a total waste of time, right? :P

I was a bit surprised by her outbursts of emotion. Not that you don't set the stage well, she is revisiting her former home and finding horrors at every turn, but the opening scene with the caravan leader left me thinking of her as seasoned, steady, mature, and then later she seems too easily and too completely overcome by emotion.

Hrm...what I was driving at was that she's perfectly capable of dealing with any human, but that the whole demon and undead thing has a horrific quality far beyond fighting a soldier or scaring a merchant into wetting himself. I personally imagine that even Fallen or other weak demons, being native to a different world, would have a different air to them that would unnerve many competent soldiers. While Elarinn did deal with this at Tristram, she wasn't alone at the time, so it's a lot harder for her to fight these unnatural enemies without someone else to inspire her.


She actually rested willingly on the dead goblin? Or was she so wiped-out that she couldn't move?

Whoops. I'll definitely fix that.

(BTW, please let me know if I have gone too far with my criticisms. I hope it didn't come across as too preachy or hypocritical, I truly intend this in the spirit of constructive criticism. Much of it may be wrong, but it's all honest. Also I would hate to get you mad at me and lose your valuable commentary on my work, so if you want me to tone it down just say the word.)

Eh, if it's wrong, I don't know the difference. Also, you haven't gone too far (in my mind) if everything you say has reasonable evidence behind it, or unless your comments degenerate into name calling or other insults. Finally, I will never stop commenting on someone's work just because they didn't like mine, because that feels childish to me.

Whew...that was a long bit of insanity. Well, thanks for your comments and your time, and I hope you enjoy the rest of this!

[RevenantsKnight]

This is the last chapter I have for now, and the only one that's not at TDL in some form. With any luck, I'll get another chapter out sorta soon, but I've switched projects for a bit, so maybe not...anyway, I look forward to any comments or criticisms, and I hope you enjoy this!

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Chapter 4: Darkest Hour

Elarinn woke late the following morning, not leaving her nightmares until the sun’s bright rays fell almost straight down from the sky to touch the earth. She would have fled the dark shadows and ghostly voices that filled her mind long before, but the arduous days spent crossing the wilderness and the events of the previous night had drained her in both body and soul. As well, part of her dreaded returning to the present as much as it feared the phantoms of the past; with her closest friends missing or crippled, Elarinn could no longer hope that the lot of her Sisters was better than what she had seen. Without that dream, she spent half an hour staring up at the tent’s canvas ceiling. I kept myself going at times just by thinking that everything would be all right once I found my comrades. I know it’s naive, and I knew that then, but it worked. Doing that did catch up to me, though...blast. No matter what I do, things just don’t get better. Seems like Fate bears me only ill will.

Eventually, Elarinn managed to rise and go through the motions of an orderly life, bathing quickly in a wooden tub of water she found by her bed and then brushing back her auburn hair with a small comb. These familiar actions helped bring her back into the present, focusing her mind on the tasks that lay ahead. Iris said something last night about speaking to the rest of the Order, so I’d assume that there’ll be an audience when Kashya, or whoever ends up as the inquisitor, starts picking through my mind for a fell presence. Her hands, searching for another distraction from the misery she had fled, moved to the sleeping gown around her body; a few minutes later, Elarinn finished securing the last straps on her leather armor, and she felt a surge of defiance rise in her breast to meet her depression. I’m still alive, despite the hellspawn that infest the woodlands and the curse that has befallen my Sisters. Hell hasn’t won yet.

Reaching down to her stomach, Elarinn brushed dirt from her armor, then tugged lightly at her traveling shirt’s sleeves, pulling out a few wrinkles in the worn fabric. It’d probably add weight to my words if I arrive presentable, she thought sardonically, though it hardly matters if they believe me or not. It sounds like the Sisterhood’s too short on soldiers as it is; unless they truly believe I am tainted by the curse, I’ll probably be assigned a post at the wall before the day’s out.

Looking over at the cot next to her, she noted that Iris had already risen, as the covers on her bed lay thrown aside. Elarinn frowned for a second, wondering how her wounded friend had managed to leave the tent in her state, and then spotted a shallow trail scraped into the dirt floor, the indentation creating the impression that a giant snake had slithered from the bed to the encampment outside. She closed her eyes and sighed unhappily, the weight of last night’s horrors returning to burden her mind. She’s so blasted stubborn, acting as if she doesn’t need help from anyone after all that she’s been through. It’d be just like her if she left when it was still dark, so she wouldn’t be seen. Merely seeing the cursed wounds that marred the elder Sister’s legs had shaken Elarinn’s mind; imagining Iris dragging half of her body across the camp in the predawn gloom tore at her heart like emotional claws.

Clenching her hands into fists, Elarinn forced herself to keep busy. She scooped up her dagger and wrist sheath from the dirt floor, then paused and placed them back on the ground. I probably shouldn’t bring any weapons to the council if I want to help convince them that I remain in control of my mind. I better not need them, anyway...Finally ready, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, mentally beseeching the Sightless Eye for strength. May the others see Truth with your aid. Then, she let her breath out and held aside the tent flap, stepping into the midday light outside.

The encampment seemed much smaller and meager when viewed with the painful clarity provided by the sun, though it was by no means cramped. The tall wooden palisade, with the help of the river, enclosed a fair parcel of land, the earth mostly solid for its location in the middle of a moor. Several large traveling wagons were scattered seemingly at random throughout the camp, and chickens could be seen peeking out of them every now and again. Elarinn noted with some satisfaction that the Sisterhood’s tents and a cleared patch of ground with several wooden racks and an anvil nearby, which she took to be the camp’s forge, dominated the haven, taking up nearly half the space inside the sturdy walls. It looks like we’re in command here, instead of hiding behind the protection of merchants and sell-swords. Good.

Gathered by the fire pit at the encampment’s heart were nearly two score of her Sisters. Among them, Elarinn recognized Akara and Kashya conversing quietly off to the side, and across from them Iris, seated on a rough wooden chair. From this distance, Iris could have been mistaken for her old self, quiet and in control, but Elarinn could just make out the straining muscles in her arms as she fought to hold herself upright. Several of the other faces seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not match them with names. I don’t recognize most of these Sisters; they must have joined after I left for Aranoch. Not good.

As she approached, those on the fringes of the group turned to look, and then quieted upon seeing her. Their silence spread outwards like ripples in a pond disturbed by a stone, and in seconds, the last conversations faded as the women turned one by one to face the new arrival. Some of them fingered the bows they held or let their hands stray to their quivers as they eyed Elarinn, causing her to sigh to herself. Well, at least they aren’t shooting yet. I’d better be direct, or else we’ll be standing here all day. She strode forward into the crowd with a steady, even gait, eyes fixed on the two leaders. The assembled Sisters parted before her, and Kashya turned slowly, her expression grim and unafraid, as Elarinn advanced.

Halting the customary three paces in front of the senior Rogue, Elarinn knelt and let her head dip in deference, only to stop at Kashya’s sudden command. “Enough,” she rapped out, the words hard and aggressive, “do not speak the greeting of our Order. That can wait until after we decide whether or not to execute you as a deserter.”

...Or maybe direct was a bad idea. Direct words, anyway; I should have tried a punch. Elarinn scrambled to her feet, balled fists snapping up into a guard by reflex, head rising defiantly to meet the taller woman’s glare. Then, after a moment, she let her body mimic the attention stance of a Khanduras soldier, staring directly ahead as distant memories filled her mind. Oops. Bring your arms down. Don’t act like you want to slam her face into the fire pit. She forced her hands open with a visible effort, holding them steady at her sides. In retrospect, the icy reception wasn’t too shocking; she’d known that Kashya, and many other officers of the Sisterhood, favored a rather blunt approach when searching for demonic taint. Right...anger the host and see if it lets the darkness take over. That one’s straight from interrogation training.

The taut muscles in Kashya’s cheek relaxed slightly as her gaze played over Elarinn’s unmoving form, though the hard mask remained. “Perhaps you have forgotten, fool, but you left this Order months ago, scuttling away to hide in the desert wastelands. Now you return, seeking to join with us once more. Why? Did you fail at robbery like the incompetent you are? Are you hiding from bounty hunters after your head?” Her scarlet cape swished behind her angrily as she stalked around Elarinn, her penetrating stare burning holes in the younger woman’s skull. “Never forget,” she continued, her voice still dripping poison, “that you are a traitor to the Sightless Eye, and all she holds dear. As such, a creature lower than the scum we slay, you will never be welcome among us again.”

A traitor. I betrayed nothing by leaving, you gray-haired harpy. I didn’t hide and tell myself that the Sightless Eye would make things right; I went and tried to follow her teachings. And I can probably shoot almost as well as you can now...Clenching her jaw to keep her wounded pride from lashing out, Elarinn stood silent through her leader’s acerbic hail of insults. Hold it in, Elarinn...

Keeping her sight focused straight ahead, Elarinn worked her face into a calm, blank mask, hiding at first a scowl and then a sardonic grin as she noticed a young Sister to her right. The girl’s eyes were wide with shock, disbelief evident at her commander’s apparent hatred and Elarinn’s defiant composure. Get used to it, little one. You’ll face this too, eventually. That is, if you don’t die first.

Kashya finally ceased her circling, stopping in front of Elarinn and leaning forward towards her with the air of a wolf after a crippled deer. “You are silent,” she hissed, and smiled, a vicious, feral expression that showed more teeth than cheer. “That is because you know the truth; you are our enemy.”

Ha...got you! Eyes sparkling, Elarinn let out a short, victorious laugh. “No, my Lady,” she answered levelly, “I do not know Truth, nor do you. That is the possession of our liege, and it is only by her grace that we are allowed to make it ours for an instant.”

Another piece of Kashya’s mask fell away as the hatred in her eyes softened to a tentative hope. Still, her face contorted with disdain, as if Elarinn had just confessed to knowing nothing of the Sightless Eye, and she shot back angrily, “Fool! Are we not able to call upon her power at will, and for as long as we desire? Or did it seem as though the Sightless Eye was willful with you because you were too weak harness her power?”

“Her power is a blessing given to those deemed worthy; hence, it is only by her kindness that we can know Truth,” Elarinn riposted, noting with some satisfaction a flash of distant recognition across the face of the child behind Kashya. You’d better remember this; everything’s straight from Akara’s mouth from here on. “And her gift is only fleeting, as it passes to another upon the spirit’s departure from this world.”

Kashya paused upon hearing this, surprise wiping away the scorn on her face. “Are you suggesting,” she began slowly, as if she had just stumbled upon an epiphany, “that we are being deceived by the Sightless Eye? Should we demand to know all she sees, so that we may better carry out her will?”

It’s about time she got to the end. This game’s getting bloody annoying, and if she keeps this up, one of the younger Sisters might take a shot at me, or maybe at her if they don’t recognize the act. “No, our ignorance is a test of our faith,” replied Elarinn. “Many mortals would serve the Sightless Eye in exchange for knowledge of the future, but only true believers will follow her teachings without such assurance.” With that, she took two steps back and dropped to one knee again, her auburn hair hanging in a veil around her bowed head. “See only Truth.” There. I’m sane enough to pick up on your cues and remember the code of the Sightless Eye. That had better be enough.

Kashya paused for a moment, letting Elarinn’s words hang in the air. Then, she smiled slightly and let her body relax, no longer a furious predator in human form. “Serve only Light,” she finished, the fingers of her right hand flicking skywards in silent command. As Elarinn obeyed, rising back to her feet, the older woman’s gaze shifted past her, and she turned to follow it with her eyes. She saw a nod pass between Iris and the Order’s steward, the former barely holding back what looked like a grin of immense relief.

“Warriors of the Sightless Eye,” Kashya announced, breaking the nascent silence, “this is our Sister Elarinn, returned from the Eastern deserts to stand with us once again. Let us greet her as friends and sisters in arms!”

A cry of “Hail!” rang from forty throats as the assembled women thrust their bows skyward in salute to their newest comrade. Vaguely unnerved by this display, Elarinn turned back to face Kashya. Something about this seems wrong, she thought, eyes dancing from Kashya to Iris, though she couldn’t translate her worries into words. Her mentor’s face betrayed nothing other than the same suppressed happiness, causing Elarinn to frown inwardly.

“Return to your posts, warriors. You will hear our Sister’s tale later, after nightfall. Elarinn, follow me.” Kashya rapped out new orders, and the meeting ended as abruptly as it had begun. Almost all of the Sisters ran to the palisade’s wooden walls, which, Elarinn noticed, had previously been defended by a motley assortment of hulking men armed with all kinds of axes, blades, and spears. Those must be the Northerners Iris told me about, judging by their appearance and weaponry. Getting them to guard the camp while we had our little face-off must have been expensive, or else Kashya’s got more pull with these adventurers than I thought. What in the name of the Black King is going on? Shaking her head, she hurried after her commander, fighting back the sudden unease that seeped into her thoughts.

Kashya led Elarinn to a large tent near the center of the Rogues’ camp, and motioned for her to enter. Ducking to pass through the opening in the canvas, Elarinn squinted as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and then blinked in surprise. Sitting on a table inside was an object from her most distant memories, a simple silver circlet with the symbol of the Sightless Eye etched into the band’s forehead. Hmm...I would have thought that this would have been lost, considering...

“I took this from the cathedral altar myself, just after Lysan and the others showed their true intent.” Kashya’s voice sounded behind her, echoing loudly amid the confines of the tent. “You recognize it, then?”

She could see my surprise in this gloom? Elarinn nodded, stepping aside to let the elder woman enter. “I remember wearing it when I first swore the oath of the Order, maybe seven winters ago. The Crown of Truth, is it?”

“Indeed.” Kashya reached down to a stand by the entrance and lit a fresh candle, then walked to the table and picked the crafted metal up, turning it over in her hands. “I am sure, now, that you are in control of both your body and mind. However, I still do not know how you crossed the wilderness and found us, other than the few bits told to me by Akara and the Druid.”

“So you want to hear it from me,” Elarinn finished slowly. “And the Crown is to ensure my honesty.”

“Exactly.” Kashya extended the silver circlet to Elarinn, who accepted it with a quick bow.

Placing it around her head, Elarinn walked to the chair her superior indicated, then paused. Wait...this feels out of place, somehow...“My Lady...when I last wore this crown, I was told that it was a relic of great power,” she began, her voice hesitant at first, then stronger as her determination and desire for an answer grew. “Akara warned me that it was a gift from the Sightless Eye that would seek Truth, no matter what. She said that if any being, even a demon from the deep Hells, lied while wearing this circlet, the very earth and air would rise up against them.”

Kashya smiled sadly, an expression Elarinn barely made out in the flickering light of the candle. “Yes...that does sound like something Akara would say,” she sighed wistfully, and lapsed back into silence. Elarinn paused for a minute, waiting for her to say more. She didn’t.

There’s something very wrong here. She looked up towards the silver band encircling her head, then back down to Kashya. Well, I’ll never know unless I ask at this rate. “My Lady, I learned many skills from my time in Tristram, and one of those was the ability to sense magic with the power of the Sightless Eye,” Elarinn continued. “I can’t...see the Crown’s aura, like I can with other enchanted items. This is just an ordinary piece of silver, isn’t it?”

The elder Sister’s face remained composed, though she hesitated for an instant as Elarinn’s words left her lips. “You don’t miss anything, do you?” Kashya finally replied, her voice quiet yet commanding. “You do wear the Crown now, and I will explain later why you do not sense its power. Now, I have questions, and you will answer them, warrior.” Cold authority bled into her words as she spoke, making the title with which she labeled Elarinn sound as if it were uttered by a being greater than anything a mortal shell could hold. Too bad I can’t turn her voice into steel; swords made from it could cleave lightning.

Faced with such an order, Elarinn could do nothing but obey, though she felt more than a little ridiculous wearing the Crown now that she was sure that it had no power at all. As the sun wheeled over the encampment to sink into the western sky, she related the story of her travels to Kashya, who fired question after question at her, examining her words for the slightest inconsistency. Eventually, she fell silent with a satisfied smile, content with the younger Sister’s tale. In deference to the other’s authority, Elarinn held back her many questions, despite the almost physical discomfort that action caused. She’s been drawing information from me like a leech sucks blood for hours now; when will I get a chance to learn what’s happened here?

“So, then, to the Crown,” Kashya began, after a pregnant silence. “To answer your frankly impudent question, Akara did not lie to you when she said that it sought Truth, and that it would act against falsehoods.” Her tone was still hard, though it no longer rang with the same strength as before. “However, that was years ago...and may as well be legend now. The Crown’s enchantments faded as Lysan and her followers gained control over the Order, gradually at first, then rapidly during the battles themselves. By the time we managed a retreat into the wilderness, its power was all but lost.”

Startled by this sudden, matter-of-fact revelation, Elarinn leaned forward in shock, hands gripping her knees to keep herself from falling. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, as if she had just run several miles, and she blinked, trying unsuccessfully to catch a few tears that sprang from the corners of her eyes. “How could this have happened?” she finally managed to ask, still fighting to keep her composure.

Kashya grimaced before replying, her voice sad and no longer imbued with the sureness of command. “As you said before, the blessings of the Sightless Eye are gifts given to her worthy champions; I believe that the Crown’s power is linked to our faith, and the Order’s faith. With our ranks so reduced...” She left her sentence unfinished as she stared grimly at the silver band adorning Elarinn’s head. Her head dipped for a moment in mourning for the lost, then rose again as she met the younger soldier’s eyes.

“But it’s not over yet,” she continued, a firm, fierce determination pushing past the sadness in her voice. “We have survived, and will continue to endure. Our faith is what will lead us through the darkest hour, for if we believe in the Sightless Eye’s Truth, she will respond in kind. That is why I had you wear the Crown, and why I still hold it holy. If we rebuild the Order in numbers and in spirit, then one day we shall, by her grace, see its power, and our strength of old, return to this earth.”

Elarinn blinked as Kashya finished, wondering if her ears were deceiving her. She’d always thought of the elder warrior as a brutally pragmatic leader, focused on the present. This is rather unlike Kashya; if I didn’t know better, I’d swear that Akara had just said that, not her. I don’t remember her as particularly pious, either, though she believed in our Order’s way.

As she mulled over her captain’s words, another question formed in her mind, one she had briefly considered asking earlier, but dismissed as improper. She’ll tell me what I need to know. “Why did you have outlanders defend the walls this morning so that our Sisters could witness my testing?” The words emerged unbidden from her mouth, even against her will, causing her to wince inwardly. Dammit. Get a hold of yourself, Elarinn...

After another short pause, Kashya spoke again, once again a commander of soldiers. “Have you forgotten, warrior, how to conduct yourself with your betters? It’s a miracle Lut Gholein still stands after all these years, if they have come to accept this sort of impudence. Your perception would be laudable, if it did not give your impatient mouth cause to open.” She snorted derisively and Elarinn’s heart began to race, driven by anxious worry.

Then, suddenly, the stern expression faded from the elder woman’s face as the corners of her mouth rose into a smile. “But then, your curious nerve and awareness are why I had the Order gather by the fire pit this morning, as I wanted them to see their newest officer. Seek out Iris and have her tell you of your command. May your skills serve you well as you carry out your duties in the name of the Sightless Eye.” Still smiling, she rose from her chair, as if ready to leave.

Elarinn stayed seated, though, staring at her commander with nothing less than openmouthed shock. Kashya’s rebuke of her question was hardly surprising; Elarinn had known that she often pointed out inappropriate behavior in her subordinates in a less than gentle manner. I had expected hell from her for that, but...she was considering me for one of her officers? “I...my Lady,” she blurted out as Kashya turned to leave, her scarlet cape whipping behind her like a blood-red tail, “I...cannot accept what you have bestowed upon me.”

“Why not, Elarinn?” Kashya replied, not bothering to face the younger woman.

“Because...I...” Elarinn struggled to bring together the turmoil in her mind, more a stew of wordless emotions than coherent thoughts. “Isn’t there someone else who should take that post? Someone stronger, like Sahraea or Mirenne?” she finally managed. Why me? I’ve seen more combat than any of those new faces, but not enough to serve as one of Kashya’s lieutenants...

Her fellow Sister shook as her body stiffened, though she still refrained from turning. “Mirenne left shortly after you did, seeking a new life in the Realm of Light, and Sahraea fell defending the monastery gate, as did many others. Still more gave their souls to the Burning Hells. You, me and Iris are the only ones left here who remember Tristram.” She paused and shivered again, almost imperceptibly, before finishing, “Carry out your orders, Sister.” With that, she stalked out of the tent, leaving Elarinn with a guttering candle and a growing apprehension.

[RevenantsKnight]

Here's Chapter 5, in two parts owing to the length limit on posts. I'd welcome any comments on this installment or on Chapter 4 in particular, as I don't consider either of them to be quite "finished" yet. Future additions may be forthcoming, but it’s more likely that some other stories will find their way out of my mind and into my computer first. Thanks for reading!

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Chapter 5: The Burden (part 1)

She’d thought about it before, once.

Nearly four years ago, after she’d first been selected as an apprentice to Iris, Elarinn had wondered what it would be like to lead her own band of Sisters, teaching younger women how to live and fight and survive in the Sightless Eye’s name. Compared to the endless stream of exercises and prayers she went through every day, Iris’s duties appeared minimal indeed; other than her own devotions and the occasional meeting with the Order’s other veterans, the elder warrior spent most of her time watching her and Feyla practice stringing bows or fletching arrows, leaning in to pass on advice and a quiet needling every now and again. Her words were often useful, and sped the tasks along for the two young initiates, but Elarinn often couldn’t help thinking that Iris wasn’t doing much of merit. After all, she was just talking all day.

“What is it you do, my Lady?” she’d asked, after curiosity and faint resentment finally merged in her to create some doppelganger of courage. “Other than train us, of course.”

Iris had smiled, nodding as if she had been wondering when Elarinn would finally give voice to her question. “First of all, I don’t offer my commanders veiled insults,” she’d answered, her tone light and good-natured, but still bearing enough authority to squelch the younger Sister’s impulse to reply in anger. Still smiling, Iris let her words hang in the air for a few moments before continuing, “More importantly, I show my faith to the Sightless Eye through devotions, and keep myself ready to answer Her call.”

“Then how are you different from us, other than in years? And why are there Sisters like Sahraea? She’s almost seven winters older than me, and yet she’s still Lysan’s apprentice.”

Elarinn’s commander had replied with a slow shake of her head and quiet steel in her voice. “There is no difference now, as we all wait on Her commands; such qualities show themselves only after blood has been shed. And Sahraea...she’s an excellent soldier, but Lysan believes she is unready to lead her own band into battle. That’s all.”

“Then what must I do to become ready?” Elarinn had asked; even now, she was unsure whether she had simply missed the other’s hint to stop, or if she had blocked it out, ignored its silent scream of warning.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course.”

“You must be able to bear the pain of sending your Sisters to their deaths.”

* * *

As she placed the Crown back onto the table, Elarinn couldn’t help grimacing in dreaded anticipation. Since that day, I’ve wished that that future would never be mine. And now, to take that mantle at this time...She clenched her hands into fists, her short nails digging into the skin of her palms, forcing herself to focus on Kashya’s parting command. Carry out your orders. Remember that, soldier, and don’t give her another reason to be angry with you.

Stepping outside into the twilight, Elarinn looked around for Iris, but her comrade was no longer by the fire. She must have gone back to Akara’s tent...hopefully that’s just a formality, and not because her wounds need tending. Several other Sisters stood nearby, avoiding her gaze, which rested on them just long enough to take in their nervous faces. Ignoring them, she strode back towards the healer’s tent, hurrying despite her apprehension. As she neared, Elarinn could discern the wan light of a candle coming from the opening in the canvas. Somebody’s in there, anyway. Brushing aside the flap, she entered the tent, her heart pounding in her ears.

[RevenantsKnight]

Sharp, medicinal odors filled Elarinn’s nostrils as she stepped inside, causing her to sneeze. Looking back up, she opened her mouth in hasty apology, then stopped in surprise when she realized the other women in the tent, Iris and Akara, hadn’t paid her any notice. Instead, the latter was focused on Elarinn’s mentor, who lay with her arms crossed over her chest and legs exposed, her black wounds darker than the shadows cast by the candlelight. On a table nearby stood a number of open jars and vials, as well as a knife, its blade scarred with a dark fluid. Blast...it’s not a formality, then. I’d better wait until they’re finished.

“That should suffice, for now.” Akara leaned down and tugged free a bloodstained cloth looped around the other’s wrists, and then stepped back from the cot, letting the rag flutter earthwards. Iris pulled herself upright before it landed noiselessly on the ground, her weight resting on her right arm, the other hand drawing water from her eyes. “Easy, child,” the healer cautioned, leaning forward again and wrapping gnarled roots of fingers around the other’s shoulders. Iris’s head came up at this, and Elarinn averted her gaze, anguished by what she saw: an ugly mask of lines and tears, carved by frustration’s hammer and sorrow’s chisel.

“So Kashya sent you to me, Elarinn?” Iris’s voice, pleasant and level and sounding nothing like what her expression suggested, drifted across the tent to Elarinn’s ears.

That was fast. “Yes, my Lady,” the younger warrior replied, slipping into the formal speech of the Order and turning back to face her comrade.

The other waved her hand dismissively at Elarinn’s words. “There is no need for that,” she said, “this is among friends first, not soldiers.” Akara nodded in silent assent as Iris continued, “I feel I should apologize for not telling you of this last night. Though Kashya had asked me to keep it a secret, perhaps it would have been better to give you some time to think before your duties began.”

Perhaps. Or perhaps not; given that warning, I might have refused to meet with Kashya in front of the others, and I do not know what that might have done. Still, it’s comforting to know that Iris still cares, even after I left the Order. “Thank you,” Elarinn heard herself say, and she dipped her head slightly in a bow of gratitude. They fell silent for a few moments, both Elarinn and Iris waiting for the other to go on.

Finally, Akara cleared her throat and asked in her graying voice, “Did Kashya tell you what your responsibilities are, child?” When Elarinn shook her head, the elder woman turned to Iris, casting a meaningful glance at the other. “Then perhaps...”

“Of course, my Lady.” Iris replied, a tinge of irritation coloring her voice. Shifting her weight to her other arm, she pulled a roll of parchment out of a leather bag lying next to her on the bed. With a deft flick of her wrist, she spread the material across the blankets, and then motioned for Elarinn to come closer. “Right. This is the encampment, here, and this is a rough drawing of what’s around us,” Iris began, tracing her finger over the map’s features. “We haven’t seen anything in the forest, on the other side of the river, and most fiends hate water anyway, so that’s probably safe for now. As for the moor, we built a few small outposts in there after the Northerners killed off the beasts in the cave; we’ll know if any demons come close.”

“Have they attacked the encampment yet?” Elarinn queried, peering closer at the markings indicating the sentry posts. Looks like those scouts should be able to spot any group larger than a handful of those imps. That’s assuming the map’s accurate, of course...

“No; we haven’t seen any of Hell’s servants other than the ones that died in the cave,” Iris responded. She paused for a moment, and then added, “In fact, it’s entirely possible they don’t even know we’re here,” answering Elarinn’s next question before she had time to ask it. “Anyway,” Iris continued, “you’re responsible for control of the encampment gates, and will have five Sisters under your command. If we’re attacked, you’re to hold the enemy at bay until Kashya can organize a defense.” Elarinn nodded, her mind beginning to create strategies for her task, and then stopping as reality and ignorance checked her thoughts. I need to inspect the entrance, and the Sisters assigned to me, and soon. I doubt I’ll have much time to plan, and I’d prefer not to arrive at my post without a clue of what I’m doing.

Iris caught a hint of Elarinn’s anxiety in her face, and her expression softened. “That’s not your worry just yet, Elarinn. For the most part, you just need to record any movements to and from the encampment, and escort any strangers to Kashya; an important, but rather simple, task. One might even call it boring.” She smiled as she finished, throwing back one of Elarinn’s favorite labels for her duties at the monastery.

Elarinn mirrored her mentor’s cheerful appearance, truly comforted by Iris’s words. Now that’s the Iris I remember. Still, the threat of an attack must be more than she’s willing to admit, otherwise Kashya wouldn’t have assigned this to me. I might not think my time at Tristram made me a veteran warrior, but apparently she does. “When does Kashya expect me to take command of the gate?” she asked Iris.

“Probably tomorrow morning, if she’s planning on having you tell your story to the rest of the Order at the fire tonight,” Iris replied, shrugging. “I can’t be sure, though.”

“Kashya will order you to assume your command tonight, after the meeting.” Both Sisters turned towards Akara in surprise, staring as she continued, “I know it may be too soon, child, but there is little that can be done about it now. She is desperate for soldiers, soldiers who have proven themselves in battle, to lead our Order, and she has chosen to place her hopes upon you.”

Stunned, Iris remained still and unblinking, her mouth hanging open, though her arms kept her body from sinking down to the bed. Elarinn hesitated, trying to make sense of her chimaera of emotions, fear and surprise and dread. “How do you know this?” she finally asked.

Akara smiled gently. “Call it a phantom of an old woman’s imagination, but something about her changed when she learned you were still alive. She’s no longer as anxious, or as short-tempered, as she was in the days just after the monastery. As for why she’d have you begin tonight, well, that’s just the way she is. I’m sure you remember what she was like before; she never let up on her soldiers, or herself.”

“So she wants me to take stewardship of the Order?” Elarinn arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Oh no, child, not yet,” Akara replied, “I think Kashya still intends to lead the Order through these dark times. But she is only one warrior; without others who can inspire our Sisters in battle, we will surely fall into ruin.”

“And it falls to me to aid her in preventing that fate from becoming ours, then,” Elarinn murmured slowly.

Akara nodded. “Others may yet find their way back to us, as you did, but the burden rests heavy on you for now.”

“There is no one else here? Kashya did say there are no others from Tristram, but...” Elarinn knew the answer to her question, and had known it ever since she had arrived, but still she wished desperately that all her battle-honed senses had lied to her, holding close to herself a hope’s corpse as if it were still alive.

“No one I’d trust to lead a band,” Iris broke in, once again in control. “Some of the new Sisters can fight well, and almost all of them have faith, but none of them have seen enough blood or cried enough tears.”

Elarinn sighed in quiet resignation. I suppose this is all for the best, then, though I would have liked things to have been different...“Then I shall do what I can for the future of our Order.” She sighed again, her features easing into a wistful expression. “Though I wish now I had lived in a time where I could be just another Sister.”

Akara’s eyes flitted to meet Elarinn’s, the older woman’s gaze bearing her reply. “You cannot alter the path in front of you, my child. You can, though, choose how you will walk it.”

After a long silence where Akara’s words seemed to echo in the confined space of the canvas walls, Iris frowned for a moment, and mused, “You know, I don’t think any other Sister who wasn’t at the monastery has found us here. They’re probably expecting one wild yarn.”

Elarinn couldn’t help smiling at her friend’s change of subject. That’s the Iris I remember, indeed. “I suppose we should go now, then, though I don’t have too much to tell. It’s only me, after all, not you or Kashya or one of the Order’s heroes.”

“You’re walking the same path, though.” Iris returned the smile with her eyes, and extended a hand to Elarinn as her words faded from the young Sister’s ears. “Let’s go.”

[0xDEADCAFE]

There are comments on chapter two: (I know I'm a little behind...)


Finding none, she pushed off the tree’s rough bark, I think you are using "off" in the same way as someone in a boat would "shove off", in other words, she pushes herself away from the tree, but somehow it sounds like the bark is on top of her, like someone might push off a blanket.


While part of Elarinn winced at the noises, fearing that they would be loud enough for some wandering beast to hear, her tension eased slightly as the sounds reached her ears, filling the empty silence around her.

I never will like this deathly stillness that has possessed the forest, Hard to believe. Yes the stillness could be disturbing, but, for someone trying to creep undetected through the stillness, how could revealing noises of one's own making do anything but increase your tension. I get that the quiet itself is unnatural and unwelcomed, but somhow these two ideas don't seem to mix well.


The air around her was still and cool, rustling no leaves or branches, devoid of life.What is devoid of life here? The air? Isn't it always?
NOTE: You use "dead air" in the following paragraph (a very nice passage, BTW - "Nightlord" sounded sweet) which is understood to mean still and/or stagnant, but to say that the air is "devoid of life" is probably a bit too literal.


From her cover, she could see the forest extend around and above her into the darkness, the deep shadows of the night merging with each other, forming twisted hands or ghostly specters in her young, unfocused imagination. Nice. Reminds me of my own childhood encounters with the dark.

There used to be robins everywhere in these woods, singing all day. I'm picturing this as being set in the night. Did the robins sing in the nighttime too?


as unnerving as the paucity of birds and beasts was for her, I get the feeling there is even less than a "paucity", which implies a number greater than zero.


...the bag coming free with a snapping sound. Driven by fear, she ran, her heart pounding loud in the silence, ... That's what I'm talking about: noise = fear.


Elarinn blinked several times as she adjusted to the dull yellow light of the mental torch, Does her "mental torch" produce a visible light? Does one really blink at the light of a mental image?


...her face took on an expression of pure calm, a peace born of hope, and strengthened by action. ... The journey seemed like hours to Elarinn, ... In truth, it had been hardly minutes; These sentiments seem at odds. The minutes would drag like hours when she was scared, not once she becomes calm and peaceful.


he clearing, though well lit by the moon’s silvery light, felt no different than the forest surrounding it, under the thrall of a great Evil. My grammar-sense is telling me that last comma should be a colon.


Nice read, enjoyable, relaxed pace, perhaps a bit wordy overall. You painted a very vivid picture of the forest and the thoughts running through Elarrin's head. I'd have to say it was, yet again, not a smooth opening, but, true to form, it quickly got better after the first few paragraphs. I'm on board.

[RevenantsKnight]

0xDEADCAFE: thanks much for the comments, and they're welcome at any time, especially when they're as helpful as yours.

I think you are using "off" in the same way as someone in a boat would "shove off", in other words, she pushes herself away from the tree, but somehow it sounds like the bark is on top of her, like someone might push off a blanket.

Whoops. Thanks for pointing this out; I'll work on an alternative since the specific wording's hardly essential.

Hard to believe. Yes the stillness could be disturbing, but, for someone trying to creep undetected through the stillness, how could revealing noises of one's own making do anything but increase your tension. I get that the quiet itself is unnatural and unwelcomed, but somhow these two ideas don't seem to mix well.

This has to do with my conception of demonic corruption: I assume that a hellish force similar to what is affecting all of Sanctuary, and Khanduras in particular at the moment, would be so powerful and alien to the mortal world that it starts messing with human mentalities. The soldier in Elarinn recognizes that the noises she's making might endanger her, but the rest of her mind understands that she's changing in some way, and that's probably due to her eerie surroundings; therefore, she welcomes whatever she can get to break up this power on her mind. There was something like this in Chapter 1 that I believe you brought up; how could she be so unnerved by the zombie in the square when she seems so used to war? The answer to that is more or less the same: that zombie is so foreign and terrible to the point where the mere sight of it can break soldiers. Now, the problem with this is that I haven't experienced anything like this, so I don't have a good gauge on how much I need to work with an image to get this across. Should I, then, explain this idea a little more in the story?

What is devoid of life here? The air? Isn't it always?

This was a bit of a stretch. I was trying to say in a different manner from before that the air carries no sounds or scents of life.

I'm picturing this as being set in the night. Did the robins sing in the nighttime too?

This wasn't meant as an exact parallel to the present moment, more as a reflection on how different her current situation is from the last time she was in these woods. But I see what you're getting at, and I'll take a shot at working up a nighttime image.

I get the feeling there is even less than a "paucity", which implies a number greater than zero.

Another whoops. Good catch; this is an artifact of an idea that got killed in committee between me, Elarinn and the voices in my head. :D

That's what I'm talking about: noise = fear.

The wording on this is badly done; I meant that the pull from the bush scared her, and the sound was there just for descriptive effect. I'll probably delete it.

Does her "mental torch" produce a visible light? Does one really blink at the light of a mental image?

Yes, and yes; my interpretation of the "inner sight" power is that it allows the user to create and manipulate actual light via thoughts when the user's mind is opened to the Sightless Eye.

These sentiments seem at odds. The minutes would drag like hours when she was scared, not once she becomes calm and peaceful.

They seem that way because they are. I wrote the first paragraph, paused a significant while, and then wrote the second without looking back. I'll fix that.

My grammar-sense is telling me that last comma should be a colon.

Sounds right to me; I'll change that.

I'd have to say it was, yet again, not a smooth opening, but, true to form, it quickly got better after the first few paragraphs.

Wouldn't be my writing if it didn't start out rough... :)

I'm on board.

Eeeexcellent...(evil laugh.)

Again, thanks much for reading and leaving comments; they really help me out. Hope you find the rest of this enjoyable!

[0xDEADCAFE]

This has to do with my conception of demonic corruption: I assume that a hellish force similar to what is affecting all of Sanctuary, and Khanduras in particular at the moment, would be so powerful and alien to the mortal world that it starts messing with human mentalities. The soldier in Elarinn recognizes that the noises she's making might endanger her, but the rest of her mind understands that she's changing in some way, and that's probably due to her eerie surroundings; therefore, she welcomes whatever she can get to break up this power on her mind. ... Should I, then, explain this idea a little more in the story? Based on what you describe here, I would say yes, definitely. Your concept of the demonic force, that it is changing her, creating an internal schism of thought and emotional reaction, is very interesting. I can see now where some of these things are coming from but I would not have without this explanation.

[0xDEADCAFE]

(On chapter 3...)

What's this? A smooth opening that draws the reader right into the story with no long, tortured sequences of awkwardly perfect grammer? I've just got one question: who are you and what have you done with RevenantsKnight! (Nice job.)

Gritting her teeth to steady herself, she looked around at her new surroundings, eyes moving from the ruined lengths of some stone wall scattered across the green of the grass to the black shadows of a taller, more recent wooden palisade that, with the river behind her, enclosed a significant portion of land.This might be one of those sentences that, while technically not a run-on, feels like one. I would replace "some stone wall" with "a stone wall" because it conveys the same thing, and because "some" seems to suggest "walls" rather than "wall." You could start a new sentence with "Her eyes", for example, although the most awkward part is probably at "palisade that", which seems about the place where it should be ending. This is really nice: "...across the green of the grass to the black shadows..."


create a quiet murmur Elarinn foundI think "murmur that Elarinn" might be better...


except for a few cloaked figures who were scattered around the edge of the circle...and yet I would probably drop the "who were" here.


FaeldhIt's kind of a pet peeve of mine - unpronouncable names. Why do authors do it? Can you provide a phonetic spelling for this?


Presently the soft glow of a torch reached Elarinn’s eyes, and two figures formed from the darkness.This is very nice, but "formed from" seems a little off. "formed in" maybe?


...her face hidden by a cowl... the dark shapes concealing the woman’s cowled face. Seemed a little redundant in one paragraph.


Akara stepped forward and grasped Elarinn’s hands with her own, steadying her as Elarinn fought to regain control of her voice. “It is good to see you again, child,” she whispered, her words made shaky by her own relief and joy. At a loss for words, Elarinn instead squeezed Akara’s hands, and she mirrored the action gently, but with a firmness that reassured Elarinn. “You’re safe here, child,” the old woman smiled, hope glowing in her eyes. “Welcome home.”Well done. I could hear Akara's voice and feel Elarinn's relief.


Returning to the present,...This seemed a little overstated. Elarinn had barely reflected on the past, not dwelled on it for a period of time as this would suggest.


... but she felt its malign intent like an icy wind at her back,Did you mean "malignant"? I don't think I've ever seen malign used this way.


... silhouetted by the wan light of a candle.

(and then, a few parapraphs down)

... and smiled wanly.This is interesting if you did it on purpose. Did you mean to suggest that her smile was similar to the candlelight?


a hug that used the last of her waning strength.Not sure if "wan" and "wane" are forms of the same word or not, but we are certainly seeing a lot of w-a-n in this section, and at this point it seemed a bit much.


As for her …retirement,Shouldn't the space go before the ellipsis?


ill-starredDo you mean "ill-started", or is this a reference to misfortune, as in "the stars were against us"?


A patch of wrinkled black skin marred Iris’s pale right leg, bare from the mid-thigh down, and from it radiated lines of raised, graying flesh that spread like a foul spider’s web over her body.A grim reminder that this chapter is not just about two old friends catching-up. (And you need a comma after "wrinkled".)


The Iris/Elarinn scene was really quite touching. As in Farewell you seemed to hit your stride with the intimate conversation between old friends: the wordiness and overly-detailed descriptions that seem to plague other parts of your work seemed to vanish. What remained was an absorbing and very genuine-feeling piece of writing, much of it beautifully written, and evidently heartfelt. Well done.

[RevenantsKnight]

Thanks for the comments and kind words; good catches all around. It's good to hear that the start wasn't evil again...I don't doubt that feedback from you and other people here have helped out with openings and just my writing in general.

It's kind of a pet peeve of mine - unpronouncable names. Why do authors do it? Can you provide a phonetic spelling for this?

Hrm...I didn't intend for it to be unpronounceable, and hopefully this'll be the only one that looks weird. Anyway, Faeldh -> Fah-eld.

Did you mean "malignant"? I don't think I've ever seen malign used this way.

I'm pretty sure this works; the Oxford English Dictionary (www.oed.com) lists "malign" as both an adjective and a noun, with a possible definition of "evil in nature and effects, baleful."

This is interesting if you did it on purpose. Did you mean to suggest that her smile was similar to the candlelight?

Heh...no. I can't take credit for that. Good catch, though.

Not sure if "wan" and "wane" are forms of the same word or not, but we are certainly seeing a lot of w-a-n in this section, and at this point it seemed a bit much.

They aren't, as far as I'm using them. "Wan smile" = "faint or forced smile (as of one sick or unhappy)" and "waning strength" = "dwindling strength" (both from www.oed.com.)

Do you mean "ill-started", or is this a reference to misfortune, as in "the stars were against us"?

Misfortune.

The Iris/Elarinn scene was really quite touching.

Sweet. Maybe I should stick to dialogues, or at least stay away from pieces where the protagonist is alone in a silent forest... :p

[0xDEADCAFE]

On Chapter 4


This was another enjoyable chapter. As usual you do a fine job with the dialog. Both Elarinn's test before the assembled rogues, and the later interview with Kashya. At this point I want to say something like, "especially..." but they were both equally splendid. Bravo.


imagining Iris dragging half of her body across the camp in the predawn gloom tore at her heart like emotional claws.The ending seems a bit redundant. "Emotional" seems completely unnecessary, but you could just stop at "heart." Substitute "clawed" for "tore" if you want the metaphor to be more graphic. It also might be stronger to use the "the image of" rather than "imagining." That's quite a lot to digest isn't it? Here's an example, "the image of Iris dragging half her body across camp in the predawn gloom clawed at her heart." It seems just as strong and slightly more pithy. (I also removed an "of" and a "the".)


Clenching her hands into fists, Elarinn forced herself to keep busy. She scooped up her dagger and wrist sheath...First, the opening clause again seems redundant. I can't really think of any reason to make a point about saying it is her hands that get clenched into fists. (What else?) But more importantly, this gave me an odd image of her using her fists to scoop up her equipement, in some awkward semi-handicapped manner.


held asideYou can move aside something, but can you hold it aside?


Several large traveling wagons were scattered seemingly at random ... (My redundant meter seems to be stuck today.) Scatter and random. How else does one scatter? Also, what gargantuan did this scattering of wagons? Seems like "parked at random" might be more fitting.


... and chickens could be seen peeking out of them every now and again.Passive voice necessary? When something like "with chickens" or "a few chickens" would serve as well?


Elarinn noted with some satisfaction that the Sisterhood’s tents and a cleared patch of ground with several wooden racks and an anvil nearby, which she took to be the camp’s forge, dominated the haven, taking up nearly half the space inside the sturdy walls.It's a long way to go from "that" to "dominated." I'd recommend removing the long list following sisterhood and just say "that the Sisterhood dominated the camp." You can elaborate on how it did that in subsequent sentences.


Among them, Elarinn recognized Akara and KashyaStrictly speaking, this means Elarinn was among them when she recognized Akara and Kashya. I think you mean that she saw Akara and Kashya among them.



That is the possession of our liege, "liege" seemed wrong here. One, it strikes me as masculine, and two it refers to a lord of vassals. Vassals, the rogues are not.


“No, our ignorance is a test of our faith,” Having a hard time with that concept. Perhaps giving their loyalty without seeing proof of the sightless eye is an act of faith, but their ignorance itself?


Wait...this feels out of place, somehow...

There’s something very wrong here.These and the other little thoughts like it in the section with Kashya in the tent really piqued my interest.


swords made from it could cleave lightning.Hmmm, I'm not exactly sure what that suggests.


By the time we managed a retreat into the wilderness, its power was all but lost.”Boy, does that sound like a teaser for some future restoration of its power. (At least I hope it is.)


Our faith is what will lead us through the darkest hour, for if we believe in the Sightless Eye’s Truth, she will respond in kind. That is why I had you wear the Crown, and why I still hold it holy. If we rebuild the Order in numbers and in spirit, then one day we shall, by her grace, see its power, and our strength of old, return to this earth.”Couldn't find the feminine antecedent of "she" here; should it be "it?" Aside from that this was an especially strong and nicely worded statement about faith. With too many commas, perhaps, but I'm not sure which ones I would remove.


Dammit.I only mention it because I think you have raised this issue yourself on occasion: is this phrase a bit anachronistic?


... leaving Elarinn with a guttering candle and a growing apprehension.That's one fast-burning candle. As I recall, it was "fresh" when the conversation started.


I felt myself being unusually persnickety today. Not sure why. It's all meant in a constructive way. Good job on this chapter.

[RevenantsKnight]

This was another enjoyable chapter.

Good to hear, and glad you liked it.

All the things about redundancy for the opening part are great comments; I wasn't sure about the start, as usual, so they're all very helpful. Thank you very much for those.

You can move aside something, but can you hold it aside?

Yes, I think so...if that something would naturally return to a different resting position, then it needs to be held in place and out of the way. That's at least what I'm telling myself, anyway. :p

Passive voice necessary? When something like "with chickens" or "a few chickens" would serve as well?

Nope, not necessary. Sometimes the phrasings I think up are, accidentally, in the passive voice, and I guess I didn't catch this one. Thanks.

It's a long way to go from "that" to "dominated." I'd recommend removing the long list following sisterhood and just say "that the Sisterhood dominated the camp." You can elaborate on how it did that in subsequent sentences.

Hrm...maybe. I like how it goes immediately into her thoughts after that, but I'll take a look.

Strictly speaking, this means Elarinn was among them when she recognized Akara and Kashya. I think you mean that she saw Akara and Kashya among them.

Yep, I do. Good catch.

"liege" seemed wrong here. One, it strikes me as masculine, and two it refers to a lord of vassals. Vassals, the rogues are not.

Oops...they aren't really vassals, are they? I'll fix that, though I don't particularly mind bending gender-based connotations.

Having a hard time with that concept. Perhaps giving their loyalty without seeing proof of the sightless eye is an act of faith, but their ignorance itself?

Erm...that was meant to say that the Rogues' ignorance of the future, which the Sightless Eye can presumably see, is a test of faith, in that they have to trust that the orders they get won't have an evil outcome, or things like that. They've plenty of proof that the Sightless Eye exists (inner sight, the Crown, etc.) and I didn't mean to suggest that they invoke powers whose origins are unknown to them.

These and the other little thoughts like it in the section with Kashya in the tent really piqued my interest.

Whew...guess she's getting less pedantic. At times, anyway...

Hmmm, I'm not exactly sure what that suggests.

I have references to this, that and the other thing shot throughout my pieces; this was one of those, and perhaps too unsuitable of one. Anyway, it was supposed to mean something along the lines of extremely sharp (and perhaps otherworldly), since it could cut something immaterial, in this case energy. I'll take a look at it.


Boy, does that sound like a teaser for some future restoration of its power. (At least I hope it is.)

Maybe... :D

Couldn't find the feminine antecedent of "she" here; should it be "it?"

That was meant to stand for the Sightless Eye. I'm not sure if that was technically correct, but I've seen (or seem to remember) phrases referring to God that go something like this: "If you believe in His word, He will..." That was the basis for this sentence. Guess I'll capitalize "she" to avoid confusion.

I only mention it because I think you have raised this issue yourself on occasion: is this phrase a bit anachronistic?

I don't think so; www.oed.com has uses of this phrase (or similar versions) in documents from the 1400s.

That's one fast-burning candle. As I recall, it was "fresh" when the conversation started.

It's a cheap candle... ;)

In all seriousness, good catch. I'll fix that.


I felt myself being unusually persnickety today. Not sure why. It's all meant in a constructive way. Good job on this chapter.

Unusual persnickety-ness is welcomed. Seriously. Anyway, I did take this as constructive, so no worries.

As always, thanks for reading and for your comments. I hope you enjoy the rest of this (or that it doesn't burn your eyes out, at least.)

[0xDEADCAFE]

Well, this was the smoothest read yet. In a few places you might have even gone beyond smooth and into creamy. Was this the first chapter that spilled over into two posts? Honestly, it felt like the shortest chapter yet.


“Easy, child,” the healer cautioned, leaning forward again and wrapping gnarled roots of fingers around the other’s shoulders.The gnarled roots is a strong image, but it jolted me. I know Akara is an old woman, but is she a withered old crone? I never thought of her that way, but given this image, I will hold that impression of her as I read ensuing chapters.


She clenched her hands into fists, her short nails digging into the skin of her palms, forcing herself to focus on Kashya’s parting command. Carry out your orders. Remember that, soldier, and don’t give her another reason to be angry with you. I'm a little unclear as to who the "her" is in the last sentence. If she is talking to herself throughout the entire italicized part, then I guess it would be Kashya, but it didn't hit me that way when I read it. I took the italicized part, coming right after the words "Kashya's parting command", as if it was Kashya's command, remembered by Elarinn verbatim: "Carry out our your orders. Remember that, soldier..." That could be said either by Elarinn to herself or by Kashya to her. If it's said by Kashya then who is the her? It threw me.


Elarinn averted her gaze, anguished by what she saw: an ugly mask of lines and tears, carved by frustration’s hammer and sorrow’s chisel. I have mixed feelings about this ending phrase. On the one hand I love it. It simultaneouly animates frustration and sorrow, as if they are spirits in the room, and underscores the depth and severity of the lines on her face. But "frustration" and "sorrow" themselves did not seem to me to fit exactly. Given the ministrations she had just received, which involved bound wrists and a bloody knife, I would have expected "pain" to be at work on her face, and perhaps "grief" rather than just "sorrow" given the dire events she has endured.


Akara nodded. “Others may yet find their way back to us, as you did, but the burden rests heavy on you for now.”Shouldn't "heavy" be "heavily", since it modifies "rests" rather than "burden"?


It looks like Elarinn is in for some trying times. It should be interesting to watch her struggle with her new responsibilities and eventually grow into a confidant leader. Could there be a rite of passage or two in her future? Looking forward to more...

[RevenantsKnight]

0xDEADCAFE: Thanks for dropping by and commenting. It's always nice to get compliments (mmm...ego candy...) and the suggestions are, as usual, very helpful.

Was this the first chapter that spilled over into two posts? Honestly, it felt like the shortest chapter yet.

It is. The others were posted prior to the implementation of the limit on post length.

The gnarled roots is a strong image, but it jolted me. I know Akara is an old woman, but is she a withered old crone? I never thought of her that way, but given this image, I will hold that impression of her as I read ensuing chapters.

Whoops. I didn't intend for her to seem too withered in general, just arthritic in the hands.

I'm a little unclear as to who the "her" is in the last sentence. If she is talking to herself throughout the entire italicized part, then I guess it would be Kashya, but it didn't hit me that way when I read it.

To be honest, I never decided who's saying it. I'll try to clear it up.

But "frustration" and "sorrow" themselves did not seem to me to fit exactly. Given the ministrations she had just received, which involved bound wrists and a bloody knife, I would have expected "pain" to be at work on her face, and perhaps "grief" rather than just "sorrow" given the dire events she has endured.

Hrm...I'll take another look at this. My working image of Iris has her as a person who can block out a lot of physical stress, and I do plan to work more with that idea in the future, but maybe this was taking it a little too far. Also, there's still a few things I'm trying to iron out about her character; if I include one of my running ideas, it might be clearer later as to why I used "frustration." And yes, "grief" probably would work better than "sorrow" here.

Shouldn't "heavy" be "heavily", since it modifies "rests" rather than "burden"?

Technically, "heavy" is both an adverb and an adjective, and means the same thing as "heavily" when in adverb form. I'll change this, though, since the last thing I want to do is be overly confusing.

Could there be a rite of passage or two in her future? Looking forward to more...

Maybe...though I suspect it'll be a while before further chapters go up. The tale of Ryland and Blaen is more on my mind at this moment.

Thanks for reading and commenting!

[RebirthOfMak]

Nice Job~!

Mak~

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi all. I've taken some time off from Sorrow to work on this story, though I will get back to that eventually. Hope I didn't lose too many people during that rather long break... Anyway, here's Chapter 6:

----------

Memories

I remember Tristram.

The memory broke into her thoughts as she walked towards the glow of the fire in the evening light, Iris’s left arm draped around her shoulders. Ambushed between steps, Elarinn stumbled as the grinning, horrific visage burned bright in her mind’s eye, then caught her balance – and Iris – as the image faded, first blurring around the edges and then dissolving altogether. Shaken, she paused to gasp in a few breaths before turning to face her comrade, trying as best she could to hide her emotions.

Iris saw them anyway; the elder woman’s expression of indignant anger softened to worry as her gaze passed over the younger Sister’s face. “You all right, Elarinn?” she asked, shifting her grip on the rough wooden crutch in her right hand as if preparing to let go of her companion.

“I...it’s nothing, Iris,” Elarinn replied, shaking her head both to emphasize her words and to try and push back the memory as its outline began to return against the black canvas of her shut eyelids. The blood, the bodies, that hideous grin...and the laughter...

“Really?” The scarred veteran scrutinized Elarinn’s features as if she were unsure whether or not her companion spoke the truth.

“Well...not quite,” Elarinn admitted, her head dropping slightly as she spoke. Seeing the question in Iris’s eyes, she finished, “It’s nothing much...I just thought of Tristram, for a moment.” She shifted her arm around Iris nervously, the action of supporting the other woman enough to take her mind from itself.

“I see.” Iris’s tone was neutral enough, though Elarinn heard a note of something – surprise? or perhaps sadness? – in her voice. “That happens sometimes,” she continued after a short pause, “you’ll probably get used to it after a while.”

The bland dismissal Iris offered surprised Elarinn somewhat; she had expected warm reassurance, a grim warning, a joke, just something, not this hollow, emotionless affirmation. Grasping hold of the concern and empathy her friend had held moments before, she cast her sight over Iris’s face, her eyes searching every line for the writing of the elder woman’s soul. As her gaze passed over the other’s eyes, she saw within them what looked like a flicker of movement, almost as if they had flinched, though the two brown orbs remained motionless in her skull. Wait...there’s something more...Elarinn frowned for a moment, then turned back to her friend. “Iris,” she began, her voice made strong by an anxious courage, slowed by a firm deference to her mentor. “These memories...are they a problem?”

The veteran Rogue stiffened at these words; Elarinn could feel the muscles in the other woman’s arm harden into iron, pressing down on her shoulders. One moment chased another in silence as they stood together, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Iris sighed, shaking her head sadly. “They’re not something to worry about, Elarinn. I just didn’t expect them to happen so soon.”

“What?” Elarinn’s eyes widened. “You knew this would happen?”

“Not this exactly, but...” Iris paused for a moment, wincing, then met Elarinn’s gaze again. “Some of what you’ve seen, and will see, won’t exactly go away. Like I said,” she finished, pushing her crutch forward against the earth as if impatient to move on, “you get used to it.”

Elarinn nodded mechanically in reply, her mind focused on her mentor’s words. At Iris’s unspoken bidding, she began again towards the fire, her companion half leaning forward, half holding on to the auburn-haired Sister with an iron grip. You get used to it...perhaps if you’re not human. One living memory was bad enough; I doubt anyone could carry on against those demon whispers. After all, she... Stealing a glance at Iris, she saw again her haunted eyes, her ghost of a smile, and the sight stilled her mind’s questioning tongue.

Or maybe she didn’t. Wincing, Elarinn looked away from her friend, her revelations bitter in her mouth. I suppose Iris is right; I’ll always remember Tristram.

But by the Sightless Eye, I wish I wouldn’t.

* * *

By the time they reached the fire, many of Elarinn’s sisters were already there, arranged in a great half-circle around the glowing pit. Several of them were tending to the contents of a great iron pot resting on the coals, a sight that would have reminded her of a witch’s cauldron out of her childhood tales if not for the appetizing scents it produced. Others spoke among themselves, their lively voices ringing out across the camp, while Kashya stood proud and vigilant by the edge of the firelight like a marble sentinel turned inwards towards her soldiers. For a moment, she almost dared to smile, so much did the scene remind her of happier times.

Her contentment faded quickly, though, as the weight of Iris’s arm over her shoulders put the lie to her illusions. Grimacing at this loss, Elarinn looked towards the other end of the fire, eager for any novelty, any distraction. Closest to her comrades sat several unarmed men whom she recognized as natives of the deserts, undoubtedly members of some unlucky caravan. Beyond them were two knots of vastly different people: the Northerners she had seen before and a handful of brown-skinned women. Hrm, two groups of outlanders...could have sworn Iris mentioned three, and those merchants don’t count.

Her curiosity piqued, Elarinn slowed her pace, squinting against the gathering darkness. She didn’t bother to spend much time on the warriors; seeing their many weapons, which they still carried, and their patchwork suits of leather, fur and steel, had been enough for her. Brawlers, definitely, and probably little else. One question answered...

From there, she shifted her attention to the women, who sat on several logs near the fire arranged in a tight circle. They appeared to be discussing something among themselves, though Elarinn noted that nearly all of them looked as if they had missed a few nights’ sleep, and one even dozed as the others spoke, her body drooping forward almost comically. Well, they’re in great shape, whoever they are.

Narrowing her eyes, she began to look over them for weapons and insignia, or any sort of clue to their identity. Barely half of them carried arms at all, as far as Elarinn could tell; only a longsword of an unusual design and a hefty mace met her alert gaze. What did catch her eye, though, were the decorated staves that several of the older women held. While they looked like glorified walking sticks at first glance, she could feel a hint of magical energy, almost like a dull humming, emanate from them even at this distance. They’re the witches Iris mentioned, then, Elarinn mused, beginning to call up memories of the sorcerers she’d seen back at Tristram.

A light nudge in the ribs brought Elarinn back to the present, and she turned to face Iris, who eyed her with something between mild irritation and curiosity. “Something on your mind, Elarinn?” she queried, arching an eyebrow.

“Just those outlanders,” the younger Sister replied, frowning. “Didn’t you say that there were three bands of them here?”

Iris smiled wryly and scuffed her crutch against the dirt. “Could we talk about this later?” she answered, jerking her head towards an unoccupied log by the fire.

Oops. Reddening slightly at her superior’s good-natured reproach, Elarinn nodded and resumed walking slowly, keeping a tight around her waist. After another few minutes, they reached their goal, and she eased Iris earthwards, the wounded woman settling down and then leaning back against the wood with a sigh. “Thanks, Elarinn,” she murmured, then continued, “So, to your question about the outlanders. One of the groups here, the women from the Sea of Light, isn’t...well, the Order’s been at odds with them for a while.”

“At odds with them?” Elarinn repeated, surprise coloring her words. “Why?”

Iris shrugged perplexedly in response. “They’re rivals of sorts, or so I’m told. Apparently, they’re decent archers, and they have some sort of magic that they can unleash with their bows, though She hasn’t gifted them with anything.” Looking up to the darkening sky for a moment, she went on, “They also have several gods, so I gather that there’re some priestly arguments between us and them.”

Odd, I don’t remember ever being told about them. Elarinn’s brow furrowed at this, first in thought, and then at the quiet doubt in her friend’s voice. “Do you think so?”

The other woman paused for a moment, as if considering whether or not to answer, then shook her head slowly. “No, not really; it’s just the best explanation for all this. There’s just not a lot for us to fight over with them.” Her words speeding up as if she had held them caged for too long, Iris continued, “They ply many of the seaports, like Lut Gholein, as mercenaries. Every now and again, when teams of our Sisters get sent into those cities, we tend to leave some of them out of a job. Still, we’re not in their hair enough for them to lose much, since we’ve traditionally kept to Entsteig and the Khanduran heartland. We just don’t run into their kind often enough for this to be a rivalry that matters.”

“So Kashya’s keeping them in their part of the camp anyway?”

“Well, they stay there when they’re here, but not by Kashya’s order,” Iris said. “In fact, she doesn’t seem to mind them much. They’re more intent on keeping their distance, I’d say.”

Elarinn nodded at this, and then looked up as a Sister she did not recognize neared. Halting three paces away, she lowered herself to one knee, and then after a moment, placed two wooden bowls before her comrades and departed without a word. Iris called out a few words of thanks as she left, and then turned to Elarinn. “That’s Aliza, by the way,” the elder warrior commented, “I think she joined after you left.”

“Probably,” Elarinn agreed, passing her friend one of the bowls. For a short while, they ate in silence as Elarinn realized just how hungry she was from not eating all day. Soon, though, a question bubbled to the surface of her churning mind, and she swallowed her mouthful, looking over to her mentor. “Iris...why did so many new Sisters, and so few others, make it out of the Monastery?”

“Many reasons,” Iris answered after a short, thoughtful pause, “Some of the novices weren’t armed, so they fell back first, and of course only older Sisters joined the traitors.” She turned and spat, grimacing as if the word had left a bitter taste in her mouth, before continuing, “For my part, I was leading some of the better novices in a tracking exercise outside the Monastery, and we got back just in time to help hold the gate so our comrades could get out. After that, I saw several other survivors of Tristram stay behind to delay the enemy while the rest of us retreated.” She shrugged. “All that added up, I guess.”

Elarinn shivered at the other’s even, matter-of-fact tone. I knew Iris wasn’t particularly close to many others in the Order, but...she seems so distant about this. Casting her sight over Iris’s face, she paused again on the older woman’s eyes, which again seemed to almost stare through her. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked slowly, “Is there something wrong?”

Iris made no response to this, and at first Elarinn thought she didn’t want to answer. Then, as her mentor raised a hand in greeting, she turned and saw Akara approaching behind her, smiling. Mirroring Iris’s action, the young Sister waved as the cowled woman neared, wincing to herself. Can’t believe I didn’t notice that...maybe I’m just seeing things, then.

Akara returned their informal salute as she halted before them. “Good evening, Iris, Elarinn,” she began, producing a small glass vial from her robes and handing it to the veteran warrior. “This potion may help, though you might want some water after drinking it.” When Iris made a face, she smiled sympathetically, and then turned to Elarinn. “Child,” she continued, “Kashya will probably have you tell your story soon. It might be wise to find her before then, just in case.”

“Good thinking.” Iris’s voice echoed from behind Elarinn, followed by the pop of the vial’s stopper coming free, and then, a second later, a cough and a sound of disgust. “What did you put in this thing?”

Elarinn giggled at her friend’s indignation before quickly controlling herself once again. Turning, she saw Iris smiling sheepishly, her jaw moving back and forth as she scraped her tongue against her teeth. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad,” Iris amended, amusement replacing the last of her distaste.

The younger Sister burst out laughing at this, both at the tone of her companion’s voice and in relief; after the grimness of the last few minutes, the other’s good-natured response was a tonic to her mind. Iris paused for a moment, and then, as a smile began to work its way across Akara’s weathered features, she looked downwards, chuckling. Finally, Elarinn managed to hold herself steady long enough to look up, and her mirthful expression widened as a forgotten image appeared before her mind’s eye: her sharing a laugh with Iris and Feyla, the three of them traveling over Khanduran plains on their way west. Just like old times, before Tristram. It’s not quite the same, but for now...

Her laughter fading away, Iris cast a glance towards the fire pit. “You should probably get going, Elarinn, and don’t worry; I’ll make an idiot of myself again later,” she commented, her tone turning serious, though not wholly free of the lightness that had last colored her words.

Still grinning, Elarinn nodded and rose, looking for her commander’s red cape as she began towards the firelight, her steps buoyed by a memory of the past and a hope for the future.

* * *

[RevenantsKnight]

(continued)

Gazing out over the half-circle of faces around her, Elarinn let the breath she held hiss nervously over her teeth. Why in all the hells does Kashya want me to do this? I’m no storyteller, and besides, I barely even know these people, except for Iris and Akara. Shifting on her rough wooden chair, she grimaced to herself as her commander’s words echoed again in her mind: Try to inspire our Sisters with your story, Elarinn. Some of them have begun to doubt our Order’s strength since the Monastery; that needs to be dealt with, and soon.

Inspire them...well, with what? I just bested a few imps and undead, not a greater demon. If I were Kashya, I’d get Iris up here instead; at least she’s got stories to tell. Frowning, Elarinn brushed a lock of auburn hair back behind her ear, then sighed quietly as the edge in her annoyance dulled against a hard reality, leaving only resignation. May as well get this done, soldier; like Akara said, she’s counting on me, and it’s not like I can do anything about that-

A sound to her left drew her attention, and she looked up to see Kashya standing by her side, facing the assembled women. Extending a hand towards Elarinn, the Order’s commander declared, “Tonight, we shall not hear a story of ancient heroes or a legend of an age long past, but the words of one of our own: our sister Elarinn. Listen well, for hers is a tale of strength.” At this signal, Elarinn took a deep breath, carefully working a smile over her anxiety. Here goes...

For what seemed like an eternity, she related the story of her return, starting the journey’s beginning in the great Eastern city, Lut Gholein. Many of her younger comrades seemed mildly disappointed when she did not dwell long on what she had seen there, but that was soon forgotten as Elarinn began to recount her battle at the fallen Monastery. After the horrors of their only battle and the chaotic flight into the wilderness, her victory over demons, no matter how small, was an impossible feat, and yet also a sign of hope; despite. From there, her tale itself was enough to keep all of them enthralled; as she took them through deep marshes and shadowed forests, and finally to the clearing where she had met the Druid, not a single one of her words escaped her audience’s ears.

The half-moon had risen high to join the unblinking stars by the time Elarinn finished telling her tale for the second time, though the fire at her back still burned strong, thanks to the careful preparations of her Sisters hours before. As the last of her words flew from her lips to the ears of her gathered comrades, she let her shoulders sink a little in relief, and then blew out a quiet, slow breath. Finally.

In the brief pause that followed, Kashya stepped up to the younger Rogue’s side, waiting for a moment to let the others focus on her. “Warriors of the Sightless Eye,” she declared, “you may now understand why I have chosen to bestow a position of rank upon our sister Elarinn.” Ignoring a sudden spate of murmurings, she continued forcefully, “I expect you all to treat her with the same deference that you owe the other leaders of our Order. If word of any disobedience reaches my ears, all of you will answer to me.”

Dead silence fell over the assembled women at these words. Stunned, Elarinn blinked in surprise, some of the color draining from her cheeks. Wow...that was impressive. Or scary; I can’t really tell which. Letting this last threat hang in the air for a moment, Kashya smiled tightly and finished with a wave of her hand, “You are all dismissed to your night duties.”

Elarinn paused for a moment, watching the audience begin to break up before rising slowly on stiff legs. All right, then...that's that taken care of. Turning to follow Kashya, she halted as she felt a hand settle on her shoulder and looked back to see Akara standing behind her, her lined visage pinched by worry. "Child, a moment of your time, if you could."

How does she keep sneaking up on me like that? Hiding her consternation with a slight smile, Elarinn pivoted to face the elder priestess. "Is there a problem?"

Akara shook her head, though her expression remained troubled. "I had a question about your time in the forests, before you found the Druid," she replied. You said that it felt as if there was nothing alive there?"

"Well..." Elarinn began, biting her lip as she struggled to find words for the sensations that had gripped her mind, "in a way, though there was something else too. It was a little like Tristram, but...not as bloody." At the other's inquiring gaze, she hesitated. How am I supposed to explain this? She can’t know what that was like; she wasn't there... Finally, Elarinn sighed quietly and continued, "The tunnels under the cathedral felt as if there had been hundreds of battles fought among them, and that-"

"I know what Tristram was like, child," Akara broke in gently.

Surprised, Elarinn looked up at this, a quick reply ready on her lips, and then paused as she saw the older woman’s features, shaped by equal parts understanding and remembered pain. Or maybe she does know. Nodding slowly, she resumed, “The forest felt more as if it was just...empty. It seemed almost unreal, as if it was all some sorcerer's illusion."

“And were you afraid?”

What kind of bloody question is that? The young warrior bristled inwardly at the other’s query, though after a moment her indignation faded somewhat as her mind caught up to her emotion. Well, at least Kashya didn’t ask me that. I doubt Akara would think less of me for it, so... "It was definitely something unnerving," she finally allowed, eyes darting in Kashya’s direction and back in an instant. Good, she’s busy.

Akara’s expression softened into a sad smile at this, and she replied, “Elarinn, please...I need to know the truth. I cannot yet say why, but what you felt there does matter.”

Looking earthwards, Elarinn grimaced and nodded. “All right, yes. I was scared then; it felt almost as if there was something stalking me in the darkness, though I never saw anything else alive.”

“Thank you, child,” Akara murmured. “You’d best go and find Kashya, as – or perhaps not, since she’s found you first.”

Elarinn was already turning around to face her commander; the deliberate, heavy footfalls of the other had reached her ears a second before. Seeing this, Kashya motioned for her to come forward, dispensing with the customary greetings. “I assume you know already why I wish to speak to you now,” she greeted Elarinn, casting a sidelong glance at Akara’s retreating form.

“I do, my lady,” Elarinn replied, her spine stiffening out of reflex as she drew herself up to her full height, eyes staring at her comrade’s mailed shoulder.

Nodding in satisfaction, Kashya continued, “And you received the details of your command from Iris?”

“I did, my lady.”

“Then I have nothing else to say. Prepare your weapons and armor; the gate is yours to command at your earliest possible opportunity. May the Sightless Eye watch over you.” With that, Kashya turned on her heel and marched off in the direction of the central tent.

Elarinn began to walk away as well, but stopped as something about the other caught her eye. Wait...what was that? Squinting against the darkness, she looked back and then blinked as her sight rested upon her commander’s shoulders, which trembled almost imperceptibly, and her slightly lowered head. At this, Elarinn let the world around her fade into blackness as her eyelids fell shut. And may the Sightless Eye watch over you too, Sister.

* * *

Elarinn watched as the camp's armorer, a tall, well-built Sister who gave her name as Charsi, attempted to fit a fresh string on her bow, then discarded the linen cord and reached for another. "There...that should do it, my lady," she declared as she attached the new string, a satisfied smile upon her face.

Nodding her thanks, Elarinn reclaimed her weapon and turned slowly to face the wooden palisade, her eyes roving over her surroundings. Then, in one fluid motion, she brought her bow up, drawing an arrow from the quiver at her side, and let the missile fly.

Charsi stared, first at the arrow that now protruded from the center of a shadow-draped practice target, and then at Elarinn, who matched her stunned gaze with the expression Charsi had worn just seconds before. "I agree; this should do," Elarinn replied, letting her arms fall back to her sides. "My thanks."

"...You're welcome, my lady," Charsi managed after a moment, finally in control of her voice again. "Did...did you want me to do any work on your armor?" she asked slowly, wariness and subdued awe creeping into her young, almost musical voice.

Still smiling, the auburn-haired Sister shook her head. "No, it's fine as it is." Turning to leave, Elarinn paused, and then added, "Oh, and it's Elarinn, not 'my lady,' Charsi."

“Very well...Elarinn.” Charsi’s expression remained cautious as she spoke, though her hesitant reply seemed more at ease than before. Well, that's a start. At this, Elarinn waved a quick farewell, and padded off towards the encampment’s gate. Finally, I’ve got my bow back...at last, I can do something if I need to-

"Nice shot back there." Iris’s voice sounded quietly in the darkness, causing Elarinn's head to twist towards the shadows cast by the dim light from the fire pit. Leaning against an abandoned wagon, the elder Sister jerked her head in a come-here gesture as the other's gaze settled upon her, and continued, "Maybe not the wisest move, though."

Stepping forward, Elarinn shrugged in response. “Can’t know how a bow’ll shoot unless you actually shoot it,” she returned dryly, letting her voice mimic the tones Iris had once used to teach her.

Amused, the veteran warrior grinned. “I told you that once, didn’t I?” she mused, then straightened against her crutch as her expression turned serious. “That wasn’t quite my point, though.” At Elarinn’s questioning frown, she elaborated, “Kashya and Akara and I all believe that you managed to avoid the curse aimed at our Order. However,” and here Iris paused, letting her last word echo in the younger woman’s ears for a moment, “not all of the other Sisters may be convinced yet. Seeing as random aggression is often noted in those possessed...”

Oh blast. Elarinn winced as her mentor left the rest of her thought go unsaid. “I understand, Iris; my thanks...” she began ruefully, and then fell silent, blinking in confusion. Wait... Looking back at Iris, her brow furrowed, Elarinn finished slowly, “But you couldn’t have known that I’d do that when you came to watch me...is there some other problem?”

Iris’s smile returned in reply, and she shifted her weight against the wagon long enough to dip a hand into a pocket. Worried, Elarinn stepped up to her friend, steadying her in a firm grasp as the older woman’s fist, closed around something, withdrew from the leather pouch. Then, rotating her hand palm up, Iris let her fingers uncurl, revealing a circular blue-steel pendant on an argent chain. At its center, seven thin ribbons of silver curved through empty space, forming a stylized eye. “I wanted to give you this, Elarinn, since you now lead a band of sorts,” Iris said, holding the medallion out to her. “Normally, we’d make you a new one, but given our situation, that might be a bit difficult.”

It took Elarinn a few seconds to truly realize what lay in her mentor’s outstretched hand, and when she did, she almost lost her grip on her friend in her surprise. That’s her officer’s medallion... “Iris...but that’s yours,” she finally managed, then shifted her attention back to keeping Iris upright.

The other shook her head at this, her expression still light. “Ah, but it wouldn’t be mine were it not for you and Feyla. You two made up the only band I ever lead, you know.” When Elarinn still hesitated, Iris’s smile turned serious, and she urged, “Really, Elarinn, take it. I like to think that it brought me Her favor, back under Tristram - and I hope it’ll do the same for you.”

Hearing the resolve and quiet concern in her voice, the younger Sister nodded slowly in response. So that’s why. Then I shall honor your wish, Iris. She reached out for the medallion, her arm moving slowly but inexorably. Besides, I guess you don’t need it, since you can’t lead a band anymore- Elarinn grimaced as she forced back her last thought, and her hand froze in midair. No. Don’t think that. Dammit, Elarinn, get a hold of yourself...

Iris frowned upon seeing her friend hesitate, but her anxious mask eased away when Elarinn’s hand finally met hers, closing around the object in her palm. “May Her sight show you the path, Elarinn,” she murmured, offering the traditional blessing for a new captain.

“And may I have faith enough to walk it,” Elarinn finished, bowing her head respectfully as she spoke. Then, meeting her friend’s gaze, she nodded slowly. “Thanks, Iris.”

“You’re welcome, Elarinn,” Iris replied, and then let her head fall for a long moment, veiling her eyes with shadows. Caught by the suddenness of her movement, Elarinn hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Tightening her grip on the other’s shoulders lest she fall, the young warrior cast a worried glance around her. Maybe I should go and get some help...

Before she could act, though, Iris looked back up, and seeing the medallion still nestled in the auburn-haired Sister’s hand, laughed. “Well, put it on, Elarinn,” she admonished the other playfully. “You’re not supposed to hold that in your hands all the time.”

Relieved, Elarinn echoed her mentor’s amusement, freeing one hand long enough to loop the silver chain over her head. “Better?” she returned, grinning, then paused and looked down to the pendant settling against her armor, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, Iris...”

“What is it, Elarinn?” Catching the shift in the younger woman’s voice, Iris leaned forward, searching the other’s face.

“I once heard from Mirenne that these medallions had some magic power, that’s all,” Elarinn explained, fingering the eye’s outer rim. “She could have been wrong; I don’t think she ever had one herself.”

Iris shrugged. “Far as I know, it’s just silver and steel. There isn’t really anything you’re supposed to use it for,” she responded, and then continued amusedly, “though you might want to keep it under your leather. The chain has the habit of getting in the way at the worst times.” After Elarinn laughed sheepishly, tucking the pendant under her armor, Iris looked around almost nervously and added, “Well, I probably shouldn’t keep you here any longer; Kashya might get testy if you’re not at the gate soon.”

Elarinn nodded and began to step back, then halted as her hand on Iris’s shoulder reminded her of the other’s infirmity. “Do you need any help, Iris? I-”

“I’ll manage.”

The elder woman’s response, short and quick, carried with it a ghost of an anger that made Elarinn cautiously let go of her shoulders. I doubt that, Iris. Better not press it, though... “All right, then, Iris,” she replied after a moment, “I’ll try to find you again after my watch is up...assuming I’m ever told when that is.”

Iris smiled faintly at this. “Good luck, Elarinn,” she finished, and leaned against the wagon as she adjusted her grip on her crutch.

At this, Elarinn turned away, unwilling to watch her mentor struggle against her body any more, and set off for the gate at a jog which soon became a dead run, as if she sought to flee more than the shadows cast by the fire.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Hi Rev. It's nice to see you posting so much new material. Let me also take the opportunity to congratulate you on your new Bronze Pal status; you are, no doubt, one of the best friends this board has. Now, on to the nitpickies...

Shaken, she paused to gasp in a few breaths before turning to face her comrade, trying as best she could to hide her emotions. I'm probably going to fire-up the hyphen wars again but I think you need one between "gasp" and "in." Here's my reasoning: I read the verb here as "gasp-in", not "gasp". Consider the following: "She paused to gasp in the glorious sunset." This is fine, no? There is no sense of her actually inhaling the sunset, but just standing "in" one. Likewise, "gasp in" in the quoted sentence sounds off to me, like she is gasping while standing in "a few breaths." (Okay, you can go ahead and explain why I am wrong now...)


“Really?” The scarred veteran scrutinized Elarinn’s features as if she were unsure whether or not her companion spoke the truth. A tad wordy. This might be sufficient: "...scrutinized Elarinn's features with doubt."


Grasping hold of the concern and empathy her friend had held moments before, she cast her sight over Iris’s face, her eyes searching every line for the writing of the elder woman’s soul. As her gaze passed over the other’s eyes, she saw within them what looked like a flicker of movement, almost as if they had flinched, though the two brown orbs remained motionless in her skull. Eek, what a wordy mess! Let me offer some specific suggestions for brevity:

- "Grasping at her friends fleeting concern..." Perhaps "fleeting" is not exactly what you had in mind, but I'll bet you can find a single word that is equivalent to "had held moments before." Also, "empathy" seems incorrect. Only Iris's concern was fleeting; she displayed her empathy in her final statement, the one about getting "used to it", so why would we assume that her empathy had gone away?

- "she poured over Iris’s face, searching every line for the writing of the elder woman’s soul." Just two small changes here, eliminating the auxilliary noun phrases "her sight" and "her eyes." (Can't the poor girl do anything by herself!) Again, my verb replacement, "poured" may not be exactly what you intended, and kudos on the bit about the wrtiting on her soul - nice.

- "She thought she saw a flicker of movement in her friend's brown eyes, which, though motionless, seemed to flinch deep within." Not quite a poetic triumph I'll admit, but I would assert that it gets the same point across without resorting to "her gaze" and "what looked like", and without calling out the objective noun "her eyes" and "two brown orbs" twice.

I hope that's not too brutal. Usually when I accuse you of wordiness you ask for specifics; well, consider it specified. (And, since you are as graceful in accepting criticism as you are adept at giving it, I'm really not too worried about hurting your feelings.)


One moment chased another in silence as they stood together...Nice.


Closest to her comrades sat several unarmed men whom she recognized as natives of the deserts, undoubtedly members of some unlucky caravan.I assume the word "undoubtedly" refers to Elarinn's perceptions. If so, it suggests a narrowmindedness on her part. Why couldn't there be any other explanation for their presence?


From there, she shifted her attention to the women, who sat on several logs near the fire arranged in a tight circle.Do you mean that the women sat in a tight circle, or that the logs were arranged in a tight circle? If the former, you might try "...who sat in a tight circle on several logs near the fire."


Oops. Reddening slightly at her superior’s good-natured reproach, Elarinn nodded and resumed walking slowly, keeping a tight around her waist.A tight what?


Iris shrugged perplexedly in response.I would love to see an actual demonstration of "shrugged perplexidly." :uhhuh: I would think that "Iris shrugged." would be good enough here.


After the horrors of their only battle and the chaotic flight into the wilderness, her victory over demons, no matter how small, was an impossible feat, and yet also a sign of hope; despite. First, though I can't put my finger on it, I get the sense that there is a dangling modifier here. What is the reference point for "their" in "After the horrors of their only battle...?" And, second, I can't make any sense out of the single word "despite" after the semi-colon.


All right, then...that's that taken care of.It seems like you'd want to finish with either "That's that" or "That's taken care of" but not both.


"I had a question about your time in the forests, before you found the Druid," she replied. You said that it felt as if there was nothing alive there?"You need a quotation mark before "You", after "she replied."


An enjoyable read, Rev, although I noticed my eyes glancing over at the scroll bar from time to time. This chapter set a slow pace, even for you, but the story moves on, doesn't it? And I'll be around for the next chapter...

[RevenantsKnight]

Good to see you around too, 0xDEADCAFE.

Let me also take the opportunity to congratulate you on your new Bronze Pal status; you are, no doubt, one of the best friends this board has.

Thanks, though I'm not sure why that's worthy of congratulations...it's not a marker of being a longtime forum member or anything. Heck, you've been here longer than I have.

I'm probably going to fire-up the hyphen wars again but I think you need one between "gasp" and "in." Here's my reasoning: I read the verb here as "gasp-in", not "gasp". Consider the following: "She paused to gasp in the glorious sunset."

Hrm...at first, I actually did read this as if she were inhaling the sunset. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective.

A tad wordy. This might be sufficient: "...scrutinized Elarinn's features with doubt."

Good catch. Thanks.


Eek, what a wordy mess! Let me offer some specific suggestions for brevity:

I wrote part of this story before I started trying to shake my perpetual wordiness, and didn't change it a heck of a lot here. Guess which section that was... :p

"Grasping at her friends fleeting concern..." Perhaps "fleeting" is not exactly what you had in mind, but I'll bet you can find a single word that is equivalent to "had held moments before." Also, "empathy" seems incorrect. Only Iris's concern was fleeting; she displayed her empathy in her final statement, the one about getting "used to it", so why would we assume that her empathy had gone away?

Oh boo. Iris's empathy was supposed to seem fleeting, because her "you get used to it" was supposed to sound more grim and I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it than reassuring. I'll take another look at that part. As for the rewording, maybe "fading" would work better than "fleeting," but I get the idea. Thanks much.

"she poured over Iris’s face, searching every line for the writing of the elder woman’s soul." Just two small changes here, eliminating the auxilliary noun phrases "her sight" and "her eyes." (Can't the poor girl do anything by herself!) Again, my verb replacement, "poured" may not be exactly what you intended, and kudos on the bit about the wrtiting on her soul - nice.

Thanks...I liked the writing line myself. This change looks good to me, and yes, I should stop dismembering my characters as much as I do, as I believe you put it. You did mean "pored," though, right?

"She thought she saw a flicker of movement in her friend's brown eyes, which, though motionless, seemed to flinch deep within." Not quite a poetic triumph I'll admit, but I would assert that it gets the same point across without resorting to "her gaze" and "what looked like", and without calling out the objective noun "her eyes" and "two brown orbs" twice.

Thanks for the suggestions. I'm not sure what I'll do with this phrase; it's one of those "I know it might be awkward, but I like it..." things. Maybe I should rustle up a coin to flip... :D

I hope that's not too brutal. Usually when I accuse you of wordiness you ask for specifics; well, consider it specified. (And, since you are as graceful in accepting criticism as you are adept at giving it, I'm really not too worried about hurting your feelings.)

It's not, and it's indeed well specified. Thanks much. (And your assessment of my reaction was dead-on, I'd say. Maybe I should start being more erratic just for kicks... :lol: )

I assume the word "undoubtedly" refers to Elarinn's perceptions. If so, it suggests a narrowmindedness on her part. Why couldn't there be any other explanation for their presence?

Whoops. I originally meant to add in a few details that she saw which should've indicated their profession.

Do you mean that the women sat in a tight circle, or that the logs were arranged in a tight circle? If the former, you might try "...who sat in a tight circle on several logs near the fire."

I guess I meant both, since if the latter's true, and they're sitting on the logs, then the former should be true as well.

A tight what?

Should've been "a tight grip." My bad.

I would love to see an actual demonstration of "shrugged perplexidly." I would think that "Iris shrugged." would be good enough here.

Yeah...that was me trying to slip in a hint about her expression without actually mentioning it. I'll probably change it, since it appears to have been unclear.

First, though I can't put my finger on it, I get the sense that there is a dangling modifier here. What is the reference point for "their" in "After the horrors of their only battle...?" And, second, I can't make any sense out of the single word "despite" after the semi-colon.

Point one: it might be a bit of a reach, but I was using "their" to stand for the other Sisters. I'd hoped that the "only battle" part would clear that up if it was too much of a stretch, because Iris, Kashya, Elarinn, and possibly Akara have all seen more fighting than that, but I guess that didn't do it. I'll run this through the revisions mill another time; thanks for pointing that out.

Point two: blargh. I guess I didn't proofread this as well as I thought I did...I'd meant to cut that out.

It seems like you'd want to finish with either "That's that" or "That's taken care of" but not both.

Hrm...well, I've always heard it as both when spoken by the folks I know, and it's not supposed to be "copy-editor perfect," since speech rarely is. I'll consider the change, though.

You need a quotation mark before "You", after "she replied."

Looks like the one I had there busted loose from its pen. I'd better go catch it... :)

An enjoyable read, Rev, although I noticed my eyes glancing over at the scroll bar from time to time. This chapter set a slow pace, even for you, but the story moves on, doesn't it?

Hrm...I thought it moved at an OK speed (at least I didn't narrate Elarinn's tale again!), though it is too long because I didn't want this to bleed over into the next chapter...maybe I'll break this into two chapters.

Thanks for reading and commenting!

[RevenantsKnight]

Greetings to all. I'd originally intended to post this with the part that I'll finished sometime soon (hopefully,) but the total will definitely be more than I'd want to post all at once, so here's the first bit. And yes, I know it's short, but there's no other good place to break it. Anyway...the first part of Chapter 7:
----------

Hunters of the Night, I

After what felt like an endless moment of running, Elarinn managed to calm herself, settling to a quick, even march as the task awaiting her rose to the fore of her thoughts. Pushing back her emotions with an effort, she began to revisit old memories, recalling her orders from her time guarding the great doors of the Monastery, as well as newer ones, the image of the gates that she’d seen in a fleeting glance earlier that day. I doubt there’ll be doors like back at the Monastery, so we’ll need someone to be ready with a sword. Hopefully, the entrance will be narrow enough for the rest of use to wield bows if the enemy brings the battle here... She smiled grimly at this thought, clenching her fist around her bow. Or rather, when.

When Elarinn neared the encampment’s gate, she paused for a moment, carefully surveying the scene before her. As she had expected, it was merely a gap in the wooden palisade, with a second standing wall behind it to create two narrow passages to the outside. Five of her Sisters stood nearby, one at each end of the second wall, the other three behind it. All carried bows. Must be my ‘band,’ then... Approaching, Elarinn nodded as one of them noticed her and dropped to one knee, watching in mild disbelief and amusement as the others followed suit. Feels like I should be doing that. Instead, she murmured “Serve only Light,” and then, as they rose, motioned them to her.

“Your command, my lady?” asked one of the Sisters as she stepped forward. Collecting her thoughts, Elarinn opened her mouth to reply – and then froze as the cadences of the other’s voice settled into her ears. Aranoch...her accent’s from Aranoch. What the...?

With an effort, she managed to mask her surprise in an instant, thinking quickly back to the time she had first come under Iris’s command. “What are your names, sisters?” she asked, echoing her mentor’s first greeting from years ago.

“A-Aliza, my lady,” a voice to her right replied nervously, and Elarinn turned to face the young Sister who had brought her and Iris food. The elder warrior studied her for a long moment, watching as a few slight shivers marched across her shoulders, then nodded and looked left, pausing expectantly.

“Delwyn, my lady,” called out the woman standing next to Aliza in a soft but strong voice, her free hand closing into a fist over her collarbone as she spoke. She must be from somewhere near Westmarch...that’s from their army. Curious, Elarinn made a mental note of this action before moving on.

“Canace, my lady,” continued the Sister to her extreme left. At a moment’s glance, Elarinn could tell that she was no veteran, despite the lines just beginning to appear on her face; her awkward, two-handed grip on her weapon and her oft-blinking eyes suggested a well-learned woman rather than a warrior.

“Sabel, my lady.” Taller than her captain by half a head, the next of Elarinn’s soldiers held her longbow in tense, powerful hands as she gave her name, staring down almost angrily. Looking up coolly, the auburn-haired veteran lingered on her eyes for a moment. Wonder what’s wrong with her...

Finally, she turned back to face the native of Aranoch, a wiry, copper-skinned archer who returned Elarinn’s gaze with a small smile. “I am Lamia, my lady,” she answered, inclining her head in a smooth half-bow.

Her captain waited for her to raise her head, and then finished, “And I am Elarinn. Well met, all of you.” As her soldiers murmured words of assent, Elarinn stepped up to examine her post. Noting a number of arrow slits in the wood of the free-standing wall and a cluster of logs driven into the ground right of the entrance, she furrowed her brow, then nodded to herself as a plan began to come together in her mind. Three behind, and three to the left...I’d better go left, since I don’t need to be behind cover as much as they probably do; now, who to put where... “Have any of you seen battle other than at the Monastery?” Elarinn asked after a moment. One, maybe, or two at best...

To her surprise, three hands rose towards the sparkling stars: Lamia’s, Delwyn’s and Canace’s. Frowning slightly, Elarinn paused, eyes moving from one to another. Canace...that seems odd. “Who was your commander then, Canace?” she probed.

“I was with Sarina‘s band for one mission before becoming a priestess, my lady,” the other answered, pushing back a lock of light brown hair. “That was a while ago.”

A priestess. “You possess some of Her gifts, then?” Elarinn continued, leaning forward slightly with interest.

“Yes, my lady. I can see with Her eyes and use them to reveal enemies or traps.”

So can I, and I’m no priestess. Still, that’s something... The veteran warrior mulled over this a short while before finally nodding to herself. All right, she goes behind; she’ll probably need the wall’s cover if Sarina sent her back after one fight. Hopefully, the other two finished archery training before the monastery fell...“Lamia, Delwyn...have you fought as archers before?” she asked.

“We were both part of a group that drove some desert raiders out of the Rogue Pass about a month ago, my lady,” Lamia replied, “and we did wield bows then.”

Satisfied, Elarinn let the breath she had been holding out in a slow hiss. They must be full initiates, then; before all hell broke loose, I doubt they would’ve sent novices into battle. Right...so three of us can shoot; let’s see what else I’ve got. “Are any of you practiced with a blade or a staff?” she continued, looking over her soldiers carefully as she spoke. As she feared, none of the women before her offered a response. Great. I’ve some practice with a dagger and unarmed thanks to Iris, but that’s not going to be enough... Something at the edge of her vision caught her eye, and Elarinn turned around to face a handful of armored women, each wielding either a bow or a massive spear. The warriors from the Sea of Light.

One of the newcomers, a muscled woman in a heavy breastplate, nodded towards the auburn-haired Sister as their eyes met. “Your Kashya told us to report our departure to you, Rogue,” she said, “so here we are.”

“How many are you?” Elarinn replied, her body and mind slipping back into her memories of guard duty at the Monastery. She began to glance at each of the outlanders’ faces, noting expressions and scars, looking for the first out of habit, and for the second should they return as corpses. Not very friendly, she thought to herself as the first warrior greeted her gaze with a defiant scowl. There’re some veterans in here, though a few green warriors, too... Suddenly, she halted as her sight came to rest on a tall soldier armed with a massive spear, her attention drawn to her light blue eyes. Unlike those of her comrades, they did not narrow almost angrily in response, but instead stared back with a sort of curious wonder at the young captain, as if equally surprised by what they saw. Odd...

An irritated cough made Elarinn turn back towards the armored figure before her. “There are eleven of us, Rogue,” the woman answered, her voice quick with impatience. “Have you seen what you need to see?”

Angered, Elarinn opened her mouth to fire back a retort before checking herself just as quickly. Just do your job, soldier. “You’re free to leave,” she managed through a mouthful of unsaid curses, and motioned for her Sisters to stand aside. At this, the leader of the outlanders signaled to her women and they passed through the gate at a quick march.

The auburn-haired veteran spared them a last brief glance before turning back to her band, running through her plan in her head one last time. “Delwyn, Sabel, you’re with me; you three take up positions behind the standing wall...” Elarinn’s voice trailed off as the heavy thump of boots on the earth nearby reached her ears, and she pivoted once again towards the encampment’s heart. At once, she made out the unmistakable forms of the Northerners silhouetted by the light from the fire, and frowned slightly in confusion. Them too? Why all this in the middle of the night?

As they neared, the children of Bul-Kathos halted as one. From among them, a fur-clad warrior, just taller than Elarinn but powerfully built, stepped forward, ending three paces from the young captain. “Good evenin’, Sister,” he greeted Elarinn, “there be nine of us, as usual.”

Elarinn couldn’t help smiling slightly in pleasant surprise at this gesture. Well, they may be barbarians in name, but they’re respectful, at least. “Thank you, sir,” she replied, mirroring his courteous tone after a few seconds spent gazing over his comrades’ faces. As he began to walk again, she hesitated as her curiosity protested, then held up a hand to stop him. “One question, warrior,” she asked, “why is everyone heading out after nightfall?”

The man smiled grimly, twisting his color-streaked face into a hungry mask. “‘Cause that’s what they be doing, Sister,” he answered, jerking his head towards the outside. “More of them out means fewer left to defend their own camps.”

And fewer camps mean that they would have to retreat to the Monastery, or at least back off for a while. Elarinn nodded in response, then motioned them through the gate. “I see. Thank you, warrior, and good hunting.”

The dark humor faded from the Northerner’s smile at this, and he replied, “Aye, thanks, Sister.” Then, waving his comrades forward, he jogged out onto the marshy ground. Elarinn watched them go, squinting against the cloak of the night as their figures faded into the darkness.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Hey, Rev. This read easily and I enjoyed it. It seemed a bit short, as you mentioned, but it's in keeping with your emphasis on character development rather than a busy plot. It's nice to see that Elarinn seems to have taken to leadership quite naturally, and you've introduced a boatload of new characters. I wonder what you will do with them all?


After what felt like an endless moment of running, Not sure I get this. My first impression was that Elarinn had been sent to a post far from where she had been staying, hence the long run, but that doesn't seem to jibe with what I remember of the plot. Then I thought, maybe it's just that her heart was beating fast out of nervousness? Not really sure.


“Your command, my lady?” asked one of the Sisters as she stepped forward. Collecting her thoughts, Elarinn opened her mouth to reply – and then froze as the cadences of the other’s voice settled into her ears. Aranoch...her accent’s from Aranoch. What the...? Not sure what the significance of Aranoch is, but I am guessing you will fill that in later.


“A-Aliza, my lady,” a voice to her right replied nervously, and Elarinn turned to face the young Sister who had brought her and Iris food. The elder warrior studied her for a long moment, watching as a few slight shivers marched across her shoulders, then nodded and looked left, pausing expectantly.

“Delwyn, my lady,” called out the woman standing next to Aliza in a soft but strong voice, her free hand closing into a fist over her collarbone as she spoke. She must be from somewhere near Westmarch...that’s from their army. Curious, Elarinn made a mental note of this action before moving on.

“Canace, my lady,” continued the Sister to her extreme left. At a moment’s glance, Elarinn could tell that she was no veteran, despite the lines just beginning to appear on her face; her awkward, two-handed grip on her weapon and her oft-blinking eyes suggested a well-learned woman rather than a warrior.

“Sabel, my lady.” Taller than her captain by half a head, the next of Elarinn’s soldiers held her longbow in tense, powerful hands as she gave her name, staring down almost angrily. Looking up coolly, the auburn-haired veteran lingered on her eyes for a moment. Wonder what’s wrong with her...The format of this is so deliberately parallel I have to assume to meant to do it this way, but it seems like a page out of an RPG manual. Not a big problem, it just struck me that way.


One of the newcomers, a muscled woman in a heavy breastplate, nodded towards the auburn-haired Sister as their eyes met. “Your Kashya told us to report our departure to you, Rogue,” she said, “so here we are.” Nice bit of dialogue there. We know immediately that this woman has no interest in being friendly, without needing to be told my the narrator.


The dark humor faded from the Northerner’s smile at this, and he replied, “Aye, thanks, Sister.” Then, waving his comrades forward, he jogged out onto the marshy ground. Elarinn watched them go, squinting against the cloak of the night as their figures faded into the darkness. Nice ending image.

I had a bit of very mild confusion over the reason the barbarian gave for going out at night, finally concluding that it was to destroy the demon camps while the demons were, likewise, out in the night. Although I had to think about it, I ended up liking the way you explained it. Not too obvious, requiring a bit of thought - what's wrong with that, eh?

There were a number of subtleties here: the way Elarinn handled herself, the variations in the personalities of the archers, the attitude of the Amazons. A quiet chapter, but one that puts a lot on the table. Good job. :thumbsup:

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi there, 0xDEADCAFE. Thanks much for the comments and kind words; they're very much appreciated. It's especially good to see that my rather long breaks from stories aren't throwing everyone off track...just most of them, I suspect.

Hey, Rev. This read easily and I enjoyed it.

Yay! :D

I wonder what you will do with them all?

Got me. Heck, I don't even know for sure yet.

Not sure I get this. My first impression was that Elarinn had been sent to a post far from where she had been staying, hence the long run, but that doesn't seem to jibe with what I remember of the plot. Then I thought, maybe it's just that her heart was beating fast out of nervousness? Not really sure.

Well, I was thinking that it'd just seem like a while to Elarinn in a "time slows down when bad stuff happens" sort of way, since she's moving from a slightly unnerving meeting with Iris to a command she doesn't really want and is nervous about. I'll try to make that a little clearer.

Not sure what the significance of Aranoch is, but I am guessing you will fill that in later.

And you would be correct about that.

The format of this is so deliberately parallel I have to assume to meant to do it this way, but it seems like a page out of an RPG manual. Not a big problem, it just struck me that way.

Hrm...I was going for a semi-military sense of discipline and structure. I guess an RPG manual works...

A quiet chapter, but one that puts a lot on the table.

Heh, and that's only half of it so far.

Thanks for reading and commenting!

[Mommazz]

Excellent!
I look forward to your updates!
Every chance I can steal away to my computer, I click on your story.
This fills my minds eye with the images of the Rogue encampment, and the fields beyond, loving the descriptions!

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi Mommazz. Thanks for the kind words, and for dropping by. :D

Anyway, here's the rest of the chapter; it's a bit far from my usual subject matter, so I hope it works. Any feedback would be especially appreciated on this, particularly if there're things that didn't seem to work well. Thanks for reading!
----------

Hunters of the Night, II

By the time the sky had faded from black to a curtain of indigo, the weight of passing hours had begun to wear on Elarinn’s focus. So, when the voice of one of her Sisters – Canace, she quickly reminded herself – reached her ears, it took her a second to reply. “Say that again, Canace,” she finally answered, turning away from the encampment gate.

“There’s something out there, my lady,” the other repeated, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I can’t be sure what it is, even with our Lady’s gift, but it’s over to the right there, by that copse.”

Elarinn raised an eyebrow at her subordinate’s response, glancing quickly at the dark shape in the distance. That’s a fair distance away; she’s got pretty good control of the Sightless Eye’s blessings. Still, better have a look... Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and held it, gathering her mental strength, and then let it and her mind flow outwards.

Weaving through the cool air, Elarinn’s senses rode a tendril of thought over the soggy ground of the marsh. For a moment, she could feel the night’s breeze whisper past her, and heard the rush of the world passing her, sensations that made her feel almost as if she were flying. She had no time to enjoy this, though, for the thicket came hurtling towards her, focusing her attention forward. Reaching out into the trees, Elarinn felt the coldness of earth and stone, gnarled branches, withered leaves...and sprinkled upon them, a sticky, liquid warmth. Then, as her senses wrapped around a fading aura of life colored by pain, she started, breaking her concentration. That’s...

“What is it, my Lady?” Canace’s voice, cautious and fearful, rang out softly as she eyed her commander’s surprised expression.

Hesitating, Elarinn looked from the outside to the other’s face and back again before setting her jaw grimly. I’d rather not move out of the camp, but... “Delwyn, follow me. Everyone else, ready arrows and keep a sharp eye open for enemies,” she ordered. “We’ll be back shortly.” Then, Elarinn stepped outside onto the soft earth, and, as movement among the darkness caught her eye, she sprinted towards the thicket, Delwyn close on her heels.

Even though she knew what she would find, Elarinn couldn’t make out her form against the darkness until she was almost within the shadow of the trees. Once there, though, there was no mistaking the sight before her: one of her fellow Sisters collapsed upon the ground, an arrow protruding from her back. From behind, she heard a quiet hiss of surprise as Delwyn neared, and then the unmistakable sound of her comrade pulling free an arrow. “That’s Melora, my lady. She was guarding one of the sentry posts.”

The outposts...dammit. Grimacing, Elarinn dropped down to one knee, feeling under the woman’s chin, and then, as she felt a weak but steady pulsing against her fingers, she turned, motioning to Delwyn with a jerk of her head as she stuffed her bow into the sling on her back. “Come on, she’s still alive; let’s get her to the camp.” Sliding her arms underneath the wounded woman’s shoulders while the other supported her legs, Elarinn eased her off the ground, and began the run back to the gates.

After tense minutes of awkward half-running, the two Sisters managed to carry their comrade into the encampment without mishap as Elarinn’s other soldiers crowded around. Preoccupied as she was with removing the arrow, the auburn-haired captain did not notice their presence for a few moments, but once she looked up and saw them, her eyes narrowed in irritation. “Keep guarding the gate,” she rapped out shortly, and then paused as her gaze swept over Aliza’s face; the younger Sister’s features were twisted into a mask of horrified shock except for her eyes, which sat quivering in their sockets.

Oh, blast. “Aliza!” Elarinn barked, glaring, and nodded significantly after the soldiers returning to their posts. When the other didn’t respond, she turned back to her work and, snarling under her breath, cut away a few bits of flesh around Melora’s wound with her dagger, then yanked the arrow free. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aliza flinch as the iron tip emerged with a wet splop, and watched as the momentary cringe grew into a convulsive shudder.

At this, Elarinn grimaced, her breath rasping out of her throat in irritation. Great...she probably won’t be able to fight if whatever did this to the outposts comes here. Better get her out of the way... “Aliza,” she repeated, her voice still commanding, but this time quieter, calmer, “get her to Akara. She needs a healer, now. After that, alert Kashya and tell her the outposts have been attacked.”

“S-She is probably sleeping, my lady,” Aliza finally stammered in reply.

“Then wake her. Go!” With that, Elarinn rose and ran towards the encampment’s gate, freeing her bow from its sling on the move.

Lamia greeted the young veteran with a grim nod as she drew close, and pointed towards the marsh outside. “Canace says that there is something else out there, my lady, just at the edges of her sight.”

“What are they and how many of them?” Elarinn asked, and when the native of Aranoch shook her head, she turned to Canace, an expectant look upon her face.

“I can’t tell, my lady; they’re on the far side of the copse. They don’t seem to be hiding themselves, whatever they are.”

That’s something, anyway; I’d try to see for myself, but after that last incantation... Biting her lip, Elarinn nodded, readying an arrow. “All right. Delwyn, take Aliza’s place; Sabel-”

Suddenly, Canace’s voice broke into Elarinn’s ears, tinted by an almost frantic urgency. “Wait, my lady... perhaps a score of them, and-” A gasp cut her words short, and the auburn-haired captain whirled to see her fall to her knees, face pinched into a mass of pained lines.

Not another one... Elarinn frowned, fighting back the urge to slam a fist into the palisade in frustration, then paused as Canace looked up slowly, her visage easing back into a look of grim determination. “They’re undead, my lady, fast-moving ones,” she finally said as she stood, bow in hand. “And they’re coming this way.”

As the last of Canace’s words rang out into the cool night air, the veteran warrior felt the anxious tension that had gripped her mind burn away like mist before the morning light, the void it left quickly filled by the warmth of a warrior’s heart. Sounds like skeletons...we should be able to take twenty of them easily. “Then we shall repulse them,” she cried, stepping around the inner wall to her position. “Sisters, prepare for battle!”

Patience had never been one of Elarinn’s stronger qualities; in the brief silence that followed, she chafed as the night’s breeze scattered her defiant shouts, itching to meet the enemy even though she knew they might well bring her pain and death. And so, it came as a relief to her when Canace finally pulled an arrow from her quiver, the lines on her brow easing away. “They’re here, my lady.”

Elarinn spent a last moment quickly checking her soldiers’ weapons and faces, nodding in wordless approval at their readied bows and fearful yet resolute expressions. Then, as a flicker of movement caught her eye, the young captain pivoted toward the copse, raising her weapon. “Shoot on my signal once they clear the trees,” she ordered evenly, and smiled grimly to herself as a hurried chorus of assent rose and then faded in her ears.

Ahead of her, the branches of the thicket parted, and from them burst a handful of bleached human skeletons, their bones almost glowing against the shadows. Jaws hanging open menacingly, they held a vicious assortment of weapons aloft as they charged in eerie silence. Elarinn watched them come, holding back her tense muscles screaming for joyous, violent release. Almost...just a little closer... “Release arrows, and attack at will!”

[RevenantsKnight]

(continued)

Five wooden spirits of death leapt across the moor at Elarinn’s words, and she saw the advancing line of ivory falter at its heart, as if stunned that they would offer resistance. Like that, do you? Her features bending into a vicious mask, she let her memories of Tristram take over, and pulled free the next arrow with a remembered speed. One action flowed from another with all the grace of poured quicksilver, and the missile moved back with the string, pausing for the slightest instant before hurtling forward into the trees and taking a chunk of a skull with it into the darkness. Knock-draw-release, and a second corpse dropped to the earth with a crunch, its spine broken in two.

Still, the damned advanced hungrily through the murderous hail, as if spurred on by the horrors wrought around them. As the undead neared, Elarinn saw the stream of arrows falter, and loosed one last missile, grimacing in anticipation. Here it comes...

A wave of black odium assailed Elarinn’s senses, the emotion so powerful, so evil, that it left her physically drained and horrified that such venomous hate could even exist. Stunned, her body swayed and drooped, even as her mind screamed for her to move, battling this invader with all its might. No, dammit, you’ve beaten this before; come on, soldier, focus Her power, see past it... Summoning the last of her strength, she gritted her teeth and shook her head violently, her free hand closing into a fist against her armor...and suddenly, the spell around her broke.

Once more her own mistress, Elarinn caught her balance hastily as her body began to fill with warmth once more, and then glanced over at her soldiers behind the wall. Only Lamia continued to batter away at the advancing line; Delwyn lay shivering on the ground, and the other two had dropped their weapons. Blast...I could really use Iris’s words here. Gathering a spare breath, Elarinn shouted, “Stand, sisters! They shall not enter these gates!” When none of them moved, she called out, “Lamia! Get them up; I’ll hold these undead back!”

The native of Aranoch gave the briefest of nods in reply, and Elarinn turned back to her own task with a vengeance. Arrow after arrow flew from her bow into the nearing skeletons, littering the moor behind them with shattered bones, but the soldiers of Hell continued onward, the first of them close enough that Elarinn could see the wispy hairs on the top of its skull. Getting a bit close...I might have to stand and fight.

Freeing her dagger from its sheath, the auburn-haired Sister whirled towards the nearest enemy and then paused, the skeleton falling as an arrow – Sabel’s – scored a direct hit on its breastbone. And then one more, and another; all around, Elarinn could see the mortal remains of long-dead warriors crumple and fall against a renewed onslaught, showering the muddy ground with shards of bone. Seconds later, the last of Mephisto’s servants collapsed under a final volley, and Elarinn finally lowered her weapons, looking around warily at her soldiers, shaken but ready once more. Well, that wasn’t so bad-

Canace’s shocked cry of warning came an instant before a black-shafted arrow whistled past Elarinn’s head. Or maybe not. Ducking to avoid a second shot from the direction of the copse, the young captain dropped her knife as she yanked free a missile of her own. “Take cover!” she rapped out, loosing a quick reply into the darkness before flattening herself against the palisade. “Canace, how many?”

“I-I can’t tell, maybe the same as before,” Canace answered after a moment, wincing as more iron points thudded into the wood around the arrow slits. Dropping to a crouch, she closed her eyes, grimacing and raising her hands over her ears. Damn, maybe using Her gifts is harder on her than I thought...

“I would guess no more than ten archers, my lady,” Lamia called out evenly, leaning around the wall for a moment. “If there are more, they aren’t shooting very quickly.”

Ten archers...so what are the rest? “Is that all you could see?” Elarinn shouted back. When Lamia peeked out again, then ducked back as two arrows sank into the wood before her and nodded, Elarinn swore to herself. Well then, here goes... Once again, she began to draw upon the powers of her Lady, opening her mind to the astral realm. This time, though, everything felt slow and sticky, as if she were pushing through a swamp on a midsummer’s day. Come on, soldier, just a little more...there!

The moment Elarinn’s senses reached out into the moor, a dark force seemed to push her back, and the world before her began to dim around the edges. Surprised at this assault, her mind let its focus slip, and the blackness closed in like a murderer’s hand around an unwary throat, squeezing tight the tenuous vein between her and the Sightless Eye. Oh, you bastards...

Her bodiless ears heard her voice scream an angry, primal hymn as she pushed back with all her will, and the flickering ebon fingers halted, then began to recede, slowly, unwillingly, revealing the marsh once more. Straining to press her advantage, Elarinn gave them another mental shove, and then threw her consciousness towards the trees. As she hurtled forward, a blurred collection of dark branches shot by on her right, so quickly that it took her a moment before their aura registered in her mind. Wait...those aren’t branches...

Whipping around, she fixed her sight on the fuzzy blackness, a wave of surprise washing over her as the image grew sharper. Skeletons...colored like the night? Dammit, what else is there? Whirling again, she scanned the trees, picking out the deathly white bones from the shadows. Six, seven...eight archers, and twelve of them charging. Time to get out of here...

Gasping, Elarinn fell like a stringless puppet as the power of the Sightless Eye left her, wincing as if a thousand pieces of lead had suddenly grown from her armor. “Sisters, they’re coming,” she forced out between heavy breaths, waving for them to ready their weapons. “Maybe twelve skeletons besides the archers, all of them with black bones. Keep your eyes open for them.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to stop them; those archers have us pinned down well,” Lamia called out as an arrow shot through one of the slits in the wall. “We’ll have to fall back.”

Well, how much longer do we need to hold? Crawling a bit further away from the entrance, Elarinn cast a quick look over the encampment’s interior, and shook her head grimly at the chaos she saw. All around, her sisters were rushing to ready themselves, running back and forth between the forge and their tents, but she could see only Kashya fully armed and armored. Great... Snarling angrily, Elarinn tried to lever herself up on one arm, and collapsed as it buckled under her weight. Come on, think... “Wait until they get close, and then stand and take as many shots as you can before they reach you,” she cried over her shoulder, shifting her body off of her quiver. “Their archers will have to let up once those fiends are right by the gate.”

At this, the copper-skinned Sister nodded slowly, and Elarinn let her head sink back into the sparse grass for a moment, winded. But only for a moment; as soon as she had breath in her body once more, the young captain pushed herself up on her elbows, looking around hastily. One more thing to try. Pressing a hand against the ground experimentally, she nodded as her fingers sank into wet earth after a moment of resistance. This should do, though a little more distance couldn’t hurt...

Suddenly, a long, echoing war cry rang out in the distance, faint but definitely human. Caught off guard, Elarinn started, then looked behind herself towards the gate. “What was that?” she shouted, half expecting no reply.

To her surprise, Canace’s voice rose into the night air with an answer. “I’m not sure, my lady, but the archers just stopped shooting. I think they’ve been attacked!”

“Then bring down those other skeletons! Hurry!” Elarinn ordered, jerking her head towards the outside. Canace nodded and then hesitated, taking a long look at her captain’s prone form. And what about you? her gaze seemed to say.

Seeing this, Elarinn shouted, “Carry out your orders, soldier!” and waved her back to the battle, then resumed crawling away from the gate. Hardly matters...I doubt she’ll do much either way. Finally, feeling her strength returning, she halted and rolled onto her side, craning her neck towards the battle.

She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but suddenly, her soldiers stopped shooting and ran from the wall, Lamia turning once to loose a parting shot at an ebon skull that seemed to appear from the shadows by the gate. As that creature fell, five other undead appeared in its wake, charging towards Kashya and a hastily assembling crowd of Sisters. From the near side, several more burst into view, each armed with an axe more than half its height. Seven of them...that’s not too bad. Letting her head fall back limply, she quickly worked her face into a replica of Delwyn’s features when the first wave had charged, exaggerating her breaths as much as she could. Playing terrified...never thought I’d need it. I’d better not get more than one, though...

A moment after she’d begun her act, one of the axe-wielding undead turned towards her, advancing menacingly. Holding her expression of fear, Elarinn managed to hide under it a grim smile as the monster closed, weapon held high above its head, and then let the massive blade fall.

Rolling to her right, Elarinn felt the impact of the fiend’s stroke as it slammed into where she had been a moment before, and grinned a bloodthirsty, victorious half-snarl as she saw the edge sink through the grass’s roots and into the mud beneath. Got you! As the ebon corpse yanked at the shaft against the earth’s embrace, she pushed splayed hands against the ground with all her strength and lashed out in a kick, her boot smashing into its rising weapon and sending it spinning away while using the momentum of her rebound to roll into an awkward crouch.

Undaunted, the creature lunged forward, bony hands outstretched. Slowed by fatigue, her defense came a second too late, and what should have been a neat dodge shuddered to an abrupt halt as jet fingers wrapped themselves around her neck. Its jaw hanging loose in a hideous grin, the fiend yanked Elarinn up to her full height, shaking her like a rag doll. Gagging, she grabbed at one of its arms, pulling with all her strength, but to no avail. I have to... Suddenly, as the world around her began to flicker in and out of nothingness, her eyes halted upon her dagger’s empty wrist sheath, and from an almost-forgotten corner of her mind, Iris’s voice echoed in her head. “You can cut the flesh, but you must...”

Crush the bone. With a mighty effort, Elarinn pulled back her fist and slammed it against the outside of the fiend’s elbow, still pushing its arm outwards with her other hand. Her enemy’s hand loosened at the impact, and she hammered it again, grinning viciously as one of its forearm bones splintered with a crunch.

For a moment, the skeleton’s inaction, coupled with its loose-hanging jaw, made it seem as if it had been utterly shocked by the power of the short, lithe woman’s counterattack. That disappeared in an instant, though, as its good arm jumped from her neck to encase her right wrist in a bony cage, and the other swiveled at a gruesome angle to grasp her fist, as if freed by its wound. Prying her arms wide, it leaned down towards her, a faint but evil hiss emanating from its gaping maw.

There were no words in Elarinn’s replying scream, only a piercing frustration that boiled up out of her breast, leaving behind pure and bloody rage. Faster than she could think, her head snapped forward, crashing into the onyx skull with her forehead. For a frozen instant, the two heads, one living, one dead, hung there in space, the only things unchanging amid a scene of chaos and battle. Then, as thin rivers of scarlet began to run down Elarinn’s face, a web of fine cracks spun itself upon her enemy’s grinning visage, and the cold fingers around her arms loosened. She gave the corpse a shove, and it crumpled as it fell, the skull shattering upon the ground.

After several labored breaths, Elarinn looked around slowly, painfully. Near the fire pit, Kashya warily toed another pile of fallen bones, and other Sisters, Elarinn’s soldiers among them, rushed towards the gate, weapons at the ready. To her relief, she saw none of her comrades lying upon the ground; several nursed obvious wounds, but all looked to be future scars. They got them. I greet you with victory, my Lady. Raising a fist into the air, the auburn-haired captain stared up into the lightening sky, eyes shining with a wordless hymn of thanks.

As she finally looked back down, wiping blood from her face, the world suddenly bucked under her feet like a ship upon angry waves, throwing her to her knees. What...? Fighting back a rush of nausea, Elarinn leaned forward onto trembling hands, her breath hissing through clenched teeth. Fight it...I’ve got to stand... She pushed off the ground weakly, trying to rise, then felt herself falling again.

And then, blackness.

[0xDEADCAFE]

For a moment, she could feel the night’s breeze whisper past her, and heard the rush of the world passing her, It that a tense shift between "could feel" and "heard?"


Sliding her arms underneath the wounded woman’s shoulders while the other supported her legs, Elarinn eased her off the ground, and began the run back to the gates.

After tense minutes of awkward half-running, "Run" seemed wrong as soon as I read it. Given the clear picture of how they had lifted the body, it was a bit of a distraction to try to picture how they were running. "Half-run" in the start of the next paragraph corrects the image, but why do it that way: misdirection followed by a correction? You could call it a "half-run" in the first place, and then refer to it in the next sentence generically, "awkward movement," for example.

I'll also say that my first impression of the line beginning "Sliding her arms underneath..." was that it was unnecessary detail. You could say, for example, "They lifted the body and began a half-run back to the gates." The way you wrote it is more in keeping with the overall style of the story, and it does give a very clear image of their lifting, but it leaves you with some "baggage" to which you need to stay faithful in subsequent lines. I guess it comes down to a consideration of whether the details are important enough to the story to compensate for the extra descriptional gymnastics.


“Keep guarding the gate,” she rapped out shortlyI have trouble with the idea of speech being "rapped" out. It seems to suggest her lips or teeth banging together or something. Also, shortly, seems not quite right. "Short raps," as in knuckles on a fence makes sense to me, but here "shortly" seems to suggest that she did it soon after she noticed everyone standing around. Is that what you meant?


Oh, blast. “Aliza!” Elarinn barked, glaring, and nodded significantly after the soldiers returning to their posts. When the other didn’t respond,...I had trouble with this part. I think I got it after a few reads, but "nodded significantly after the soldiers" is inexplicable to me. Also: "the other," is that Aliza?


she turned back to her work and, snarling under her breath, cut away a few bits of flesh around Melora’s wound with her dagger, then yanked the arrow free. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aliza flinch as the iron tip emerged with a wet splop, and watched as the momentary cringe grew into a convulsive shudder.But the rest of the paragraph was great. Really got a good image not only of Elarinn's surgery but also of Aliza watching in growing horror.


“Then wake her. Go!” With that, Elarinn rose and ran towards the encampment’s gate, freeing her bow from its sling on the move.More momentary confusion: weren't they already at the gate? After going back and rereading I realized that they might have carried Melora further into the encamplment than I had realized, but the way its written, a mere "into the encampment," I think it would be hard to get that idea on first read. It could just as easily been a foot inside the gate, especially since you had previously written "back to the gates."


Not another one... Elarinn frowned, fighting back the urge to slam a fist into the palisade in frustrationI'd have thought the urge would be instead to slap her fading comrades roughly in the face.


Ahead of her, the branches of the thicket parted, and from them burst a handful of bleached human skeletons, their bones almost glowing against the shadows. Jaws hanging open menacingly, they held a vicious assortment of weapons aloft as they charged in eerie silence. Nice image.


Five wooden spirits of death leapt across the moor at Elarinn’s words, I don't like "spirits" here. Perhaps it's ironic since their target is a group of beings that could be compared to spirits, but for the same reason it seems ambiguous. "Shafts" would work nicely, I think.


and she saw the advancing line of ivory falter at its heartMore irony? The heart of a group of heartless beings?


and a second corpse dropped to the earth with a crunch,Granted, in Diablo II a necromancer can summon on a fallen skeleton, but nevertheless it still seems wrong to refer to a pile of bones as a corpse.


A wave of black odium assailed Elarinn’s senses, the emotion so powerful, so evil, that it left her physically drained and horrified that such venomous hate could even exist. Stunned, her body swayed and drooped, even as her mind screamed for her to move, battling this invader with all its might. No, dammit, you’ve beaten this before; come on, soldier, focus Her power, see past it... Summoning the last of her strength, she gritted her teeth and shook her head violently, her free hand closing into a fist against her armor...and suddenly, the spell around her broke.

Once more her own mistress, Elarinn caught her balance hastily as her body began to fill with warmth once more,Everything here is nice, but at "warmth" I began to miss a description of her having felt cold. It's easily inferred from the previous paragraph, but a brief mention of coldness there would help the completeness of the image later.


Only Lamia continued to batter away a You could find an adjective better than batter. They're still using bows, no? Seems to suggest a melee attack of some sort.


The native of Aranoch gave the briefest of nods in reply, This phrase is starting to feel old. Maybe it would help if I understood why it seemed to important to the narrator that this rogue was from Aranoch.


Seconds later, the last of Mephisto’s servants Where did that come from? I wasn't aware that skeletons had any particular fealty to the Lord of Hatred. (Although it's a nice tie-in to the odium of hatred that Elarinn and the others had previously felt.)


Canace’s shocked cry of warning came an instant before a black-shafted arrow whistled past Elarinn’s head. From this point on I was too involved in the story to stop and make any comments - a real mousewheel turner; I could see the action in my head like watching a movie. I can still see Elarinn almost dangling in the air, spread-eagled by the stronger and larger skeleton, arching her body and thrusting her head forward in a skull-shattering head butt. Elarinn's struggle with the skeleton was gripping, if you'll excuse the pun, and the way you explored their ability of far sight was really interesting, as well as adding a whole new dimension to Elarinn's struggle against the darkness.

I loved this: "jet fingers."

I am still confused about one point. When Canace said “I’m not sure, my lady, but the archers just stopped shooting. I think they’ve been attacked!” - who as attacking them? At first I thought it might have been the returning barbarians, but then assumed it must have been Kashya's band, somehow having snuck out the gate with no one noticing. But that doesn't seem to make sense either. I still don't know.

And one last comment on details: where you used the phrase "ran from the wall," it wasn't clear to me in which direction they were running? Charging the enemy or retreating. I assume now it was a retreat, but it threw me at first.

So, in answer to your remarks about trying something new, let me just say this: when did you get so good at writing action? I thought this was excellent. That also applies to the first half, which I enjoyed just as much as the action-packed conclusion that finally overrode and shorted out my stuck-on-maximum picayune slider. Great read from start to finish. Bravo, Rev! :clap:

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, 0xDEADCAFE. Thanks for reading and for your amazingly quick feedback. As always, your angle on this story helps a lot with the plot and overall smoothness as well as grammar slipups, and I’m grateful for that.

It that a tense shift between "could feel" and "heard?"

Yup, I think so. Good catch.

"Run" seemed wrong as soon as I read it. Given the clear picture of how they had lifted the body, it was a bit of a distraction to try to picture how they were running. "Half-run" in the start of the next paragraph corrects the image, but why do it that way: misdirection followed by a correction?

Oops. I’d meant “run” in the “trip” or “short journey” sense, and apparently didn’t read this part over for clarity anyway. This’ll get changed, and thanks for pointing that out.

The way you wrote it is more in keeping with the overall style of the story, and it does give a very clear image of their lifting, but it leaves you with some "baggage" to which you need to stay faithful in subsequent lines. I guess it comes down to a consideration of whether the details are important enough to the story to compensate for the extra descriptional gymnastics.

I think I might keep this in, since I don’t really touch on those details again, and while it’s a bit trivial, it’s more my sort of writing. Still, that’s a good point, and I’ll consider it.

I have trouble with the idea of speech being "rapped" out. It seems to suggest her lips or teeth banging together or something. Also, shortly, seems not quite right. "Short raps," as in knuckles on a fence makes sense to me, but here "shortly" seems to suggest that she did it soon after she noticed everyone standing around. Is that what you meant?

Well, I’d envisioned “rapped” as more a description of how she said what she did, with a sort of hard, angry quality, though I can see what you’re saying. As for “shortly,” I was using it in to mean “tersely.” Both of those’ll get changed...

I think I got it after a few reads, but "nodded significantly after the soldiers" is inexplicable to me. Also: "the other," is that Aliza?

Hrm...that was supposed to be a sort of emphasis on her orders, a “look at what they’re doing, because you should be doing that too,” in a sense. I’ll try to work up a different action here. And yes, “the other” is Aliza; I’d prefer not to use her name here, since Elarinn uses it and it comes up in the next sentence too, but I might have to for clarity.

After going back and rereading I realized that they might have carried Melora further into the encamplment than I had realized, but the way its written, a mere "into the encampment," I think it would be hard to get that idea on first read.

Agreed and addressed. “After tense minutes of awkward half-running, the two Sisters managed to carry their comrade into the encampment without mishap, laying her down by the fire pit...”

I'd have thought the urge would be instead to slap her fading comrades roughly in the face.

Well, that’s one approach...though I certainly wouldn't slap anyone who's got a bow and battle experience using it. :p

I don't like "spirits" here. Perhaps it's ironic since their target is a group of beings that could be compared to spirits, but for the same reason it seems ambiguous. "Shafts" would work nicely, I think.

Good call, and I didn’t mean it to be ironic. “Shafts” it is.

More irony? The heart of a group of heartless beings?

Dang, you’re making me seem all clever. Honestly, this was just because “heart” felt more visceral than “center.”

This phrase is starting to feel old. Maybe it would help if I understood why it seemed to important to the narrator that this rogue was from Aranoch.

Frankly, I’m not particularly liking how long it is before I actually get to this, but there wasn’t a good place to fit it in pre-battle. With luck, it’s in the next, unwritten chapter.

Where did that come from? I wasn't aware that skeletons had any particular fealty to the Lord of Hatred. (Although it's a nice tie-in to the odium of hatred that Elarinn and the others had previously felt.)

This was from the Diablo I manual, where they list a bunch of monsters under each of the Three. I rather liked how they set up Mephisto, Baal and Diablo with somewhat different portfolios of minions, and so decided to use it here.

From this point on I was too involved in the story to stop and make any comments - a real mousewheel turner; I could see the action in my head like watching a movie.

Yay! Glad you had fun reading it!

I am still confused about one point. When Canace said “I’m not sure, my lady, but the archers just stopped shooting. I think they’ve been attacked!” - who as attacking them? At first I thought it might have been the returning barbarians, but then assumed it must have been Kashya's band, somehow having snuck out the gate with no one noticing. But that doesn't seem to make sense either. I still don't know.

Erm...well, that’s probably something I need to iron out (or not, as the case may be.) I deliberately left some things unclear, since Elarinn probably wouldn’t know everything that was happening and I was trying to work this strictly from her perspective. There’s more on this following...

So, in answer to your remarks about trying something new, let me just say this: when did you get so good at writing action?

Got me...the last time I planned out a serious fight, I zoomed out and did a Starcraft-like view of the battle so I could get in a lot of details on the overall combat and those involved; in the end, that idea died fast because I thought it got too repetitive. The big change here was keeping to a single person’s view (and knowledge, which explains the above point,) more like the rest of the narrative. I was worried primarily about it not being clear enough for that reason; guess it works, though.

Thanks again for reading and commenting!

[RevenantsKnight]

Chapter 8: Strength

To Elarinn, it seemed to last only an instant; the surging darkness washed over her world and then retreated like ebon waters on a shadowy beach, leaving only blurred, dark outlines. A wave of dull, throbbing pain followed that through her head, and she winced, then blinked in surprise as other sensations welled up in its wake. Through her thin shirt, she felt a soft firmness beneath her, and ran a hand slowly over a threadbare sheet. A bed...and my armor’s gone. Squinting, she stared upwards, and nodded mentally as the gray haze above her bent itself into canvas stretched over a wooden frame. Must be Akara’s tent or something, then, she thought as a sharp, medicinal odor stung her nose. I must’ve been out for only a little bit, since it’s still dark. Could be worse...

“Good to see you’re up,” remarked a familiar voice to her left, and Elarinn turned onto her side, grimacing as the movement sent another pulse of pain across her forehead. Seated in a chair at her bedside, Iris greeted her gaze with a small smile that the younger Sister could barely see in the darkness. “Careful there; you took a pretty good crack on the head from that skell.”

“I-I know,” Elarinn replied, blinking slowly as her memory finished catching up with her. “It’s my fault, anyway.” When her mentor leaned forward, confusion replacing the happiness on her face, she added, “I guess my head’s harder than its was.”

Iris arched an eyebrow in amusement at this, and then leaned back again, relieved. “I don’t recall teaching you to do that,” she remarked with a chuckle.

The steady drumbeats of pain in her head had begun to wear on Elarinn again, and she eased herself back down onto the bed before replying. “Well, you always did say to use anything and everything in a brawl,” she finally returned, matching the other’s playful tone, “and besides, it worked.”

“That it did,” Iris agreed, inclining her head in a nod before letting the ends of her small smile drop. “Still, it got you banged up out there. Sounds like you were running out of options, but I wouldn’t make it a habit.”

No kidding. Letting her head sink deeper into the pillow, Elarinn smiled ruefully. “Believe me, I’m thinking the same thing.” As Iris smiled again in reply, she rubbed her aching forehead, then paused, frowning. Wait...something’s missing... A second later, she looked up, bringing her hand into view, and murmured in mild surprise, “Akara got to me already?”

“Finished and left right before you woke up,” Iris answered, glancing towards the tent flap. “She’s more or less done with healing, I think.”

That was fast. “None of our Sisters fell, then?” Elarinn asked after a short pause, peering around her as best she could without moving her neck.

The older warrior’s voice took on a hint of grim satisfaction as she replied, “None fell, and none of them escaped.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “Some others took wounds from those skells, but nothing Akara couldn’t fix. Most of them are back out there, heading for the outposts to see if any others got hit.”

The auburn-haired Sister felt a shiver crawl down her back as the other finished, surprised by the macabre edge in her voice as she spat the word them. That’s not like her... Then, as more of Iris’s words reached her ears, Elarinn tilted her head back towards her mentor, frowning slightly. “All of them? My Sisters made it through, then?”

Nodding, Iris leaned forward so Elarinn could better see her face. “They’re fine, Elarinn; you were the worst off of your band by far. Lamia caught a small hit from some skell’s mace, and Aliza looked pretty shaken, but they came out a lot better than they could have.”

Lamia. Right. Wincing, Elarinn rolled onto her side, catching the older woman’s eyes with her own. “Iris, about Lamia...she’s from Aranoch, isn’t she?”

“From one of the tribes living on the desert’s edge, I think, and she joined the Order just after we got back.” Iris answered, and shrugged. “You probably never heard about it, but even before Tristram there were some older Sisters saying that we needed to strengthen our presence on the far side of the mountains,” she added after a moment.

“So we did that by letting some of them into our ranks?” Elarinn said, disbelief seeping into her voice. “Even after all the raids of the past few winters?”

Taken aback by her friend’s reaction, Iris hesitated for the briefest instant before shaking her head in reply. “The desert tribes aren’t exactly unified, Elarinn...only a few of them were attacking the farms and villages on this side of the Tamoe. The others are just like any other-” She halted suddenly, her eyes widening, and then finished slowly, “I’m sorry, Elarinn...was your parents’ farm attacked?”

Caught off guard, Elarinn took several seconds to find her voice again. “No, it wasn’t; it’s just...” She frowned, rolling onto her back with a sigh. “I just didn’t think we had been planning to take in some of them, considering...”

Iris blinked in confusion for a moment, then leaned back as understanding smoothed out the furrows in her brow. “Oh, right...well, what you learned about the desert tribes from the Order was what I was told to teach, not what we know about them now.” Smiling ruefully, she continued, “They tend to be a bit less...restrained than we’re used to, but they aren’t demon-worshippers or whatever else I said. I guess that’s my fault, really.”

Not like I believed you when you said that, anyway. Still... Elarinn nodded slightly at her mentor’s sheepish response, hiding her unease. “Guess it’ll just take some getting used to,” she remarked, mostly to herself.

“Probably,” Iris answered dryly. “The Order used to think of Westmarchers like me as humorless fanatics, after all.”

Elarinn chuckled, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “Because that’s what you are, of course,” she returned, smiling through the pain.

Iris returned the expression, leaning back in her chair for a moment as her eyes wandered through the shadows cast upon the tent’s roof. “That’s what it was, anyway,” she murmured quietly, as if lost in thought. “Wonder if it’ll change for our southern rivals, too, if this keeps up.”

“What?” Elarinn began to sit up in surprise at her mentor’s words, and then halted, biting back a curse as the world seemed to tilt. What in...

Tensing, the older woman pulled herself forward as Elarinn swayed for a moment, then relaxed as the other eased herself back down to her bed. “You all right, Elarinn?” Iris queried, worry etching itself in a portrait of lines across her face.

“Just a little dizzy.” The auburn-haired Sister closed her eyes, grimacing. “What were you saying about those rivals?”

“What, that they might get more respect from Kashya after today?” Iris said, sounding confused. “I mean, it’d make sense-”

“Wait, Iris...I’m sorry, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elarinn interrupted. “What’d those southerners do?”

“You don’t know?” her mentor returned, blinking in surprise for a moment before shrugging. “I guess you were busy, though...anyway,” she continued, “they attacked that second wave of skells from behind during the fight, and also rescued our Sisters at the outpost that got hit. Did us a few favors, for sure; we’re short enough on people as it is.”

Elarinn started, eyes flying open at Iris’s words. “That was them?” she asked, rolling onto her side to stare at the older warrior.

Iris nodded. “I heard they were tracking the undead from somewhere when they realized they were headed this way. After that, they picked up the pace, and arrived just in time to overrun the skells that were pinning our sentries down. From there, I think the rest is obvious.”

“Well, our Sisters were probably doing all right anyway; Melora got past them, after all,” Elarinn remarked. Then, as a memory of a bloody arrowhead, and Aliza’s horror-struck face, rose before her, she added slowly, “She did make it, right?”

“Yeah,” Iris affirmed, smiling slightly. “Like I said, we didn’t lose anyone.”

“I guess you did,” the young captain admitted, letting her head drop back onto the pillow with a sigh. “It’s just been a long night.”

Iris gave her a knowing nod. “Get some rest; you should be well enough by the afternoon, and Kashya will probably want you back on the gate by then.” With that, she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes with a sigh. “Good night, Elarinn.”

Elarinn drifted in and out of wakefulness as the night faded away, her exhaustion and a tense impatience tugging her mind towards different goals. Iris’s words had left her unsettled, and even the throbbing pain above her eyes could not fully drive an urge to act, to think, to do something, from her mind. Finally, as the new day’s light, dull liquid gold, began to spill into the tent, her eyes fell shut at last, the darkness bringing with it a welcome peace that she embraced.

Some time later, Elarinn became aware of a cool, wet sensation upon her forehead, and opened her eyes with a grimace. As she did so, a hand gripped her shoulder gently, and she followed it with her eyes back to Akara’s aging features, shaped by a smile. “Good afternoon, child,” the older woman said, her graying voice comforting to Elarinn’s ears. “How do you feel?”

“Ick.” Elarinn wiped a hand over her damp skin, making a face in disgust. Then, pausing to gauge the pain in her forehead, the young captain blinked in surprise as a moment, and then another, passed without a twinge. “Not too bad, I guess,” she answered, sitting up slowly. “Just a little dizzy.”

Akara laughed quietly in reply. “That may last for some days yet,” she continued, amusement playing over the lines of her face, “but it should not be much of a problem for you.”

“Thanks for that, Akara,” Elarinn replied, “and for patching me up – again.” Smiling slightly, the auburn-haired Sister hopped onto the dirt floor, then paused, frowning as her words echoed again in her ears. “When was the last time, anyway?” she asked, and then added after a second, “That time when I broke my nose sparring with Feyla?”

“I believe it was,” the healer answered. “The two of you never took practice lightly; there was always one of you to take care of afterwards.”

“How could I forget?” Elarinn returned dryly. “I’ve still got a few scars from all that.” As she looked around the tent for her armor, her smile suddenly froze on her face as another memory, one more recent, and more somber, pushed itself before her mind’s eye. Feyla. She’s still missing... Turning back towards the older woman, Elarinn hesitated, almost dreading an answer, then asked, “Akara, about Feyla...did you see her during the retreat?”

Akara nodded slowly as she replied, “I did; she was one of several Sisters who stayed to delay the enemy while we retreated into the forest.” Seeing the other’s face fall, she reached out, grasping the young captain’s hands with her own. “We’re still looking, Elarinn. It’s not over yet.”

Blinking, Elarinn looked down for a moment before managing a small smile. “Thanks, Akara,” she murmured, meeting the aging priestess’s gaze. After another instant stretched across a silence, she freed her hands and stepped back, her expression turning apologetic. “I’d better get ready for my duties.”

Akara offered her a half-bow in reply. “Of course, Elarinn. May the Sightless Eye watch over you.” With that, she turned and ducked under the tent flap, stepping out into the daylight.

I think She already does, with someone like you around. Elarinn sighed wistfully, brushing a lock of auburn hair back behind an ear as fragments from the Monastery, her life before Tristram, flitted through her mind. Now, though, this might not be enough. A heartbeat later, she straightened, her features hardening with determination. Still, we’ll make it with Her grace. Somehow.

Stepping over to her gear, Elarinn hesitated for a moment as her sight settled on the silver and steel circle resting upon her armor. Right. Reaching down, she cradled the pendant in the palm of her hand and smiled. Well, we survived them last night. Maybe I can make being a captain work, after all. The young Sister mouthed a silent prayer, then looped the chain over her head, letting the medallion settle near to the cradle of a hope.

* * *

[RevenantsKnight]

“There you go, my lady.”

Elarinn took the proffered bowls of stew, nodding her thanks to the Sister tending the pot. Squinting in the afternoon light, she grimaced as she stepped away, the sun’s brilliance doing nothing to help the dull throbbing in her temples. Blast, that’s bright. One night on watch and it’s getting to me already. Or maybe it’s this damn headache...

Walking gingerly towards the log where her mentor sat, the young captain shook her head, at first gently, and then harder, in an effort to clear it. The motion threatened to unbalance her, though, and she halted for a moment as the world seemed to swirl around her like water stirred by a spoon. Finally, Elarinn managed to steady herself, and, holding back a disgusted scowl, crossed the last few steps to her goal.

“Didn’t sleep well, did you?” Iris commented as Elarinn handed her one of the bowls.

“I’m not used to sleeping through mornings,” Elarinn replied, sitting down next to the older woman. Spearing a piece of meat with her knife, the auburn-haired Sister contented herself with eating for a moment, then looked back up. “And then there’s this, still.” She tapped her forehead lightly in illustration, smiling wryly.

Iris nodded. “Yeah, there’s that.” She glanced down at her legs, covered by a long priestess’s robe, before adding, “Akara said that’s not a problem, right?”

“She said it might last for a little while longer,” Elarinn answered between bites. “Still, I’ll be fine either way.”

The other warrior chuckled softly at Elarinn’s reply. “Spoken like a true captain,” she said, her eyes gazing skyward for a moment. “I wouldn’t think less of you if it were a problem, though.”

Elarinn shrugged and gave no reply, turning the other’s words over in her mind as she ate. Somehow, her mentor’s last remark, reassuring as it was in its meaning, felt out of place. Wonder why she brought that up... “About that,” she said after a short silence, “do you have any suggestions on what I should do as a commander?”

“Other than follow Kashya’s orders?” Iris answered with a grin. “That’ll help, for sure.”

“I’ll bet,” Elarinn laughed. “And yours too, I suppose?”

The veteran Sister’s expression turned sheepish at the other’s words. “Yeah, if it comes up,” she affirmed, looking down as she spoke. “Other things...well, do you have any questions in particular?”

Elarinn frowned, then nodded as a faint twinge of pain rippled across her forehead. Right. “How do you think I did last night?” she queried, fingering the pinkish remnants of her wound.

“Rather well, for your first time,” Iris responded, “especially since your promotion was rather...hurried.” Staring out into the verdant moor as she thought, the elder woman continued, “I heard you fought well, maybe even better than Kashya expected. Skells aren’t the easiest enemies, and I’m told you got eight or nine of them.”

At this, Elarinn began to smile, then stopped as her mentor held up a hand. “Still,” Iris added, her voice hardening slightly into the tone Elarinn remembered from so many lessons, “there were some things that should not be repeated. Given the state of your soldiers, I can’t say that your tactics were lacking, but that itself was something you could have remedied.”

“I could have remedied that?” Elarinn repeated, arching an eyebrow skeptically. They looked pretty far gone, and I tried anyway; the last thing we needed was for me to waste time shouting at them some more...

Iris nodded. “And you will have to do so, in the future,” she said gravely, “because otherwise, that weakness will mean their deaths, sooner or later.”

Elarinn answered the other woman’s words with a quizzical stare. “I don’t ever remember this being so bad at Tristram,” she probed, her brow furrowing in thought. “At least, not for my part or Feyla’s.”

A hint of a smile graced the veteran warrior’s countenance as she shrugged. “Well, that wasn’t Feyla’s first time seeing the undead, Elarinn. I don’t know if she ever told you, but a few years before she ended up with us, her village was attacked by the walking dead, and she ran into some of them up close. Your second time was much easier than the first, I remember. As for you,” she finished as her smile finally emerged from behind her teacher’s face, “you were always a bit relentless. It helps, in this case anyway.”

The auburn-haired Sister mulled over this for a moment, then blinked in confusion. “But those are, well, personal reasons. How can I help, then?”

Pausing to finish the last of her meal, Iris fell silent, thinking, and then asked, “Remember that time in the upper tunnels below Tristram when we got jumped by that skell that could melt away into the shadows?” When Elarinn nodded, she added, “Did you have any trouble with its black aura?”

Elarinn opened her mouth to loose an impatient sigh of assent, then hesitated as her memory caught up with her tongue. “I...don’t remember any, no,” she finally replied, frowning. “I think I just shot it as it charged Feyla.”

“That’s what I remember,” Iris affirmed, smiling in satisfaction. “It was a good shot, too; without that, it might have got to her before we drove it off. Now,” she continued as a hint of impatience flashed across the other’s features, “why do you think that you didn’t feel anything then, but just acted?”

Because that’s what you taught me, silly. Because I had to do something. Because Feyla- Elarinn started as her mind stopped upon a new image, finally understanding. “Because Feyla could have died,” she said slowly, releasing her last thought into the world to make room for a revelation. “I acted because that mattered to me.”

Iris grinned at Elarinn’s answer, clapping her hands in triumph. “That’s the feeling a leader must create for each of her soldiers,” she cried. “In that, there is strength, and against the demons, that strength is precious. You see, each of us may wish to fight for our Lady, but for Her will to prevail, we all must fight for each other too.”

“So how do I start with my Sisters?” Elarinn asked, her voice quickening in interest.

The older woman shook her head slightly, her smile turning wistful. “There isn’t really one way to begin. People form bonds in so many different ways, and even if I knew how your soldiers thought, I would have nothing to do with it in the end. I wish I could help you more with this, Elarinn, but that is something that you, and they, will have to do yourselves.” Pausing for a moment, she grinned again and finished in an imitation of Elarinn’s voice, “They’re personal reasons, after all.”

What do you mean, no one way to begin? Elarinn laughed in reply, even as a faint sense of unease began to creep into her mind. “You started just by talking with us, didn’t you?” she queried.

“That was part of it,” Iris answered, “though it was also about having you and Feyla train together and just get used to each other.” She sighed, smearing a fist over the palm of her other hand. “Of course, your Sisters are likely different, so that may or may not help.” After a moment, she added in a lighter tone, “Or be possible, for that matter.”

“Well, it worked for you, Iris, so it’s probably worth trying,” Elarinn ventured quickly.

Her mentor shrugged. “Perhaps. If you do, though, don’t expect too much at first.”

Elarinn nodded, a previously unnoticed tension bleeding out of her shoulders, then began to gaze around aimlessly as she thought. I’d better start on this soon, then; maybe I’ll try Aliza first, given what happened last night. Sabel, though...she makes me nervous. Blast, and then there’s Lamia... Her eyes caught the glare of the deepening light upon a steel shield by the forge, causing the young captain to tip the last of her meal into her mouth. It’s getting darker already...time to get moving. “I should go to the gate soon,” she said to no one in particular, then turned back to her mentor. “Thanks, Iris.”

“Good luck, Elarinn,” the older woman replied, a smile playing along the corners of her mouth. “Watch your head this time.”

Laughing quietly, Elarinn rose to her feet, gathering her bow and dagger sheath in one smooth motion, and then set off for the gate at a quick trot.

[chi987]

Well I enjoyed the first two chapters. They seem to give a good setup of the rogues' new situation they are faced with. The next few chapters are growing on me as Elarinn gets deeper into her role in the rogue encampment.

One thing that I'll say is that I'm waiting for the story to really escalate. So far, the Sisters have been pretty accepting of Elarinn. They seem to be going pretty easy on her, especially Iris. What I mean is that they all seem to be very accepting of Elarinn, almost unnaturally. For example, I didn't really like the part about Elarinn's test and promotion to captain, but dont ask me why :p Perhaps I found it a bit hasty, but that seems to be your intention.

Not to say that what you've done so far is inappropriate, but I'm anxious to see what happens when everything falls apart. Iris seems to hold some dark thoughts, but keeps them hidden from Elarinn. I wonder what happens when she stops doing so. I also wonder what will happen if Akara, Kashya, Elarinn, or Iris start to disagree about tactical decisions or about the future of the rogues.

The older warrior’s voice took on a hint of grim satisfaction as she replied, “None fell, and none of them escaped.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “Some others took wounds from those skells, but nothing Akara couldn’t fix. Most of them are back out there, heading for the outposts to see if any others got hit.”
It seems strange for Iris to have a biting comment about the skeletons. They are just skeletons and I dont see them as having any real life or thoughts, and so it's hard to hold animosity towards inanimate objects

“Probably,” Iris answered dryly. “The Order used to think of Westmarchers like me as humorless fanatics, after all.”

Elarinn chuckled, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “Because that’s what you are, of course,” she returned, smiling through the pain.

Iris returned the expression, leaning back in her chair for a moment as her eyes wandered through the shadows cast upon the tent’s roof. “That’s what it was, anyway,” she murmured quietly, as if lost in thought. “Wonder if it’ll change for our southern rivals, too, if this keeps up.”

“What?” Elarinn began to sit up in surprise at her mentor’s words, and then halted, biting back a curse as the world seemed to tilt. What in...

Tensing, the older woman pulled herself forward as Elarinn swayed for a moment, then relaxed as the other eased herself back down to her bed. “You all right, Elarinn?” Iris queried, worry etching itself in a portrait of lines across her face.

“Just a little dizzy.” The auburn-haired Sister closed her eyes, grimacing. “What were you saying about those rivals?”

“What, that they might get more respect from Kashya after today?” Iris said, sounding confused. “I mean, it’d make sense-”

“Wait, Iris...I’m sorry, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elarinn interrupted. “What’d those southerners do?”

“You don’t know?” her mentor returned, blinking in surprise for a moment before shrugging. “I guess you were busy, though...anyway,” she continued, “they attacked that second wave of skells from behind during the fight, and also rescued our Sisters at the outpost that got hit. Did us a few favors, for sure; we’re short enough on people as it is.”
This part was a bit confusing. Too many topic changes mid sentence or something :p

All in all, I think that this story is building up quite nicely. The fight scene was pretty good too. Headbutting is a truly beastly move that generally should be incorporated more :cool: Anyway, I hope this continues so we can see the dark side of the story

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, chi987. Thanks for stopping by to read and comment; it's always good to hear some thoughts of how this is going other than the ones from my ridiculously biased perspective. Glad to hear that you liked this, or at least parts of it. :) A few thoughts:

So far, the Sisters have been pretty accepting of Elarinn. They seem to be going pretty easy on her, especially Iris. What I mean is that they all seem to be very accepting of Elarinn, almost unnaturally.

The quick acceptance was intentional, though I don't know if I'd call it unnatural; the Sisterhood is badly short of experienced warriors, or really just anyone who has survived more than one fight (namely, the retreat from the Monastery.) Also, Iris, Kashya and Akara all knew Elarinn (and in Iris's and Akara's cases, fairly well indeed) before she returned, so it's not quite like she's a stranger appearing from out of nowhere.

This part was a bit confusing. Too many topic changes mid sentence or something :p

Eep. I was shooting for that to convey Elarinn's "Um, fill me in, please" sort of confusion, and it's entirely possible I overdid that. I'll take another look at it.

Thanks again for your time!

[0xDEADCAFE]

Well, I read through this twice. The first time was late at night when I should really have just gone to bed -- so, not best time to be reading -- but after a second read this morning I would have to say this is a very quiet chapter, regardless of the reader's state of mind. Overall I didn't find much of interest in it until the discussion near the end about how to form the bonds of loyalty between Elarinn's squad.

That might be too harsh, though. You do reveal a number of new tidbits about the order and fill-in pieces of the overall puzzle, but somehow a whole chapter about Elarinn licking her wounds and finding the strength to carry on seemed a bit thin. That, of course, is a highly subjective comment. On a more objective level, this is a perfectly reasonable way to follow a battle scene, the calm after the storm of the previous chapter, so maybe it accomplished what you were after.

Some nits:


A wave of dull, throbbing pain followed that through her head, and she winced, then blinked in surprise as other sensations welled up in its wake.Not sure about this, but there is something about the ", and" in the middle that bothers me. Maybe it would be better as two sentences, or perhaps a semi-colon instead. Not sure.

Then, as more of Iris’s words reached her ears, Elarinn tilted her head back towards her mentor, frowning slightly. “All of them? My Sisters made it through, then?” This seemed odd at first. I took "My Sisters" to mean all the rogues in the order. Later it becomes clear that Elarinn was referring only to her small squad. No big deal, but it seems a little ambiguous.


“Oh, right...well, what you learned about the desert tribes from the Order was what I was told to teach, not what we know about them now.” Smiling ruefully, she continued, “They tend to be a bit less...restrained than we’re used to, but they aren’t demon-worshippers or whatever else I said. I guess that’s my fault, really.”I found this interesting. Propaganda from the Sisters of the Sightless Eye? I'm shocked! (Not.) But apparently they weren't very good at it, or else Elarinn was uncommonly wise: Not like I believed you when you said that, anyway. Still...


“Wait, Iris...I’m sorry, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Just a general comment on the section surrounding this sentence: I can see how it might be tricky to write this in a way that makes sense to the reader while Iris and Elarinn are busy being confused by each other, but I too found it hard to follow. I don't have any specific suggestions, but a general comment: whatever you are trying to convey about these character's lack of knowledge, is it necessary to do it this way? Maybe you can get your message across without making the dialog such a fit of starts and stops.

Finally, as the new day’s light, dull liquid gold, began to spill into the tent, her eyes fell shut at last, the darkness bringing with it a welcome peace that she embraced.Isn't that just the way of sleepless nights? I find I am always able to finally get to sleep right about the time I need to get up. Nice touch. And "dull liquid gold" gave me a nice image.


I'm interested in where you go with Elarinn's squad-building efforts. I was never in the military myself, so I don't know how the pro's actually do it, but I have the impression that many a drill sargeant uses the tried and true method of giving all the new recruits a common enemy - himself! Somehow, I can't quite picture Elarinn going that way, but I'll just have to wait and find out, won't I?

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, 0xDEADCAFE. Thanks for stopping to read and comment, especially with the overall thoughts on the chapter; the extra pair of eyes is always helpful, and it looks like they were particularly good to have here.

Overall I didn't find much of interest in it until the discussion near the end about how to form the bonds of loyalty between Elarinn's squad.

Yeah...I was worried about that. I'd left too many threads lying around between the introduction of the new Sisters and then in the battle with Elarinn's limited knowledge, and tried to do some tidying up here. I'll give it another shot at upping the ante, but I think the battle itself works well and this is probably needed to clear things up afterwards. I mean, I did not want to leave the reader without an idea of why the skeleton archers stopped shooting, or miss getting to the situation between the Order and the people of Aranoch.

Not sure about this, but there is something about the ", and" in the middle that bothers me. Maybe it would be better as two sentences, or perhaps a semi-colon instead.

Hrm...good catch. I'll probably just drop the comma in question.

This seemed odd at first. I took "My Sisters" to mean all the rogues in the order. Later it becomes clear that Elarinn was referring only to her small squad. No big deal, but it seems a little ambiguous.

Dang. I was hoping that this was clear, since all the Rogues would be "Our Sisters," as Elarinn and Iris are at similar positions to the order as a whole, but not to Elarinn's band.

Just a general comment on the section surrounding this sentence: I can see how it might be tricky to write this in a way that makes sense to the reader while Iris and Elarinn are busy being confused by each other, but I too found it hard to follow.

Two comments on that...yeah, that's probably not going to work. It'll get another look.

I was never in the military myself, so I don't know how the pro's actually do it, but I have the impression that many a drill sargeant uses the tried and true method of giving all the new recruits a common enemy - himself! Somehow, I can't quite picture Elarinn going that way, but I'll just have to wait and find out, won't I?

You're in the same boat as me, funny enough...:grin:

Thanks again for reading and commenting!

[RevenantsKnight]

Chapter 9: Orders

The afternoon light shone brightly through the patchy clouds, painting the encampment’s entrance with a deepening bronze tint and spilling through the spaces between the wood. Elarinn smiled inwardly as she gazed over them; as pitiful as they seemed in the daylight compared to the great stone walls of the Monastery, she found their warm color reassuring after shadowy forests and onyx bones. Place might actually be nice in the summertime, with the river...

As her sight drifted from the gate to her soldiers, Elarinn sighed quietly as discontent bled into her moment of peace; she could see a nervous tension in their too-rigid postures and carefully neutral faces, parts of a costume she had worn herself in her early days under Iris. Hiding a grimace behind gritted teeth, the auburn-haired woman turned her eyes back to the moor outside, though the action did nothing to distract her mind. Dammit, this just isn’t going anywhere so far.

After hearing her mentor’s advice the day before, she had tried to find Aliza in the few waking hours she had away from the gate, but somehow, even within the confines of the encampment, the young Sister had proved elusive quarry for Elarinn. I doubt she’s avoiding me already, but- Clenching her free hand into a fist, she pushed those thoughts away with an effort. No, she reminded herself firmly. You have a duty now, and this isn’t helping. Get to it, soldier. Forcing herself to concentrate on keeping watch, the young captain began to gather her mental energy for another sweep of the marsh.

“My lady.”

Elarinn started at Lamia’s voice, then turned to face the other soldier, managing to hide her irritation at being distracted behind a tight smile. “What is it?” she asked.

Lamia replied by handing her a small roll of parchment held shut by a dab of wax. “Orders from Kashya, my lady,” she added in explanation. Elarinn nodded her thanks as she gently pulled the scroll open, memories drifting past her mind’s eye. Just like being back at the Monastery again.

Returning to the present with a quick shake of her head, the young captain studied the message for a moment, and blinked in surprise. Huh... Frowning, she read it again, then shrugged, tucking it into a pouch at her belt. Not too surprising, I suppose, after what almost happened that night. The outposts didn’t give us much warning, anyway... “Sisters, keep a close watch on the moor, but be careful with your weapons,” she called out, eyes dancing from face to face. “Don’t shoot unless you can be certain that you’re aiming at an enemy.”

As the rest of Elarinn’s soldiers shouted various words of assent, Lamia hesitated, halting in mid-step, and asked, “What’s happening, my lady?”

Elarinn smiled slightly in response. “We have Sisters coming home.”

* * *

Though Kashya’s note had seemed urgent to Elarinn, the sun had almost set by the time the auburn-haired woman caught sight of her returning comrades. When she could finally discern their shapes emerging from the deepening shadows, though, her mild annoyance at the delay gave way to utter surprise. Blinking, she stared into the twilight again, unsure if the darkness around them had been sculpted by her imagination. As her eyes revealed the same sights as before, the young captain hesitated, then let her eyelids fall. Better find out what it is before it gets here...

A second later, Elarinn felt the cool evening air whip by as her mind leapt out into the world, and for a moment she let herself fly uncontrolled over the marsh, savoring a rush of almost frantic energy before wheeling towards the distant shadows. As she neared her approaching Sisters, she slowed her pace, focusing on a large shape that followed close behind them. There, off to the left...

Extending her senses outwards, Elarinn frowned mentally as her probing thoughts met the figure’s aura. Feels human...almost. There’s something different, though... She pushed herself forward, then stopped dead, astonished by what emerged from the twilight.

Even without her Lady’s power, Elarinn had been able to discern the creature’s great bulk, but she had dismissed it as a trick of the shadows. Now, up close, she saw thick brown fur upon its body, its arms ending in massive paws that swung by its sides as it loped forward on its hind legs. Her sight was drawn, though, to its ursine features; though unmistakably animal, they held an expressive air about them, as if some mad wizard had built its face upon a human’s. By the Sightless Eye, what kind of bear is that?

Wrenching her sight away from the being, the young captain looked around hastily, picking out another large silhouette on the other side of her comrades. It almost looks like these creatures are flanking them. Our Sisters don’t seem bothered, though- Her vision suddenly blurred, the world melting into wet streaks before sharpening again, causing Elarinn to wince inwardly as she realized how long she had spent from her body. Blast, I need to hurry.

With an effort, Elarinn threw her mind towards the knot of Sisters marching across the moor, reaching out with tendrils of thought. Maybe if I- Suddenly, she started as her senses took in a familiar aura, and saw a fur-cloaked man among her fellow adherents. That’s the earth-shaman who opened the astral gate...Faeldh. And there’s another like him... A second later, the young captain opened her eyes, her mind alight with an understanding. Bracing herself against the palisade, she let her drained body slide down into a sitting position, then waved a hand towards her soldiers. “It’s all right,” she announced, even as Canace answered her words with an incredulous stare. “Keep your weapons down.”

After a long moment, Lamia nodded and lowered her bow, with the others around her following suit. Sabel, however, kept an arrow nocked to her bowstring, turning back towards the marsh with a suspicious frown.

Dammit. Elarinn pushed herself back onto her feet, her brown eyes narrowing angrily. “They’re allies, Sabel,” she said, letting an edge creep into her voice. “Stand down.” At this, the larger woman turned to face her and paused before pulling the arrow free, jamming it back into her quiver. Despite her still-weak legs, the young captain straightened, returning Sabel’s gaze until the other turned away. After a short, pregnant silence, Elarinn motioned for the rest of her band to resume their posts, her features easing out of the tense mask she had worn moments ago. Allowing herself a small sigh, she rubbed her forehead as it began to ache anew after nearly a day of quiescence. Great. What in the Hells am I going to do about this?

Somehow, Elarinn had a feeling that even Iris would not have an answer.

* * *

By the time the returning Sisters drew near to the encampment, Elarinn’s mind and body had settled somewhat, enough for her to hide her concerns behind an expression of relief. “Aliza, find Kashya and tell her that our comrades have returned safely...along with the earth-shamans,” she said, smiling inwardly as the younger archer nodded and hurried off towards the fire. At least all of them aren’t like Sabel...yet.

Turning back towards the marsh, Elarinn started as her sight played over the approaching figures; much to her surprise, the two bear-creatures were nowhere to be seen. Blast, where’d they go- She paused in confusion, then stepped forward slowly. That druid doesn’t look familiar...and neither does that one. For a moment, she stared into the darkness behind them before shrugging to herself. Forget it, soldier; it doesn’t matter as long as they’re not enemies.

Several minutes later, Elarinn’s comrades filed into the encampment, followed by the four druids, who stayed by the walls. Elarinn quickly studied their features, offering a nod of greeting to Faeldh, then turned to her fellow warriors. In response, the lead archer stepped away from the others, kneeling three paces in front of the young captain. “See only Truth,” she recited, head bowed.

This feels so weird. “Serve only Light,” Elarinn replied, and then motioned for her comrade to stand. The other complied, meeting Elarinn’s gaze expectantly. Uh oh...what now? Looking around nervously, she felt a warm prickling begin to spread along her back before her eyes settled on a cowled figure hastening towards the gate. Akara. Good, she’ll take care of-

“I would ask a question of you, Sister, if I may.”

Startled, Elarinn turned to face the druids, and one of them, a lithe, short-haired man, returned her gaze. “What is it?” she answered, taking a few cautious steps towards them.

The other spread his hands in a gesture Elarinn guessed was meant to be disarming. “I apologize for my directness, if it has offended you. The ways of your people are unfamiliar to me.” When Elarinn managed a small smile, he continued, “I seek to know if your leader would grant me an audience. I have news she should to hear.”

“She would.”

Elarinn whirled at the sound of Kashya’s voice, suppressing an urge to grimace. Damn, that has got to stop happening...

Unruffled, the druid merely nodded. “Then I thank you,” he said, then looked back to Elarinn. “And you as well.” He paused long enough to wave to his comrades, who turned as one and jogged back out into the marsh, before following the Order’s general towards the heart of the encampment. Elarinn followed them with her eyes for a moment, then cast her sight around; Akara had led away the arriving Sisters, and her soldiers had returned to their posts by the gate, standing like statues as if nothing had ever happened. Letting her shoulders slump as she released her breath in a slow hiss, Elarinn closed her eyes, lingering for a last instant before forcing herself upright, a captain once more.

Whether it had been minutes or hours, Elarinn didn’t know, but the stars had begun loosing their silvery rain by the time the druid ducked out of Kashya’s tent. Nodding as he passed the young captain, he plunged headlong into the world outside the walls, arms spread wide behind him. After mere seconds, the shadows swallowed up his running form, and Elarinn felt the light touch of the night air on her face, pressing against her in waves like ripples upon a lake, in time to a faint noise that sounded almost like the beat of a giant heart.

Huh...odd. The auburn-haired soldier leaned into the flowing air, straining her ears, then turned as the sound disappeared in the thud of boots behind her. Her Sisters did likewise, their stone bodies pivoting in place, and Kashya met all of their eyes with a grave nod. Elarinn stepped forward, beginning to kneel, but the veteran warrior held up a hand for her to stop. “Listen well, Sisters,” she said, “for I have no desire to give these orders more than once.”

Elarinn hid a frown as she straightened, her memory jumping back to the scroll Lamia had brought just hours before. Definitely odd. Probing the other’s unrevealing expression, her sight lingered on her commander’s eyes; every now and again, their calm poise would slip and they would begin to shake before her eyelids closed quickly over them. What did that druid tell her?

“From this point forth,” Kashya continued, “you are to prevent our Sisters from leaving the encampment, except at my express order. The outlanders may come and go as they have done, but any member of the Order must remain within these walls.” As her words faded into the still air, she turned back towards Elarinn, fixing her with a hard gaze, then finished, “And if you see any of our comrades approach the encampment, unless she is in the company of the outlanders, I want you to shoot her down on sight.”

Stunned, Elarinn felt her jaw drop, and she stood unmoving for a moment, then glanced over at her soldiers, unsure if her ears had fallen asleep into a realm of nightmares. Aliza’s mask of shocked horror spoke for all of them. Not just me...what in Hell is going on here? Elarinn looked back to Kashya, her eyes asking for an explanation and receiving none.

Finally, Kashya cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “That is all, Sisters,” she said, waving a hand back towards the gate. With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk away, the heavy step of her boots joined only by the soft hiss of the wind.

Wait a minute...there has to be something behind this. Elarinn hesitated, pulled towards her post by her sense of duty and the hard tone of her commander’s voice, yet unwilling to accept her ignorance. Suddenly, she stiffened and pivoted away from the gate, her sight chasing the older woman as a cold knot began to tighten in her stomach. Feyla. If I have to take a shot at her, I had better have a reason for it. “My lady...will you tell us why?” she called after the other’s retreating form.

Kashya halted at the young captain’s query, then motioned for her to approach. As Elarinn complied, the elder warrior began in a low voice, “None of this gets to your soldiers, understand?” At Elarinn’s nod, she continued, “The earth-shamans say that they traced those undead that attacked us to the old graveyard of our Order.” She paused, the muscles around her jaw bunching in anger. “There, they saw some of our traitors. If they now know where we are...”

“But if they know, there’s no point in them sending more scouts, and a few extra shots will hardly matter if they attack in force,” Elarinn pressed, frowning as the other lapsed into silence. “Why risk having us shoot down a friend?” Then, as her mind found within itself an answer, she held up a hand, her expression turning grim. “Because if they know, they will be guarding the roads from the Monastery, and it would be almost impossible for an untainted Sister to find us while dodging them and all the outlanders.”

Kashya smiled tightly. “Perceptive, indeed,” she remarked, studying the auburn-haired soldier’s face for a moment. Seeing her hesitate, the older woman added, “The outlanders know of this, Elarinn, and some have agreed to destroy those traitors...and bring back any Sisters they find.” She paused, letting the wind chase her words, before catching Elarinn’s gaze again. “With Her blessing, these orders will not stand long. Until then, though, I expect you to carry them out in their entirety.”

“Of course, my lady,” Elarinn replied, managing to keep her expression a careful blank, though she could not hide the hollowness in her words.

Kashya’s gaze rested on the young captain for one last moment, moving from her clenched jaw to her unblinking brown eyes. “May the Sightless Eye watch over you,” she finished softly, and then turned away.

Thanks, Kashya...I’m going to need it. Wincing, Elarinn did likewise, shaking her throbbing head grimly as she walked towards her post as if she could undo her commander’s orders by jarring them from her mind.

When she looked back up, they were still there, ringing in her ears.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Hey Rev. Nice to see another chapter about Elarinn and crew. I'll skip my usual off-hand remarks about this being a quiet or slow chapter. By now you've established a style and a pace for this story, so if I'm going to keep reading along it's about time for me to zip-up about that. :lipsrsealed: Mmmph!


The afternoon light shone brightly through the patchy clouds, painting the encampment’s entrance with a deepening bronze tint and spilling through the spaces between the wood. Elarinn smiled inwardly as she gazed over them; as pitiful as they seemed in the daylight compared to the great stone walls of the Monastery, she found their warm color reassuring after shadowy forests and onyx bones.I'm having a bit of confusion with regard to the antecedent of them, they and their. After rereading this a few times, I'm guessing it's the clouds, although the wood(s) comes a close second. (It's a nice image nevertheless.)


Dammit, this just isn’t going anywhere so far.I'm thinking this needs a comma after "anywhere." As it is, it seems to suggest that something should follow "so far," as in: "...isn’t going anywhere so far as Timbuktu."


Lamia replied by handing her a small roll of parchment held shut by a dab of wax. "Held shut" seems a bit off for a roll of parchment. Maybe something about it being "sealed" by the wax would be better?


Though Kashya’s note had seemed urgent to Elarinn, the sun had almost set by the time the auburn-haired woman caught sight of her returning comrades.That's the second time you refer to Elarinn as "the auburn-haired woman." Unless you are planning to make that a key facet of her character you might want to drop it in a little less often. "She" would probably work well here.


A second later, Elarinn felt the cool evening air whip by as her mind leapt out into the world, and for a moment she let herself fly uncontrolled over the marsh, savoring a rush of almost frantic energy before wheeling towards the distant shadows. I like what you do with the Inner Sight skill. You've been pretty consistent about it throughout the story, and it adds flavor and interest to Elarinn and the Rogues.


Her sight was drawn, though, to its ursine features; though unmistakably animal, they held an expressive air about them, as if some mad wizard had built its face upon a human’s.The part after the semi-colon is really nice.

The first part confuses me a little, though. Prior to this you describe the creatures bear-like qualities--its fur, its claws--then, with the phrase containing "ursine", you make a point of saying that Elarinn noticed the bear-like qualities, which seems redundant. Then you draw our attention to the human-like face, so I'm thinking that instead of "ursine" in that middle phrase you want something that connects the transition from noticing bear-like qualities to noticing human ones.


Great. What in the Hells am I going to do about this? Is she talking about her headache, the brief clash with Sabel, or the imminent arrival of the Rogues and Druids? (Or is it none of he above?)


The auburn-haired soldier ...3...



The chapter builds up a little tension as the mysterious Druids arrive, and even more when Kashya issues the orders to shoot other Rogues on sight. But I think the constant asides describing yet-another-thing that bothers Elarinn take some of the life out it. Elarinn's inner dialog is definitely grist for the character mill, but I find that it serves to bring me out of the larger story, even to the point where, in places, the story seems almost lost within Elarinn's many frets and foibles. I am also starting to dislike Elarinn a bit. I can respect you not wanting to make her a trite, shiny-perfect hero, and yes, weaknesses often do make a character more interesting, but too many of them, or too much time spent on them, can also make them look just plain weak, or whiny, trivial, childish, etc. Not to overstate, but Elarinn began to feel that way to me in this chapter.

It also surprised me a little that Kashya would issue such shocking orders without more explanation. I picture the group of Rogues in that camp as not too terribly large--a few dozen, at most? Surely she could have called a meeting and explained it a little better, or at least prepared them better before dropping the bomb. I do picture Kashya as a strong and commanding presence, but not one that is oblivious to the psychological state of her troops.

Anyway, I'm up for another chapter whenever you get around to it. Good luck on future efforts and thanks for posting.

[RevenantsKnight]

And hey to you, 0xDEADCAFE. Good to see you around.

I'm having a bit of confusion with regard to the antecedent of them, they and their. After rereading this a few times, I'm guessing it's the clouds, although the wood(s) comes a close second. (It's a nice image nevertheless.)

:duh: It was "wood," which was supposed to mean the wood of the palisade wall. I'll change that.

I'm thinking this needs a comma after "anywhere." As it is, it seems to suggest that something should follow "so far," as in: "...isn’t going anywhere so far as Timbuktu."

Maybe it's just me (or my memory acting up again,) but I've always seen it in books or other written forms as without the comma, except when "So far" starts off a sentence.

"Held shut" seems a bit off for a roll of parchment. Maybe something about it being "sealed" by the wax would be better?

Yeah, it would. I originally had it being tied with string, but then switched it to wax and didn't adjust the rest of the sentence. Silly me...

That's the second time you refer to Elarinn as "the auburn-haired woman." Unless you are planning to make that a key facet of her character you might want to drop it in a little less often. "She" would probably work well here.

I'd been using it as a distinguishing physical characteristic, sort of the first thing you'd see upon meeting her and would associate with her later, so I want to make sure the reader keeps it in mind, though I understand that it may have been a little overused here. I'll take a look at that.

By the way, I'm a little surprised that you bring this up now; I've been mentionng Elarinn's hair color since the beginning, and "auburn-haired" came up six times over the course of Hunters of the Night.

The first part confuses me a little, though. Prior to this you describe the creatures bear-like qualities--its fur, its claws--then, with the phrase containing "ursine", you make a point of saying that Elarinn noticed the bear-like qualities, which seems redundant. Then you draw our attention to the human-like face, so I'm thinking that instead of "ursine" in that middle phrase you want something that connects the transition from noticing bear-like qualities to noticing human ones.

Hrm...good call. I'll take another look at this one.

Is she talking about her headache, the brief clash with Sabel, or the imminent arrival of the Rogues and Druids? (Or is it none of he above?)

Sabel's the biggest thing on her mind, though it was supposed to be a little bit ambiguous to make her sound generally displeased.

But I think the constant asides describing yet-another-thing that bothers Elarinn take some of the life out it. Elarinn's inner dialog is definitely grist for the character mill, but I find that it serves to bring me out of the larger story, even to the point where, in places, the story seems almost lost within Elarinn's many frets and foibles.

Yeah...I'm still trying to get a handle on how often I should switch to her thoughts. Thanks for mentioning this; it'll help a lot in that regard.

I am also starting to dislike Elarinn a bit. I can respect you not wanting to make her a trite, shiny-perfect hero, and yes, weaknesses often do make a character more interesting, but too many of them, or too much time spent on them, can also make them look just plain weak, or whiny, trivial, childish, etc. Not to overstate, but Elarinn began to feel that way to me in this chapter.

Y'know, I'm not sure if that's a bad thing or a good thing...I guess all I can say at this point is to let me know if her character starts chasing you out of the story, because that'd definitely be bad.

It also surprised me a little that Kashya would issue such shocking orders without more explanation. I picture the group of Rogues in that camp as not too terribly large--a few dozen, at most? Surely she could have called a meeting and explained it a little better, or at least prepared them better before dropping the bomb. I do picture Kashya as a strong and commanding presence, but not one that is oblivious to the psychological state of her troops.

Seeing as most of her soldiers are relatively green and didn't fare well at all against their former comrades the first time around, Kashya's line of reasoning is this: details may cause a panic, so explain after the fact once the danger passes, if it does.

Anyway, I'm up for another chapter whenever you get around to it. Good luck on future efforts and thanks for posting.

Thanks much for the encouragement. I'll definitely try to not have another month and a half break between chapters... :tongue:

[RevenantsKnight]

Chapter 10: Arrival

There. It’s right there, just behind those trees.

Elarinn pulled free an arrow from her quiver, taking a slow step back into the encampment. “Look sharp,” she whispered, not taking her eyes from the copse ahead. “There’s something hiding in the thicket.”

A second later, Canace made a noise of affirmation, and Elarinn’s soldiers followed their captain’s lead, the soft rasp of arrowheads against leather filling the cool evening air. “What is it, my lady?” Aliza hissed after a moment, leaning around the standing wall.

Damned if I know, though it had better not be one of our Sisters. “Canace?” Elarinn murmured in reply, eying the marshland between her and the distant shapes. Too far for a mental torch, and that’s a tough shot with all the shadows...

“I can’t tell, my lady; it’s too far away...it’s not undead, though,” the priestess answered, shaking her head. “It doesn’t feel like one of ours, either.”

Relieved, Elarinn let her breath out in a rush, the muscles in her jaw unknotting. As much as she hoped that Feyla, or any of her other comrades, would find them eventually, she dreaded the thought of encountering them now. “Anything you recognize about it?” she pressed after a moment.

“I think it’s a human,” Canace offered, “and it’s definitely alive.”

Elarinn frowned, squinting against the darkness as she thought. Blast, her powers are limited. Or maybe it’s her experience...

“Maybe it’s one of the outlanders, if it’s mortal and not one of us?” Aliza suggested, a hesitant note in her voice.

At this, the auburn-haired captain looked to her subordinate for a moment, smiling tightly. “Perhaps, though they have no reason to hide from us. Still, that’s a good thought, Aliza.” The other’s eyes widened for a moment, then closed as she nodded happily. Pausing upon that sight, Elarinn then turned back towards the copse, a rush of triumphant energy filling her muscles.

She had managed to find Aliza two days ago, in the morning after Kashya’s dread orders had been given breath. They hadn’t spent much time talking, just long enough to swap a few stories from their training, but since then, Aliza’s tension on watch had begun to fade, her stone posture dissolving at the shoulders. And now she’s willing to speak up...good signs so far.

Turning her focus back to the outside, Elarinn peered into the evening light again. “What about its aura, Canace?” she murmured, then whipped her head around when she received no response. “Canace?”

A moment’s glance was all Elarinn needed to know that Canace was at her limit. The priestess was on her knees, sweat pouring down her brow in tiny rivers. A tremor ran down her spine as her lips moved noiselessly, battling to form words from her ragged breaths. “It...it’s definitely human, my lady,” she finally gasped, her body sagging forward weakly.

Great. Well, one mortal’s probably not a danger to all of us... “All right, Canace, that’s enough,” Elarinn said, trying to sound encouraging. “Good work.” The other managed a nod before collapsing against the standing wall, and the auburn-haired captain winced as she turned to study the copse once more.

A flash of movement among the trees caught Elarinn’s attention, and she nocked her arrow, motioning for her Sisters to prepare for battle. Here goes... The shadows in the copse fell still, and the soft breeze faded away, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for either side to move. Then, a tall figure pushed its way out of the thicket, ducking slightly to avoid a branch. In the dim moonlight, Elarinn could see the faint glint of metal on the figure’s chest, and the silhouette of a traveler’s bag upon its back. Her eyes were drawn, though, to the longbow in its left hand, strung and ready.

Tensing, Elarinn hesitated for a moment before her training rose to the fore of her mind. “Halt!” she shouted, drawing back on her bowstring as her soldiers copied her action. “Keep your weapon down or we shoot!”

After a moment’s pause, the stranger stepped into the open, straightening. “I mean you no harm,” a distinctly male voice called back. “I just seek a place to rest for the night.”

Elarinn blinked at this, surprised. Sounds like a soldier, and a Westmarch accent... “What are you doing here?” she demanded, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Lamia, Delwyn, keep an eye on the copse and the marsh. There may be others.”

The two women murmured words of assent as the stranger replied, “I am just a wanderer, my lady, nothing more.”

Like Hell you are. “Few people here are just wanderers now, outlander,” Elarinn pressed, her mind recalling the hail of questions Kashya had loosed upon her only days ago. “Did you miss all the demons that befoul this land?”

Much to Elarinn’s surprise, the man’s head jerked back as her words rang out across the marsh, a shiver running down his body. “What...what was that?” he asked after a moment, sounding almost as if he dreaded an answer.

Odd...well, he doesn’t seem possessed, at least. The auburn-haired captain furrowed her brow in thought, then nodded to herself. “Never mind. You may approach, but slowly,” she ordered. “And keep your weapon down.” Stealing a glance towards Canace, she saw that the other Sister had regained her footing, though her face was still drawn. Probably done for the night...blast. “Canace, find Kashya and tell her we have a newcomer,” Elarinn said before turning back. “He doesn’t seem to be possessed, or even aware of the demons, for that matter.”

As the man drew closer, the shine of metal upon his chest coalesced into a chainmail shirt, and Elarinn noted the plain, heavy shaft of his longbow. Both showed signs of wear, but even then she could tell that they were well made. His clothes were simple and sturdy, likely chosen with traveling in mind. Above that, his face was weathered and unremarkable, though his eyes flitted about nervously.

A light tap on Elarinn’s shoulder caused her to turn around, lowering her weapon, and Canace greeted her with a look of confusion. “Kashya says to bring him in, my lady...and that you are to escort him to her tent.”

I didn’t hear that right. “Say that again,” Elarinn said, frowning, to which Canace merely nodded. Why me, of all people...oh. Understanding, she sighed in exasperation. Damn it, I bet I’m the only one left with interrogation training, other than Kashya and Iris...that’s probably why.

Looking back to the stranger, Elarinn pulled her arrow free, dropping it back in her quiver and motioning for her soldiers to do the same. “Our commander will allow you to enter,” she called out. “Keep your weapon at your side while you’re here.”

The man smiled and paused, unstringing his bow smoothly before increasing his pace to a quick march. Finally, he stopped before Elarinn, his pale blue eyes widening slightly as they jumped from her to each of her soldiers and then back again. “My thanks to your commander,” he began cautiously, meeting Elarinn’s gaze.

Aww...did the women with bows scare you? The auburn-haired captain studied his expression for a moment, then jerked her head towards Kashya’s tent. “Come along, outlander; she would like to speak with you.”

“One moment,” the man said, and Elarinn tensed at his tone, strong and yet almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I was not open about this, but we had to be careful.” With that, he raised his right hand and waved it forward. At the edge of her sight, Elarinn saw a patch of knee-high grass rustle, and then part as a slightly built figure rose into view.

What in...how did we miss that? Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, the veteran of Tristram reached for her quiver out of reflex, then stopped as the outlander held out a hand. “Please don’t, my lady.”

Elarinn stared daggers at him for a moment, then motioned for her archers to stand down. “Any more little surprises?” she said acidly.

He winced at her rebuke. “I’m sorry about this,” he repeated, looking back towards the figure making its way across the moor. “And no, there are no others.”

An uneasy silence fell over the gate, and Elarinn turned her attention to the second outlander, then started in surprise as the light from the encampment fell gently upon a pale, delicate face framed by two long locks of black hair. By the Sightless Eye, he looks young for a warrior, she thought as her eyes moved to a quiver of arrows protruding from his pack. Or should that be... She paused for a moment, squinting in the half-light. Nope, that’s a boy. He was dressed in a manner the auburn-haired captain had never seen before, with a blue-green robe over a garment with long sleeves and legs. Wonder if that’s something from Westmarch...

As the new arrival neared the gate, Elarinn cast her sight over the marsh a final time, and then, satisfied that there were no others lurking in the shadows, waved to her soldiers. “All right. Lamia, you have command here until I get back.” The native of Aranoch nodded in reply, and Elarinn pivoted towards the heart of the encampment, motioning for the outlanders to follow.

The young captain moved through the encampment at a fast clip, avoiding the clumps of people milling around the central fire; newcomers would inevitably draw questions, and she had neither the time nor the desire to address those now. Despite their burdens, her charges kept up well, following deftly behind her as if attached by strings. Finally, after a few minutes, she halted at Kashya’s tent, turning back to the outlanders. “In there,” she ordered, waving a hand in illustration. The two paused, exchanging glances before the older man nodded and pushed his way inside, followed closely by his companion. Elarinn leaned her bow against the tent as she watched them, and then, after a moment’s thought, picked it back up. Better not need it, but just in case... With that, she shouldered the tent flap aside and stepped inside.

[RevenantsKnight]

Seated at the far side of the tent, Kashya nodded to Elarinn as she entered, pointing with her eyes to the right of the doorway. Understanding in an instant, the young captain stepped to flank the entrance, then looked around quickly. On the other side of the portal stood Flavie, the Sister who had commanded the outposts. Elarinn sent her a smile of recognition as the outlanders shrugged off their packs and seated themselves, then her sight moved to Akara and Iris, one seated at each of Kashya’s sides. Despite Iris’s robes, Elarinn could still see her straining to keep herself from slumping back into her chair.

“I have questions for you, outlanders,” Kashya began without ceremony. “If you answer them to my satisfaction, then we will discuss sheltering you for as long as you wish.”

The older man hesitated for an instant before nodding. “I accept, though I have some to ask as well.”

“What about you?” Kashya said, turning her gaze towards the boy.

“I accept,” he replied softly but firmly.

At this, the Order’s general pushed herself out of her seat with a clatter, staring down at the outlanders. The older man flinched. To Elarinn’s surprise, the other didn’t. “Who are you and from where do you hail?”

“I am called Ryland, from Westmarch,” the older man answered cautiously after a moment, his eyes beginning to flit from Kashya to the other women around him. “This is Blaen, also from Westmarch.”

His interrogator leaned forward, trapping his pale blue orbs with her gaze. “What are two Westmarch soldiers doing in these lands?” she asked coldly.

Elarinn saw Ryland start at the question, though he hid the motion well in a slow shake of his head. “We’re not soldiers,” he replied. “We’re just trying to live.” Though his words were carefully neutral, she caught a faint tinge of hope in them, as if the idea itself gave him new strength. Maybe he is...

“Live amongst humans, or amongst demons?” Kashya pressed, shoving her last word through gritted teeth.

At this, Ryland’s eyes widened, his lips moving wordlessly several times before managing a response. “What is all this?” he finally said, a tremor of fear gracing his voice. “Would you please tell me what in the name of the Light is going on here?”

There we go. Elarinn let her tensed hand fall away from her quiver, nodding slightly. Time to move it along, Kashya...

The leader of the Rogues made no reply to either Ryland or Elarinn, turning her predator’s gaze towards Blaen as if nothing had happened. “And you?” she said, her words laden with menace, falling from her lips to crash against the earth, filling the room with their shards.

The outlander sat motionless for a long second, meeting her angry stare, before a diffident smile pushed its way past his expressionless mask. “Amongst humans,” he answered simply.

Elarinn blinked, a shiver running down her spine. Although his smile was endearing, the contrast between it and the atmosphere of the tent unnerved her. Kashya, too, seemed almost taken aback by his answer; she paused, her lips pressed together, before peering closely at the boy’s pale features. Then, she stepped back, sitting down again. “Very well, then,” she began, looking back to Ryland. “I assume you have heard of Tristram?”

The two outlanders looked at each other, eyes widening, before Ryland nodded. “We have.”

“We are the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye,” Kashya explained, motioning to the women at her side, and then to Elarinn and Flavie, “or, what is left of it. We fought at Tristram, and bested many of Diablo’s minions.” She smiled bitterly at the memory, and continued, “Hell, apparently, wanted revenge. Our Monastery was attacked, and we were forced to flee. These lands now crawl with demons seeking to kill every last one of us...or corrupt us for their own ends.”

After waiting a moment to let her words take hold, Kashya leaned forward, her smile gone. “We offer you shelter here, though our battle would then also become yours. Do you still desire it?”

Blaen barely paused before turning to his companion, and Elarinn followed his gaze. The older man took no notice, however; he sat frozen in his chair, his expression one of horrified shock. Seeing this, the auburn-haired veteran shook her head in mild disbelief. He truly didn’t know of the demons? By the Sightless Eye, he must be oblivious...

“Ryland...” Blaen murmured, a shadow of worry crossing his face.

The older man turned at the sound of the boy’s voice, managing a weak smile. “What do you think, Blaen?” he asked. “Will this land be all right?” When Blaen nodded, Ryland looked back to Kashya, a new determination in his eyes. “Yes. We accept.”

At this, Kashya stood, looking towards the tent’s entrance. “Flavie.”

The young Sister snapped to attention at her leader’s call. “Yes, my lady.”

“Find them somewhere to spend the night, perhaps by the forge since they have no tent.” As the two outlanders rose from their seats, she added, “We will speak again tomorrow...regarding how you will earn your place here if you stay.”

Ryland nodded, seemingly untroubled by her words. “I understand. Thank you again for your kindness,” he replied, and Blaen inclined his head in a small, graceful bow. With that, they turned towards the portal and followed Flavie out into the evening air.

Kashya waited until the sounds of the newcomers’ footsteps faded away amid the hum of the camp, and then waved for Elarinn to approach. “You reported only one outlander, Elarinn,” she remarked, her voice hard.

Oh, blast. Reddening, Elarinn halted. “I saw only the older one at the time, my lady,” she replied. “The other was hiding, and did not appear until I was ready to bring the first one inside.”

Kashya arched an eyebrow at her response. “You admit to negligence, then?”

I damn well do not. There was no way I could have known he was there, with Canace down... Elarinn paused and gritted her teeth to hold back an angry riposte before answering. “No, my lady. I did all I could to search for others upon first sight, and the outlander was very well hidden...much more so than would have been normal for hellspawn.”

Her commander studied her face with narrowed eyes for a long moment. Then, she nodded her acceptance, turning to Iris. “Army of Westmarch, perhaps?”

The veteran warrior let her breath out in a rush as the muscles in her arms eased, and she sank down into her chair. “Definitely for the older one at one point, but not anymore; he wasn’t wearing their mark. Probably once a captain, or at least a senior archer. I’m not so sure about the girl, since-” At Elarinn’s failed attempt to suppress a laugh, Iris stopped and looked up. “What’d I say?”

“That wasn’t a girl, Iris,” Elarinn managed before turning away, stifling another outburst with a hand.

Her mentor stared. “You’re kidding me,” she said, then looked over to Kashya and Akara. The aging priestess merely smiled sympathetically and shook her head, causing Iris to wince, and then begin chuckling herself. “Well, at least I didn’t ask if they were father and daughter,” she deadpanned, sending Elarinn into another round of giggles and even drawing smiles from the other women.

After the tent quieted down, Kashya cleared her throat, turning back to Iris. “If we could, Sisters?”

Iris grinned sheepishly, shaking her head before meeting her superior’s gaze. “Right. Anyway, the young one looks too small to be a regular archer, though his bow looks too well-crafted to be homemade...maybe he was just good at hunting and got pressed into the local garrison at some point.”

“Akara?” the Order’s general prompted, swiveling in her chair.

“I think both of them were once soldiers,” Akara began slowly, her age-worn voice curling through the air of the tent like fragrant smoke. “The child was remarkably calm during the questioning, and I can find no other explanation for this.” Elarinn nodded inwardly, though even that answer seemed hollow to her. No one was like that in the Monastery, anyway...

“As for the older man,” the priestess continued, “I cannot easily see him as a leader. He seems too anxious to please, which makes him hesitant. Not terrible qualities, perhaps, but also not ones worn by many captains.” With that, she fell silent, then smiled amusedly and added, “My apologies if any of you took offense.”

Kashya shook her head slightly. “None taken. Elarinn?”

Elarinn hesitated, trying to shape her memories around her comrades’ words, then shrugged after a moment. “The older man may have been a captain, once. He is cautious, but I think he could lead if he had to.” She paused, frowning in thought, then looked back up as remembered words echoed in her ears. “Back at the gate, I almost drew up when the boy first came out of hiding. He – Ryland – called for me to stop, and his words then had strength. Also,” the auburn-haired soldier mused, smiling, “he may not always be so hesitant. Here, he looked...nervous when he saw six women wielding bows.”

“He’ll have a fun time here, then,” Iris remarked dryly.

Kashya let the veteran soldier’s comment pass, then looked back to Elarinn. “What about the other outlander?” she queried.

“I have no idea,” Elarinn replied, shaking her head, then added quickly as Kashya’s frowned, “I mean, I noticed some things, but...I just can’t find an answer that makes sense.” At her commander’s inquisitive gaze, she elaborated, “I’d agree with Iris, because he is young and very adept at hiding, but then there’s his calmness...and yet, I don’t know if he gained that in an army because he just doesn’t feel like a soldier.”

The Order’s general swept her sight over her officers one last time, leaning back slightly in her chair. “So, one former Westmarch archer and one mystery boy,” she intoned, her expression turning blank with thought. Then, she pushed herself upright again, waving a hand towards the tent’s entrance. “Elarinn, Akara, you are dismissed. You may tell our Sisters that the outlanders are welcome here, for now.”

Elarinn replied with a few words of assent, and eased herself out into the starlit night. Wheeling to face the gate, she paused as a bony hand fell upon her shoulder. “Hello, Akara.”

“Interesting, isn’t it, child?” the older woman murmured, turning to glance over at the forge.

“What’s interesting?” Elarinn probed, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

Akara smiled, letting her hand fall away. “That She would guide these outlanders to us, at this time.”

Elarinn turned to face the other, her brown eyes widening slightly in interest. “You think there’s a reason they came here?” she asked quickly as her heart began to beat a little faster.

“Perhaps.” The priestess sighed quietly, the noise barely carrying above the sounds of the camp and the whisper of the air. “Perhaps not.” She paused for a few more seconds, then waved a hand dismissively, saying, “It’s probably just an old woman’s imagination.”

“Tell me.” Akara looked up at the young captain’s voice, her lips pressed together in a faint frown. “Oh, come on, Akara, you’ve made me curious now,” Elarinn complained, though she kept her tone good-natured and light.

After a moment, Akara relented, her smile returning. “You always were the curious one, weren’t you?” she asked amusedly before turning serious. “There’s something about that boy that drew my attention tonight...though I cannot be certain that I saw correctly.” Elarinn nodded, silently urging the other to continue, and Akara finished, “His eyes seemed to shine oddly, as if something in them caught the light. Perhaps, if you get the chance, would you look for this?”

That’s it? Should be easy enough... “I’ll look for them,” Elarinn promised, then turned back towards the gate. “I need to get back...good night, Akara.”

The older woman waved a wordless farewell in response, and Elarinn set off at a jog for the encampment’s entrance, savoring the touch of the cool night air.

[0xDEADCAFE]

This was good stuff, Rev; good stuff indeed: a nice, easy combination of exposition and dialog, which you always seem to do so well. And then there was the arrival of Ryland and Blaen, two characters I remember well from "Sorrow" that I like very much, so that was a nice plus.

I'm not going to cite chapter and verse in this post, although I may come back for a more detailed critique later. One thing I do remember is a phrase like "she made an affirmative response." It jagged at first, and then I quickly forgave it, thinking it seemed a reasonable way to let the reader fill in the blanks: did she nod, or grunt or wink or whatever. But then I noticed you using something similar in one or two other places and they stuck out as a bit awkward. Maybe it was the repetition that bothered me.

I also recall that I thought the way you handled Blaen's "oddness" was nigh masterful. "Amongst humans," indeed. Who ever thought you could be such a genius of understatement?

That's about it, really. I enjoyed this chapter and had a distinct feeling of disappointment as I reached the end of it. I realize it is a bit out of character for me to be brief and mostly nice, but what can I say? I'll try to meaner next time? :evil:

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, 0xDEADCAFE. I'm glad to hear that you enjoyed the latest chapter, and that the month-plus breaks aren't totally messing you up; I'll get the next one out faster, really! :tongue:

One thing I do remember is a phrase like "she made an affirmative response." It jagged at first, and then I quickly forgave it, thinking it seemed a reasonable way to let the reader fill in the blanks: did she nod, or grunt or wink or whatever. But then I noticed you using something similar in one or two other places and they stuck out as a bit awkward.

I'll take a look at the "affirmative response" thing; I can't think of where I used it off the top of my head, but I'd imagine that it may have shown up a few times.

I realize it is a bit out of character for me to be brief and mostly nice, but what can I say? I'll try to meaner next time? :evil:

Heh...you could say that, I suppose. At the very least, though, it's nice to see that there're still people reading along; comments in general make nice motivators. So, thanks for reading! :smiley:

[RevenantsKnight]

I'm not dead as a writer, dang it! :tongue:

----------

Mystery

The rhythmic clink of a hammer against steel filled the air around the encampment’s forge, then stopped as Charsi looked up from the worn chainmail draped over her anvil. “Should I stop if you’re going to shoot, my lady?” the young smith asked, her sight coming to rest on the figure standing motionless several paces away.

Elarinn shook her head ever so slightly, one hand stilled by the quiver at her side, the other gently clasping her bow. “Go ahead with your work; I’ll be fine,” she said, not taking her eyes from the practice target hanging from the palisade. “And like I said, it’s Elarinn.”

Charsi turned back to the armor before her without a word, causing Elarinn to glance over at her and then shrug as she found nothing of interest. Well, anyway... Fixing her gaze on the distant wooden circle again, the auburn-haired captain held her stance for a moment, her gently rising chest the only sign that she was not a sculptor’s masterpiece. Then, her arms leapt from their rest in a blur of motion, and four sharp twangs rose into the air to join the sounds of Charsi’s labor, each followed by a dull thump.

The forge fell silent as Charsi looked up again, wide-eyed. “Wow...that was fast,” she managed, her voice timid, hushed.

Shrugging, Elarinn let her bow drop back down to her side, squinting as she peered into the deepening shadows. “Comes with practice,” she answered, taking a step towards the wall, nodding at her result. Then, as the memory of her first such attempt rose before her mind’s eye, she smiled slightly and turned to Charsi, adding, “Well, a few years’ practice, anyway.”

The blacksmith managed a smile of her own at Elarinn’s words, and then resumed her work, the sound of her hammer ringing out once more. At this, the young captain nodded to herself and walked over to the palisade, casting another glance over her shoulder. Progress, I suppose...certainly better than the first time.

After pulling free the arrows from the target, Elarinn strolled back to where she had started, readying herself for another volley when her eyes settled on the chainmail upon the anvil, and she turned to Charsi, catching her gaze with a cough. “Is that the outlander’s?”

Charsi nodded in reply. “Yeah, the bigger one’s,” she said, tapping her hammer lightly against the iron mesh. “It was a bit battered when he gave it to me, but it’s still good quality mail; it almost reminds me of the pieces that came from Tristram.” She studied the armor for a moment, then reddened slightly and looked back to the auburn-haired captain. “Sorry...I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“It’s all right,” Elarinn replied, shrugging. Her hand drifting to her quiver, she began to turn back towards the target, then stopped as she felt the other’s eyes still upon her. “Have a question for me?”

Charsi hesitated for a moment before nodding. “About the newcomers...are they here to stay for a while, or just passing through?” she asked. At Elarinn’s frown, she added, “Kashya told me to take fewer coins from those defending the camp than those who aren’t, like those traders,” and pointed her hammer at one of the large wagons. “I’m almost done with this, so I thought I’d ask now.”

Progress, all right. Elarinn shrugged in understanding, letting her bow drop down to her side. “They’ll be staying, and I think Kashya had something for them to do.” She smiled slightly as her commander’s stern features surfaced before her mind’s eye, then finished, “That is, if she doesn’t scare them off.”

The tall blacksmith returned the expression after an instant’s pause. “Thanks,” she said, looking up to meet the other’s gaze.

Nodding a quick reply, Elarinn began to turn back toward the palisade, then halted at the sight of the setting sun, now barely more than a crimson line against the horizon. “I’m due at the gate,” she said, waving towards the other in farewell. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Good luck,” Charsi called before turning back to her anvil, and Elarinn smiled as the words chased after her, fading with the last of the day’s light.

Flavie and her five Sisters were still at the gate when Elarinn arrived. Greeting her with a quick nod, the auburn-haired veteran cast a glance towards the fire, searching for her soldiers. Finding none of them, she shrugged, then looked back towards the gate as Flavie approached, halting three paces away. “See only Truth,” the younger captain intoned after a moment’s pause, holding her bow over her chest, her free hand flat against her closed fist.

“Serve only Light,” Elarinn replied, matching the other’s action after a moment’s pause. “Is there a problem?”

Flavie shook her head, letting her arms fall back down to her sides. “Kashya made a change to our defenses,” she said, beginning to walk back to the gate. “You know those two new outlanders?”

Elarinn followed, frowning slightly. “What about them?”

“Kashya posted them out in the copse, so we’ll have a warning if the undead try that route again.” Flavie motioned towards the distant silhouettes as they reached the entrance, and Elarinn stepped out into the moor for a better look. “I’m not sure when they’re coming back in, so be careful with your arrows.”

Don’t need you telling me that, thanks. Squinting in the dim light, Elarinn shrugged after a moment as her eyes settled on a dull green shape that stood out slightly amid the leaves and bushes. “They’re pretty well hidden in there,” she murmured, turning back to the other captain. “Do they have a plan for signaling us if they see something?”

The younger woman hesitated, then shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. Kashya didn’t tell me one, but they may have something in mind.”

“Probably worth asking when they get back, anyway,” Elarinn said. She looked back towards the fire as the other nodded, and smiled slightly when she noticed five approaching figures outlined against the light. “Looks like it’s my watch,” she commented, turning to Flavie and raising her bow to her chest. “See only Truth.”

“Serve only Light,” Flavie answered, returning the gesture, and then motioned her soldiers away from the gate as Elarinn’s band moved to their positions without a word. The auburn-haired woman nodded to them, smiling slightly as Aliza returned her gaze with an eager salute, then began, “Sisters, there’s been a small change...”

* * *

The stars were well into their journey across the night sky when Elarinn finally spotted movement amidst the shadows of the copse; several minutes later, two dark shapes, one tall, the other slightly built, emerged from the trees. Even then, she kept a hand near her quiver until Canace opened her eyes and nodded, lowering her own weapon. “It’s them, my lady,” the priestess said softly, squinting against the dim light.

About time. “Good job, Canace,” Elarinn said, waving for her soldiers to stand down. As they complied, she began to turn back towards the moor, then stiffened slightly as another’s request rose into her thoughts. Akara said something about the boy’s eyes...well, now’s as good a time as any.

When they reached the encampment’s gate, the outlanders halted, saluting her in the Westmarch fashion, fist over collarbone. Elarinn studied the two of them for a moment, her sight playing over the weathered cloak covering the older man’s chainmail, before asking, “Ryland and Blaen, right?” When Ryland nodded, his shoulders easing downwards, she continued, “Is this about the time you two will be returning in the future?”

Ryland glanced over at his companion, and when Blaen met it with a half-smile, he turned back to the auburn-haired captain and answered, “Yes, about this time.” He fell silent for a moment, then hesitated before adding, “Did you have a different one in mind?”

Elarinn arched a mental eyebrow at the other’s tentative voice. “Not for now,” she said, “though I did have questions for you.”

“What is it?” the other asked, stronger this time.

Glancing out into the night, Elarinn motioned towards the shadowed trees. “If they attack, are you going to retreat here or try to hold the copse?”

“Depending on their strength, we may do either,” Ryland said. “Even at night, there’s a good view out into the marsh, so we might stop them before they draw close, if all goes well.”

“Do you have a way to signal us if all doesn’t go well?” Elarinn pressed dryly.

At this, Blaen stepped forward, his expression now serious, and he pulled two arrows from his quiver, one with a strip of crimson fabric tied to the shaft, and the other with a white ribbon. “White means there are enemies. Red means we are retreating.”

Elarinn didn’t answer for a moment, caught off guard by the boy’s calm tone. Then, realizing that both outlanders and her soldiers were looking at her, she turned her gaze to the arrows in Blaen’s hand, narrowing her eyes, first in pretended interest, and then in genuine curiosity. Those shafts look light...he may not do much in a fight if all his arrows-

“Will they do?”

Elarinn’s head jerked back up at Blaen’s voice. “They should work,” she said, and he smiled, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. When they opened again, Elarinn cast a glance towards their dark centers and then blinked in surprise. Wait...what was that? Looking again, she saw a faint sheen over his eyes, almost as if the light from the fire were glinting off water. Elarinn studied it for another moment, and then, as the last of her surprise hardened into certainty, caught Ryland’s gaze and nodded. “All right, then. Good evening.”

The older man returned the gesture, his eyes flitting away from hers. “Good evening,” he said, and began to walk again, the boy at his side. Elarinn watched as they made their way towards the fire, then turned back to the darkened marsh, her mind busy with thoughts.

* * *

“You were right, Akara...his eyes are different.”

Seated on an empty bed in the healer’s tent, Elarinn paused to collect her thoughts, then looked back up to meet Akara’s gaze. “I’m not sure what that was, but somehow, it reminded me of water...or tears,” she added after a moment.

The older woman nodded. “Thank you, Elarinn,” she answered, her weathered voice soft, thoughtful. “Tears would be one way of describing them, I suppose.”

Neither woman said anything more for a short while, and Elarinn glanced over towards Iris, asleep on a nearby cot, then watched as Akara began to sort through a small pile of dried herbs. Finally, Elarinn asked, “So, what do they mean?”

Akara smiled at the young captain’s words, shaking her head slowly. “Truth be told, child, I do not know.” She paused for a moment, turning a sprig of some plant in her hands. “His eyes seemed both new and familiar, somehow...as if they were something that I had heard of before, in some old tale or history, but never seen myself.”

She doesn’t know? Confused, Elarinn shot Akara a quizzical look. “I thought you knew all the histories you taught us by heart,” she said, frowning.

The older woman laughed. “Oh, not quite,” she answered, placing the herb in her hands onto the table. “Regardless, I am sure that if I have encountered this in a book, it was in one of the older, obscure tomes. Had I access to the libraries-” Akara stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes flitting downward for a moment, before finishing, “I am sorry, child, but I do not know what those eyes mean, if anything.”

Elarinn nodded and shrugged in response. “Still, that boy – Blaen – seems unusual,” she said. “Nothing against him, but between his calmness and that smile, I think he’s kind of eerie.”

“Or perhaps we simply do not know him well enough,” Akara said with a smile.

“Well, that’s definitely true,” Elarinn sighed. “Anyway, do you still want me to keep an eye on him?”

Before Akara could answer, a low moan issued from the other side of the tent, and Elarinn whirled to see Iris shudder underneath the thin blankets, her face contorted into a mass of lines. Eyes widening, the young captain stared as her mentor’s body sagged weakly back against the mattress, then suddenly tensed again, limbs thrashing almost rhythmically as if dancing to an unheard, twisted anthem.

At this, Akara seized a nearby strip of cloth and hurried forward. “Hold her legs, child. Hurry!” The old woman’s voice shook Elarinn from inaction, and she rushed to Iris’s side. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached down and grabbed the other’s legs, pressing them against the thin mattress.

At Elarinn’s touch, Iris fell motionless for a heartbeat. Then, as Akara neared the bed, her legs bucked violently, nearly sending Elarinn sprawling. Gritting her teeth, the auburn-haired woman tightened her grip, fighting against another rush of spasms. Through the sheets, she could feel the blackened flesh rise between her fingers, pulsating with a painful heat.

“Hold her!” Akara urged again, and Elarinn leaned forward, pressing the weight of her entire body against Iris's renegade legs. Finally, they gave for a moment, and seeing this, Akara darted in with surprising speed, pressing the strip of fabric against the prone woman’s forehead.

A dull flash of blue light rose from the cloth, and then, just as suddenly as they had begun, the spasms faded, leaving Elarinn panting and staring down at Iris’s legs in both surprise and faint horror. Then, as she realized what she still held in a deathgrip, the auburn-haired captain pulled her hands back with a start, brushing them against her armor disgustedly. “What was that?”

Her features drawn, Akara lowered herself onto a nearby stool, then shook her head sadly after a few deep breaths. “I believe it is the enchantment fighting to take control of her body,” the priestess began. “This reminds me of a possession...though those are often worse. I managed to create a sort of counterspell,” she continued, motioning to the cloth, which now bore a pattern of glowing lines, “but the most it can do is suppress these fits for some time before its power fades.”

“So is this going to keep happening?” Elarinn blurted out. Dammit, we can’t just leave Iris like this...

Akara met the younger woman’s eyes with an admonishing gaze, waiting until the other calmed slightly before offering an answer. “For now, yes. With more resources and time, I might be able to reverse it, but...” She sighed, then rose from her seat and said, “If you’ll excuse me, child, I need to make another charm...just in case.”

Elarinn nodded and began to walk outside, but something in her mind checked her steps. Shrugging, she turned back, her sight resting on Iris’s motionless form before moving to Akara. “Can I help, Akara?”

The aging priestess paused for a moment, and then her expression softened into a smile. “Of course, child. I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do.”

With that, the two of them began, working until the night’s darkness had begun to fade.

[Raging_Zealot]

For whatever reason, I had never read this before, it seems I had started but never had the time to finish. Well I started to read it last night and didn't want to stop! Definitely enjoying it so far, so I hope you continue. Sorry to not provide something constructive, but I'm sure praise isnt a bad thing :smiley: . I didn't really catch anything amiss, but if I do in the future I'll be sure to post it up.

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, Raging_Zealot. Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment. I do intend to keep working on this and I hope whatever comes next doesn't disappoint.

I didn't really catch anything amiss, but if I do in the future I'll be sure to post it up.

Sweet. :thumbsup: Thanks in advance for any future suggestions!

[RevenantsKnight]

May as well get this posted, since it's been sitting around long enough. The pace should start picking up a little after this, assuming I find any time to write. I hope it's enjoyable.

----------

Meeting (I)

Shivering slightly as a few raindrops splashed against her head, Elarinn frowned and stared out into the gray mist, then rubbed a hand over tired eyes. Sleep had eluded her for most of the morning, even with the fog blocking out the sunlight. Still too blasted bright...I’d better get used to this routine soon.

The rain began to fall harder after a few minutes, and the auburn-haired woman ducked under an awning attached to a nearby wagon. Brushing more water from her face, she looked out again towards the encampment’s gate. A shape moving in the gloom ahead caught her eye, and she grimaced in recognition a moment later as it sharpened into one of the Eastern witches. What they did a few days ago didn’t help, either. Idly fingering the silver chain hanging from her neck, Elarinn began to turn away, then paused, frowning slightly. Is she...yeah, she’s coming this way. May as well be polite. As the other neared, Elarinn caught her gaze, fashioning an empty greeting from a small smile and a wave of her hand.

Much to Elarinn’s surprise, the sorceress’s young face lit up at the gesture, and she quickened her already lively pace. “Are you one of our new scouts?” she called out, hopping over a puddle to land lightly before the veteran Sister and bobbing her head in a quick bow. “I’m Kurenye, apprentice of the Zann Esu.”

Blinking, Elarinn hesitated, her words fading into the nothingness of a breath passing. “Well met, Kurenye,” she finally managed, her eyes sweeping quickly over the sorceress’s red sleeveless tunic and leggings to the long sword slung across her back. Then, after another moment, she added, “I’m Elarinn, and no, I’m not on scout duty.”

Kurenye’s eyes widened at this, then she laughed, waving a hand as she joined Elarinn under the awning. “Oh, sorry, my mistake, my mistake,” she said. “I only heard that both of our scouts were supposed to come meet us soon; do you know who they might be?”

“Wait...what ‘new scouts’?” Elarinn said. I know Kashya ordered some Sisters back to the outposts, but that’s...

“Your leader didn’t tell you?” the young sorceress asked. When Elarinn shook her head, she looked up at the dripping wood above, pursing her lips in thought. “I wonder why that would be...” she mused, then continued, “Your leader – she’s Kashya, right? – said that she’d send a few of your scouts along with us, since we d-”

“Right, right,” Elarinn broke in, then let her eyes drift past the other to the palisade. Wonder why that would be, indeed. The sorceress’s words yielded no answer, though, and after a moment, Elarinn ran a hand through her hair, sighing through gritted teeth.

“Thinking about anything interesting?”

Elarinn started at the other’s voice, then turned quickly towards Kurenye, barely holding back the urge to scowl. “Sorry, you surprised me a little,” she said. “Just thinking about Kashya’s orders.”

Nodding, Kurenye laughed lightly. “Oh, we didn’t expect them, either, after we reported back,” she said, her words quick like children at play. “She told us just yesterday, though, so I guess she had some time to plan this.”

Ah. Elarinn let her breath drift slowly out into the mist, the heat in her chest following closely behind. That’s probably why, she thought, then paused as more of the sorceress’s words reached beyond her ears. Something in her tone tugged at Elarinn’s curiosity; after a moment, she looked back – and down, she noted with some surprise – to meet the other’s gaze, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t say something to set Kashya off, did you?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Kurenye said. “We did tell her about some of your traitors, the ones that we saw in the graveyard, though, and after that, I guess it’d make sense if she kept you all closer to the camp.”

Elarinn tensed, eyes narrowing. “Why? What were they like?” she pressed.

With a shrug, the sorceress motioned to her light brown arms. “The ones we saw – no more than five or six, I guess – were changed. They’d gone all white, except for parts where...hey, do you know what a really bad burn looks like?”

“How bad?” Elarinn said cautiously.

“Pretty bad, I guess; it’s when everything gets all blackened and rough,” Kurenye answered, looking up expectantly. When the veteran of Tristram nodded, she said, “Well, they had patches like that all over, with big spikes sticking out of them. With all that, they looked awfully twisted.” She paused for a moment, rubbing her hands together, then added, “Oh, and then there was that one with the horns in the graveyard – she was all red, though. Hey, are you okay?”

Elarinn gave no answer for a moment, though she managed to bend her grimace back into a flat line. “Were...were any of them tall, maybe about this high, with brown hair and a mole or two on her face?” she finally asked, motioning well above her head with her hand.

The sorceress looked up, eyes widening slightly. “Wow...that’s really tall,” she said, then shook her head. “None of them were that big, no.”

Not Feyla. Elarinn nodded and closed her eyes in relief. “Thanks,” she said, and sighed quietly, the sound lost among the tapping of the rain.

“Is it usually this gloomy here?”

Reddening, Elarinn began to snarl an answer, then paused as Kurenye motioned to the mist around her and continued, “I mean, the sun’s been out on some days, but when winter starts, is it always like this?”

Oops. Elarinn ran a hand through her hair as the warmth ran from her face to prickle her back, then said, “It can be, sometimes.”

The young witch made a face in reply. “Seems weird to me...you can barely see what’s ahead of you. Still, I guess it might be fun.” Before the other could say anything, she added, “I kind of miss the sun from back home; in the evening, when it’s going down and turning all the clouds red and orange, it’s such a pretty sight.”

Elarinn paused for a moment at this, the other’s words piquing her curiosity. “Where is home for you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m from Viz-jun,” Kurenye chirped, then added as Elarinn shrugged helplessly, “It’s a city in the jungle, across the sea. I guess you can hardly see the sun there half the time, with all the trees, but I like it anyway.”

“You’re from a city?” the auburn-haired captain said quickly. “Is it anything like Lut Gholein, if you’ve ever been there?”

Kurenye blinked, pressing a finger to her lips as she thought. “Umm...kind of,” she said after a short silence. “It’s a little similar, but, well...Lut Gholein’s small.”

Small? Elarinn started, the younger woman’s words crashing against the wonder she remembered feeling when the city’s gates had first risen from the sands to greet her widened eyes. “Wait, how big is Viz-jun then?”

The sorceress laughed, waving a hand. “You know, I’m not exactly sure,” she said, beginning to bounce from foot to foot. “I think there’s still a few places I haven’t ever been to, even after all these years.”

“Oh...” Stepping back, Elarinn leaned against the wagon behind her for a moment. Memories of her time in the desert port, of the many shops, the great walls and the beautiful dome of the palace, flashed before her mind’s eye, still enough to make her heart beat faster; the thought that another could consider them nothing made her dizzy.

“Something up?”

Figures. The veteran of Tristram sighed quietly, the image of the young sorceress pushing itself back into view. “I’m just not used to cities, really,” she answered, her gaze resting on the other’s narrow brown eyes for a moment. “It must be different for you to be here.”

Kurenye laughed again, then shook her head slightly. “I used to live somewhere smaller,” she said, then blinked, pausing. “That was when I was real little, though, with my parents...I can’t remember it well anymore.”

As the last of Kurenye’s words faded into the air, an eerie, soft hum, almost too faint to hear, brushed at Elarinn’s ears, just before the sorceress blinked and then held up one hand, her other straying to the hilt of her sword. “Wait a moment...something’s happening,” she said, her once-cheerful voice now no more than a whisper.

Nodding, Elarinn pulled her bowshaft free, stringing it with a practiced haste. Warily, she looked around, then stopped as a dull blue glow began to color the fog at the encampment’s north end. As the noise grew louder, Kurenye advanced a few steps into the rain, drawing her weapon, and Elarinn followed. That sound...it doesn’t feel natural...

After a second, the humming ended as suddenly as it had begun, and a brief flash of light rushed out towards the women. With a grimace, Elarinn raised a hand to her eyes, and then, seeing several human-shaped outlines appear in the fog, pulled free an arrow.

A moment later, Kurenye held up a hand, her body easing back into a casual posture, and Elarinn lowered her weapon just as the fur-draped forms of Faeldh and one of his comrades pushed their way past the gloom. Sighing, she jammed the missile back into her quiver with a shake of her head, then offered a hurried wave in greeting to the druids as Faeldh eyed her with curiosity. Blast, I’m getting jumpy...but where did those earth-shamans come from? The veteran Sister hurried forward, stopping next to Kurenye. “Any idea what that was?” she said.

Frowning, the sorceress motioned downward, and Elarinn blinked, unsure if the light before her eyes was a ghost from moments ago. Then, she started as the blue glow came into focus, sharpening into the shape of a circle. Through the mist, she could see a stone slab in the ground before her, with the light emanating dully from lines carved into the light brown surface.

Kurenye made a sound of understanding after a moment, causing Elarinn to look up. “Looks like some sort of older magic to me,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll bet those druids used it just now to get here.”

Must be that enchanted circle Iris mentioned a while ago. Elarinn caught the other’s gaze, then nodded towards the carvings in the rock. “Seen something like this before?”

The sorceress laughed. “I think so, yes,” she said, wiping rainwater from her face. “Kurast had some enchantments for traveling between parts of the city...I saw those a few times when I visited there.” With a shrug, she began to walk back towards the wagon, playfully flicking the point of her sword back and forth. Elarinn eyed the younger woman warily at this, though after a moment, she sighed and turned to follow.

After they were once again under the wagon’s awning, shivering slightly as water dripped from their clothes, Elarinn pulled free her bowstring, wiping as much moisture as she could from the layered linen, and placed the shaft into its sling. Kurenye, though, kept her blade out, occasionally scything through one of the large droplets that fell from the wood above with a noise like wind stirring leaves. Stepping back slightly from the flashing steel, Elarinn sighed, then paused, her sight settling on a red tassel hanging from the weapon’s pommel. Looks almost like a toy or something... For a few moments, she watched it flash from side to side, frowning slightly, then waved toward the other’s sword and said, “Do you always swing that around like that?”

Kurenye looked up, smiling, then whipped her blade through a last cascade of liquid orbs before turning to face the older woman. “Oh, I guess so,” she replied. “My teacher used to train me with things like this, and I don’t really have a lot of chances to practice with someone anymore.”

Interesting...if a little dangerous. The auburn-haired Sister paused for a moment, her gaze flickering back and forth between the sorceress’s hands and her cheerful face. “And you’ve never hurt anyone by accident?”

“Not unless you count me tripping on something,” Kurenye laughed as she shook rainwater from her blade and replaced it in the scabbard across her back.

Shrugging, Elarinn stepped a little closer to the smaller woman, her breath easing out into the cold air with a slow hiss. “I guess most of your friends don’t use this kind of weapon?” she said, motioning to the sword again.

The sorceress nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Not many others-” She suddenly stopped, looking towards the heart of the encampment. Elarinn followed her gaze, and beheld the figure of a lithe woman surrounded by a blizzard of sparkling blue light, her hair flowing loose behind her. As the veteran of Tristram blinked in surprise, the silhouette raised a hand into the air and uttered sounds that were undoubtedly a command, but Elarinn’s ears could not shape them into words.

Kurenye seemed to understand, though, her eyes widening slightly as the cadences of the other’s voice reached her ears. “Oh, I think I need to go help my sisters,” she said, then turned back towards the older woman and bowed quickly. “Farewell, Elarinn!”

Elarinn raised a hand in parting, offering another small smile. “Farewell, Kurenye.”

With a short burst of laughter, Kurenye waved and darted out into the rain, jumping between the growing pools of water. The auburn-haired captain watched her go, then turned again to the encampment’s entrance and the world outside. As she gazed out at the fog-softened shape of the gate, it occurred to Elarinn that, this time, something was different. It was a moment before she grasped it: she wasn’t frowning anymore.

[Drystan]

Hi Rev! Great to see there's more to come! I'll have to re-read the earlier parts, but it's still great writing! Keep it up. :thumbsup:

A couple of things (I'm tired, it's late and wasn't concentrating too hard, and yet it still kept me enthralled.)

Shivering slightly as a few raindrops splashed against her head, Elarinn frowned and stared out into the gray mist, then rubbed a hand over tired eyes.
I think that should be "over her tired eyes."

The sorceress’s words yielded no answer, though, and after a moment, Elarinn ran a hand through her hair, sighing through gritted teeth
“She told us just yesterday, though, so I guess she had some time to plan this.”
To me, 'though' is a bit awkward. Maybe if you removed the first comma, it may be a different meaning. The second quote feels more comfortable than the first, but maybe you're using it in a context I've never seen it as.
You've used 'though' like this a few times, so I'm not sure. It may be me tiring too. If this is a context unknown to me, could you explain how you mean this?

Keep up the great work! Love the ending paragraph. It's like I was immersed in it.

[RevenantsKnight]

Wow...that was eerily quick. Are you stalking me or something? :grin:

Kidding, kidding. Glad you liked it, and it's good to see that the long lag between posts isn't messing with people too much.

I think that should be "over her tired eyes."

Hrm...maybe, though my first reaction was that that either would be correct. Something to check on the next revision, anyway...

To me, 'though' is a bit awkward. Maybe if you removed the first comma, it may be a different meaning. The second quote feels more comfortable than the first, but maybe you're using it in a context I've never seen it as.

It's possible that I could be using it in an odd, colloquial manner, since I tend to write by ear, as it were. I guess it's supposed to be something like "however" or "but" in both cases. You've piqued my curiosity, so thanks...I'll have to look into this.

Thanks for taking the time to comment, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[Drystan]

Wow...that was eerily quick. Are you stalking me or something? :grin:
Yep, I'm stalking. :grin: I just saw "A call to arms" and it immediately called for my attention.

Regarding, "over tired eyes." I felt that you weren't defining to whom the eyes belonged, thus it gives a sense of unimportance, when it should give character development or her feelings or mental state.

Regarding, "though." I use though as a linking word, such as 'however,' or 'but.' Relating the previous sentence with the current, or similar uses.
Maybe it's awkward because it looks like you're linking (using though):

"The sorceress’s words yielded no answer," with
"and after a moment, Elarinn ran a hand through her hair, sighing through gritted teeth"

Please understand that these are my interpretations, and others may feel it to be different to me. I personally would remove them. Sorry I can't say why I feel they're odd, or help any more.

[0xDEADCAFE]

This Elarinn really is a grumpy-head, isn't she? It's nice to see her enjoying someone's company, even in spite of her best efforts. It's telling the way she always seems to be reacting to other people when faced with a social situation. It strikes me as a little immature, in fact, and I guess I would like to see her character grow in that respect.

Plot-wise, it felt like another sort-of interlude chapter. Not much going on, here. In addition, at the beginning it felt like a disconnect from the previous chapter. Even now, I am left wondering where this took place. The encampment, some new camp? There was a reference to something the witches had done a few days ago that I missed. I even went back and skimmed the previous chapter to see if I had missed something. Perhaps I have, but this scene seemed to come out of left field.

However, it's a nice enough chapter, and if Kurenye turns out to be a significant character then I could see this being a worthwhile scene. Kurenye seems interesting and likable, and this all read easily. It still wouldn't disappoint too much me if you could manage another battle scene at some point. As I recall, the last one was a hum-dinger!

[RevenantsKnight]

@ Drystan: Thanks again for your thoughts; they're definitely something for me to consider.

@ 0xDEADCAFE: Good to hear from you, and thanks for the comments. I'm glad this didn't chase you away after the embarrassingly long break between chapters.

This Elarinn really is a grumpy-head, isn't she? It's telling the way she always seems to be reacting to other people when faced with a social situation. It strikes me as a little immature, in fact, and I guess I would like to see her character grow in that respect.

Yay...well, sort of. That's definitely part of it, but if "grumpy-head" is the only thing that comes to mind about Elarinn, then maybe I should tone that down a touch...

In addition, at the beginning it felt like a disconnect from the previous chapter. Even now, I am left wondering where this took place. The encampment, some new camp? There was a reference to something the witches had done a few days ago that I missed. I even went back and skimmed the previous chapter to see if I had missed something. Perhaps I have, but this scene seemed to come out of left field.

Aw, man...well, I was trying to be subtle about it, but I guess that probably wasn't clear enough. Anyway, it's still the same encampment, and the event "a few days ago" was, in game terms, Act I, Quest 2: Sisters' Burial Grounds, with the Sorceresses defeating Blood Raven. I didn't want to mention it outright, since it's not something Elarinn would want to bring up and it didn't directly involve her, and so stuck to hinting at it with the graveyard references, the description of the red corrupted Sister with horns (Blood Raven,) and the fact that Kashya was releasing several Rogues to aid the Zann Esu. In addition to introducing Kurenye, this was supposed to mark time with that bit. Maybe that was relying too much on game knowledge, though, so I'll probably make it more explicit next time.

However, it's a nice enough chapter, and if Kurenye turns out to be a significant character then I could see this being a worthwhile scene. Kurenye seems interesting and likable, and this all read easily.

Huzzah! And yes, Kurenye is not supposed to be a throwaway character, at least if I have any clue as to what's going to happen later. Whether or not I actually have a clue, well... :lipsrsealed:

It still wouldn't disappoint too much me if you could manage another battle scene at some point. As I recall, the last one was a hum-dinger!

I'm getting there, I'm getting there...and taking my good sweet time, as always. :tongue:

Thanks again for reading and commenting!

[Raging_Zealot]

Still continuing to enjoy this, definitely looking forward to the next section, just wanted to post to give you some extra encouragement to keep going, no pressure though ;)

[RevenantsKnight]

Still continuing to enjoy this, definitely looking forward to the next section, just wanted to post to give you some extra encouragement to keep going, no pressure though ;)

Augh! People are waiting! Must finish, must finish, must finish...:grin: In all seriousness, the encouragement is appreciated. Thanks a bunch, Raging_Zealot.

With that, here's the next part of the story. Thanks in advance for reading, and I hope it's enjoyable.

----------

Meeting (II)

After some time, the sorceress’s words began to echo through Elarinn’s mind again, and she closed her eyes in thought as the dull outline of the palisade faded into the mist and fading light. She’d send a few of your scouts along with us...now why did Kashya do that in the first place? With a sigh, she rubbed a hand over the bridge of her nose, then shrugged. Well, no harm in asking...

Turning, the young captain halted as a silhouette in the mist caught her eye; a moment later, she recognized Delwyn’s face as the other halted, raising her fist over her collarbone. “My lady, Kashya wishes to speak with you.”

Convenient. “Thanks, Delwyn,” Elarinn said. “She’s in her tent?” At her comrade’s nod, she ducked out from under the awning, wincing as a raindrop splashed against her eyelid, and hurried off towards the encampment’s center. Delwyn followed, and the auburn-haired woman cast her a glance as they cut around another parked wagon. “Did she tell you why I’m needed?”

Delwyn hesitated at her commander’s voice, though only for a moment. “No, my lady,” she replied, then turned back towards the mist ahead, quickening her pace slightly.

Sighing under her breath, the young captain frowned, her mind recalling her mentor’s words. Right, building strength. No idea where to start with her, though... She was still half amid her thoughts as they neared Kashya’s tent, and Delwyn hurried ahead to hold open the canvas flap for her. Nodding her thanks, Elarinn stepped into the tent, then halted in surprise.

Most of the people inside, Kashya, Akara, Flavie, the druid Faeldh, and a woman Elarinn recognized as the leader of the warriors from the Sea of Light, seemed not to notice her arrival, still gazing down at a map and several pieces of rough parchment laid across the table. Iris, though, looked up at the sound of the tent flap falling back into place, as did a figure in colorful robes, likely a sorceress by the oaken staff she held. The former quickly motioned towards Kashya, and Elarinn stepped forward, though she could not keep confusion from her face. Wait...what in Her name are all the outlanders doing here?

The Sisterhood’s general looked up as Elarinn neared, then tapped a finger against the map on the table. “I trust you remember this?”

Eyes narrowing, the young captain leaned downwards and started as the pattern of lines and shapes came into focus. For a moment, the shapes around her seemed to twist, and she watched them shift into a memory, and then another, the still images transformed into a coursing fluid. Then, the second fell away, and Elarinn found herself in the tent once more. “Tristram,” she finally breathed, looking back up with frozen eyes.

“Exactly.” Kashya held her gaze for a heartbeat, raising an eyebrow slightly, then continued, “The storyteller there, Cain...you know what he actually is.”

Elarinn nodded. “Horadrim,” she said, noting Flavie’s hissed breath at the word with half her mind. To her mild surprise, none of the outlanders showed any reaction. “One of their last sages, if not the only one,” she added, then played her sight over their still faces. What’s this all about?

“Child, could you recognize Cain now, do you think?” Akara said from behind her.

Wait... “Probably,” Elarinn answered after a moment, still looking ahead. “He stood out among all the others, anyway.”

At this, Kashya rapped a fist on the table for attention and turned toward the outlanders. “So, we have the path,” she said, motioning to Faeldh and then to Elarinn, “and a guide. All we need now are the soldiers.”

Oh, blast. Elarinn whirled to face her commander, a storm brewing on her tongue, then halted as she felt Akara’s hand wrap gently around her shoulder. The older woman met her gaze with a small, sad smile before guiding her back several steps, and a moment later, Elarinn felt another’s breath on her neck. “Sorry, Elarinn,” came Iris’s voice, hushed, quickened, and Elarinn’s shoulders eased themselves downwards again. “I’d go, if I could.”

After what felt like a very long silence, the druid Faeldh reached down to finger the pieces of parchment – no, tree bark, Elarinn realized with a start – and shook his head. “I am sorry, Sister. Most of my brethren remain in the wilderness, and I was sent here only to deliver this to you. I must return to them as soon as I can. Should you wish to wait for me to find them and-”

“No,” Kashya broke in. “We need to find Cain now.”

Frowning, Akara stepped up to the other woman’s side. “By that, Kashya means that the more we wait, the less likely it will be that Cain will still live.” She paused, long enough to gaze reproachfully at a stone-faced Kashya, then finished, “I am afraid that our chances are already waning, even if we move tonight.”

At this, Faeldh bowed slightly and turned halfway towards the tent’s entrance. “Then, if you would be kind enough to excuse me...”

Kashya nodded, the traces of a scowl on her face beginning to deepen. As Faeldh ducked outside, the armored woman from the Sea of Light cleared her throat. “My people will go, for this Horadrim’s sake. However, I want more warriors to come with us. Searching for the stones the bark mentions without knowing this land will be hard enough.”

Stones? Confused, Elarinn leaned forward for a better look and blinked in surprise as she noticed sigils engraved in the bark, shapes and forms she did not recognize. Sort of like those old tomes, back in Tristram, but not quite... After a few moments spent in thought and finding nothing, she shrugged. Must be old or powerful...or maybe both. Either way, Kashya’s not going to send more Sisters, not back to there...

“Perhaps, Asune, you could...?” Akara began, motioning towards the sorceress.

Asune shook her head in response. “You’ll have to do without us,” she said, frowning, then turned to the other outlander. “Several of my apprentices clashed with a large force of demons this afternoon and are not ready for another battle now, Kythese. Not until the morning, at least.”

“Just how large a force was it?” Kythese said, her eyes narrowing.

“They counted nearly forty bodies after the ambush, mostly minor demons,” Asune replied. Glancing over at Kashya, she added, “As I said earlier, that is enough to be a vanguard for something much larger.”

Kashya nodded grimly. “The enemy Asune’s apprentices intercepted were moving in this direction,” she said, turning her gaze to the armored warrior. “Other than Elarinn, I need all the rest of my Sisters here in case another group finds us.”

“Of course,” Kythese said, the ends of her lips beginning to curl upwards.

“What about those two new outlanders?” Iris said after a moment. Nodding towards the encampment’s gate, she added, “They’re pretty exposed as it is; I doubt they’d do much good if the enemy hit us in force.”

Right, them. Elarinn paused, thinking back to the memory of their arrival, then said, “The smaller one might be able to help with finding those stones. He seems like a pretty skilled forester, anyway.”

At this, the Sisterhood’s general turned back to Kythese and arched one eyebrow. “Satisfied?”

Kythese matched her piercing stare, still smirking. “They will do, if you have no one else to offer.”

“Flavie, find them and bring them here.”

The junior Sister hesitated for a moment, eyes wide, then hurried out into the encampment as Kashya’s order faded into the air. In the ensuing silence, Elarinn looked back and forth between the two leaders, her curiosity stirring once more; the bark and its runes, the mysterious stones, and above all, the mention of Tristram surfaced again and again in her thoughts, even as they sent cold shivers down her spine. When Kashya paid her no heed, she turned and caught Iris’s gaze, asking with narrowed eyes. Her mentor merely smiled slightly, then inclined her head towards the encampment’s gate and shrugged, and Elarinn sighed in response. Well, Flavie had better hurry, then...

It was not long before Flavie returned with her charges, the older man – Ryland – bearing an expression of wary confusion as he stepped into the tent. Blaen followed a moment later, and Elarinn studied him as he gazed over the assembled leaders and the table, his glimmering brown eyes widening ever so slightly as his sight graced the map. Seeing this, she leaned down towards her mentor and whispered, “Iris, didn’t they-”

Kashya interrupted her words with another hard rap of her fist on the table. “You two,” she said, turning towards the new arrivals, “will be going with Elarinn, Kythese and the rest of her warriors. I expect that you will follow their commands as if they were my own.”

Ryland nodded, then turned to face the armored woman from the Sea of Light. “What is our task, then...my lady?”

Kythese eyed him for a moment and smirked. “We’re heading out to find a set of cairn stones so we can get an ally out of the hell that is Tristram.”

“Tristram!?” Ryland cried, and Elarinn saw the color drain from his face. “You...you can’t be serious,” he finally managed, closing trembling hands into fists.

“No, I’m just saying that to be funny,” Kythese said, her voice hardening. “So, are you going to run away?”

At this, Ryland hesitated, then looked down to his companion and asked softly, “Blaen, will this be all right?”

Blaen did not answer for a moment, his pale features carrying a ghost of something – fear? sorrow? – with their calm. Then, looking up, he nodded, making a small noise of assent.

No one said anything more for a time, leaving Elarinn to wrestle with the questions in her mind; finally, she could hold them back no longer. “So what’s the point of these cairn stones, then?” she asked, eying the sigil-covered bark again.

“The stones should give you a way to Tristram, child,” Akara said. Seeing the younger woman’s confusion, she smiled and added, “The runes on the bark are in the old Khanduran fashion, so I shall bring you a translation of them before you leave. That should tell you more about how they will aid you.”

After another moment, Kythese turned towards Ryland and Blaen, motioning towards the tent’s entrance. “If that’s all, go and prepare what you need. My soldiers will be meeting at the gate shortly.” Pausing to study each of them as her words faded away, she then looked to Elarinn. “You too, warrior.” With that, she whirled and walked out of the tent, barking out a command into the night air.

Wonderful. Elarinn grimaced at this and then, noticing Ryland’s uncertain gaze upon her, waved for him to go on. He nodded and leaned down towards Blaen, murmuring something she could not discern. When the boy answered with a diffident smile, Ryland patted him on the shoulder and started towards the tent’s entrance, Blaen at his side. Elarinn watched them leave, looking from one to the other, before turning back expectantly to face Kashya. “Any further instructions, my lady?”

Kashya studied her carefully before nodding. “Don’t let their leader, Kythese, or any of the others bait you into doing something stupid.” Then, to Elarinn’s surprise, her eyes fell shut, and she sighed, her years writing themselves across her face in lines. “Besides that, just come back alive.” Her stern mask reappeared a moment later, and she stepped forward towards Elarinn. “See only Truth.”

Elarinn dropped to one knee by reflex. “Serve only Light,” she answered, then rose as Kashya walked past her and out into the mist, her stomach beginning to tighten around itself again.

“Elarinn, if you have a moment...”

The auburn-haired captain turned at the sound of Iris’s voice, the muscles in her shoulders unknotting. “Of course.”

Iris gazed at her for a moment, then pushed herself forward in her chair, her expression serious. “Remember, Elarinn, you’ve fought many demons at Tristram before. You aren’t going to battle the Dark Lord himself; this is just more of the same.”

A sigh escaped Elarinn’s lips as she cast her sight downwards. “I know, Iris, but it’s just me now-”

“You didn’t need any help with minor fiends by the end, did you?” Iris interrupted, this time with a mischievous smile. “I seem to remember a certain Sister saying that someone else was picking off all the targets she was aiming for...”

Elarinn smiled at the memory and looked up again to meet her mentor’s eyes. “Yeah, I guess I did shoot faster than Feyla,” she said slowly, then hesitated as another realization rose to her mind. “I hope she’s all right.”

Iris nodded, her smile now grimly confident. “Fighting back the hellspawn’s the most we can do for Feyla right now. For that...” She let her voice trail off, waving towards the map on the table.

Right. “Thanks, Iris,” Elarinn said, then paused as she noticed the other’s gaze shift downwards slightly. Following it with her own, she saw the silver chain around her neck, leading beneath her armor, and she reached up to pull the medallion free, clasping it tightly. Well, maybe not alone, then...

“You know, Elarinn, this might be good for you, demons and everything else aside,” Iris said after a moment. “I don’t think that Kythese will let you command her people, except for maybe one or two of them, but you will be one of the leaders for those two outlanders, after a sense. Try acting like a captain for them, maybe; perhaps it’ll help you with your band, too.” She paused, then added amusedly, “The older one, Ryland, definitely seems to need some help.”

Elarinn rolled her eyes, tucking the medallion back under her armor. “No kidding,” she sighed. “I just hope he doesn’t break and run against some little imp.”

“Well, that’s what you’re there for,” Iris noted. “The boy might be better about holding his ground, actually.”

Elarinn snickered. “I still can’t believe you thought he was a girl.”

Laughing quietly, Iris ran a hand over her sparrow-brown hair. “Well, he’s prettier than you,” she said in mock insult before her eyes turned serious. “I’d better not keep you any longer. Good luck out there, Elarinn.”

“Thanks, Iris,” Elarinn said, smiling slightly, then quickly looked over her weapons and armor. Bow, arrows, bracer, wrist knife, medallion...that should be everything. Time to go. With that, she turned towards the tent’s entrance, steeling herself, and walked out into the mist.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Good to see another chapter. I'll dive right in...


Thanks, Delwyn,” Elarinn said. “She’s in her tent?” At her comrade’s nod, she ducked out from under the awning, wincing as a raindrop splashed against her eyelid, and hurried off towards the encampment’s center. Delwyn followed, and the auburn-haired woman cast her a glance as they cut around another parked wagon.

I provided the previous sentence for context but what I really want to comment on is the one that starts with "Delwyn followed." I contend that the use of "auburn-haired woman" as a pronounical phrase (for Elarinn, I presume) makes the direction of the glance-casting uneqivocally ambiguous. Owing to the frequent references to the color of Elarinn's hair, I know that it is auburn, but I do not recall the color of Delwyn's hair so I don't know for sure that Delwyn's is not also auburn, and without said knowledge I cannot tell if this means that Elarinn glanced at Delwyn or the other way around since the subsequent "her" would seem to depend on to whom "auburn-haired woman" refers. (On the other hand, this detail appears to be so unessential to either the plot or the character development that it hardly bears mentioning. I don't know if that is a good thing or not.)

I realize this is becoming an old saw with me. I must have mentioned the "auburn-haired woman" phrase a few times already in previous posts. Why do I harp on it so? Because every time I read "auburn-haired woman" when I know you mean Elarinn I silently groan. A little voice inside me screams, "For the umpteenth time, I KNOW she's auburn haired, just say "Elarinn" for Baal's sake!" Not that that plaintive symptom of latent schizophrenia proves anything, but it's a fact of one reader's experience. Take it for what its worth.

(Just a bit more negativity before I go constructive on you.) Naturally, I too sometimes use a reference to a character as an opportunity to elaborate on their appearance. For example: "When Ted stood up, Alice noticed that the tall man's head barely missed touching the low, cobwebbed ceiling." There, now you know that Ted is tall even tough I never said "Ted is tall." Wasn't that clever? No, not really; this is a standard writing trick. I use it, you use it, everybody uses it, so what's wrong with you using "auburn-haired woman" to refer to Elarinn? In a nutshell, repetition. This first time, it tells us the color of her hair. What does it tell us on subsequent uses?

Referring to the example again, in such a story about Ted and Alice I think I would avoid ever calling him "the tall man" again unless there was a specific reason why the reader needed to be reminded of his tallness. So this must be what bothers me about "auburn-haired woman." I'm always left wondering why her auburn-hairedness is important at this point in the story. I mean, there must be a reason, oherwise you'd just use her name, right?

Anyway, enough about my pet peeve. Onto the promised constructivity. consider this:

"As they cut around another parked wagon, she glanced back at Delwyn."

By removing "Dewlyn followed" at the start of the sentence, there is no need to reestablish the implied subject of a feminine pronoun. Therefore, "she" works fine without any embellishment. But does the fact that Delwyn followed get lost? Well, the pronoun "they" establishes the fact that Delwyn went with the auburn-haired woman (wasn't that annoying?) and "back" implies that she followed, so I don't think so. (Not that it matters.) But the best part (for me) is "she glanced at Delwyn." Lean and clear. No bothersome extra details, no ambiguity, and it still works to set up the object and source of the subsequent dialog.

(I'll try to keep the rest of my nit-picks more brief.)



"...as did a figure in colorful robes, likely a sorceress by the oaken staff she held."

I suspect this use of "by" is not what you want, unless you mean to say that it is the holding of the oaken staff that actually makes her a sorceress (would she cease to be one if she released it?) or if you are reassuring us that she is nearby the staff she is holding. Both of these seem unlikely so I'm guessing you meant to indicate that Elarinn's assumption of the woman's sorceressness was formed by virtue of the fact that she held the oaken staff, in which case something like "judging by" would be better.


Kashya nodded, the traces of a scowl on her face beginning to deepen. As Faeldh ducked outside, the armored woman from the Sea of Light cleared her throat. I am willing to believe that I am a lazy reader, but who is "the armored woman from the Sea of Light?" On second read, I guess it's Faeldh, but why use a seven word phrase when "she" would work just fine? If it is because you haven't yet told us that Faeldh is armored and from the Sea of Light then why tell us now? If is important, then it would seem to deserve a more deliberate and careful elucidation. If it is not important then it's just wordiness. And if it's not Faeldh, then it's ambiguous.


Blaen followed a moment later, and Elarinn studied him as he gazed over the assembled leaders and the table, his glimmering brown eyes widening ever so slightly as his sight graced the map. "Graced the map" seems a bit much. Blaen certainly seems rather special, but is he really that special? Like, is he the second coming or something? Did the mere act of his looking at the map really confer some kind of blessing upon it? If so... cool. A bit of a backhand way of revealing his divinity to us, but... intriguing.

(But he isn't, is he? Is he? Heh. No, o'course not. So he didn't really grace the map, did he? Nah. Didn't think so.)


Overall

Overall, this was a decent chapter, although it is almost continually bogged-down in detail. The group scene was especially cluttered and confusing. Overall, I am tempted to say that most of the trivial details you inserted in this chapter are unnecessary and overal do more harm to than good, but I have to be careful. What I find most enjoyable about your writing is the richness of the characterization, and how can that be achieved without details?

(Can it be that there are good details and bad details?)

Well then, which details are which? Tough one, but let me opine specifically about this chapter: things that sound like stage directions, descriptions of facial expressions, and qualifications on how much of someone's mind is being occupied by a particular thought could can be safely deposited in the bad box. To me, it's the subtleties in your dialog that enrich your characters, not the many, trivial details in the descriptions.

(I wonder if you have ever written a scene purely as dialog? You might try it as an exercise. Then, when you are done, go back and see how much descriptive detail really needs to be added back in. You might find it's a lot less than you typically use.)

And in conclusion...

I'm looking forward to seeing Ryland and Blaen back in action again. And I can hardly wait for Ryland to show Elarinn and the rest of the Ryland-doubters what he's really made of. (No pressure, though...) :grin:

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, 0xDEADCAFE. Good to hear from you, and wow, that was fast.

I contend that the use of "auburn-haired woman" as a pronounical phrase (for Elarinn, I presume) makes the direction of the glance-casting uneqivocally ambiguous.

I realize this is becoming an old saw with me. I must have mentioned the "auburn-haired woman" phrase a few times already in previous posts. Why do I harp on it so? Because every time I read "auburn-haired woman" when I know you mean Elarinn I silently groan. A little voice inside me screams, "For the umpteenth time, I KNOW she's auburn haired, just say "Elarinn" for Baal's sake!" Not that that plaintive symptom of latent schizophrenia proves anything, but it's a fact of one reader's experience. Take it for what its worth.

Hrm...I think you're right here. The reason I didn't notice it is probably because I've been using that phrase in the fashion of epithets in The Odyssey or a similar work, where it always means "Elarinn." I'd intended to keep it around for that use, sort of how I tagged Ryland as "the archer captain" in Sorrow, but if this is as much of an issue as it seems, then I'll look into another phrasing. If "archer captain" didn't bother you much, I guess the device might work better with titles than physical characteristics. Something to consider, anyway, since if "auburn-haired" isn't working after all this time, you're probably not going to warm up to it all of a sudden, and you're probably a third of my audience. Well, a fourth, if I count. :grin:

By removing "Dewlyn followed" at the start of the sentence, there is no need to reestablish the implied subject of a feminine pronoun.

Yep, I think you're right. Good catch.

Both of these seem unlikely so I'm guessing you meant to indicate that Elarinn's assumption of the woman's sorceressness was formed by virtue of the fact that she held the oaken staff, in which case something like "judging by" would be better.

"Judging by" is exactly what I wanted, but I got lazy when I wrote this. Serves me right.

I am willing to believe that I am a lazy reader, but who is "the armored woman from the Sea of Light?" On second read, I guess it's Faeldh, but why use a seven word phrase when "she" would work just fine?

Oh :censored:...that was supposed to be Kythese (leader of the Amazon group.) Faeldh is, first off, male, and second, from Scosglen (home of the Druids.) I'll see if I can clear this up, but the reason why it was so lengthy was that I hadn't introduced Kythese's name yet and so couldn't just throw it out there.

"Graced the map" seems a bit much.

Yeah, it is. I'll change that.

Overall, this was a decent chapter, although it is almost continually bogged-down in detail. The group scene was especially cluttered and confusing.

Ugh...I had a feeling that the meeting was going to be messy, since I was juggling a bunch of different threads and naming two characters for the first time to boot. I'll see if I can't tighten things up some. Good to know it didn't burn your eyes out, though.

Well then, which details are which? Tough one, but let me opine specifically about this chapter: things that sound like stage directions, descriptions of facial expressions, and qualifications on how much of someone's mind is being occupied by a particular thought could can be safely deposited in the bad box. To me, it's the subtleties in your dialog that enrich your characters, not the many, trivial details in the descriptions.

And that, ladies and gents, is some quality criticism. Thanks much, good sir; I suspect that'll be fuel for another run of revision, at least!

(I wonder if you have ever written a scene purely as dialog? You might try it as an exercise. Then, when you are done, go back and see how much descriptive detail really needs to be added back in. You might find it's a lot less than you typically use.)

Ooh, nifty suggestion. I like it. :thumbsup:

I'm looking forward to seeing Ryland and Blaen back in action again. And I can hardly wait for Ryland to show Elarinn and the rest of the Ryland-doubters what he's really made of. (No pressure, though...)

Me too. After all, once I get those ideas written out, then maybe they'll stop kicking me in the back of the head. :tongue:

I'm glad this still holds your interest, and thanks for taking the time to read and comment. Good points all around, I'd say!

[RevenantsKnight]

I'm still around and writing, even if slowly, so here's the latest chapter. Thanks in advance for reading, and I hope it's enjoyable.

----------

Stones and Steel (I)

The fog had grown heavier by the time Elarinn arrived the encampment’s gate, where her band of Sisters was keeping watch. As she neared, Lamia turned and bowed slightly, then handed her a few sheets of parchment. “That’s from Akara, my lady.”

“Thanks, Lamia,” Elarinn said, glancing over her Sisters standing ready at the palisade. “Commanding the gate won’t be a problem for you, I assume?” When the other shook her head, Elarinn began to leaf through the notes, then paused and looked back up. “Something else?”

Lamia smiled. “Good luck, my lady.”

“Yeah, you too,” Elarinn said after a moment, then turned as the clank of metal reached her ears.

At the head of her group of warriors, Kythese greeted the young captain with a cool gaze. “Do you have the translation of the runes?” she said, then examined the parchment Elarinn proffered. “So...five stones, linked to some kind of sorcery. Whatever it is, it takes us to Tristram.”

“This places them to the east of here, in a field, so they’re likely a ways beyond the moor,” Elarinn added.

“All the more reason to get moving,” Kythese said. “Now where are those two laggard archers? Keria, go find them and get them over here.” Then, she turned back to Elarinn, holding out Akara’s notes. “So, Rogue, how would you proceed here?”

Eyes narrowing, Elarinn caged a curse with gritted teeth, then sighed quietly as Kashya’s command rang in her memory. Don’t let her get to you. “I’d follow the river, at least until we clear the moor, so that the left flank will be shielded,” she answered after a moment, her voice even as she traced a pattern over her palm with a finger. “From there, I’d cut south, heading for a hill or other vantage if no enemies are expected, staying close to cover if they are.”

Kythese smiled thinly. “They are very much expected.”

“Either way, we’re looking for an old road, or the remains of one. A large, open area with relatively young trees would do, also.”

“What makes you say that, Rogue?”

“Because the runes say that the stones are just outside a settlement, and there hasn’t been a village between here and the caves of the Andulon in my lifetime.” Elarinn matched the other’s expression, arching an eyebrow. “Will that do?”

Kythese’s smile broadened, though her gaze remained hard, and then she turned as Ryland and Blaen emerged from the gloom. “You are both best with your bows, yes?”

Ryland nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

Kythese studied him for another moment before waving to Elarinn. “You’ll have the two of them,” she said. “Your group will take the lead, since you know the land. We’ll cover the flanks.”

“All right,” Elarinn answered, then frowned. With this fog, we’ll get two shots at most... “I take you want us to fall back if we hit a force of demons?”

To her surprise, Kythese barely paused before shaking her head. “Lehani, you go with the Rogue,” she commanded, and Elarinn followed her gaze to a tall, blonde-haired woman, armed with a long spear and encased in breastplate. “Hold against the enemy until we come up, and attack anything you think you can kill off quickly.”

Or not, then. Interesting. “Well met, Lehani,” Elarinn said.

Lehani stepped forward as the greeting faded into the fog, straightening. “Well met, Sister.”

Elarinn smiled slightly in response. “I’m Elarinn, and they are Ryland and Blaen,” she said, drawing a nervous smile from the older man and a small bow from his companion.

“About ready, Rogue?” Kythese said after a moment, looking meaningfully towards the gloom of the moor.

Elarinn nodded. “Whenever you are.”

“Let’s go, then. Lead on.”

* * *

The waning hours of the night found Elarinn crouched behind a cluster of bushes, bow in hand as she peered around them into the fog. Should be coming back any time now... She could hear little aside from her own breathing, quiet, nervous. A moment later, Blaen emerged from the gloom, nodding once. Elarinn matched his action, then looked behind her to Lehani and Ryland, barely visible in the dim glow of the spearwoman’s lantern. Catching Ryland’s gaze, she waved them forward and padded after Blaen, keeping a hand near her quiver.

A low, resonant whistle, like some sort of bird’s call, reached Elarinn’s ears a few moments later; Lehani had signaled the rest of her comrades to advance. As the sound faded away, the young captain halted, readying an arrow, and when no demon or beast came charging out of the darkness, she hurried onward.

After several minutes of dodging between trees and rocks in the near-silence, Elarinn found Blaen lying prone just beneath the crest of a small hill. Kneeling next to him, she studied his pale features for a moment, then whispered, “Found something?”

“Yes, my lady,” the boy replied, crawling up to look over the crest. Her heart beginning to beat a little faster, Elarinn ducked down and followed.

Below them, the hill dropped off steeply, seeming to flatten out into a grassy field. Though the mist shrouded much of the land beyond the foot of the hill, Elarinn saw no dark shapes that could be trees. “You think this might be where the village was?”

“It was, my lady,” Blaen said. “Over there.”

Frowning, Elarinn chased his gaze with her own, then blinked in surprise as she saw the remains of a stone wall perhaps several feet high, the shade of the stones almost the same as the fog around them. “Yeah, you’re right...you’ve good eyes to see that in this mist,” she commented, stealing a glance behind them.

Blaen said nothing for a moment, just long enough for the young captain to remember Akara’s request, and she looked back to him, wincing inwardly. However, he only nodded, a shy smile on his lips. “I’m used to it.”

Huh...all right. Elarinn paused, her sight lingering on his glimmering brown eyes, then turned back towards the field. Looks mostly open down there...good place for a camp, and bad for a fight. If they know... “Go and get Ryland and Lehani up here, quietly.”

“Yes, my lady,” Blaen said, rising to a crouch and slipping off into the gloom. Elarinn watched him go, furrowing her brow in thought, then shivered as a cold breeze ran its fingers through her hair. Well, it can wait.

Although the mist had thinned significantly by the time Blaen returned with the others, Elarinn still heard them approach before she saw them. Shortly afterwards, the young scout emerged from behind a clump of brush, Ryland following close behind. Lehani appeared last, spear readied. “What’s going on, Sister?” she whispered, jerking her head in Blaen’s direction. “The boy didn’t say much.”

“There’s an open field on the other side of the hill, with part of an old stone wall,” Elarinn said, “and that should be what’s left of a village. The stones we’re looking for should be nearby.”

Lehani nodded and stepped up to the ridgeline, peering over for a moment, then turned back to Elarinn. “So what’s the plan?”

A quiet cough drew the young captain’s attention from Lehani, and she turned to face Ryland, a nervous expression on his face. “My lady, how are these stones going to get us...there, again?”

Elarinn paused at his voice, remembering, then narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been to Tristram before, haven’t you?”

Ryland started, then looked downward as he said, “I...yes, my lady. Not during the troubles, only after them.”

“Then what’s so bad about it?”

He stiffened, his eyes darting towards Blaen and then back again. “I’d rather not say.”

Silence reigned for a short while, with the young captain looking back and forth between her soldiers’ faces. “You at least remember what the town’s like, right?” Elarinn finally said; when Ryland nodded, she sighed to herself, then motioned towards the top of the hill. “All right. I’m going for the standing wall; cover me, and Lehani, you follow when I signal.” With that, she placed her bow into its sling and stole forward.

The sharp slope, coupled with several patches of loose dirt, made Elarinn’s footing treacherous, and she managed to descend about halfway when a clump of earth shifted under her boot, sending her rear slamming into the ground. Wincing from the impact, she dug both hands into the earth, hanging on as she skidded downward, slower and slower, and finally stopped, a miniature avalanche of dirt and pebbles continuing on beneath her. After a moment’s rest, Elarinn slid as quietly as she could down the rest of the hill, then darted towards the wall the moment she reached the bottom, ducking behind it and looking back up towards her comrades. They were nowhere to be seen, however, and she frowned in surprise. Where’d they-

A moment later, Elarinn froze as a cry, high-pitched and raspy, cut through the mist from the direction of the open field. As it came again, this time louder and joined by others, she pulled her bow free. Imp-demons...damn it. Can’t get back up the slope fast enough... She risked a glance over the wall, and when she saw only gloom, closed her eyes, concentrating as her mind reached out into the mist.

As her new sense sharpened, she could feel several of the demons straight ahead, like droplets of oil in the cold grass. The young captain played her mind’s hand back and forth quickly, counting the auras, then nodded grimly. Ten, maybe more...too many.

Her stomach beginning to tighten, Elarinn moved her focus away from the advancing creatures, pausing as she felt a small grove of trees to her right. Opening her eyes again as the incantation ended, she looked back up at the hilltop and saw Ryland rise up from behind the crest, an arrow nocked and ready. She shook her head at this and motioned for him to hide, then crept away from the wall.

The grove was only a short distance away, but Elarinn’s heart was pounding in her chest by the time she reached its welcome shadows. Dropping prone amid the trees, she twisted around for a better view just as several of the creatures emerged from the mist.

Barely taller than her waist and moving with an almost bouncy gait, the fiends might have seemed like a group of children to Elarinn, had not her attention been drawn to the motley assortment of weapons they carried and her memories of them under the tainted cathedral. The young captain watched breathlessly as the imp-demons approached the hillside, sniffing the air. Moment after moment passed with aching slowness for her as they gazed around them with their beady black eyes. Finally, one of them stopped and waved a fist in the air, rasping some sort of command, and the others followed as it scurried back towards the field.

Elarinn didn’t move again until a short time afterwards, letting her head droop down to touch the earth for a moment. The cool dirt felt good against her sweat-touched skin. That was a little too close, she thought, then pushed herself back up and crept out again towards the standing wall.

With the thinning mist, her place behind the wall offered a better view of the open field, several small trees and ruined buildings standing between her and the direction from which the hellspawn had come. Carefully, Elarinn eased herself from one hiding place to another, pausing as the gloom parted around a tall shadow in the distance. She hesitated for a moment, then crept forward, just enough for it to sharpen into a long shape jutting from the earth. So that’s what they’re all here for... The young captain closed her eyes, leaning forward slightly, and nodded as she heard a soft hum over the muffled cackling of the imp-demons. Probably what we want, too.

The faint clink of steel on steel a moment later made Elarinn stiffen, and she squinted against the fog again, trying to discern its direction; the noise seemed to flow around her, though, as if the mist itself were tapping together invisible coins. Better get away from those imps, she thought, and stole back towards the standing wall. As she neared, she heard the sound again, still quiet, but louder and closer than before, sending a cold shiver down her spine. She looked around, spotting the shape of the wall ahead. At this, Elarinn hurried forward, and then, her nerve wavering, crossed the last stretch at a run and dove behind the wall.

When she looked up a moment later, Elarinn found herself trading gazes with Lehani, whose face bore a slightly quizzical expression. Startled, she scrabbled backwards, then halted in recognition, her heart slowing from its gallop, as the other woman peered out into the thinning mist. “Easy, Sister...you’re clear.”

Blinking, the young captain caught her breath, then slid her bow back into its sling. “When did you get down here? And where are the others?”

Lehani shrugged. “The boy found us a rough path down the slope, which they’re watching. I figured I’d better come back you up.” She cast another glance out over the field, hefting her long spear in one hand, then said, “Found the stones, I guess?”

“Yeah, and then some,” Elarinn said, nodding grimly. “Go get everyone else up here.”

[Raging_Zealot]

Another great installment. Good to know your still writing, even if its slowly, lol.



The fog had grown heavier by the time Elarinn arrived the encampment’s gate, where her band of Sisters was keeping watch.

I believe there should be an "at" between "the" and "encampment's", or something similar.

Thats the only thing I found, although I miss things sometimes once I get into a story (as I have this one).

Thanks for posting!

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, Raging_Zealot. Good to see I haven't lost you yet, heh, and glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for the catch there, too.

Anyway, thanks again for commenting, and the next part will be up eventually...I hope.

[NinjaSoD]

I'm only halfway done with the first chapter, but it looks really good. Good job.

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, NinjaSoD, and thanks for commenting. I would've said something sooner, but I was hoping to respond when I posted a new chapter, and, well...let's just say that's on hold for now.

Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. :smiley:

[Raging_Zealot]

but I was hoping to respond when I posted a new chapter, and, well...let's just say that's on hold for now.


:sad2: Sad to hear its on hold, but I'll survive :cool:

[RevenantsKnight]

:sad2: Sad to hear its on hold, but I'll survive :cool:

*pokes Raging_Zealot* Still alive there? :laugh:

Inspiration's a strange creature, sometimes... Thanks in advance for reading.

----------

Stones and Steel (II)

Elarinn’s heart was still beating quickly when several dark shapes appeared in the lightening gloom, coming from the direction of the grove. Warily, she pulled an arrow from her quiver, then halted as a familiar, birdlike whistle sounded in her ears. Keeping one eye on the field beyond the broken wall, she watched as the figures slowly shaped themselves into Ryland, Lehani and Kythese, then stood, back straightening out of habit as they neared. Kythese eyed Elarinn for a moment, then hissed softly, “So what’s wrong, Rogue?”

Elarinn pointed past the wall. “Imp-demons, camped in the field. Didn’t get a good count, but since ten came out to check the hillside, I’d guess maybe twenty of them, possibly with a few of their chieftains.”

“And why do you think we need to fight them?”

“Because they should be guarding the stones we’re looking for,” the young captain said, her glance darting over towards Ryland for a moment. The muscles of his face seemed to jump slightly as her words faded into the air, but he otherwise showed no reaction. In control. Good.

Kythese fell silent for a moment, blinking slowly. “No more than twenty or so?” she pressed, then squeezed a gloved hand into a fist when Elarinn nodded. “We’ll take them head-on, then. Wait here.” With that, she turned and marched off.

Shrugging, Elarinn turned to her companions, then paused and motioned towards Ryland. “Where’s your friend?”

“Blaen should be back with the others...he’ll find us,” Ryland said, almost murmuring the last part to himself.

“All right,” Elarinn said. “Either of you know how to fight imp-demons?”

Lehani grinned. “We didn’t come all this way without hunting some of the Three’s servants, Sister,” she said, sounding amused. “It would have been boring otherwise.”

“Call me Elarinn,” the young captain answered, matching the other’s smile, and then looked towards Ryland. “How about you, then?”

“I...can’t say I know what they are, my lady.”

Great. Well, everyone has to start somewhere... “All right...they’re little goblin-like creatures, about this tall,” Elarinn began, holding a hand up to her midriff, “they love fighting in big groups, and they all break pretty easily if one of them drops.”

“They have no stomach for a real fight, except for their chieftains, that is,” Lehani chimed in. “Those are taller, though still weak, and often command some kind of sorcery as well.”

Ryland flinched. “What do you mean, some kind of sorcery?”

“I have fought ones that could conjure up a gout of flame out of nothing,” Lehani said, her blue eyes widening for effect, then leaned forward with a grim smile. “Some are even rumored to infuse their fallen with dark energy, so that their empty bodies can rise and fight again. I suppose that would be easy with those soulless little beasts.”

Seeing Ryland’s face grow paler, Elarinn held up a hand, nodding towards him. “Just stay out of their reach and shoot, and you’ll be fine.”

The sounds of footfalls and steel armor reached their ears, and all three turned to look as Kythese, leading the rest of her warriors, came into view. Off to one side, Blaen kept pace with the women. Seeing this, Ryland hurried forward to meet his companion, glancing anxiously towards the field as he went.

“You think we scared him a bit too much?” Lehani said after a moment, sounding amused.

Elarinn smiled briefly in response, then shrugged, her face turning serious. “Doubt it, but we better not have...that was nothing.”

Lehani nodded. “True, indeed,” she said. “I expect he’ll show more steel in the heat of battle.” With that, she walked away.

Waving a quick farewell, the young captain turned back towards Ryland, now conversing with his companion. Looks a little shaken still, she thought, then paused as Blaen smiled diffidently and murmured something, his voice too soft for her to hear. At this, the older man’s expression softened, and he nodded with obvious relief. Elarinn studied him for a moment, then smiled to herself. Well, maybe he’ll be all right. Slowly, deliberately, she walked over to them, checking her weapons and armor as she went. “You two ready?” she said as Ryland looked up at the sound of her steps.

Ryland tapped his fist to the worn mail over his collarbone in response. “Yes, my lady.”

Nodding, Elarinn motioned for them to follow, then paused and turned back towards the two outlanders. “Just remember,” she added, looking up to meet Ryland’s gaze, “shoot well, and they won’t even get near you.”

“I understand, my lady,” Ryland said, saluting again as his expressionless mask eased away around the eyes.

Good. “All right, then. Let’s go.”


(continued)

[RevenantsKnight]

By the time Elarinn and her companions arrived, Kythese’s soldiers had assembled themselves into two lines, spearwomen in front of the others. Kythese, now bearing a bundle of short, balanced spears with jagged blades, waved Elarinn towards the center. “Keep watch on our flanks, Rogue,” she ordered. “Nothing slips past your gift. As for the rest of you,” she continued, pointing to Ryland and Blaen, “stay with Lehani on the right.”

Elarinn complied, hiding a frown as she stepped into line between two Southern archers. Damn, she’s overbearing. Glancing over at Ryland and Blaen again, she watched as Ryland said something and Blaen nodded somberly, looking downwards; then, to her surprise, the boy produced a white mask, its surface smooth like porcelain, and raised it over his face. Wonder what that’s for, she thought, and shivered slightly.

The sound of a boot shifting in the dew-dampened grass startled Elarinn from her thoughts, and she caught herself just as Kythese hefted a spear in one hand and then pointed with the other towards the field, setting off into the tapestry of gossamer mist at a steady march. No longer seeking safety in stealth, her soldiers followed, raising their spears and bows as the clank of their armor sounded loud in the cool air. Elarinn stood for another moment, concentrating, and then, as her senses flowed outwards once again, she hustled after them.

The firm ground of the field allowed them an easy passage and the distance was not great, for they reached the edge of the grass quickly, with the stones just beyond. To Elarinn, however, the burden of watching the Nightlord’s cloak and the mist dance around her with both her sight and her mind made each step seem like a hundred. So, when a handful of child-like silhouettes emerged from the gloom in her mind’s sight, she stopped, closing her eyes in relief even as her heart ran faster. “They’re straight ahead, just into the mist,” she said.

A moment later, as the sounds of her comrades’ advance trailed off, Elarinn saw the shadowy figures begin to move and heard high-pitched, sharp cries, reminding her of a small dog’s bark. Gritting her teeth with effort, she swept her disembodied senses towards the gathering pack of imp-demons and their motley assortment of weapons, and nodded to herself when she saw none lingering behind. Looks like all of them... “They’re coming...and I see no chieftains.”

Kythese laughed shortly in reply. “Archers, ready,” she commanded evenly, and the young captain heard the sound of bowstrings being pulled taut. Drawing her mind backwards, she watched as the blue-skinned goblins advanced closer and closer, gaining on her imagined self with unnatural speed. They’re fast...better hurry up and-

“Now!”

At Kythese’s shouted command, the sharp twang of bowstrings being released filled Elarinn’s ears, and then silence reigned for the briefest of instants before a volley of arrows leapt from all corners of her mind’s sight into the pack of demons. As the missiles struck home, the lead creatures seemed to halt in mid-step, then fell backwards in a ragged line, spraying blood skyward; the rest turned and broke, their shrieking biting at the still night air. “They’re running...four down,” she said, then frowned to herself as an odd flicker of light caught her eye. Wait...what’s that? Flowing forward again, she chased after a small knot of enemies, unable to suppress a wince when a slender arrow – Blaen’s, she realized with mild amazement – shot just under her immaterial eye to catch a fleeing imp-demon in the neck.

Almost as suddenly as they had fled, the hellspawn before Elarinn whirled about and began to advance again, with one oddly-colored demon at their head. Frowning to herself, the young captain wrapped a tendril of thought around its grass-green, tattooed body. Something’s off about that one, she thought as its aura flickered to life before her mind’s eye, dancing around the creature like manic serpents of frenzied light. “The one in front’s different, possibly some kind of magic,” she said, as strongly as she could while holding her concentration.

Kythese gave no reply to this, but Elarinn was sure that she had understood. “Archers, ready...aim for the leader!” she called out again, her hard voice drowning out the battle cries of the advancing demons.

As she heard the others around her readying for another salvo, Elarinn pushed her sight in closer to the demons’ apparent leader, pausing in surprise as she spotted tiny patches of its skin glimmering in the darkness like sunlight off metal. Wait, it’s still cloudy out...

“Now!”

Another volley of arrows, this time joined by a few well-thrown javelins, filled the edges of Elarinn’s mental sight, and again, the mob of imp-creatures seemed to stagger as one under the blows. The young captain barely noticed the beasts’ death cries and falling bodies, though; her attention remained fixed on the oddly-colored demon, who reeled back as an arrow buried itself into its shoulder. Then, as it regained its balance, the creature grinned evilly, waving a crooked finger as if scolding its enemies, and Elarinn’s eyes flew open as she felt its aura and the air around it begin to seethe with energy. That’s...oh, damn-

“Down!” Elarinn shouted, breaking her spell just in time to see the scene before her turn to day in a flash of blinding light as a sound like the very air ripping apart boomed forth. As the thunder and lightning faded away, bolts of pure white energy shot outwards from the still-grinning demon, snaking hungrily towards the assembled warriors. The young captain barely managed to throw herself sideways in time to escape the touch of one burning line, its passage singeing the cloth of her sleeves, and winced as one of the archers next to her caught another bolt full in the stomach. Scrambling to her feet, she freed her bow from its sling and launched off a hasty shot. Dammit, that green one is going to be murder to bring down...

Several more arrows joined Elarinn’s in flight, sending another few demons crashing to the earth, but the rest still came, emboldened by the weakened volley and their leader’s bloodlust. Looking around quickly, the young captain swore under her breath at what she saw: only three of the Southern archers still stood, along with Blaen and Ryland, the latter of whom still held his bow drawn to the limit as if frozen in shock. Turning back, Elarinn drew up and shot again, this time sending an imp-demon tumbling to the ground in a bloody heap. The rest continued their headlong charge, though, screaming their shrill war cries.

As the green creature neared with its remaining brethren running close behind, Kythese stepped forward, flanked by her spearwomen, but before they could charge, an arrow suddenly shot past them, burying itself in the green imp-demon’s head with a wet splorch. Elarinn watched breathlessly as the creature’s mangled visage began to twist itself into a grin again, struggling against the waves of blood rushing down it, then suddenly went slack as the imp-demon’s knees buckled. Stunned, the other hellspawn stopped dead behind their leader’s corpse, almost as if asking each other what to do next, before wheeling around again and scattering with squeals of terror. Kythese, though, was in no mood to let the imp-demons flee. “Charge!” she roared, chasing after them with a speed that belied her heavy armor. Just steps behind, her spearwomen followed, fanning out across the open field.

Breathing heavily, Elarinn eased herself down to one knee as the rush of battle began to fade, looking around at the other archers; two of the Southern warriors lay twitching in the cool grass, and another rose slowly with a pain-streaked but victorious grin. She turned away as their comrades began to tend to them, emptying waterskins over their charred flesh. Looks like they know how to treat that... “Who got the green one?” she asked to no one in particular.

“The Westmarcher did.”

Elarinn’s eyes widened at the response, and she whirled around, looking up at Ryland. “Really?”

Ryland hesitated, as if fearing a rebuke, then nodded slowly. “Yes, my lady.”

Silence reigned between them for a moment, and then Elarinn smiled slightly. “Rather daring of you,” she said, then shrugged. “Good shot, anyway.”

The older man’s anxious expression eased away at this, and he looked downwards with a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

After another short while, Elarinn pushed herself back up again, brushing dirt off her pants, then frowned to herself when she noticed Blaen, no longer masked, kneeling by one of the injured archers. He better not be in the way, she thought, and stepped over for a closer look. To her surprise, the boy was fashioning a loose bandage around the woman’s arm, pale hands working with a practiced care. All right...guess he knows what he’s doing. The young captain watched for another few moments, and then turned away as she spotted Kythese and the other spearwomen returning.

Kythese shot Elarinn a cool look when she neared, then nodded towards one of her archers. “How are they, Keria?”

“They will live, but they need some time to rest before another fight.”

Another fight? Elarinn glanced quickly down at the two wounded women, and arched an eyebrow. Probably more hellspawn than us either way, and pushing them like that...?

Kythese, however, smiled tightly in response. “Fine,” she said, then drew the parchment of translated runes, tapping them against her wrist. “Move the wounded to the stones.”

Elarinn shrugged, then stepped back over to the woman Blaen was bandaging. “Need some help?” she said, bending down, and he answered with his half-smile. At that, Elarinn reached down towards the archer’s shoulders, then paused, biting her lip as she eyed the woman’s breastplate. Hrm...she’s a bit big, and with that armor...

“Need some help?”

Startled, the young captain looked up to Lehani’s grinning face. “Looks a little big for you and the boy, Elarinn,” the Southern warrior said, her voice light.

Elarinn laughed shortly, shaking her head in amusement. “Yeah, that’d be nice,” she replied, and circled around to the archer’s legs.

“So how many demons did you kill?” Lehani said as they lifted the woman off the ground, with Blaen steadying her wounded arm.

Between her straining muscles and her surprise, Elarinn didn’t answer for a moment. “Erm...one that I saw,” she managed, glancing down at their burden and nodding to herself when she noticed the injured archer had fallen unconscious. “Can’t say I was looking too closely then.”

Lehani grinned. “I got one myself chasing them down. You archers didn’t leave much.”

Elarinn started to smile back, then paused when she noticed Blaen staring blankly downwards. Huh...wonder what’s wrong with him... “Where did you learn how to heal, Blaen?” she said after a moment, looking towards the unconscious archer’s bandaged arm.

“He did that?” Lehani said, surprise evident in her voice.

Elarinn nodded. “Yeah, he did,” she answered, and they both slowed their pace, turning as best they could towards Blaen. “You’re better than me, anyway.”

Blaen hesitated, reminding the young captain of a startled rabbit as his brown eyes widened, then slowly turned towards Elarinn. “A woman of the Church taught me.”

Okay, bad idea. Elarinn looked back to Lehani after another moment. “You and your people are pretty fast in all that armor,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.

Lehani smiled at the compliment. ”Oh, yes...that is part of a warrior’s training for many of us Athuluans.”

“Athuluans?” Elarinn repeated.

“That is what we call ourselves, after our greatest goddess and ancestor, Athulua,” the spearwoman explained. “Though I have heard that many here, away from our islands, do not know of Her and call us the Amazons.”

“Ah...I hadn’t known of Athulua, no,” Elarinn said, looking past Lehani’s shoulders to the five tall stones, each almost twice her height, jutting from the earth, and Kythese standing among them, her brow furrowed as she read the sheet of parchment from Akara. “So you revere other ancestors besides Her?”

Lehani smiled. “There are others besides Athulua who watch over us,” she agreed, “but She is the greatest.” Stopping, she glanced downward for a moment. “This looks like a good place for Sotiria here,” she said, and lowered the unconscious woman’s shoulders earthward.

Nodding, Elarinn set the injured archer down and left her to Blaen, walking up to one of the standing stones. The cool gray granite was smooth except for where an odd, circular shape had been carved into the stone just above her head, something the young captain recognized as an old Khanduran sigil. Memories of Akara’s lessons in the Monastery’s library flashed past her mind’s eye, and she traced her fingers over the rune’s rough outline, closing her eyes in thought. Now what’s this one mean, again...

A low, loud hum and a feeling of warmth on her fingers, followed by someone’s gasp of surprise, sent Elarinn’s eyes flying open again, and she started, jerking her hand away by reflex. Before her, the stone now shone with a faint blue light. A moment later, however, the light dissolved into the early morning air as the humming faded away, leaving only mere granite once more.

Kythese whirled towards Elarinn and stalked over, eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Rogue?” she demanded.

Elarinn bristled. “I traced over the sigil, that’s all,” she said, looking up deliberately into the other woman’s hard gaze.

“She is right, Kythese...all I saw her do was touch the carving,” Lehani called out, holding her right hand to the hollow of her throat in an odd gesture – some sort of salute, Elarinn guessed – as she spoke.

The Athuluan commander looked back and forth between Lehani and Elarinn, then turned to examine the stone. “You say you just touched the rune?” she said, her voice thoughtful, and when Elarinn nodded, she added, “Do it again...but leave your hand there this time.”

Warily, Elarinn reached out again, and the stone glowed like a great blue candle-flame once more at her touch, pulsing with a soft warmth. As the young captain stood there, fighting the urge to pull away from the unnatural sensation, Kythese eyed the shimmering light for a moment before smiling triumphantly. “Stay there, Rogue. Lehani, touch the rune on that stone,” she ordered, pointing towards another granite pillar.

The tall spearwoman raised her weapon in salute and then stepped over, pressing her hand to the stone without hesitation. As she did so, the hum grew louder, and the sigil Elarinn pressed seemed to give ever so slightly beneath her fingers, as if the rock had been softened by her touch, drawing from her a puzzled frown. What in all the...

Lehani, too, bore an expression of confusion upon her face, but Kythese took no notice, waving over two more of her soldiers out of the gathering crowd and directing them to other stones, one at a time. Elarinn nearly cried out as the last of them reached out to her rune; the lapis-lighted granite seemed to give way beneath her touch, and she reached out with her other hand to catch herself against the rock, only to stop when she realized that she had not moved at all.

For a moment, the four women stood there, dusted with the stones’ blue glow, with Kythese coolly looking over them and then reading the parchment one last time. Then, still smiling, she stepped out of the ring of stones and thrust her hand against the last rune.

Elarinn winced and turned away as a flash of blinding white energy erupted from the stones. Just managing to keep her hand on the sigil, she shook her head to chase away the swarm of purple lights dancing behind her closed eyelids, then looked back up cautiously when the warmth beneath her fingers faded away.

In the center of the stone ring, where there had been only dirt and scrubby grass moments before, stood an oblong shape of perfect blackness, ringed with a flickering garnet border of light that seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness at the center. Like an astral gateway, and yet-

“‘Flesh and blood upon the stone paves the road to Terror’s throne.’” Kythese’s voice, sounding amused, drew Elarinn’s attention to the leader of the Athuluans, who held Akara’s parchment high in the air. “A good thing it did not actually mean a sacrifice.”

Terror’s throne...the Horadrim buried Diablo at Tristram. “So this should take us right into Tristram, then,” Elarinn said. “Any idea where in the town this empties out?”

“Wait,” Ryland cut in, stepping forward as a tremor seemed to run down his face like water. “We aren’t actually walking into that hole...are we?”

Oh, damn. Studying his worried expression, Elarinn let a breath hiss over her teeth as she thought, a hundred possible answers running through her head in an instant.

Kythese was faster, though. “Are you afraid, Westmarcher?” she said, her voice hardening again.

Ryland began to say something, then fell silent as if he thought better of it. Instead, he shook his head grimly and stepped back, his face shivering again. At his side, Blaen leaned in a little closer towards the older man, looking down almost as if saddened.

Elarinn glanced over at Kythese, frowning. Yeah, because that helped. “You’ll be through the gate in an instant, and you two did fine in the last fight,” she said, turning back towards Ryland and Blaen. “If it comes to that, just do it again: stay back, keep your head, and shoot.”

After a short, strained silence, Kythese cleared her throat loudly, motioning towards the shimmering ruby oval. “I will go in first. Rogue, you and Lehani come right after me.” She paused long enough to lock eyes with Elarinn once, then turned to face her soldiers, smiling grimly. “If none of us come back by the time the sun rises, go through as one and storm the town.” As the assembled warriors voiced their assent, Kythese drew a javelin, looking over her shoulder towards the young captain. “All ready, Rogue?”

Elarinn forced a confident grin. “Whenever you are.”

The Athuluan commander answered with an approving nod, then walked over to the gateway and stepped through, vanishing into the darkness as if she had never existed. Readying her bow as she went, Elarinn let her breath out in a quiet rush, and stopped right before the great halo of burning light, smiling despite her heart’s pounding in her chest. I’ve fought you before, Terror, and I’m not afraid.

With that, Elarinn closed her eyes and stepped out of the field, returning back to the nightmare of Tristram.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Hi Rev. Details, details...

Keeping one eye on the field beyond the broken wall, she watched as the figures slowly shaped themselves into Ryland, Lehani and Kythese, then stood, back straightening out of habit as they neared.”Hard to read. In particular, "stood back" is such a familiar phrase that trying to read "then stood, back straightening..." correctly is difficult even after three reads.

“Imp-demons, camped in the field... “All right...they’re little goblin-like creatures, about this tall,” Elarinn began, holding a hand up to her midriff, “they love fighting in big groups, and they all break pretty easily if one of them drops.” ... “They have no stomach for a real fight, except for their chieftains, that is,” Lehani chimed in. “Those are taller, though still weak, and often command some kind of sorcery as well.” ... “I have fought ones that could conjure up a gout of flame out of nothing,” ... “Some are even rumored to infuse their fallen with dark energy, so that their empty bodies can rise and fight again. I suppose that would be easy with those soulless little beasts.” This whole section seemed a little contrived for the purpose of describing the very familiar imp creatures in Diablo 2. That may sound hypocritical coming from me, given what I have been saying over in the "A Stone of Contention" thread, but that was my genuine impression. It surprises me a little, too, given how lightly you have tended to tread on game material in the past. Was this a deliberate choice?


The firm ground of the field allowed them an easy passage and the distance was not great, for they reached the edge of the grass quickly, with the stones just beyond. This stood out as a change in style: too formal, archaic phrasing, suddenly I was hearing the narrator from "The Ten Commandments." After another read I think the problem is an overdose of passive-voice.


To Elarinn, however, the burden of watching the Nightlord’s cloak and the mist dance around her ... You know I like this sort of thing, but the image was at first unclear to me. On first read I took "mist dance" to be a noun clause and tried to imagine it and the "Nightlord's cloak" "around" Elarinn. What I think you mean is that the Nightlord's cloak and the mist were dancing around her, perhaps with each other? I think it needs to be made clearer. Perhaps use "dancing" instead of "dance," or reword it somehow, maybe "the dance of..."


At Kythese’s shouted command, the sharp twang of bowstrings being released filled Elarinn’s ears, ... This would be fine without "being released." Better, really. There might also be the slightest implication that Kythese commanded the twang to fill Elarinn's ears, which, even as overbearing as Elarinn's seems to think she is, seems unlikely. ;-)


... their shrieking biting at the still night air. That's quite a mouthful.


Flowing forward again, she chased after a small knot of enemies, unable to suppress a wince when a slender arrow – Blaen’s, she realized with mild amazement – shot just under her immaterial eye to catch a fleeing imp-demon in the neck. You put a lot of effort into making sure we know that Elarinn is using her special sight throughout the battle. It's a nice idea, but overdone in places, IMHO.


Frowning to herself, the young captain wrapped a tendril of thought around its grass-green, tattooed body. Something’s off about that one, she thought as its aura flickered to life before her mind’s eye, dancing around the creature like manic serpents of frenzied light. “The one in front’s different, possibly some kind of magic,” she said, as strongly as she could while holding her concentration.This is probably an example of that. The tendrils and serpents might have been more effective if her aura hadn't already gotten so much mention.


“‘Flesh and blood upon the stone paves the road to Terror’s throne.’” Did you make that up? I love it!


This was a nice read. Strengths: the battle scenes, the variety in the character's voices, the dramatic interplay between Elarinn and Kythese, and generally between all of the characters. It still surprises me that you wrote this as close to the script of the game as you did, but it worked for me. I choked a little on the descriptions of the imps, but the stones were nicely done, and I have to admit I did not recognize the imp leader as the shock-shedding boss imp who's name escapes me now. So you nicely avoided the obvious, there.

On Ryland: toward the end of this I remembered reading something of yours where Ryland had a rather nightmarish experience in Tristram. That explains some of his skittish behavior. However, his apparent timidity and even cowardice just do not sit well with me. I understand that you are attempting a rather complicated character here. Let me suggest that you are not allowing his age and experience to color his personality enough, he is a battle-tested veteran, after all, and at times you portray him almost as if he is a little girl.

The ending was well done. How any Diablo 2 fan could not be left anxious to see what happens when they get to Tristram, I can't imagine. Looking forward to the next piece. :thumbsup:

[RevenantsKnight]

Hey, 0xDEADCAFE. Good to hear from you again.

Hard to read. In particular, "stood back" is such a familiar phrase that trying to read "then stood, back straightening..." correctly is difficult even after three reads.

Hrm...yeah, I can see your point. And this is why people need editors and comments...:grin:

This whole section seemed a little contrived for the purpose of describing the very familiar imp creatures in Diablo 2. That may sound hypocritical coming from me, given what I have been saying over in the "A Stone of Contention" thread, but that was my genuine impression. It surprises me a little, too, given how lightly you have tended to tread on game material in the past. Was this a deliberate choice?

It was deliberate, because I wanted to drive home the point that Ryland, and by extension, Blaen, had no idea what he was being thrown up against. At this point, I see the heavy crossover with the game as a necessary evil (there's a reason, of course, why I'm taking this to Tristram, and I bet you could guess it.)

This stood out as a change in style: too formal, archaic phrasing, suddenly I was hearing the narrator from "The Ten Commandments." After another read I think the problem is an overdose of passive-voice.

Yeah, I was trying to throw in some variety there. Might have been too much all at once, though.

You know I like this sort of thing, but the image was at first unclear to me. On first read I took "mist dance" to be a noun clause and tried to imagine it and the "Nightlord's cloak" "around" Elarinn. What I think you mean is that the Nightlord's cloak and the mist were dancing around her, perhaps with each other? I think it needs to be made clearer. Perhaps use "dancing" instead of "dance," or reword it somehow, maybe "the dance of..."

Heh, I had it as "dancing" first and then changed it, for reasons I no longer remember. Guess it'll just go back that way.

This would be fine without "being released." Better, really. There might also be the slightest implication that Kythese commanded the twang to fill Elarinn's ears, which, even as overbearing as Elarinn's seems to think she is, seems unlikely. ;-)

That is a cool thought. Time to fire up the editing chainsaw...

That's quite a mouthful.

I liked the image, but never did get it to feel quite right. Not sure what I'll end up doing here.

You put a lot of effort into making sure we know that Elarinn is using her special sight throughout the battle. It's a nice idea, but overdone in places, IMHO.

Duly noted. I'll give the battle another run-through.

Did you make that up? I love it!

Yeah, that was me. :jig:

This was a nice read.

Glad you enjoyed it.

It still surprises me that you wrote this as close to the script of the game as you did, but it worked for me.

Yeah...a necessary evil, I'd say. That was definitely something that was in my mind most of the time; I'd briefly considered a loot-gathering sentence or two after the fight, for instance, but cut it because it seemed too much like the game and its obsession with monster drops.

On Ryland: toward the end of this I remembered reading something of yours where Ryland had a rather nightmarish experience in Tristram. That explains some of his skittish behavior. However, his apparent timidity and even cowardice just do not sit well with me. I understand that you are attempting a rather complicated character here. Let me suggest that you are not allowing his age and experience to color his personality enough, he is a battle-tested veteran, after all, and at times you portray him almost as if he is a little girl.

It's quite possible that I might be writing Ryland too heavily on the anxious side, yeah. In particular, I'm not sure if I'm touching on his perspective on magic well, since it's something that is mostly new to him and that he doesn't understand at all (for now, anyway.) There is, though, a somewhat subtle clue from Sorrow as to why he acts the way he does towards the end. I'm not expecting anyone to pick up on it yet, but it probably will come to light later as his character appears more. Neither Elarinn nor the reader's perspective has all the details yet, after all.

The ending was well done. How any Diablo 2 fan could not be left anxious to see what happens when they get to Tristram, I can't imagine. Looking forward to the next piece.

Well, before I get that written, I need to go catch up on A Stone of Contention. Between all the updates and the comments here, you're making me look bad! :laugh:

Anyway, thanks much for the comments and for reading!

[Raging_Zealot]

Glad to see my post prodded you into action:tongue:
Glad to see another good addition to the story, and see more Ryland and his companion development, since they are still pretty mysterious.

[RevenantsKnight]

Another month, another chapter...just barely. Thanks in advance for reading.

----------

Ghosts of Tristram

By the Sightless Eye, I hate that damned cathedral.

More than anything else in her memories, the old monastery of Tristram meant fear to Elarinn, even as the dust of days and months settled upon its face. Though she held no doubt that she could now fight off anything that once stalked those tainted halls, the thought of returning to where she and her friends had cheated cold-handed Death time and again quickened her breaths, lest he reach out for her one last time. So, when the blackness around her melted away and her foot sank slightly into soft earth, she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, relieved.

A moment later, her eyes flew open as the harsh cackle of houses burning and the stink of scorched flesh riding upon the wind gripped her senses, and she started, one hand dropping to her quiver by reflex. Grimacing as an angry rush of heat dug needlepoint claws into her skin, the young captain stepped away from the ruby portal, trying to look in all directions at once.

Although Elarinn knew that Tristram had fallen to the forces of Hell, the utter destruction all around her sent a shiver down her spine; the light of buildings burning nearby illuminated the scene of mangled corpses and wreckage, all coated with a greasy layer of ash. Even the implements of everyday life bore the marks of the hellspawn’s anger, with wooden bowls snapped almost meticulously in half and shreds of clothes strewn across the ground. Beside her, the magical gateway stood in the shadow of another house’s smoldering remains, and she saw Kythese crouched by its base, peering around the corner as she held a javelin ready. Catching her gaze, the Athuluan commander raised a gauntleted finger to her lips, then hissed softly, “Where are we, Rogue?”

Elarinn frowned, peering into the early morning gloom away from the burning buildings, then nodded as the soft murmuring of water over stones reached her ears through the flames’ grim laughter. “South edge of the town proper, I think. The central square should be just on the other side of this building.”

A moment later, the gateway appeared to flicker as Lehani stepped out of the blackness, spear at the ready. Her blue eyes widened and then narrowed angrily as she gazed upon the carnage around her, but she quickly shook off her hesitation, taking up a guarding stance behind her leader. Interested, Elarinn watched her for another moment before turning back towards the distant fires. If she’s green, she hides it well.

Suddenly, a harsh, bleating cry rang out from the direction of the town center, and Elarinn looked behind her warily, then crept up to the burnt-out house, peering through the remains of a window. Goat-demons, she thought, and nodded to herself as she spotted six of the tall, black-furred creatures marching into the remains of the town square, holding their long-hafted axes at the ready. Doesn’t seem like they noticed us, but... The young captain studied them for another moment, then frowned as they stopped near the ash-filled fountain in the middle of the square, seeming to look upwards menacingly. Edging carefully into the ruined house, she dropped down to one knee for a better view.

Above the demons, hanging from a pole Elarinn had not noticed before, swung a wooden cage, barely large enough to allow a child to stand. Behind the bars slumped an old man, his gaunt frame seeming to fade into his dirty robes. Elarinn watched as he looked down at the braying goat-creatures tiredly, as if he had heard their cries a hundred times before. Just in time.

Still hiding behind the corner of the house, Kythese looked up and waved for the young captain’s attention, so Elarinn ducked away from the window and crept over to her. The Athuluan waited for Lehani to join them, then whispered, “The man in the gibbet...do you recognize him?”

Elarinn nodded. “That’s Cain.”

“Too easy,” Kythese said. “Lehani, go back through and tell the others to come, spears first; they are to join the battle as soon as they arrive.” As Lehani saluted and Elarinn frowned in confusion, she stood, a grim smile on her lips. “Rogue, cover me and watch.”

“There’s bound to be more of them about,” Elarinn warned.

Kythese laughed, shaking her head slowly. “And there’s more of us, too,” she said. “Now cover me.”

Sighing, Elarinn pulled free an arrow and sidestepped for a better view, drawing back her bowstring as Kythese strode purposefully towards the goat-demons, javelin in hand. The creatures whirled to face her at the sounds of her approach, and one bleated in twisted delight before charging, polearm held high. As the others followed in its wake, Elarinn drew up, aiming for the lead demon’s head. Just a little closer...

Kythese showed no such caution, running forward and flinging her spear with a shout. To Elarinn’s surprise, however, the javelin suddenly glowed white-hot the moment it left her hand, its flight accompanied by a shrill whistling as if the very air itself were screaming in pain. The young captain winced as the missile slammed into the first demon’s chest with a deafening thunderclap, sending the hapless creature flying backwards into a pile of charred lumber.

After a moment spent shaking the ringing from her ears, Elarinn looked up again, then staggered as the earth seemed to rock beneath her. Gritting her teeth, she managed to steal a glance towards the fountain before dropping to her knees, searching desperately for the goat-creatures. Much to her relief, the remaining demons all seemed to have fared as well as her, either struggling to stand or tottering forward weakly. Only Kythese remained ready, drawing another javelin as she stared coldly at the demons before her.

Unwilling to stop just yet, Elarinn pulled herself upwards, bracing herself against the ruined house. As she did, one of the Athuluan spearwomen stepped out of the portal’s midnight depths, pausing just long enough to spot Kythese before charging into the square. Several more warriors followed close on her heels, and Elarinn let herself lean against the blackened wall, nodding at Lehani as she flashed the young captain a grin in passing. The firmness of the wooden frame felt good on her shoulder, and as the world began to settle back into place, she pushed her weight back onto her feet, turning away from Kythese’s soldiers finishing off the goat-demons.

Suddenly, a flash of movement in the field beyond the town square caught her eye, and a second later, Elarinn started as another group of goat-creatures came into view, padding forward quietly with weapons raised. “More of them!” she yelled, pulling free an arrow and loosing a shot that tore into a demon’s arm, spattering its brethren with a spray of ichor.

Stripped of their surprise, the hellspawn charged, each beast running towards a different enemy, and Kythese’s soldiers whirled about, readying their spears. Elarinn managed to launch off another arrow into a black-furred creature’s chest before the two sides met in a clash of steel. As the scene before her began to dissolve into a general melee, she started to circle around towards the demons’ rear for a better shot, and froze.

Coming up behind the goat-creatures was a bald, husky figure, lumbering forward slowly on swollen legs. For the briefest of moments, Elarinn thought another of the townsfolk had survived, but that hope withered in her breast upon seeing its reddened, festering skin. The remains of a large leather tunic, dotted with blood and burn marks, hung loosely over its chest, and a memory of a bluff blacksmith fond of strong words and stronger drink rose in the young captain’s mind. Griswold, she thought, shaking her head grimly.

An arrow whistled past Elarinn, digging into the zombie’s stomach, and she whirled to see one of the Southern archers standing by the portal, readying for another shot. The undead blacksmith barely seemed to notice, however, and continued shambling towards the battle in the town square. Eying its powerful arms, Elarinn drew back again and launched another shaft at its knees, her arrow followed closely by several more from the direction of the portal. Much to her dismay, however, the hail of arrows seemed to wound it only lightly, with one sticking in its side for a moment before dropping away like a badly thrown dart in a tavern game. “Keep him out of the fight!” she shouted as she freed another arrow, this time aiming for its head. Pay attention to me, dammit...

The young captain’s shot ripped into the side of its face, tearing away skin and muscle, and Griswold’s remains shuddered to a halt. Slowly, heedless of the other arrows thudding into its body, the walking corpse started for Elarinn, snapping off the wooden shaft with a swipe of its arm. Through the bloody gash in its face, she could see the bone of the creature’s jaw, as if it were half grinning in anticipation.

Smiling grimly, Elarinn stood her ground, sending arrow after arrow into the advancing ghoul, and the other archers joined in as they arrived. Still, though, the undead blacksmith staggered on steadily, ignoring the missiles that plinked off of its body and breaking away the ones that stuck in its flesh. After a few more seconds, Elarinn began to backpedal slowly, carefully watching the distance between Griswold’s remains and her.

Suddenly, the walking corpse turned towards the magic gateway, an almost hungry groan rumbling forth from its ruined mouth. Elarinn loosed another shot towards the undead creature, then chased its sight with her own, pausing on the Athuluan who had just stepped through the portal: one of the wounded archers, with patches of her reddened, bloody skin peeking out from the edges of her armor.

“Fall back!” one of the Athuluans shouted, and the line of archers before the walking corpse wavered, melting away from the town. As the undead blacksmith approached, however, another of the wounded archers stumbled out of the ruby-lined depths, even as the first began to flee towards her comrades at a pained half-run.

Snarling to herself, Elarinn began to start after the zombie for a close shot, then yanked her dagger from its wrist sheath in desperate inspiration. With a few quick motions, she rolled up her sleeve and sliced into the back of her arm, smearing blood over her bare skin. Another shallow cut left liquid warmth running down her fingers, and she wiped them on her forehead, then charged after the ghoul as he neared the portal. “Griswold!” she shouted and raised her arm high, her blood glistening in the firelight.

The creature before Elarinn lurched around slowly at her call, as if some shred of the fallen blacksmith recognized what had once been his name. For a moment, it stopped as if transfixed, even as another arrow thudded into its broad back, and then groaned again, its half-grinning mouth opening hungrily. Keeping her arm up, Elarinn stepped forward, waving her knife threateningly as she watched the two women retreat towards the hastily reforming battle line.

Oblivious to the young captain’s divided attention, Griswold’s remains staggered onward. As he neared and the wounded Athuluans took their places, Elarinn ducked expectantly, but no hail of missiles leapt from the shadows. The few arrows that did come whistling out of the darkness went wide, as if shot by a nervous acolyte, and she smiled at their caution. Better give them a cleaner shot, then... Quickly eying the distance between her and the ghoul, she began to run towards its left, and her smile widened as her enemy turned with her, its steps devouring the gap between them.

As the creature raised an arm to strike, Elarinn dove to one side, flattening herself against the ash-coated ground, and a second later, a storm of wooden shafts hissed overhead, gouging bloody pits into its flesh. Even under this hail, Griswold’s remains barely paused, turning to tower over the young captain, when another arrow, glowing a dull red in the darkness, rammed into the undead blacksmith’s neck with a wet thump and an angry hiss. As the stench of seared flesh filled Elarinn’s nose, the creature stopped, reaching up slowly towards its ruined neck. A strangled moan escaped from behind its half-grin before it finally collapsed under a last volley, muscles going slack as it thudded against the ground.

Looking away from the disfigured corpse beside her, Elarinn scrambled to her feet, whirling back towards the heart of Tristram. None of the goat-demons still stood to oppose Kythese’s soldiers, however, who kept watch as their leader lowered Cain’s cage earthward. With a quiet sigh, the young captain sheathed her bow and started back towards the fountain, pressing her free hand against her wounded arm.

[RevenantsKnight]

As she neared the town square, Elarinn spotted the other archers returning as well, and the fiery arrow that had been Griswold’s end rose to the top of her mind. Curious, she began to approach them, then frowned to herself when one of the Athuluans shot her a suspicious look. Blasted rivalry, she thought, and turned towards Ryland and Blaen, who stayed a few steps behind the Southern archers. The older man still bore a shade of dread on his face, keeping his gaze from the charred corpses and bloodied demons on the ground, but his features were steady once more, reminding Elarinn of an initiate trading her fear for grim determination. Blaen still wore his white mask, seeming even smaller than before with one arm crossed over his chest. Elarinn watched them for another moment, then asked, “Doing all right?”

The two outlanders turned, and Elarinn saw Ryland’s eyes widen in surprise. Frowning, she followed his gaze down to her bloody arm and ash-stained armor, then smiled wryly. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Pulling out several strips of cloth, Blaen stepped up to the young captain and then paused shyly. Holding out her arm for him, Elarinn looked to the older man, who managed a smile. “That’s good, my lady,” he said, and when Elarinn nodded expectantly, added, “I think so, yes.”

“Did you see who shot that last arrow?” Elarinn said, wincing slightly as Blaen dabbed away blood from her arm.

Ryland pursed his lips in thought, a small shiver running down his face at the memory. “One of the other archers, my lady...I don’t know her name.”

Elarinn weighed this for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t a normal fire arrow, was it?”

“No, I don’t think so...I didn’t see her light it,” Ryland answered, then added hastily, “but I was aiming at the time, so maybe-”

“Magic isn’t something that you need to always fear,” the young captain said, catching his gaze with her own. When Ryland slowly nodded, she looked back to her arm as Blaen finished tying off the bandage. “Thanks, Blaen,” she said, favoring him with a smile, then turned towards the fountain at the sound of the gibbet reaching earth. With a few quick blows, Kythese broke away the cage’s lock and its occupant pushed open the door and stepped out, rising weakly on stiff legs. After a moment of unsteady wobbling, Deckard Cain steadied himself against his former prison and offered Kythese a small bow. “My thanks to you, warrior of Athulua, and your comrades.”

Kythese nodded shortly, waving towards one of her archers. “Keria, help Cain. Others, to the portal; we are done here.”

“Wait.” Cain’s voice, worn yet commanding, halted Kythese in mid-step, and Elarinn tensed at his urgency. “The demons...they have plans at work here, plans that must be stopped.”

Kythese turned, frowning. “Do explain, sage.”

“To the west of here, in the field,” Cain said, looking from soldier to soldier like a storyteller beginning to weave a tale, “the goatmen have begun crafting a sigil out of crimson stone, like the seals once used by the Horadrim to ward away demons. Do you remember what was there before, Sister?”

Caught off guard, Elarinn didn’t answer for a moment. Then, as the image of a hot, blood-red gash in the green earth came to life before her mind’s eye, she stiffened. “The rift.”

“Exactly,” Cain said. “I’ve heard from others who crossed through, but since you went down yourself...”

He remembered...figures. Elarinn frowned, shaking her head. “I just went down the stairs to the bottom, and Iris ordered me right back up.” Then, as Kythese shot a hard gaze in her direction, she sighed and said, “It was hot down there, like standing right next to an oven, and dark. Parts of the floor glowed a dim red, though, and growing out of the ground and walls were these strange, curving spikes – almost like claws. I didn’t see any demons, but I heard from Iris that they fought through there to wherever they found Leoric’s cursed captain, and the nameless warrior went with them part of the way before splitting off.” The young captain shivered slightly as more images, caught in a furtive glance on her way back up the stairs, clawed their way before her mind’s eye, and she forced them down with an effort. “If it wasn’t Hell, it was getting there fast.”

“But you said the symbol was supposed to repel evil?” Ryland asked, placing a hand on Blaen’s shoulder.

Cain eyed Elarinn for a moment before turning to Ryland. “The ones I knew, yes. If properly altered, though-”

“You think they’re trying to reopen it,” Kythese cut in, then closed her eyes in thought as Cain nodded

In the silence that followed, Elarinn mulled over Cain’s words, thinking back to her faded, smoky memories of lessons in the monastery. “This crimson stone doesn’t sound like anything from this part of the world...what if we go and break it all to pieces?” she finally said.

“I would hope that should delay them for quite some time,” Cain answered.

The Athuluan leader looked up again, her eyes narrowed. “Are there more hellspawn about that you saw?”

“There were, minor devilkin and creatures of the walking dead, but they seem to retreat from Tristram itself from time to time, perhaps to the cathedral.”

Kythese barely paused before waving to the archer holding Cain upright. “Keria, pick one spear and stay with the wounded. Rogue, take your group north and keep watch on the cathedral.” With a dark smile, she stepped over to one of the dead goat-demons and yanked free the javelin stuck in its chest. “We will do something about that seal.”

Sighing quietly, Elarinn drew her bow again and studied Ryland’s face for a moment. “Everyone ready?” the young captain asked, then smiled slightly when Ryland nodded, seeming relieved. “All right, I’ll lead with Lehani. Ryland, Blaen, watch our backs.” With that, she started towards the north at a quick jog, Lehani following close behind.

Although their short journey went uncontested by any creatures of Hell, Elarinn would have much preferred a simple fight against another walking corpse than see more of the demons’ handiwork. Passing by the gutted remains of Tristram’s inn and the healer’s house, the wreckage beyond the square and the broken bodies draped over it, she struggled to keep her eyes away from the horrors lining her path, which seemed to reach out for her gaze as if saying to her, This could be you, too. Finally, the small party reached the branch of the river Talsande that ran along the town’s edge, crossing over a bridge of planks that had somehow escaped destruction. As they spread out along the far bank, Elarinn peered into the waking morning towards the old cathedral, then nodded to herself. “Looks pretty quiet from here.”

Behind her, Lehani made a noise of assent. “The west field looks clear, too.”

“My lady, over here.”

Elarinn turned at Ryland’s voice, spotting him and Blaen a short ways away from the river, closer to the great rocks and caves that studded the land beyond the town. Eying the few nearest caves warily, she readied an arrow and started towards the two outlanders, motioning for Lehani to stay on watch.

As she neared, Ryland waved towards a patch of bare earth, beside which Blaen knelt. Squinting, Elarinn noticed two indentations in the dirt, stretched ovals spaced a small distance apart. “You don’t think this is just some dead villager’s bootprints?” she said, eyebrow raised.

“This person was walking, my lady,” Blaen said, pointing to the distance between the marks, “and I don’t see other tracks following.”

The young captain nodded after a moment, though her expression remained skeptical. “So you’re saying there may be other survivors?”

“Maybe if some of the people made it to the caves...” Ryland ventured.

Elarinn frowned. “Maybe,” she said, then looked up towards the yawning cave mouths, her eyes half-lidding in thought. Now which one was where-

“Looking for someone, are you?”

The voice, raspy and menacing, made Elarinn’s eyes fly open. A flicker of movement, black against the dark stones, danced through the edge of her vision, and she chased it to one side just in time to see a wiry figure glide from a cave mouth. The early morning light seemed to slide down from a face of pallor and hard lines to vanish against a suit of black scales covering its chest as it stepped forward. Elarinn barely noticed, however, as her eyes dropped to the small crossbow, loaded and ready, dangling from its hand.

Ryland’s eyes widened in stunned surprise. “You...”

The figure bobbed its head slightly, its hissing laugh slithering into Elarinn’s ears. “Yes, me,” it said, face still shrouded in shadow. “You remember, don’t you?”

Warily, Elarinn readied her bow to shoot, then looked back towards Ryland as his voice managed one word.

“Marovar...”

[0xDEADCAFE]

Yay, a new A Call to Arms chapter! This was a welcome sight in my browser. Since I am going to be mostly critical below let me start by saying I enjoyed this chapter, though perhaps not as much as the previous one, and am once again looking forward to the next.


On the opening paragraph, rather than try to describe exactly what I think about it, let me suggest this thought exercise: Replace everything from the first line up to the point where you start to describe her physically stepping out of the portal with just this: "To Elarinn, Tristram meant fear." Then consider 1) how that would change the feel of the opening, and 2) what changes it might imply for the rest of the chapter. (I apologize if that sounds like a homework assignment. Believe it or not, I'm trying to be constructive.)


So, when the blackness around her melted away and her foot sank slightly into soft earth, she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, relieved.
I didn't follow the logic. I assume this was as she stepped through the portal. The thought of Tristram scared her, but feeling her feet on Tristram's ground somehow brought relief. What am I missing?


... the horrors lining her path, which seemed to reach out for her gaze as if saying to her, This could be you, too. That, it seems to me, is the very essence of fear. Very nicely put.


With a few quick motions, she rolled up her sleeve and sliced into the back of her arm, smearing blood over her bare skin. Another shallow cut left liquid warmth running down her fingers, Ouch! Maybe you should have called this chapter "True Grit." I liked this twist. For me it saved the battle against Griswold from being just another obligatory follow-the-in-game-story scene. (But not by much.)


"Marovar..." End on a beginning -- I like it. And Marovar returns -- ditto.


As I stated above, this chapter didn't grab me as much as the last. The writing and actions scenes were well done, but it was a little too predictable. When it became clear that this would be largely a retelling of the in-game storyline I felt a palpable disappointment, which unfortunately dampened my enthusiasm from that point on. Very little of this story has been rote Diablo II up to this point, and I didn't expect it here. My favorite parts were Elarinn's bloody valor, her interactions with the outlanders and, of course, the surprising turn at the end with the (re)introduction of Marovar.

And now I resign myself to a month-long wait for the next chapter . . .

Thanks for posting.

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, 0xDEADCAFE. Good to hear from you, critical or whatever else you're going to be chucking at me...as long as it's not liable to explode, anyway. :wink3:

I didn't follow the logic. I assume this was as she stepped through the portal. The thought of Tristram scared her, but feeling her feet on Tristram's ground somehow brought relief. What am I missing?

Elarinn doesn't fear Tristram as a whole, just the halls and dungeons under the cathedral. Dirt under her foot (as opposed to flagstone or whatever) means that she's free of that fear, at least for the moment. That distinction is part of why the opening's so long: I thought I could make it clearer from the images that I meant the dungeons and such only. That said, your advice did come off as quite constructive (heck, I'm sure I've been worse,) and it's something to consider, if I can get this distinction cleared up in another way. Any thoughts on that?

I liked this twist. For me it saved the battle against Griswold from being just another obligatory follow-the-in-game-story scene. (But not by much.)

I had trouble with the Griswold bit because it felt too much like a rehash and it felt like I was spending too much time on similar-sounding action...guess it shows. Unfortunately, it's probably part of the cost for wanting the story to reach back into Tristram.

And now I resign myself to a month-long wait for the next chapter . . .

Workin' on it, workin' on it... :grin:

Thanks for reading and commenting. It's helpful and appreciated, as always.

[RazCotton]

RevenantsKnight, Ive only recently just started to read your collection of writings you have got going here, I dont think I'm in a position to critique anyone yet - but I have to say...this is just damn good. I'm only on like page 3 but catching up - good to see your still quite active with it, I hope to be catching up and reading more.

I had to keep myself from reading the posts above in order not to spoil anything. Anyway - really great stuff ^^.

[Stevomoo]

i am new to the fan fiction but this is a very good read.
When is the next chapter coming i can't wait.

[RevenantsKnight]

Still alive...if not without difficulties. Thanks in advance for reading.

----------

Demon

Silence reigned amid the rocks beyond the Talsande as Ryland’s words faded into the thin morning light, leaving Elarinn looking with narrowed eyes between the man beside her and the shadowy figure ahead. “You know this creature?” she finally said.

“He’s a Khanduran, a scout,” Ryland answered, stronger than before. “I fought against him once, when Leoric’s army invaded Westmarch.”

Out of the corner of her eye, the young captain saw Blaen shiver at his companion’s words. “This is...” he began softly, then stepped up beside Ryland, his bow still at his side.

Marovar nodded as his free hand curled into a fist, though his crossbow remained pointing downward. “And then our paths crossed again, here. You knew of it then, didn’t you?”

Looking down, Ryland paused before shaking his head. “I thought it would be best to leave...but not that this would happen.”

“What I said didn’t send you scurrying off into the night like a frightened rat,” Marovar hissed, still facing Ryland. “You knew something...and you left me to face it.”

What? At this, Elarinn looked away from the shadow-draped man ahead for a moment as she waved for Lehani to move up, then stepped back slightly, eying the three figures before her. “What’s he talking about, Ryland?” she said.

“It’s...complicated, my lady,” Ryland said slowly, “but I did not know that this town would be destroyed....and I bore this man no malice with what I did.”

Elarinn arched an eyebrow, easing up on her bowstring as she adjusted her aim. “Anything more to that?” she probed, then nodded as Lehani stepped up beside her. “I take we’re still safe?”

“Everyone else is in the field now, and nothing yet from the cathedral,” Lehani whispered. “And this, Elarinn?”

Frowning, the auburn-haired woman shook her head slightly, looking between Ryland’s anxious face and Blaen’s blank mask before finally nodding towards Marovar. “Are there any other survivors like you?” she said after a moment.

Marovar’s hissing laughter answered Elarinn’s words, the sounds seeping into her ears and running like ice water down her spine. “None like me,” he rasped, stepping forward into the light, and the young captain’s eyes widened in horror.

Even had the face before her been fully human, it would have been unnerving; the morning light seemed to leach the color from a skull-like visage, all hard lines of bone pushing through taut skin, and then vanish into unmoving black eyes. It was what loomed above them, however, that seized Elarinn’s stare in an iron grasp: a streak of blackened, puckered flesh that slashed across his fore