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An easy way to read about Tio'nel and his part in the adventure of the Seekers. |
Who are the Seekers? Check out
Who is Tio'nel? check out
And now Justal joins in the telling!
Any other names you don't recognize? Check out
Or, if you know it all (or are me) continue on! Introduction: Tio'nel wasn't sure what he became aware of first: his pounding headache, aching ribs, raw throat, or the stomping of feet back and forth outside his door. He mumbled a curse as he carefully righted himself, wiping his mouth against the back of one soiled sleeve. Leaning against the damp, fuzzy wall of his cell, he closed his eyes against his nausea, trying to ignore the trampings and yelling and fighting through the corridor. I wonder what I've gotten myself into now, he thought to himself. Just as he thought he would die of hunger before anyone came to fetch him, Tio'nel heard keys rattle in the lock. He lurched to his feet, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. He felt awful and knew he looked a fright, but he'd be d---ed if he'd be carried to his execution -- or whatever punishment he'd be given. The guards entered cautiously, so cautiously in fact Tio'nel wished he could remember what had landed him in this cell. He took a step forward and would have fallen but for the arms of his jailors. Only by grace did he manage to keep back the vomit and retain his dignity, but somehow he managed it. He shook off the helping hands with a gruff word, striding from the cell on his own two feet. With a guard before and behind, Tio'nel let himself be led down the passageways. He concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other. His other, less-important injuries he could ignore, at least for now. But he had a splitting head-ache and from time to time, dizzy spells caused him to lurch dangerously from side to side and once he had to put out a steadying hand to the dungeon wall. Exhausted, panting, and red from exertion, Tio'nel sighed in relief as his guards ushered him into a small room. The man now staring at Tio'nel made him extrememly nervous. The figure behind the desk had every mark of the mercenary . . . And a good one at that. His eyes seemed to stare sraight into Tio'nel's very soul. "So," the man sighed softly in Tio'nel's direction, "you made it up here on your own. I'm impressed, Knight." Tio'nel bristled. He stiffened his back, despite the weakness in his knees. "I am no knight." The man leaned back in his chair. "That is true. Your actions scarcely identify your knighthood, but your fighting prowess does. From all that I hear, Knight Tio'nel, you have much to be gained from listening from what I have to say." Tio'nel wasn't about to let his guard down. "So," he said, feigning a lightness he most certainly didn't feel in the prescence of this man, "what do you have to say that has any relevance for me?" Now the man leaned forward. "I offer only this: join my little band of adventurers, keep them alive, and bring back my prize and I will give you what you desire most." Tio'nel didn't have to ask. He nodded shortly. "Then we are agreed." We meet Sergeant: Ty’nel lay on his bed and watched the ceiling. Scarlet was talking to the boy Justal, who seemed enamored with her for some reason, and the scholar named Kyle kept trying to talk to the thief. Ty’nel was trying to feign sleep but the stupid scholar wouldn’t shut up. Damn me for trying to be a little friendly anyway! A fourth person had arrived a short time ago but had not introduced himself. It had been a man nearly in his middle years, a bit long in the tooth for the group, and he had collapsed into a bunk only a few feet from the door. His snores seemed to shake the entire barracks. The doors opened and in stepped a small, curvy woman holding a satchel full of books. She had lank, dark brown hair that fell loosely about her shoulders. Her brown eyes glistened wetly with tears as she studied everyone in the room. The newest arrival ducked her head quickly and quickly made her way to the far side of the room. The robed woman threw her satchel on a bed and then herself on the bed next to it. Ty’nel thought he could hear low sobbing from the woman. Heavy bootsteps made Ty’nel turn back to the door again and his eyes widened in astonishment. The largest man the thief had ever seen was pushed into the room and the doors were closed behind him. The man had to be one of the murderous barbarians of the forest. His small coal black eyes and shaggy mane of dark hair were so dark as to almost be black. Those were colorings almost seen nowhere but the clans of the Lijuak. The barbarian’s arm muscles were larger than Ty’nel’s thighs. By the Will of Fate the man’s attention hadn’t fixed on Ty’nel. The barbarian’s eyes had immediately went to Scarlet. The expensive whore lay a hand bessechingly on Justal’s forearm as the barbarian smiled languidly at her. The Lijuak maniac began to ponderously make his way over to Scarlet. Justal stood and Ty’nel goggled when he realized the Pliyian was nearly as tall as the barbarian. Unfortunately he had the body of a born archer and not of a frontline fighter. Ty’nel shook his head but didn’t move to prevent the boy from getting his face smeared into a stain. The boy would learn a painful lesson about letting women pick his course but painful ones were often best remembered. Ty’nel winced in remembered pain and waited for the confrontation. A heavy thud sounded in the middle of the room and a deafening roar made Ty’nel cover his ears. Everyone, even the sleeping old man, looked toward the source of the sound in startlement. Ty’nel’s jaw nearly came off its hinge as he saw what it was. He slapped himself across the face to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The pain made him come back to reality and the figure straight out of a story still stood in the middle of the room. It was a Tiger-Man. The Tiger-Man stood head and shoulders above the barbarian. Muscles bunched and writhed beneath his bronze and black fur. Large gold eyes studied each of the occupants of the room in turn. The points of the Tiger-Man’s incisors peaked out from between his thin black lips and gave him an even more feral appearance. The Tiger-Man was uncovered except for a loinclothe for his privates and a sash with a peculiar seal of a broadsword and an odd-looking spear. He didn’t seem to need any weapons because long black talons peeked out from behind his hands and feet. The Tiger-Man looked as though he could kill them all with minimal effort and absolutely no mercy. "I am called Sergeant by the Marauders." Ty’nel’s eyes bulged so much he thought they would fall out. "I am your trainer. I will mold you into a unit by the Will of Fate. My orders are to be followed to the letter. Without question or else you will feel my claws. I do not joke. You will feel my claws." The Sergeant held up a hand and three-inch long talons emerged from each of his fingertips, "Now . . . STRIP!! I want everyone in their underthings in twenty breaths." Ty’nel looked around him in shock. Surely the Tiger-Man was joking. When the talons on each hand came out Ty’nel knew he was serious. The thief undressed as quickly as he could and saw that the others followed suit just as quickly. "Line up by the doors!" the Sergeant growled and it really did sound like a growl. Ty’nel did as he was told and found himself sandwiched between the old man and Scarlet. Unfortunately for him Scarlet still had on her top. The Sergeant was there in a flash and crouching down to get to eye-level with the human female. "Why exactly is that top not off, whore?" the Tiger-Man said in a low rumble. "I don’t have a breastband." the whore replied haughtily. The Tiger-Man nodded and his lip curled in a snarl, "Do I CARE, whore! I want it off NOW!" Scarlet hesitated and then hissed in pain. Ty’nel glanced out of the corner of his eyes. A thin line of blood was trickling down the woman’s bare leg. "Next time it will be your face." Scarlet didn’t hesitate this time and in a moment her upper body was bare to the world. Ty’nel kept his eyes forward but he heard the barbarian snicker. There was a loud smack and then the Tiger-Man roared again. Ty’nel turned to look this time and goggled. The Tiger-Man was holding the barbarian around the neck and holding his head against the ceiling with a single hand. The barbarian coughed and spittle began to flow between his lips. The Tiger-Man dropped the large man to the floor and waited for him to stop coughing. When the barbarian did the Sergeant hauled him to his feet and slammed his back into the door. "Eyes front, barbarian," he said almost softly. The barbarian nodded slightly, still rubbing his throat, and then held his eyes to the front. The Sergeant backed up, "That is why you are all in your underthings. You will be closer than family when I am through with you or you will be dead by MY hand. I can smell the arousal on you, men--" Scarlet must have made a sound because the Sergeant glared a her with his golden eyes,"--and women! It makes me sick. You are not warriors and I will not address you with respect." The Tiger-Man came to the drunk and stared at him, "You are the drunkard." Ty’nel kept his eyes front and found himself looking at the Sergeant’s well-muscled abdomen, "You are scum." On down the line the Sergeant went. Scarlet was the whore, Justal the fool, the barbarian . . . the barbarian, Kyle was the weakling, and the small woman was the disgrace. "Now . . . we RUN!" the Sergeant heaved the doors open with no effort at all. "Like this?" he heard Kyle whisper. "Yes, like this. Don’t worry. I know parts of the Lower Keep no one goes through. They are COLD though, weakling! And if you scatter I WILL find you by smell alone and I WILL make you sorry your whores of mothers ever gave birthed your miserable carcasses. Now RUN!" Ty’nel groaned silently and realized that the Lieutenant’s words about survival seemed like a prophecy at the moment. Later the First Day: While the others bathed, Tio'nel seated himself cross-legged on his bed (if it could be called that). He placed his hands, palm-up, on his knees and closed his eyes. He drew in deep breaths, forcing the air out, one breath at a time in an effort to reach a state of deep meditation. I haven't done this in a long, long time, he thought, with some chagrin. What would Aleese say? As his body relaxed, Tio'nel became more and more aware of his surroundings and the other people he shared a room with. Their immediate thoughts and feelings hammered at him and he hastily erected a wall to block them out, dismayed at his lack of control. I'm worse than the newest of pages! Though his body was weary, Tio'nel's mind was still fresh, his promise to the mercenary captain ever a thought away. He opened his mind to the others, feeling their exhaustion (especially Justal's, still running out there) and knowing their half-healed wounds. Already Tio'nel's body was mostly recovered from the 'jog,' but the others had not the benefit of his background. The healing was unconsious to him; he did it without thinking about it. Now, with other people, however, he hesitated. Then, out there in the tunnels, Justal tripped, ripping a muscle in the fall. In his meditative state, the younger man's hurt struck at Tio'nel like a knife. Instinctively, he reached out, healing the muscles and refilling Justal's energy reserves. As he withdrew, Tio'nel directed that healing burst to his other companions. Done, the ex-Knight of Loriea fell over sideways in exhaustion. I hope that bastard Sergeant couldn't smell my magic! was his last coherent thought. Training: Tio'nel closed his eyes as he ran, another old, old exercise long since discarded. He trusted in his instincts -- OR SHOULD! he reminded himself as he winced, opened his eyes and found he was nowhere close to running into anything. He turned his head slightly, to look at the cleric running at his side. The young man's eyes were closed, his breath coming easily. Tio'nel flushed angrily. Who he was mad at most he couldn't quite decide: the cleric for showing him up, or himself for letting himself get so out of shape. He gasped a few more breaths, then closed his eyes again, to try once more. He opened them again to a raging headache and the leering face of the cleric. "What's the matter, old man? Not get your firewine today?" Tio'nel scowled and heaved himself to his feet. He tried to put a hand out for balance, but the cleric knocked his hand away. "What? Are your skills so weak, so worthless you cannot cure even a slight headache?" Tio'nel only barely refused the taunt . . . and the urge to growl a reply. Why, in his day, he'd been the greatest Knight-Cleric of all Loriea! Well, perhaps not that great, but that was what -- Tio'nel's mind lurched away from that pain-riddled abyss. He shuddered uncontrolably, silently cursing the cleric for reminding him of his growing withdrawal cravings. "UP! Get up, old man, I'm not through with you yet!" Tio'nel let himself be heaved to his feet, forcing himself to continue running. As the pain and weariness increased, his legs began to shake, but Tio'nel refused to quit. I'm not going to let this upstart think he's my better! he thought. He brought his hand to a sudden cramp, the pain startling Tio'nel almost as much as the sudden relief. How did I do that? he wondered, irritated by yet another failure. Scowling, Tio'nel closed his eyes again to concentrate, trying to trace the magic like a novice. His lip curled in self-loathing and anger, Tio'nel reached. His questing mind, rusty from disuse and time, struggled to remember and then . . . he grunted in satisfaction as he found the door. Sweat poured off his body and face as he tried, struggled with all his might, pounded, and mentally swore, trying to force open a door he'd shut a decade or more ago, and all the painful memories that went with it. Tio'nel didn't know the exact moment his foot slipped, but he knew exactly when he hit bottom: the door safeguarding everything Tio'nel had wised to forget (as well as the reason he'd wanted to forget) spilt open. Spells, memories, habits tumbled out, hitting Tio'nel with the force of a stone floor. He groaned, ignoring the kick sent his way by the cleric. Tears slid down his cheeks as he sobbed, his fists becoming bloody from his bludgeoning them against the stone. The Sergeant's claws ripped Tio'nel off the floor, shook him hard enough to make teeth rattle, then dropped him. Startled and with the breath knocked out of him, Tio'nel to found that he was somewhere even grosser and slimier than his cell, covered in muck from his fall, and all alone . . . With Sergeant. "So, think you can just leave your trainer? Huh? Just like that?" Tio'nel knew better than to answer that question. "Answer me, you disgrace of a Knight!" With an ease that startled Tio'nel so bad he almost lost the magic, the once-great Knight-Cleric waved away his pain and harsh breathing and stood. Level-headed and free for the first time in fifteen years from dependance on the bottle, Tio'nel took a deep breath, reveling in the feel of being able to do that. He looked Sergeant straight in the eye and said, "I am no knight." Sergeant's voice was soft, deadly. "So, what are you then?" Tio'nel raised his chin stubbornly, hardly believing he was standing up to this devil. "I am a Knight-Cleric, sir." The Sergeant's eyebrow curved impossibly high. "Really," he drawled. His claw sliced through air too fast to see, slicing through flesh, muscle, and organ too quick for Tio'nel to immediately react. Sergeant turned away. "If you're so great, why is Ra'siel dead?" Tio'nel lurched away from the wall, blood streaming from between his cupped hands. "D--n you!" Tio'nel screamed at Sergeant's departing back. "D--n you all! I care nothing for this petty quest, do you hear me? You can all rot in some forsaken hole for all that it matters to me!" "And break your word?" Sergeant's voice echoed slightlty in the tunnel. "What would She say then?" The Knight-Cleric sank to the floor, tears running unnoticed down his cheeks. He felt the lethargy, knew the risk, and still he hesitated. But, as she had so long ago, Ra'siel's face appeared before him. She held the face of her love and kissed him one last time, a caress the like of which only angels could even imagine. "Live," she breathed. "Live for me -- swear it!" As he had then, Tio'nel promised: "I swear!" he sobbed. Ra'siel's face lit up with a smile that would have put the gods to shame. "I love you," she whispered, then spoke no more. Tio'nel sobbed into his wound, feeling his lifeforce beginning to fade. With great reluctance, spurred only by an oath to a dying woman, he called forth the magic that would save him. His mind followed the magic, seeing the torn organs and muscles and flesh join and heal, seeing the blood returned and feeling the strength flow back into his limbs. He knelt there a moment, with his blood-soaked clothes and hands, and prayed. My Lady, long have I strayed from your service. Your humble servent would now wish to beg your forgiveness. I have one last task to achieve, My Lady, and then I shall forever more be indebted to your service. This I swear. Pray forgive me, My Lady, for I have done you much wrong. Settle my hands and speed my limbs that I might return to you the swifter. Tio'nel stood. Surveying the darkness, he reached out with his healer's instinct, finding the barracks where his companions rested wearily. Their pain called to him and he began to jog. They would have need of him soon. Some Weeks Later: Tio'nel spent most of his time meditating, regaining old skills. He watched and waited as the others finished preparing. For the first time in a decade he was free from his cravings for alchohol and he began to notice things again. And for the first time he began to notice how cut off from everyone he'd become. He longed to just talk to someone, about anything, but in their present states, his companions were not great conversationalists. He wondered if he should become friends with them, but he didn't know how. So he stayed by himself, alone with his thoughts. He was rarely bothered, so he took to running and exercising on his own. Somehow, getting back in shape made the world seem less bleak and hopeless and the desperate need to escape his depression drove him every step. His clerical powers were exercised almost constantly, though no one had yet connected him with their miraculous healing. Tio'nel considered it almost miraculous himself, the way he could heal their semi-serious and minor wounds with little more than a thought, no matter where he was in the dungeons. So he wasn't worried about that aspect of his training at all. He thanked the Goddess every day, several times a day, for returning his skill to him. But there came a time where it seemed the stress level jumped up exponentially. All of a sudden he and the others were being pushed with ever-increasing force toward being ready, whatever that 'ready' meant. The sudden change alarmed him, but he wasn't sure why. The dreams started then and most nights he would wake up, drenched in sweat and shaking, but he could never remember why. He began to take himself to the exercise room more frequently, especially after one of those dreams. It took hours to go back to sleep after one of the dreams, so Tio'nel would work himself to the brink of exhaustion, run until everyone else began to stir, then return to the barracks to sleep. A couple of weeks passed by like this, with Tio'nel growing more and more tired and cranky and increasingly stressed. The others gave him a wide berth, speaking to him only when necessary. His face became pale and gaunt, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and the weight began to melt from his bones extraordinarily fast. One morning after his run, Tio'nel returned, stumbling with fatigue, to fing Sergeant blocking his way. The tiger-man had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes boring into Tio'nel's. "You are driving yourself too hard," said the tiger-man finally. Tio'nel shrugged. "Tell me what weighs on your mind." Tio'nel laughed, cutting it short at the expression on Sergeant's face. He rubbed his jaw, unused to the expression and looked up at the tiger-man wearily. "I need some rest, that is all." Sergeant shook his head. "No time for that. Your training days are nearly over, but you are being graduated early." Tio'nel gave Sergeant a quizzical look. "Where am I going, then?" "Up," the tiger-man replied simply. "The others will be brought to you at the completion of their training. You will not heal them from this point until then. Understood?" Tio'nel nodded. "I will need books to study." "You will be provided that which is necessary. Any more questions? Good, let's go." The Dinner Party: Tio'nel smiled along with the others, but he was far from merry. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. I'm getting too old for this, he thought. He sighed quietly, then made himself smile to a jest from farther down the table. Looking up, catching Kyle's gaze. The scholar smiled and said something which Tio'nel didn't catch, but he was suddenly unaccountably uncomfortable. Tio'nel stifled a yawn, poking at the half-eaten meal on his plate. His fingers itched for the wine that sat so enticingly near and it was with some effort that he kept his hand on his fork instead of taking a long, refreshing draught from the -- Tio'nel fropped his fork with a clatter into a lull in the conversation. "What?" he asked, blinking at Emeralda blankly as he fumbled for the utensil. The sorceress gave Tio'nel an odd look, her eyes following his hand as he groped for the fork. "I asked," she said quietly, "if you are feeling well?" Tio'nel forced a smile and a chuckle. "I am just old, young woman. The young spirits at this table have worn me out." Ty'nel picked up one of the empty bottles, reading the label. "Actually," he joked, "there's nothing young about these spirits!" He laughed, as the others did, too, and Tio'nel began picking at his food again. The evening wore on and his eyelids began to grow heavier. His hand was around the bottle and halfway to his mouth before Tio'nel realized with a start what he was doing. The others stared at him, their eyes glazed over with drink. Scarlet leered at him, drawling something that he couldn't understand. Tio'nel wanted to puke. Gods! He thought. I was like that! He swallowed hard. For too many years. Aleese would be so disappointed with me. Tio'nel set the bottle back on the table with a soft clunk. He stared at it for a moment. Why? He asked himself, am I thirsty all of a sudden? Since the incident in the hallway with Sergeant, Tio'nel hadn't once felt a craving for alchohol. He was nervous, parts of overheard conversations over the past few weeks and suddenly being brought back to the dungeons combining to make him nervous and anxious. What are they planning? Tio'nel drummed his fingers on the table, reluctant to leave, but not hungry, or sleepy anymore. He tried to relax, to calm down and enjoy the respite from the heavy cramming he'd been currently involved in. Physics, anatomy, physiology, biology . . . the equations and pictures and words swam in his mind. Despite himself, Tio'nel felt himself beginning to drift off again. And this time he couldn't help himself. Our First Battle: For long moments Tio'nel could only stand and stare in shock. These prisoners! Why? Why would they attack?? This makes no sense, he thought, but little here does. No doubt this is some new aspect of our training. He swallowed hard against the bitterness in his throat and mumbled a quick prayer for the poor souls dispatched so brutally by his companions. The urge to heal them, to save them was almost more than he could bear. Power surged to his hands and he shook them reflexively against the itch, then ran into one of the now-empty rooms. Tio'nel hid there, eyes closed against the sounds of battle, trying to regain control. He shivered with reaction, ached for a weapon, yet hurt from the accumulated injuries and deaths. All his training of the past few months seemed to go straight out of his head. A small form flew past the Knight-Cleric, to thud against the wall. He fell, limp and unconsious, rolling to land near Tio'nel's feet. Instinctively, Tio'nel knelt down and placed his hands on the man's head. He didn't have to coax his power this time. No, his healing energy channeled down his arms and through his hands to the man below without any concentration at all. The healing left Tio'nel temporarily drained. He put a hand to his head, slightly dizzy and nauseous. Control, he told himself. Or I'll be spent too soon. As Tio'nel gasped back his breath, the man came around. With an enraged snarl, the prisoner grabbed the healer around the neck and slammed him to the ground. Already winded, Tio'nel's eyes began to glaze over from lack of oxygen. Frantically, he struggled, but to little use. As he started to slip into unconsiousness, an old, old training technique, long-past ingrained into his memory, took charge of Tio'nel's reflexes. Tio'nel dropped his hands, relaxed his whole body, and went limp. He didn't even breathe, except shallowly. Laughing insanely, the prisoner let go. He stood, but that was as far as he went. As soon as his attacker stood, Tio'nel snapped back to consciousness, amazed and furious. The words of the spell-prayer already in his mind, Tio'nel whispered the final phrase. His hands began to glow red-white and when the prisoner stood, the Knight-Cleric latched onto his ankle. Tio'nel pushed himself out from under the other man's body and said a quick prayer to help guide the man's soul to the afterlife. Thank you, my Lady, he prayed, for giving me to power to vanquish my foes. Now, O Benevolent One, lend me the strength and knowledge to send you these that are beyond mortal help. Tio'nel blinked his eyes as the room darkened around him. The confines of the cell melted away, leaving him standing alone, on a hill, under the warm sunshine. A beautiful lady stood before him, her hunting hounds by her side, her warhorse just beyond. Her long, brunette hair trailed down one shoulder, twisted into an exquisite braid. Tio'nel fell to his knees in supplication. At ease, brave Tio'nel, she said, her voice as melodious as the wind. Please, come before me. The Knight-Cleric rose in a daze, squinting from the glare off her dazzling armor. "My Lady, what do you wish of me?" Tio'nel, you served me well and faithfully for many years. Everything I asked of you, you did, without question. You have before you a quest, and a promise. Tio'nel looked up, startled. She looked him in the eye and nodded. Yes, I know of it. Dear Tio'nel, do you not think I know how you have suffered? I have waited long for you to return to my service, and for long I despaired. I know the deeds of man, and I know your part in this. Go now, help your companions, and know that I will give you all that you need, should you only ask. The Lady of Loriea extended a hand to the kneeling man. Give me your hand, she said. Tio'nel placed his hand in her palm. He watched in wonder as the goddess magically traced an ornate symbol on the palm of his hand. Now, she instructed him, you have only to reveal this to your enemy to instill within them a fear so large such as no living or undead being can withstand. Say to them my name and I shall set upon you the power to destroy that which is undead. She took Tio'nel's other hand, tracing upon it another sacred rune. To this, show your allies and those you must defend. Say to them my name and I shall multiply their courage tenfold. She took both his hands and kissed them, saying, Faithful Tio'nel, lay upon your hands and as you wish it, you may heal. But, she cautioned him, You may also destroy. Be careful what you desire, for all power has its price. Her eyes held Tio'nel's. Go now. I shall be waiting, as ever I am, for my faithful to return. Serene eyes the color of a glorious sunset smothered the supplicant in their warm embrace. The Keep Attacked!: . . . Left . . . Right . . . Duck . . . Swing . . . Advance . . . Advance . . . Fall back! . . . Right . . . Left . . . Left . . . Duck . . . Pause . . . Block . . . Swing . . . Swing . . . . . . Hmm, hit something there, not sure what . . . There! To the right . . . Whoa! Way to close . . . Aha, got ya . . . Where is Jurrel now? . . . Ah, there . . . Augh, didn't see that one . . . I'll get you . . . Quick, to the left . . . No, no, the other left . . . Out of the way, out of the way! . . . [gasp]Scarlet, you stupid whore, hold still a second . . . Augh! This shield won't take much more . . . Got'cha . . . And again . . . . "Tio'nel!!" Sergeant's gutteral roar startled Tio'nel from the fight. His concentration broken, the beasts surrounding him scored a hit to his sword arm, knocking the mace from his grasp. No big loss, he found himself thinking, as he ducked and rolled out of harm's way. Now he could feel Rain's absence, and Sergeant's own preoccupation as he kept the beasts at bay. He made his way to her side as quickly as he could, to lay both hands on her. But a few creatures got past Sergeant, attacking the healer and causing him to lose focus. Tio'nel rolled from the blow, finding himself staring up into the descending sword of the beast. Instinctively, his hand came up as he ducked, bracing himself, but no blow did he feel. Warily, he peered around his 'protecting' arm. The beast, he saw, was cowering next to the wall and, was that, could it be, tears? running down the creature's snout? Tio'nel stared. The cloth with which he'd wrapped his hands after the last battle had come free. It works! he thought. "It works!" he whispered aloud. He looked up, over to where Sergeant had his back to him, surrounded by beasts. Tio'nel raised his hand. He took a deep breath, gathering the power within him. "Back!" he shouted. "Back, you vile creatures!" It didn't work quite as Tio'nel had hoped. About three-quarters of the beasts remained unaffected, the others stared around at each others, dazed and confused. The healer shrugged, and returned to the sorcerer. He healed her back to consiousness, then paused, taking a deep breath, before repairing the damage to her skull. As he helped her to her feet, one of the attacking beasts charged them. This time, the spell worked and the creature fled, howling in fear. Rain stared at Tio'nel. He gave her a shrug and a modest grin, then picked up the nearest weapon, unfortunately another rapidly-decaying mace. Armed once more, Tio'nel charged back into the fray. He ran this time to Ty'nel's side, healing the assassin, while keeping the beasts at bay with the power of the spell engraved upon his palm. He was rather ashamed with himself for having forgotten about the power, but he'd half-convinced himself it had been but a dream. And he hadn't wished to have it proved so. But the battle wore on and on and as Tio'nel tired, his concentration faltered, and his healing began to have less and less of an effect, even on himself. He lost track of where he should be, cursing himself for his age and the memory loss incured from being mostly drunk most of the last ten years. He should be able to remember formations like that, da---it! The mace was quickly replaced by a sword, then another, and another as the fighting wore on. He couldn't keep a shield in one piece long enough to make it useful, so he quit looking for one, instead absorbing the damage, or, mostly, just keeping out of the way. His mind wandered as he fought, a bad sign, but by that point, he could hardly have told himself so. He staggered when he ran and, finally, when blocking a blow, he fell to his knees and could not stand again. With the last of his remaining strength, he killed the creature. Then a muffled sound came to his ears. Sergeant, the most deadly of this ill-put-together team, was being mobbed, and his cry was of pain! Somehow, Tio'nel was back on his feet, running to the Tigerman's side. His weapon struck aside those in his path, clearing the area for a brief moment. Tio'nel placed both hands on Sergeant's shoulder, pouring forth the energy necessary to stop the bleeding from the badly scored wound on the Tigerman's leg. The healing consumed Tio'nel, blocking all sense and reason in his focus. If he could have thought, he would have known that he was too tired to risk a healing, too exhausted to stop himself before all his life-blood went to the one being healed. As it was, Tio'nel gave and gave, unheeding, unable to stop himself. Sergeant pushed himself from the wall he'd been leaning against, feeling new energy flowing through his body. The pain and fatigue left him with a speed that left him slightly dizzy. And still more flowed within him. The necessary blow cut at him, but still he struck, knocking Tio'nel away. The older man slumped to the ground, but Sergeant had no time to see if he was all right. There was work to be done, a battle to be won. We get healed, thank goodness! The six prisoner-mercenaries arched, shivered, trembled, or convulsed as the healing magic took effect. Jurrel felt his wounds knitting and closing themselves. Bruises and aches faded away within moments. Shortly after Tio’nel sat upright in his bed and gave a short bark of alarm. He looked around and winced at pain he felt but Jurrel could not see the cause of. "Did we win?" And we get a new task . . . . Tio'nel slept. And slept. And slept. For the next twenty-four hours nothing short of a minor disaster (say, the roof caving in) could have roused the Knight-Cleric from his slumber. He awoke at last, his stomach loudly roaring its hunger. But at least his raging headache had mostly subsided. Blinking bleary eyes, he stumbled off to take care of the first thing upper-most on his mind. He sighed with relief as he came from the privy, rinsed his hands, splashed some water on his face, and gave a mighty yawn. Scarlet rolled over onto an elbow, unfortunately right next to the old man's bellow, and glared at him. "So, awake are you?" Tio'nel looked up, startled. "Ah, why, yes." "Good." She smirked at him. "Looks like I won." "Hmm?" She explained, "There was a bet going to see if you would actually rise before the Sergeant came for us." "Oh? Where are we going?" The door slammed open with a loud BOOM, interrupting whatever Scarlet had been about to say. Sergeant was there, shouting, shaking the others from their beds. The trainees lined up, dressed and armed, in their customary line for inspection. A sorry sight, in Srarrar's mind, but all he had. "Let's go," was all he said. The first few days: Tio'nel's back hurt. His feet hurt. And the dust made his nose itch. Why am I doing this again? he asked himself. He answered his own question: Because I swore I would. He cursed inwardly. The Lady curse me for regaining my conscience! He fidgeted as they waited for the thief. The straps on his backpack dug into his shoulders and his back ached from the strain. He felt naked with no armour and the worn mace at his side was so inadequate compared with what he was used to. He wanted to pace. Badly, but he dared not move from his vanguard position. Come on, all ready, he thought, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Instantly, Sergeant was next to him, one of his many, leathal claws mere inches from Tio'nel's neck. The Tiger-man scowled ferociously, silent in his warning. Tio'nel scowled back. He disliked lurking in dark, creepy caves. It was undignified. But, he nodded, ever so slightly, to acknowledge the warning. He scowled into the darkness behind the party, willing Ty'nel to hurry. He thought he almost felt something, but put it off to his nerves. He was so keyed up any sound seemed magnified a hundred-fold, and his body trembled for action. Ty'nel tumbling from the hole startled the Knight-Cleric upright and he had to forcibly remove his hands from the mace. He obediently followed Sergeant and the others, clasping his hands to his pack straps to keep them from shaking. Tio'nel frowned as Sergeant told them what they were to do. More dungeon-crawling, he thought with disgust. Frustrated, both with the mission and with himself, he stubbornly willed his mind back on task. Think of it as a special operations mission, he mused. Think of it as pest control. Aargh! This is no use. This is ridiculous! No job for a Knight. Relax, Tio'nel. You've had plenty of these types of jobs. By the Lady, what is wrong with me? Why'd I have to recover my scruples now? Emeralda nudged Tio'nel. She gestured with her eyes. He nodded. I'm coming, he grumbled. Attacked! Unlike Jurrel behind him, Tio'nel had no time to drop his pack. One step he'd been right behind Scarlet, the next overcome with leaping dog-monsters as he tried to sheild Justal long enough the boy could shoot the attacking creatures. The Knight-Cleric's rusty skills made his head ache furiously as all seven of his companions were attacked at once. Where are the cursed things coming from? he thought. They came in droves, packs, swarming the beleaguered group. In the dark, the even darker creatures could only be spotted by their eerily-glowing eyes and the soft swishing noise they made when they leaped at someone. The narrow passage was filled with cries of pain, but Tio'nel couldn't spare the time, not and -- The mace in his hand snapped in two over the head of a beast. "Aarrugh! @#$%!!!!" Tio'nel cursed bitterly, heaving the handle in his hand into the face of another of the creatures. Somehow, a portion of his mind remained open to reflect, disgusted, at the incredible injustice of it all. Why -- why couldn't there have been real enemies? Why was he back here, busting his ass over four-legged fiends? Duh! he told himself, Because a frontal assault wouldn't work! We're trying to sneak in all quiet-like -- Well, obviously, it ain't working! snapped another part of his mind. Well, the Lady be praised, he's seen the light! Only taken the Lady knows how many hours! Sneaking through dungeons, murder -- assassinations -- Tio'nel snarled, partly in surprise, partly in pain, but mostly in anger and frustration as the dog-beast he'd meant to kick dodged and bit him in the foot instead. The Knight-Cleric ended up flat on his back, crushing the fragile portions of the contents. He cursed again, swinging his fists at those attacking. But the beast continued to drag him -- backwards, toward Jurrel and the others, snarling at him and chewing the hell out of his foot. As they passed Ty'nel, Tio'nel was slammed with an agony so extensive he almost passed out. Concentrating hard, he pulled himself separate, immediately focusing his healing on Emeralda. Opening his eyes, he didn't see her -- But as he passed Jurrel, Tio'nel grabbed the big barbarian's boot, where the man lay belly-down on the floor. By the Lady, Tio'nel cursed, What is going on? Tio'nel clung to Jurrel's foot for all he was worth, kicking at the dog-beast with his uninjured foot and pouring as much strength as he could allow into the barbarian. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought he heard hysterical laughing, but it made no sense and he had to wonder: Am I crazy? We rest, find out Scarlet was poisoned, etc. How long he was aware of the low voices nearby, Tio'nel didn't know, but he came abruptly to when someone tapped his shoulder. It was Kyle. He looked haggard and tired, his eyes half shut, but he nodded over to where the Sergeant crouched by the door to their retreat. "Your watch," he said. Tio'nel nodded. He sat up straighter as the scholar went and lay down. Tio'nel yawned and stretched, his muscles only slightly feeling the strain. He rubbed his shoulder absently, feeling for the deep lacerations that should be there. Nothing. He looked over at Sergeant. The Tiger-man nodded toward the rest of the group. "They elected to let you rest. Now we will watch." Ah, thought Tio'nel. He moved slightly, to examine his foot. The wounds were mostly healed, but the foot was still very tender; all that was left of the boot was a thin circlet around his ankle. Tio'nel scowled, then shrugged, forcing himself into a better mood. He cut lengths from his cloak to wrap around his foot, grimacing with the discomfort of the harsh cloth. He scooped up some water and washed his face and hands and he let a little trickle down his dry throat. Filling up his canteen, he sat back again and began to take stock. The glass bottles, with their priceless medicines, were all broken and Tio'nel bit his lip in dismay. Only the smaller potions and salves, in the cruder containers, were okay. The rest of his healing kit remained intact, though most of the bandages were still wet from the broken bottles. Tio'nel eyed those warily, about to throw them out, but he stopped, his eyes going to his sleeping companions. He'd been unable to heal them, that he knew, and their exhausted slumber was only broken by soft moans of distress. Rain, the closest to him, slumped awkardly, her lacerated back starting to ooze from the sores just beginning to heal. With gentle hands, careful not to wake the woman, and not wanting to embarass her or cause her pain, Tio'nel stripped her of her shirt and tunic, cleansing the wounds and bandaging her with secure bonds against any movement. For a brief moment, he set both hands on her, feeling for internal injuries. There were none, he found with relief, and dressed her once more. He moved on to Ty'nel, asleep nearby. The thief woke instantly the moment the Knight-Cleric touched him. "Remove your shirt," Tio'nel told him. Ty'nel gave the old man a suspicious glare, but removed the shirt. Tio'nel took his arm and probed the elbow with quick, sure touches that made the thief hiss in pain. He watched as the cleric's eyes crossed momentarily, then noted with amazement that the pain in his arm, elbow, and should had dissipated to an ignorable amount. "It will be weak," Tio'nel whispered. "I will do more later. Is there anything else?" Ty'nel shook his head. "Then sleep." Leaving him, the Knight-Cleric made his way amongst the others, binding their wounds the best he could, giving a small 'pep,' as he called it, to speed the healing. When he reached Scarlet, his brow furrowed in consternation. Poison, was his first thought, but she was not fevered, nor seemed paralytic or anything else as obvious. He touched her, carefully turning her over to examine her other wounds. None were bad, and he bandaged them quickly with the last of the potion-soaked bandages. He touched her carefully, then, assessing the internal damage. There was nothing of the poison remaining, though she was weak, and he could clearly see the marks the poison had left. Tio'nel poured a little more of his healing into Scarlet, but he dared not do too much. Who knew what they'd be getting into today? Getting to his feet, the Knight-Cleric limped his way over to his pack. At Sergeants agreement, he started a small fire, just barely enough to boil water, so that he could make a rejuvenating tea. He stared into the bubbling water, musing. "I offer only this: join my little band of adventurers, keep them alive, and bring back my prize and I will give you what you desire most." That was what the mercenary lieutenant had offered, and only that. Why was it, then, that he felt so drawn to these people, these strangers only a few months ago? Tio'nel shook his head, overcome with memories of other campfires, other friends and companions. He remembered the talking, the drinking, the laughing, and the kinship, and his heart beat a strange tatoo in his chest. Yes, he thought to himself. I surely am crazy. But then he grinned, a lopsided grin that actually made him seem younger, and more human. "What the heck?" he murmered. "Why not?" And we go on . . . . Tio'nel limped painfully in his place in line. He ground his teeth together to keep silent and kept his eyes focused on the way ahead. Where the tunnel split into three more branches, the Sergeant stopped. One was a mere crevice that Ty'nel slithered through. Scarlet paced off down the one on the right and after a whispered command to Justal, the Sergeant trotted down the other. Jurrel, Tio'nel, Kyle, and Emeralda crouched down in the tunnel, watching in all directions. The seconds ticked by like hours until the others returned. Ty'nel, the thief's face, hands and clothes smudged and torn, returned first. "I couldn't get through," he reported when the Sergeant joined them, "but I think it's another room like the other -- some sort of barracks. They didn't appear alarmed." He frowned, as though something bothered him, but he didn't know how to explain the feeling. The Sergeant nodded curtly. With a gesture toward the tunnel leading straight, he murmered, "That way's a dead end. Underground lake. You?" His last was for Scarlet, just returned. She knelt down on the ground and drew a small diagram. "It twists and turns for several hundred yards or so, then ends here, at a locked door." She looked up at them. "I took out the guard, but he had no key." "Move out," ordered the Sergeant. "You first," he said to Scarlet and "Can you open the door?" he asked Ty'nel. The thief shrugged. "Of course." "Then get up there with Scarlet. You, Drunkard, you make too much noise. Drop to the back. Jurrel, you with him. Move." The group obediantly traded places, keeping any grumbling to themselves. As they trekked down the narrow tunnel, Scarlet and Ty'nel opened up the distance between them and the rest. The Sergeant, with Kyle, Justal, and Emeralda, followed after 10 feet or so, with Jurrel and Tio'nel lagging further behind to bring up the rear. As they neared the place where Scarlet had indicated a map, Jurrel startled Tio'nel by giving a wild bellow and charging off into the darkness. The Knight-Cleric squinted, but could make out nothing in the near-dark. He heard nothing, but increased his pace to a painful trot. "Jurrel?" he whispered. Tio'nel slowed down again to a stumbling walk when he realized he could see nothing. The warrior Jurrel had disappeared, and there was now a low murmur from somewhere at the older man's back. He swallowed and licked suddenly dry lips. The noise was closer now, and, as Tio'nel half-turned, trying to peer through the darkness, his foot slipped on a slanted surface and he began fall. Waving his arms furiously, Tio'nel threw himself backwards, clawing for purchase in the dirt and stone of the tunnel corridor. Gasping for breath, he felt around him with one hand. To his left, Tio'nel felt a huge, gaping hole, mere inches to either side of the tunnel walls. to Tio'nel's right was solid ground. Bracing himself, he carefully leaned over the hole. Some kind of trap, he thought. The floor of the tunnel appeared to be hinged in the middle of the gaping hole, a vertical line blocking Tio'nel's view of the rest of the corridor ahead. Even as he watched, the floor righted itself, revolving so that the floor was once again horizontal. Now the noise was even closer. Hesitantly, Tio'nel pressed down on the floor to his left. It held. Must be weighted. He pulled himself to his feet, grabbing three fist-sized chunks of rock. He hefted the first down the corridor, hoping Ty'nel or Scarlet or one of the others had gotten past the trap and could hear. He concentrated a moment on the other two rocks and pressed himself into the sides of the tunnel to wait. He didn't have long. A pack of the dog-like creatures that had attacked, their eyes glowing in the darkness. Behind them came two sessels, and something, or someone, Tio'nel couldn't quite make out. The dogs growled as they caught his scent and Tio'nel's body went cold, even as he began to sweat more profusely. You there, come out. Tio'nel shivered convulsively, barely restraining himself from obeying that unspoken command. He concentrated on the rock (Be one with the rock! his mind teased him) and gripped his crude missiles tighter. Come forth! That voice again. Tio'nel followed the thought to the will seeking to overtake his own. It was an old, old skill, one that Aleese had taught him when he was a boy, one she'd specifically told him never to tell anyone that he'd learned. But he was clumsy, the other knowing instantly what Tio'nel attempted. They grappled, each trying to force his will upon the other. Tio'nel was the first to break free, gasping for breath, afraid from head to toe. Oh, Lady! he prayed, let that not be what I think it is! Tio'nel burst from the turn in the corridor which had concealed himself, hurtling his stones toward that tall, cloak-enshrouded form. Both hit, drawing a muffled curse from the target, but that was not Tio'nel's concern of the moment. Taking a hasty step backward, he made a running leap across the pit-trap . . . . We get a little further, but then are captured. (Justal joins Tio'nel with the telling) "You are my prisoners," rumbled the yellow fiend, rubbing his? her? . . . well, anyways, its hands together. The way the fiend stared at him made Justal want to throw up. "Well, duh!" hissed Scarlet, just loud enough to be heard by Justal's quick ears. "You have trespassed . . . " Another soft curse. " . . . And you will be punished. My master has something special planned. For each of you." Justal concentrated on not being noticed, something he'd always just seemed to know to do, and was both ashamed and relieved when the fiend's gaze moved past him, to fix on Tio'nel. Despite himself, Justal frowned, and tensed. He should be first! It should be him! Couldn't he see that he, Justal of Mnimia, son of Jonal and Slafiah, be tortured first? After all, HE was famous. Of course, Justal thought bitterly, it was only a fiend, after all. One couldn't expect a creature such as that to know of him. Still, it was rather depressing. " . . . My master shall have dealt to you such punishments as you have never before felt," the fiend was saying. "You shall wish your death long, long, long before my master is through with each, and every, one of you." It laughed, a harsh sound that echoed around the room. Justal fought the urge to be sick. "Sadly," began the fiend once more, "I shall not have the privilege of dealing with all of you. No," it licked its lips, "for I have been given a special treat." The fiend gnashed its teeth together, gazing hungrily at the old man, the drunkard and healer. It stared back around the room at the rest of the party. "I shall enjoy watching you die." As soon as the yellow, whiskery puddle of goo had left, Justal collapsed by himself in a corner. He wrapped his arms around his long legs, pressing his forehead against his knees. I'm too young to die! I'm too young to die! His heart pounding a mile a minute, he let himself wallow in self-pity and panic for a moment before he forced himself to regain control. Don't be a fool! he snapped to himself. If you die, die with honor. Die a death that will be spoken of back in Pliyia. Do not die the fool everyone thinks you are. * * * Tio'nel was bound and gagged the instant they were captured. In fact, he would reflect later, they woke me from a very pleasing dream! At least he'd had enough time to heal his poor feet, though wandering around a dungeon without any shoes hadn't done much for the still-tender skin. Other than that, he really had only one other concern: that creature in the passageway. There was perhaps only one species that Tio'nel had absolutely nothing but fear for. He'd only ever run into one, and he prayed that that creature in the passage was not what he thought it was. He took his seat in the holding room, grateful to take his not-inconsiderable weight off his poor feet. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he prayed, silently, desperately . . . Let it not be! The Knight-Cleric didn't have to look up to know that his prayers had gone unanswered -- his greatest fear come true. A Yuirlin. Its slithery mind pressed against his and despite himself, Tio'nel flinched. By the Lady!! he wailed inwardly, the monster's laughter reverberating in his skull. Tio'nel's hands began to shake and he pressed them into the wall he leaned against, taking deep, (hopefully) calming breaths. Still whispering prayers, Tio'nel steeled himself to sleep, as much he could, for when the torture started, he'd need all his strength. * * * Justal couldn't believe it. He'd gone to sleep! He stared at the old man, horrified. Didn't he know what was going on here?!! And what was he doing? Sleeping! The boy moved to wake him, but Rain's hand on his arm stopped him. "No." Across the tiny room, Kyle chimed in. "Leave him be," Jurrel agreed. "Why?" Justal fought the urge to scream. "We will need him to keep us alive," drawled Scarlet, scowling at him. "I think, I think he and that Yuirlin, that's that yellow thing," explained Kyle, "know each other." "They're bound to take him first," said Ty'nel, silent up til now. "He's a magic user. Even without their 'knowing each other,' they'd take him first, cause he can heal US. You know, keep us alive." "We should all sleep," rumbled Jurrel. He smiled slightly, nodding (Was that with RESPECT? Justal wondered) toward the drunkard as the old man began to snore. "Ugh!" Justal grunted, moving away. As if I could sleep, he fumed, beginning to pace. And, despite their brave faces, the others didn't seem to be sleeping either; except maybe Rain. It was hard to tell what she was doing inside that helmet. Justal fretted himself into exhaustion, then slumped against a wall, pillowing his head on his knees. The heavy hand on his shoulder made him jump. Jurrel smiled encouragingly at the boy. He's so young, he thought, saying aloud, "We will be all right." Scarlet grunted, turning her back on them. Justal bit his lip to keep from, unheroically, bawling his eyes out. He nodded his head in thanks, then, his eyes widening in horror, he stared at the door, as it slowly began to creak open . . . . Our place of capture moves The group was led down a corridor, lined with doors to other cells, as poorly lit as most of the corridors they had been down. The screams of animals and intelligent creatures alike burst forth from every cell. Some sounded as though they were starving, others as if they were being tortured ... while some were the screams of the deranged. Then a human hand, bearing a small glint of copper on the index finger, was thrust through the barred doors of a cell on his left. "Help us!! I beg of you, mercenary, help us!!" Ty’nel got a good look at a dirty face with the undeniable look of a noble of Tyj about him. "How much?!" Ty’nel shouted as they slowly walked down the corridor. "We’ll be right back!!" Jurrel yelled back towards the imprisoned noble. The Yuirlin cackled in evil glee, "Keep thinking that, you stupid skinwalkers, though I won’t be able to call you that for long." The Yuirlin’s mount came up beside Tio’nel and it actually reached down and caressed the man’s face, "and I have something extra special planned for you, Knight-Cleric!" Tio’nel shuddered and Ty’nel could understand the emotion after hearing the madness in that cooing voice. The prison corridor opened up directly into the center of the demon-pit that Ty’nel had seen earlier. The thief could practically feel the horror and fear rolling off of the others in his little group. The Pliyian boy leaned over and was promptly sick all over the floor. Munbidi's Threat Jurrel looked out of the corner of his eye for the cleric. They had only bound his arms with a single thickness of rope. He would be able to break free and maybe free the others if only his back were healed. Fear threatened to consume his Lijuak heart as he saw that the Yuirlin had somehow managed to latch onto the old man’s face. The only part of the cleric’s face that was slime free was his nose. Oddly enough the cleric seemed to still be sleeping. "I think they’re wondering why the cleric doesn’t heal their big friend, Munbidi," the Sorceror laughed insanely. The talking slimeball cackled from it’s obscene seat, "I’m going to suck your cleric dry. First his mind, then his power, then his soul. I’ve been waiting for this for fifteen years." Escape! Revenge!! Tio'nel was lost, completely, hopelessly lost. All around him he could hear screaming, but he walked dazedly through some kind of fog. From time to time faces, from ages past, their names long since forgotten, emerged from the mist, muttering epithets and curses. He shrank from any sound, the harsh words causing him to cower, sobbing. All around him was darkness, darkness and pain. He was blinded, staggering blindly, covering his ears, screaming for the pain to stop. But there was only the laughter. He stumbled, fell. The ground softened around him, so that he was covered in gelatinous goo. And he was burning. Faces, people that he knew, came to stare, to mock, to curse him. "I hate you!" spat one woman, the words like a dagger to his heart. "I wish you would just give up and die!" The words were taken up by the others. "Why can't you just die!" "You died years past -- quit fooling yourself!" "Die! You'll be doing us a favor!" Another woman, older, shook her head sadly. "You fool," she said. "You were a waste of my time!" Tio'nel cried out, screamed after her retreating back, to wait, WAIT! But there was nothing. Nothing but the incessant laughter. I am a failure, he thought, and began to sob. I've never done a bit of good. No one will care if I die. The acid bit deeper, but Tio'nel could no longer feel the pain. He was beyond pain, beyond feeling. He felt totally numb; he could no longer even think. "Ah, ha, ha, ha ha!" cackled a new face. The yellowish blob floated before him. "Pitiful," he snarled. "And I thought I would be facing a worthy foe. But no, your years have softened you, Knight-Cleric." It laughed, bitterly. Then its gooey face turned greenish in rage and it lashed out at Tio'nel with acidic tentacles. "I'd treasured this moment for years! Years! This should be my moment of triumph! But you have ruined it! Ruined it!! I shall curse your name for a thousand of your generations! Your kind shall be hunted by mine for all of eternity!" It screamed maniacally, shrilly, deafeningly. Tio'nel could only watch, in a kind of bemused fascination as the creature turned an even darker shade of green. Then it stopped. Those nasty, beady, little eyes stared into Tio'nel's until what was left of Tio'nel trembled in fear. "I shall kill you," it snarled, "and I will take my time." The last Tio'nel remembered, before the chaos that was left of his mind swarmed him once more, was the glowing eyes, disappearing into the darkness. * * * Justal shuddered, shaking himself awake. The thief's hand in the darkness made him shriek in fear, but luckily Scarlet was there, to slap a hand over his mouth. "Shut up!" she hissed at him. The boy flinched from her reproof, held-back tears streaming down his cheeks. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," he whimpered quietly, trying to make himself into as small a ball as possible, rocking back and forth in the semi-darkness. Ty'nel looked at Scarlet. Her lip curled in distaste, then she leaned over and smacked the young boy. He slumped over, unconscious. "He will sleep it off," said the whore softly, looking away. Ty'nel kept his thoughts to himself, turning instead to check on the old man. The drunkard was still unconscious, but what scared the thief was how quiet he was. Almost afraid to, he touched Tio'nel's hand, to feel for a pulse, but his hand came instantly away. "He's cold!" he whispered in horror. As Kyle and Scarlet came to investigate, he did force himself to feel for a pulse. He could feel nothing, though perhaps he only missed it, what with the trembling of his own hands. "Try his neck," the scholar suggested, though he himself made no move to do so. "You do it!" hissed Ty'nel, too afraid of what he would find. Scarlet rolled her eyes, stepped past both males to reach for the old man's throat, past the acid-burned face, still as a corpse. Her eyes narrowed as her fingers fought for a pulse. Nothing. Scarlet licked suddenly dry lips, gazing wide-eyed at the other two. "How can he have -- just died!" Kyle squealed. "Is he, is he breathing?" asked Ty'nel, not really caring to know the answer. Scarlet turned away, but both men saw the slight shake of her head. "Oh god," murmered Ty'nel, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. "Maybe, maybe it's some clericy thing," said Kyle, his eyes darting between thief and assassin. His face begged for reassurance. "Maybe he's not really dead!" "Yeah, believe whatever you want," Scarlet half-snapped, but she hadn't the energy to put any venom in it. * * * Bone-weary, exhausted, Tio'nel slumped to the floor. He rubbed acheing eyes, full of dirt and grit from countless hours spent squinting into total darkness. There was a queer . . echoing in his ears now; they . . ached from the silence. How long, he wondered, have the voices been gone? He was cold, he suddenly realized. How long had he been here? Days? Months? Years? Where was he? A sudden thought brought his head up: Who am I? He pursed his lips, staring around him, trying to take it in, struggling with his memory. He was afraid . . deadly afraid of summoning back the voices. He knew, without questioning how he knew, that should they return, he wouldn't survive. I've been to the brink of madness and beyond, he thought. There should be . . . There should be something I can do . . . but what? Meditate. The answer came to him as abruptly as if someone had just come up behind him, to utter the word. Meditate. Hmmmm. Yeah, that sounded right. Tio'nel closed his eyes . . hopefully. He really couldn't be sure against the absolute darkness. He took several long moments to clear any thoughts from his head, to still his body, to calm his soul. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . M . . u . . n . .bidy!!!!!! * * * Every member of the party came to full alertness with a single, whispered word; the rage, pain, and anger behind it unmistakeable. Their hearts racing, eyes wide, they stared, frightened and alarmed at the source of the commotion. Tio'nel came to instant awareness, springing to his feet so fast it looked instantaneous. His face was a mask of boiling emotion, his eyes near-glowing in rage. To Jurrel's (and everyone else's amazement), the old man growled, a menacing roar, not unlike a tiger's. Tio'nel's hands seized on the first person he saw: Justal, the boy still staring at him open-mouthed. The old man picked up the limp youth, shaking him, demanding to know where the yuirlin was. The others, wide-eyed and dumb-founded in astonishment, blinked, or rubbed their eyes, or pinched themselves to see if they were dreaming. "Wha-at!" gasped Emeralda, struggling to comprehend what was going on. Tio'nel shook the Pliyian youth until Justal's teeth rattled his brains loose. He struggled, ineffectually against the healer's iron grip. "Hey, hey! Lemme go!" There was a noise just outside. Everyone froze. Silence, blessed silence. "No one's there," said Tio'nel. He released Justal, blushing, trying to straighten the boy's tunic self-consciously. "Sorry." "What was that for!" squeaked the youth. "Shhhh!" both Scarlet and Ty'nel hissed. "There's no one there," said Tio'nel, louder. His eyes kind of . . lost their focus, then refocused on the suspicious faces of the others. "They're all gone. We're safe, for the time being at least." He brushed past the thief and assasin, not looking at the scholar. "Jurrel. How are you doing?" The barbarian half-shrugged, thought about shaking his head, and thought better of it. "Not so good." "We tried," said Kyle, irritated. "Me'n Emeralda --" "I can see that," said Tio'nel quietly. "Good work." He looked Jurrel in the eye. "I can heal what remains, or we can start over. Either will be painful, but it depends on what kind of use you'll want of your back and shoulders. Really, with your life-style, it might make little difference, because the effects, if any, of leaving it like this, will show when you reach middle age. It is your choice, but this is the only time, with it half-healed, will you have any choice but to accept your decision." Jurrel considered. He looked at the old man, who no longer looked his age, and burned inside with some kind of fierce determination that lent strength to his words and actions. Now he looked like a warrior. "Heal me. Heal me to . . before this." Tio'nel nodded. He handed the barbarian a strip of gnawed-on leather. "Clamp your teeth on this, and hold still, best you can." The Knight-Cleric knelt beside Jurrel, his hands hovering an inch or a little less, over the scarred back. Tio'nel took a breath, mumbled a few words, and, as his hands lit up in a blue glow, traced the wounds on Jurrel's back. The warrior's eyes bulged, grunting in pain, and locking his jaws. To the others, he was engulfed in the light, which grew brighter, until they all turned their heads and closed their eyes and still they winced from its brightness. When they could look again, Jurrel was peacefully asleep, his back complete and whole, and the light gone. Tio'nel stood, walked over to Scarlet, placed a hand on her cheek. She gasped at the suddenness and the cold, but had no time to either grasp what he was doing or move away until after it was done. She put a hand to her cheek. "T-thank you." Tio'nel looked round at the rest of them, including Jurrel as he came awake once more. "Now. I am going to hunt that little, no-good, yuirlin of a slimeball." His eyes flashed in fury. "Who's coming with me?" The Secret Room Ty’nel cursed under his breath as he and Scarlet wrestled the old man back into a corner. Jurrel carefully stood, stretching his back and shoulders, grunting in a pleased fashion. Emeralda, Kyle and Justal stared at the former knight-cleric with openly astonished expressions. Tio’nel was stronger than he looked and it wasn’t until Jurrel came over to firmly place a huge hand on the drunkard’s shoulder that Ty’nel felt Tio’nel relax. "Sit down, old man, and I’ll tell you why that is the dumbest damn thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. Scarlet, Jurrel, can you two keep watch while I try to talk some sense into him?" "He must pay for all the evil he has done, thief," Tio’nel said through gritted teeth. "Yes, I’m sure someone will make him pay, but it won’t be us. We’ve got three shortswords, two of those crude weapons that Scarlet uses, and two short-bladed knives between us. I don’t think that’s going to get us far, old man." "We have my powers and Emeralda’s." Ty’nel shook his head, "I got the impression the demon could ‘see’ you more easily because you have magic. It won’t be hard for him to set another trap if we go gallavanting all over the place. We’ll have to leave here very quickly if we don’t want to get trapped." The knight-cleric looked at the thief for several long moments before unclenching his fists, "You’re right. I can’t get more companions killed in my quest for vengeance." Ty’nel remained quiet and simply nodded. "Ty’nel!! Tio’nel!! Over here! Come look at this!" the scholar’s voice came over to them in an urgent whisper. "I don’t recognize the large symbol. I think it must be native to the High Plains. Do any of you?" Ty’nel shook his head while Tio’nel nodded in obvious awe, "It’s the seal of the Wraith-Knights. I haven’t seen one in nearly ten years." "Hmmm," Kyle said, tracing the circle with a finger, "It says that only two castes may enter this guarded place. The Knights of the Spirit and those loved by the woman.... no Lady. Why would someone who’s loved by a noblewoman be allowed entrance?" "Not a lady, boy," Tio’nel said, stepping closer, "The Lady. My goddess. What does the rest say?" Kyle began tracing again, "It says that one seeking to defend themselves need only place their hands within the ring. If they meet the requirements then they will be allowed access. If not then they will be executed." Ty’nel shuddered and took a few steps back. He gasped as Tio’nel unflinchingly placed both palms in the center of the ring. With a strangled cry, Kyle leapt backwards, trying to protect his face from whatever blast of magic his imagination had created. Instead there was a quite natural stone-on-stone grinding sound and the circle of writings, now in the center of a large door, slid backwards into the wall. The heavy stone door swung open on well-hidden hinges and the sparkle of lots of metal caught the thief’s eyes. "The Lady be praised," Tio’nel muttered softly, as he entered the newly discovered room. shortly after: Justal walked out with a bit more confidence in archers leathers. The breastplate was hard while the sleeves were soft and short. Steel archers bracers protected both forearms and there was a peculiar device held over his left eye by a headband. It was a little iron circle with a crosspiece in it’s center. The boy had a case of four short-shafted javelins and a long spear strapped across his back. In his hands he carried a strung shortbow. Two full quivers of arrows were strapped to both thighs. Finally the old man came out except that he no longer looked as ... docile as he had before. The old man had really out done himself in donning steel, half-plate, half-mail armor. He wore a solid steel breastplate with what he said was the seal of the Wraith-Knights and his arms and legs were protected by light chainmail and steel bracers. He also had a chainmail hood on but had added even more protection with a helm that only left his half-mad eyes uncovered. He held a long-handled mace in one hand and a steel round shield in his other. Peeking over one shoulder was the hilt of a longsword. A shortsword was belted at his waist. "Do you have any objections to my finding that loathsome slime, thief?" the former knight-cleric asked in a quiet, voice filled with a quivering intensity. "Yes, you damn fool, I’m not getting --" the thief suddenly stiffened like a dog finding a scent and a familiar glint came into his eyes. Ty’nel turned to Scarlet and suddenly she knew what he was thinking. "The nobles!!" she exclaimed, returning his grin without reservation. "The nobles?" Tio’nel asked, his tone perplexed. Ty’nel's face took on a serious expression, "Don’t tell me your Lady would allow you to leave innocents behind while you sought personal vengeance?" The old man’s eyes glared fiercely at the smaller man for a few moments before he sighed, "You’re in the right, thief. Probably the first time in your life that your words ring with the nobility of spirit." And we Fight! "TIO’NEL!!!" the little slimeball roared as somehow it soared through the air around them like some grotesque bird. "MUNBIDI!!" Tio’nel shouted and began chasing after the creature with wild swings of his mace. It was true madness. Justal began firing furiously into the mob of sessels that was quickly making it’s way along the descending ledge. Soon the boy was on his second quiver of arrows and they just keep coming. We're winning? Light, so pure as to make even the most evil of men weep, burst into the pit from the way the horde had come. The blob called Munbidi floated onto the shoulder of Nultistos. The little blob looked the worse for wear as its body color had changed to a pale yellow. Blotches of whitened patches also marred it’s skin and several arrowheads protruded from it’s flesh. "He opened the portal?" the little blob asked tiredly. "Yes." the demon chuckled as it continued its inexorable march towards Emeralda. Suddenly a shape lined in that pure light landed before the Sorceress. Several other shapes, sessels, landed beside it. Jurrel couldn’t be sure from his position, his vision had begun to waver, but it looked as though rings of the light surrounded each of the sessels heads. The knight-cleric looked as though he had fought in an epic battle. The left half of his breastplate looked as though it had partially melted. Entire sections of his chainmail seemed to have been simply ripped away. Tio’nel’s helm was gone and the links on the left half of his head were shattered.The only weapons he had left were his mace and shield and they looked as though they had seen recent, hard use. Blood, red and dark against his armor, oozed from somewhere beneath his breastplate. The knight-cleric’s eyes still burned with a righteous fury though. "Kill him." Tio’nel said, gesturing at the demon. The four sessels leapt into action with unnatural speed. The demon was completely caught off guard. Jurrel couldn’t believe his blurry eyes as the little creatures struck with phenomal strength and speed. It had to be magic that so enhanced the creature’s abilities but even that was not enough. Soon all four sessels lay in broken, bloody piles around the demon. Nultistos had not escaped unscathed though. The hilt of a shortsword protruded from his back and there were several huge gashes in his chest and stomach. The stories said that anything that didn’t immediately kill a demon was nothing more than an annoyance but Jurrel had never believed the stories. The clansman’s eyes widened as the wounds began to close before his eyes. The demon reached behind him and pulled the shortsword out with a meaty sucking sound. Nultistos chuckled again and continued marching towards Emeralda and Tio’nel. The knight-cleric raised his shield and mace when the demon got within range but was easily swatted to the side where he lay motionless. Once again it was only Emeralda and Nultistos. The demon reached for her and memory seared Jurrel’s soul. A tingling sensation spread throughout the clansman’s bodies and a bizarre crackling sound filled the pit. Emeralda screamed a battlecry that the Spirits themselves had to have heard. The demon’s eyes widened as two huge balls of crackling blue light hit him in the chest and sent him back through the slowly closing hole in the air. Jurrel saw the demon spinning wildly as it floated in that place of storm. "I’ll kill you ALLLLLLL!!!!" his voice became ever distant. The little blob Munbidi made a last, desperate leap back through the hole. A figure arose with the end of the shaft of the a mace in both hands. The figure swung at the flashing blob and hit it with a nasty squishy noise. "TIO’NEEEEEEEEEEELLLL!!" the little blob screamed as it joined it’s demon friend in the place of storms. The hole shut with a bang and a tiny puff of smoke. Emeralda slumped to the floor behind him, her panting breaths hot on his neck, and he knew she had overdone it. For that matter it felt like he had overdone it. "Impressive." It looked like the Lieutenant had finally arrived. Home Again Tio'nel gripped the letter in his hands in a death grip. He couldn't tear his eyes away. The letter was short, and to the point: Knight-Cleric Tio'nel of the Lady c/o the Marauders Dearest Tio'nel; I have prayed every day for your safety. That one day you would return to us. Pray tell me my prayers have not been in vain. Your Sisters and Brothers in the Faith eagerly await your return, for I have forseen your coming. Pray do not linger, for we have much to discuss and my ties to this world weaken by the day. May the Lady Guide you and Speed you Always on your Journey. Aleese of Loriea and the Lady High Priestess Justal's task Then Justal was under the stare. He squirmed. "And where were you, boy, in the midst of all this?" "He -- lping," he squeaked. And flushed. Tai'sher waited. "I -- I tried to stop Tio'nel," said the boy. "He'd gone mad, chasing that little, yellow guy." Absently, he rubbed the back of his wrist, where some of the acid had burned through. "Didn't turn out to need me, though, and I shot anything that moved, of course. I did get the sorceror." He smiled, a self-satisfied little smirk. "Wasn't expecting that, he wasn't. Didn't believe anything could get through his shield." "So I see," the lieutenant murmured. . . . "Indeed," the lieutenant agreed so quickly even Scarlet was put off. "Which is why you are here. You have fulfilled your half of the deal -- not exactly what we had initially planned, in fact you may yet have that adventure, but you've succeeded all the same. So, I'll put it to you as I did the others: yes, we do wish to hire you, and, while the tasks set you will be well worth the while, they are also potentially lethal." His voice took on a decidedly solemn note, "And, once taken, an oath to the Marauders can not be so easily undone." "You mean, become a Marauder?" Justal demanded. . . . Then Justal was alone in the room of strangers. "I don't have any requests for you," the lieutenant started. Justal looked down at his toes. "Except one. Can you ride?" Afterword: "Yes, Justal did get the glory, fame, and respect he sought, after many storied adventures. You may or may not have heard of Duke Ty'nel of Brynia. There is no doubt that you have heard of Jurrel, Messiah of the Lijuak, founder of the Empire of the Clans at who's right-hand stands his partner in all things, High Sorceress Rain-Emerald. You wish to know of Scarlet... if I wrote it here then I would forfeit my life to her minions and that is all I am allowed to say. There are not many lands that are not crawling with the acolytes of the Temple of the Lady commanded by High Priest Tio'nel. As for how our heroes arose to such historic positions... that is a story for another book." -From the Chronicles of The Seekers by General Menston of the Second Mikaolan Occupational Army |
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