Soulforge

[Aegis]

"My thanks..." The slender elf sighed, and his head lowered with exasperation, the streams of honey blonde hair draping across his shoulders, and onto his finely wrought chain mail. He shook his head as he glanced back towards the dark skinned man who had just fed him everything he hadn't wished to hear. He had been in these lands for only a couple of months, but the time spent on his mission had gone by fruitlessly. Any lead he thought he may've gained, was washed away in an arid web of decet, lies, and manouevring. Was there even a point to it all, now? Or was he merely chasing shadows.

His thoughts were stirred back to the present by the soft hand slipping into his own. It gave his a tender squeeze, enticing the elf to look over hsi shoulder, in the waiting eyes of a woman. Her own hair seemed to glisten in the dry sun, the auburn highlights creating a dazzling affect. She offered a heartfelt smile, which was vaguely returned by the elf.

"It has been sometime, love..." he started, looking back down the crowded street of Calimshan. "We have gotten no hard evidence of where he is, nor of his activities..." He looked back to the woman, turning his body to face her's. "Do you suppose the magik's that gave him form have worn off? Undoing themselves over time?"

The woman shook her head. "No. I do not think that anything but the shear will of another is enough to undue what he is." She offered another warm smile. "Do not worry, beloved. We will find him, then we may return to a more hospitable region of Fáerun."

The elf smiled. "Indeed... Indeed we may, Ferchen." He then glanced back down the street. Letting go of Ferchen's hand, he took a few steps forward.

Ferchen could not help but admire her lover's image. He had gone from a battle worn mage knight, to that of the Arabian Prince. The loose fighting silk garments he wore covered much of his body, flowing off his limbs and hidden armour much like the dramtic pose of some fairy tale of the desert. There was much about Virrilis that Ferchen admired. She sighed to herself, then followed him, her own silk clothing trailing in the dry desert wind...

*****

The amn lifted his hand, placing it directly in front of his face. He had kept the room dark, purposefully, finding the heat unbearable. He would endure, though. He always had, and this would be no different. A single pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, it's weight drawing the wooden aparture down, it's contents shuffling inside of it's wooden bowl. Still looking at his hand, he made one swift motion, and with the flick of his wrist, the splint held in his palm was struck, and a tiny spark erupted from the device. The spark was created close enough to the basin of the pipe, that the contents inside caught, and began to glow, as the pipe weed began to slowly burn away into ashes. The man took a couple of long draws, and then blew the smoke back out, creating three rings of arid haze. He then leaned his head over, and rested it upon the same hand he had just used to light his new habit. On his other arm, were a hand once was, the dull end of a stump moved back and forth along the soft cushions of the futon he had spent the last few minutes, awaiting his comrades. He would wait much longer.

As he was taking another draw of the pipe, the heavy, cotton sheet, that was used as a door in the City of Theives, was drawn back, and the light of the Inn's commons came flooding into the darkened room, and the silhouettes of two figures came through, then shut the door promptly behind them.

"I told you that is not a healthy habit, Rail..." Virrilis glanced casually at the assassin as he sat, enjoying his free time.

Rail shrugged. "Perhaps, but it is one of the few things that is able to take my mind off of the damned chase, and this heat." He spoke emotionless, as he always would. His face was nothing short of a mask, allowing no hint of his thoughts through. The man had changed, somewhat, since leaving the City of Coin, both Virrilis and Ferchen could see that clearly, but he was still the same dangerous foe, or reliable ally he had been in those darker times. He closed his eyes, and took another puff, then, cracking one open. "Any luck?"

Virrilis shook his head, and Ferchen moved to his side, as the two of them fell to their own pile of pillows and futon. "How about you?" Ferchen asked quietly, raising her head to look at the assassin.

"None." Rail leaned back further, and looked upwards to the darkened ceiling. "It has been the same since we arrived in Calimshan. Everyone seems to speak of elven devil, which spins death from his blades, and gold from his tongue." He looked back towards the pair across the room. "but none know where he is." A wry, sardonic smile crept onto Rails face, causing the pipe to stutter slightly. "Can we be sure he is still in Calimshan?"

Virrilis only nodded.

"I am coming closer..." Virrilis thought to himself. His left hand clenched as tight as it could, the delicate structure of it still tight from it's ordeal. "One cannot run from the Suldenesselar, Sethin. I will end your accursed life. I will return the honour of my soul..."

*****

Well, I'm doing with, or without Rail's help. If he ends up reading this, and feels like it, well I would love his help, but I have simply been inspired to write today, and I don't know why. This will be an independant project, with help only asked for by Magus and Rail (no offense guys, but this is the finale to our baby ). It's completly optional for either of them to add anything, but if they want to add feedback, or input, thats great and welcome. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

[Aegis]

Light came early in the dry lands of the Calimshan deserts. Alsways early, and always with a fierce heat that seemed to bare down upon men relentlessly. How the locals could bear it on a daily basis was beyond Rail. He walked down the street, in plain sight, something he would never have considered doing while in the Northern lands of Fáerun. He knew it was a fruitless excercise, though, to try to walk in shadows in the city of thiefs. If there was but one thing Calimshan was noted for, it was the unsurpassed ability of the master pickpockets, thieves and assassin's that crowded the already busy streets. He raised his arm above his forehead, attempting to block as much of the sun from his sight as he could. The arcane gauntlet only seemed to refract the light even further, sending shards of it towards his eyes.

"Damn desert sun..." he mutter to himself. He looked ahead to wear Virrilis and Ferchen walked side by side, and how both seemed unbothered by the glaring sun.

The three had been able to dig up some semblence of a lead on Sethin. It was too reliable, but it was more then just the usual stories they heard. This one entailed something about a elf overseeing a trade of goods in the more seedy regions of the city. Rail scoffed to himself. The whole city was a seedy location, and any who claimed otherwise were fools, or foreigners. As he walked, he dropped his artifical hand back to his waist, and fingered the hilt of one the many blades that ordained his belt. He had developed a slight interest in the smaller weapons. Light and deft, as he had put it, though he retained his sword on the other side of his waist.

Ahead of him, Virrilis walked forward with grim resolve, intent on finding his double, and ending the conflict once and for all, and Ferchen walking close beside him. It had been growing more intense of late, as if he knew that Sethin was close. Perhaps the two had some link, Ferchen thought to herself. It was not unheard of in natural born siblings. She occasionally looked over the placid elf, sometimes allowing a small break in the seriousness of their task, and letting a smirk slip through. If Virrilis had ever seen it, though, he never let on. She worried for him, but was confident in him at the same time. She knew he was capable, but she began to wonder about how far he would go. She casually slipped her hand over into his, giving it a breif squeeze before retracting it. Virrilis cast a quick glance, which was met by a loving smile.

*****

Shadows crept along the side streets of the inner circle of Calimshan. Even the harsh desert sun could do little to penetrate the hidden nature of the back alleys of the city of theives. It was what made it perfect for the double dealings that would take place so frequently in the city. Three men waited patiently. Two men, with turbans wrapped around their heads, and white pieces of cloth trailing down, across their faces. And another, smaller, more slender then the other two. The two men stood upfront, hands resting comfrotably upon the hilts of their wide scimitars, watching every shadow carefully. Behind them, the smaller man stood, his arms crossed, and his head bowed, and eyes closed. His drapped towards the ground, almost dragging upon the sand, and was stark white. There the three waited, looking into what appeared to be only darkness.

Then, as if being one with the shadows, several forms stepped out from various locations, making not a sound in the process. As they appeared one by one, the two men drew their weapons, and brandished them defensively, protecting the smaller man behind them. Fifteen in total revealed themselves, eacher with their own weapons at the ready, before one last man withdrew from the shadows. The man was larger then life, standing almost seven feet tall, with a long handlebar mustache failing from his face. The facial hair only seemed to be accentuated by the fact he was bald. By his side, a masside scimitar huin loosely, and confidently. He walked out of the shadows, his arms crossed, looking towards the three men.

"So..." the man started, his voice low, but domineering. "What does the good Pasha have for Mur'kül today?" He seemed to puff out his chest in the process.

The smaller man glanced up, his eyes opening a crack. "the 'good Pasha' has nothing to give to those who are not honest with him." The mans voice betrayed no motion, no fear. The two men infront, though, visibly trembled at the idea of angering the large man.

Mur'kül quirked his eyebrow, and gave a deep rumbling noise in response. "Mur'kül does not like to be accused of being a theif."

"Is that not what you are?" the small man replied. "The Pasha has no desire to keep one such as that around. You are a thief. the least you should be proud of that fact." He lowered his arms, and took a step forward, passing his small dou of gaurds. "So, he has offered this choice for you. Give him what you owe, and you may continue working for him, or..." The man grinned maliciously.

"Mur'kül does not cator to threats, tiny elf!" His face turned read as he spoke, and his hand went to the blade at his side, drawing it swiftly.

"Indeed, it would seem so." As the elf spoke, something from the corner of his eye flashed. In just as fast a moment, the elf leapt back, just as the shaft of a crossbow bolt dug itself into the sand. As if on que, the entourage of men charged the trio, weapons brandished, blood lust in their eyes. Mur'kül also charged forward.

The elf quickly drew a pair of long bodied daggers, each about twelve inches. As the first few men came charging in, he parried both clumsy attacks, reprising with swift death, cutting thin lines across their throats, then quickly moving forward to Mur'kül. His own companions fault desperatly, but skillfully, against the numbers, slowly whittling them down.

"So, the tiny elf wishes to fight Mur'kül, does he..." Mur'kül grinned, and gave a bellowing laugh. The elf stood nearly two feet shorter then the large man, and only smirked. "Then I shall crush you like a worm!" He charged forward, his scimitar swung high above his head, ready to bring it down, ending the elf's life.

As the blade came in, the elf twisted his body only slightly, and the blade went speeding past his slender form harmlessly, and into the sand below. just as quickly, the elf stepped on the dull edge of the blade, pushing his weight into it, and stepping ontop of it. He was now eye level with Mur'kül. He leaned in close, as Mur'kül struggled to pull the blade out of the sand, and from the elf.

"The Pasha does not appreciate when his property is harmed." The elf grinned viciously. Then, whipped his hands hand, driving one dagger into the abdomen of Mur'kül, and the other to the temple of the man, slowly piercing his skull. As the tip entered his flesh, Mur'kül's eyes widened with intense fear, finally realizing who it was that was about to end his life. The final image that he would see, would be that of Sethin grinning as he took care of a now useless pawn...

[Magus]

Fatigue lined her features as the young woman, kneeling, gazed at the ebon orb in her hand, no bigger than a large pebble, smooth and shimmering in the last light of dusk. It wasn’t long before her hand began to tremble under its weight, and she reluctantly tucked it into the bag of holding at her side. She breathed a sigh of relief as the weight disappeared. She had half-expected the orb to jump back out, like some disobedient child. When dealing with powerful magic, one just never knew. Well, most anyone. She smiled privately. Magus would have known. An expert on all things magical (and many other things besides), he could identify multitudes of common magical items just by their “feel.” A remarkable man, he was.

She sighed, a gentle breeze blowing through her silky golden-brown hair, as if in sympathy. Even haggard as she was, her beauty was breathtaking. Young by elven standards, she was slim and shapely, her skin a soft, smooth white even after the travels of the past two months. Her face was angular and refined, her ears slender and pointed, unmistakable signs of her elven heritage. With the scars on her back long healed by potent divine magic, only the glimmering silvery tattoos on her cheeks and forehead remained to hint at her true ancestry. Few indeed were those who knew she was a full-blooded avariel, one of the rare and exquisite people of the sky.

But most striking of all was the shy innocence that shone in her features like an inner light, softening a face worn by hardship and fatigue. Though that innocence had been tempered as of late by grief and loss, in her almond, blue-grey eyes lied a faith and trust in the good peoples of Faerun that would never disappear, no matter the malice, deception, and depravity she might face.

-Darkness is upon us. It would be best to be away from here- whispered a dark, ghostly voice in her mind, like an errant thought.

Aerie turned to regard her friend and companion. Two disembodied crimson eyes stared back at her from the shadows, then returned to their watchful vigil. With her sharp elven eyes, she could just make out the hakeashar’s murky form in the dim light. An incorporeal creature formed of pure magical essence, a hakeashar was a formidable foe. Immune to unenchanted weapons, they had a voracious appetite for anything magical, and were known to devour minor magical blades before a foe’s very eyes. But Void was different. Familiar to the renowned Archmage Magus, Void had powers that surpassed even those of his common kin. Inhumanly intelligent, he (loosely used—a hakeashar is genderless) often amused himself by toying with humans and their demi-human ilk, whose boundless propensity for ignorance and blind stupidity never failed to entertain him. Yet, as Aerie well knew, there was more to Void than met the eye. Beneath the hostile, alien exterior was a loyal friend, and a fearless guardian. And though he played well the role of the demonic servant, he found no pleasure in taking life for its own sake.

But never mistake Void for a mere minion. For even Magus knew the folly of that.

Aerie nodded and rose, shivering as a chill wind blew by, biting through her pure white woolen robes as if they were rags. Against the chill of death…mere garments were no barrier. She fingered her holy symbol and glanced around nervously. Crumbling gravestones and weathered tombs were all that remained of the ruined cemetary. Piles of bones littered the area here and there. Around them lied odd bits of weaponry and other adventuring gear, strewn about in various states of disrepair. That no one before had entered and left here alive was testament to the deadly legacy of the Netherese. Only with Void’s aid had she even managed to punch through the arcane barrier surrounding the place. And now that she had the artifact, they had the only way out.

-Quickly! They come!-

She broke into a sprint as the night came to life. All around the earth shook and overturned as the dead of Netheril rose again, their ranks swelled by centuries of fallen adventurers. Aerie ran for her life, knowing full well the price of death in this place. A zombie lord climbed from the earth ahead, placing itself in her path. Without slowing Aerie pulled a meticulously-detailed mace of finest silver from her hip and struck the creature. The mace flashed brilliantly, and in the next instant there was nothing left but a pile of ash. She continued running. She was almost to the barrier when a hand reached up from the ground and grabbed her ankle. She fell, hard. Pain shot up her leg like wild fire. Sensing the mass of evil closing in, she grabbed her holy symbol and beseeched her goddess, Aerdrie Faenya, for aid. Blinding white light surrounded her even as her first contingency triggered, mending her knee as the swarming undead around her felt the divine wrath of the Avariel’s patron goddess. Skeleton warriors crumbled and vengeful revenants cowered before the hateful light, and in seconds Aerie was on her feet again. She raced for the barrier, reaching into her bag, not daring to pull the orb out until she was there for fear of dropping it. Finally she reached the barrier’s edge.

She felt the weight heavy in her hand as she drew the orb forth. It began to shine with a black light. It pulsated, and a breech slowly started to form in the barrier.

Suddenly a cold, slimy hand grabbed her from behind. Her body stiffened as the fingers wrapped crushingly around her neck. Turning her head with a tremendous effort of will, she looked into the grinning skeletal face of a lich. She tried to struggle, but it was hopeless. She was completely paralyzed.

Two crimson eyes appeared behind the lich. In the next instant it was screaming, a terrible deathly wail, and Aerie was on the ground gasping for breath. The orb was on the ground next to her, lifeless. She grabbed it, and the repaired barrier began to part once more. The lich’s shrieking was quickly fading. She glanced over her shoulder. Void was wrapped around the lich, draining the last bit of magical essence from its ancient frame. The lich gave a last shudder and vanished in a cloud of dust.

She could hear the horde closing in. The breech was almost big enough to fit through…just a little more. If only she could use her spells...but the orb was too heavy, and she feared disturbing it might cause the hole to close again. She felt a rush of heat behind her as Void began to unleash the magic he had regained from his feeding.

-Hurry!- Void hissed.

“I know, I know!” she whispered, speaking out of habit. There! It was open! She began to rise…but her arm wouldn’t cooperate. The orb! It was too heavy to lift!

-What? Leave it, then! We’ll come back for it- Void commanded sharply. The more powerful undead were already breaking through his fire wall. He zapped them with spidery bolts of lightning, but it only slowed them.

Aerie shook her head violently. “No! It might not open again! I’m not leaving without it!” She dropped the orb and chanted the words to a spell. The hole began to close.

-…That won’t work! Do you think the ancient magicks of Netheril would be compromised by some modern cantrip?!-

Aerie ignored him. She finished the spell. The hole stopped closing. She picked up the orb, now light as before. “Let’s go!” She dove through the hole as spectral hands grabbed the thin air where she’d been only a second before.

Void only paused to disdainfully snag a helmed horror before he too jetted through the collapsing gateway.

[Aegis]

Virrilis watched as the local's casually removed the bodies of several men from the alley. His features hung heavily with dismay as he looked upon the wounds that sent them to their final death. As one of the bodies past nearby, a large tanned man with a mustache, Virrilis was close enough to touch it. He raised his hand just above the fatal wound as it pasted underneath, then retracted it. He turned to Ferchen and Rail.

"Whatever happened, we missed it." He said sullenly. The task was almost become futile, even for the determined elf. He shook his head, and took a few steps.

Rail stood, his arms crossed habitually across his chest, his replacement gauntlet sitting shifting restlessly, trying to find it's niche. As always, his his face a mask, shrouded in mystery, keeping his thoughts to himself. Ferchen stood with her hand resting on her hip, the other hanging by her side. Virrilis cast both a glance, not one of defeat, but one of frustration.

"Come. Let us go find something... Anything, to do..." He continued walking, Ferchen following behind swiftly.

Rail failed to move, his eyes were closed, and it appeared as if lost in deep thought. Ferchen stopped momentarly, and glanced back to the assassin. "Rail?" she spoke casually.

Rail seemed to start, and he opened his eyes, and looked to Ferchen, and Virrilis up ahead. "Of course." he nodded, and fell in line. As he did so, he noticed a worried look from Ferchen. "The heat." He offered confidently. Ferchen shrugged, accepting it, and continued to follow Virrilis.