Classic-Castle Roleplay: October

[Formendacil]

J-10
Allied Army's makeshift infirmery

One glance told her that they would not make it in time, and Sir Dractor stood little chance of holding off the knights for long.

.......The chariot had reached the top of the hill. Sir Dractor was not with the group.

The Cross Knights were dangerous opponents, Sir Dractor realised as he clashed with them. Now quite Imperial Cavaliers, but close enough as to make no difference in the current situation. And he was outnumbered about 36 to 1. The odds weren't in his favour.

On the other hand, the Cross Knights were decided below his level of skill. It was not for no reason that he had come with the Old Man to Dametreos. Sir Dractor was a master of all kinds of warfare and weaponry, and good as they were, the Cross Knights were no match for him. And while he was an expert with all forms of combat, their forte was on horseback.

As he had already noted, they was horseless.

It was a terrible battle all the same. Sir Dractor had never before felt gratitude for his armour and its superior craftsmanship. Even as he cut down Cross Knight after Cross Knight, he felt his armour being dented and scraped, and the few weak points and uncovered spots were being mercilessly attacked.

Sir Dractor was never certain how long any of his battles lasted, but that one against the Cross Knights seemed unusually long. Finally, the last Cross Knight, seeing that his companions were all dead or severely wounded, turned to flee. He made it maybe ten yards, when Sir Dractor, catching sight of him from where he had felled the last of his comrades, turned, and flung his great broadsword at the fleeing Cross Knight.

The sword connected with the Cross Knight's armour, but didn't stop. It's point snapped off, and it's direction changed, but it continued forward, driving itself into the Cross Knight. With a scream of pain, the Cross Knight collapsed, dead.

Sir Dractor stopped to catch his breath. He looked down at his shield. It was hammered beyond repair. He dropped it.

Then the sound of soldiers caught his ear, and he turned. A score of Del Grakken's Dragon Masters, their allegiance apparent by their lack of pink paint, caught sight of him and charged, dropping their halberds to attack.

Sir Dractor was too tired to fight, and there we no weapons at hand. Without hesitation, he threw off his much-battered helmet, to lighten his weight, and then took a great running leap over the trench. He took off across the battlefield towards the makeshift infirmary.

The Dragon Masters were not quite willing to be thwarted. Rushing over to the nearest catapult still standing, they loaded it, and lobbed a thirty pound boulder at the rapidly-vanishing Sir Dractor.

Shainya, at the infirmary, was helping move Bjarn into camp. She happened to glance up in the direction of the battlefield, just in time to see the boulder smash into Sir Dractor from behind. The great warrior collapsed to the ground.

[Green Fox]

"Aye. Aye." He whirled towards the makeshift group of healers behind him. "You lot! I want poultices and painkillers, bandages and cauteries! Get splints, leeches, elixirs, and anything else you can lay your hands to! Torches, lanterns, too-- it'll be dark, sooner than we want it to. If Death comes for Bjarn today, He leaves empty handed if I have to beat Him off with my own two hands! And if any of your fancy-pants mages can lend a wand, get them over here!"

Green Fox slowly, painfully, got up from his makeshift bed. He knew something was wrong. All he could hear was Jack shouting orders, and some muffled cursing. There was a figure in a bed in the centre of the room, but he knew not who it was. He whispered to a Forestman standing nearby:

"Oi... you...."

It took him four tries to get his attention.

"

"Ah... what?"

"Who's that everyone's fussing around?"

" It's Lord Bjarn, mate. He's hurt. Hurt real bad."

"Help me over, will you?"

The Forestman put Green Fox's arm over his shoulder, and they slowly hobbled to the bed.Bjarn lay there, horribly disfigured. His legs and arm were a bloody mess. Jack and his apprentices hovered over him, performing many surgical acts too gruesome to look at. He winced as he heard a loud crunch. Green Fox asked the man sitting next to him, a man witha long brown beard and unusual armour with a bull emblem on it.

" 'ere, mate, what happened?"

Barbod looked up at him, his face downcast:

"had a run-in with some Cross Knights. They broke his legs and his hand. I don't know if he'll make it or not..."

Green Fox staggered out of the tent, grabbing a long spear to support him.

No... It can't be... Bjarn... He's going to... He can't now... He can't... Not now... I have to make my peace... while I still can..."

Jack opened the flap and called out to him:

"Fox! Where are you going!?"

"It's something I have to do..." he thought.

"Jack, I have to go. Have to make amends..."

He trailed off.

Jack solemnly nodded his head, and went back into the tent.

[Daimyo]

Orion, No-Man's-Land.

RADJAR, Graygon, Derek, Keavur, Caimlin and the pink-clad Dragon Masters (Or what was left of them) darted away from the carnage. It had been a close call, and reddish blood still seeped from Radjar's broken nose and the gash on the side of his head. Radjar pulled a scrap of cloth from his worn and shredded tunic, and as if he had never been hit, tied it around his head, wiped the blood from his nose, and continued on.
Graygon cleaned his knives with no particular gracefulness, wiping them non-chalantly on his brown cloak. The Demon-slayers attempted to recover, while Caimlin stood stone-faced like a statue, letting the guts and blood dry on his weapon.
"That was Aezazel," Graygon said warily, "He is in the city right now... he could be anywhere!"
"Don't worry," Derek replied. "Are troops- yours especially- hold strategic positions around the city. He's probably boxed in as we speak-"
Suddenly, Gart, or Aezazel, fell from the sky, landing in front of the group and making them fall to the gorund as if a huge boulder had just struck the earth.
"Speak of the devil*..." Caimlin cursed.
The eager Dragon Masters rushed the demon, but Aezazel resisted them ruthlessly, grabbing one and smashing his head into a wall, shattering his skull, and tearing the arm of another.
"Chodan... He's a monster...!" Graygon exclaimed, eyes widened in disbeilief.
Another Dragon Master was ripped apart by Aezazel, who let out an ecstatic cry of glee at the murder. Keavur shoved his pike into Gart's breast, sending a barrage of light into him. Aezazel cried out and Gart's body fell to the floor. Where he lay, a pentagram formed.
"There... we... we killed him!" Keavur cried happily.
A skeletal fist that looked hardly brawny at all came out of the darkness, hitting Keavur squarely in the face and sending him flying. The rest of the men turned to face the real Aezazel...
His face was not visible, as he wore a cloak of what seemed to be dark flame, but the skin on his bony arms was cold and grey. Two red eyes glared from beneath the dark hood.
Derek knew then what he had to do.
"Radjar, Graygon, Caimlin... take Keavur and Gart. There is something I must do."
Radjar knew instantly what would happen.
He could not afford to lose another father figure who had guided him. He had already lost Fallmir. He had already lost Larn. He might have lost Bjarn. He would not lose Derek.
"No! You can't! There must be another way!"
"NO BOY!" Derek barked. "STAY BACK! Only one Demon Slayer can defeat a demon in his true form by sacrificing his life!"
Derek drew a silver cross medallion from his black vest, inset with a blue stone.
"Go!" he yelled at the men, without turning his head to see them.
Radjar almost felt a tear in his eye, but he grabbed the limp Keavur and dragged him away, with Caimlin following with Gart. They rushed away as fast as possible.
Derek Stormspear looked into the crimson eyes of the demon, his pike raised over his head, medallion pointed at him.
"GO BACK TO Megablocks, SATANSPAWN! GO BACK TO THE Megablocks FROM WHINCE YOU CAME!" he screamed.
Derek saw Kara in his mind, rushing towards him.
"Kara..." he muttered softly, a grin forming on his face.

From No-Man's-Land, an explosion of tremendous light ripped forth from the city, and all of the souls in the area felt the soul of Derek Stormspear as he floated up to the heavens.

* Works both ways, don't it?

[Loneranger]

Jack craft was using every skill he could to save Bjarn from death.

Barbod had been watching and helping as he watched his friend slowely disapaer...

“Lord Barbod!” Berlin came rushing into the small tent.

“What is it Berlin?” Barbod replied back.

“Lovana knows of a way to save Bjarn. But we must fine the Lone ranger, but we lost him when we clashed with the cross knights at the gate.” Berlin said.

“What does the Lone ranger have that can save Bjarn?” Barbod asked.

“Those two key chains around his kneck. They can be used for many diffarent things. And yet can only be used once.”

“I don't understand. Why didnt he tell us this before!”Barbod snapped at Berlin.

“I don't know how to answer that my lord. But please, in order to save Bjarn. We need to find the Lone ranger.” Berlin replied.

“BRIX AND BLOX! Quick! Give me that tool right there, he's starting to bleed!” Jack yelled out as he tried to stop the bleeding.

LR

[Jack Craft]

...with a sinister grin and a terrible laugh, he left Gib and entered Gart.

The form of Gib slumped onto the yellow floor, looking for all the world like that of a dead man. But Gart smiled. Even as the demon enveloped his mind in darkness, he thought:

"Enjoy your time while it lasts demon. For at midnight this body will die. You're safe now Gib. You're safe."

And the demon leapt to his new steed and flew into the sky.

Gib awoke, his face sticky with blood from his nose, and his left arm numb where it had lain under him for who knew how long.

Tattered threads of memory began to pull together-- there were so many holes that it was easier to list what he knew than what he had forgotten.

He was Gib. Bloodvaine was nearby. The castle was all but deserted.

The spirit-box was in his pouch.

His time had come.

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
In Battle with the Black Falcons.

It was them or the cavalry. Quorandis checked his horse for a second, allowed his men to regroup, and then broke into a full gallop two hundred yards from the elite Falcon lines. It was Falconis' men or his own.

He rather pitied the Falcons for having to face both Cavaliers and their own determined countrymen.

The Cavaliers smashed into the Falcon line, throwing them back, breaking the defensive line completely. To the right, the five times large Club Knight force had battered its way into the Falcon lines. On the left, the Falcons, startled at the sight of blue and black horsemen charging against them, had given way to the deepest penetration of their lines yet.

As the battle raged, King Falconis saw the leader of the rebels Falcons, and the ahead-most of the renegade Falcons cut off from the rest of their army, having ridden on too hard.

Here was a sweet chance for revenge. A very sweet chance. This captain would pay for his treachery. He would deal with him personally.

Watching from another part of the battle, Quorandis noticed Falconis advance on Randolph. But there was something odd, the Cavalier thought, about the way that the regular Falcon soldiers around Randolph were acting. Then he remembered something Randolph had said:

"Not exactly.... There are many, many men who do not like our king, and many who would be glad to see his overthrow, but there are no other organised rebels that I know of."

Quorandis smiled to himself. He might be wrong, but unless he missed his guess, these soldiers were among those discontents that Randolph had mentioned. Randolph was not quite so cut off as Falconis thought.

But the Cavalier had no more time to waste in contemplation. There was still a battle to be fought.

[lemon_squeezer2]

The larger part of the Falcon army was thrown into confusion. The sight of their own tuning against them was simply too much. Most fled, dropping their weapons and attempting to surrender. Usually, the cavilers simply rode past, cutting though those that were still fighting. At the back though, just outside the village stood the elite of the Falcons already arrayed in a defensive stance. Randolph's contingent had reached them already, but they were having a hard time of it. To them, Randolph was simply another enemy to be dealt with as any other foe.

The king had broken out surrounded by a few of his own men. The rebel Falcons were having a hard enough time already, nearly a hundred had been killed. Randolph was busy warding off the blows and slashes that were given to him. Here he treated his enemy with no mercy. His sword came down on a soldier's helmet, cleaving the skull. Coming around to the other side, Randolph quickly blocked a strike that would of killed his horse. Suddenly, he felt a sharp stinging pain shoot up his leg. A well placed blow had drove itself through his leg piece and cut his flesh.

"I can't stop now - I must go on." he thought. Already the pain was becoming almost unbearable. Gritting his teeth, he continued, trying his best to ignore the pain.

Looking up, Randolph saw Falconis making his way towards him, killing a few rebel Falcons that tried to engage him. For an older man, he still had quite a bit of strength and even more skill. All his life he had been brought up in a military lifestyle and the training he had received years ago showed itself.

Soon both men were facing each other, locked in deadly combat. Falconis struck first, but Randolph was able to block him with his buckler. Again Falconis struck on Randolph’s other side, but here to he was blocked by Randolph’s sword. Quickly drawing his weapon back, Randolph attempted to thrust at Falconis’ exposed body. The older man parried him with his shield. Swinging again, Falconis hit Randolph square on the shoulder. Grinning, the king was about to drive his sword through Randolph’s neck, leaving himself exposed. Summoning every single last bit of energy in his body Randolph raised his sword and drove it straight down on Falconis’s helmet before he passed out, falling on the ground below his horse.

All of this happened in the course of a few seconds. A Black Falcon nearby Falconis grabbed the man and drug him away from the battle. The king was not dead, but lingered on the edge.

The tide of the battle was turning, but many Falcons still stood their ground, pikes outstretched. The bulk of the army had fled though, scattering to the four winds.

[the_great_one]

Orion Infirmary

keavur woke, every muscle in his body burning. He would have screamed in agony, yet it was to painful.
He looked around the room.
"Derrek.. Why have you left me.." Keavur murmered, although it hurt very much.
Keavure knew derrek was gone, yet he knew it was for the good.
"Derrek died saving you, keavur. He will always be your brother." radjar wisely said.
keavur nodded, as a tear rolled down his eye, then drifted into sleep and rest.

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

“I don't know how to answer that my lord. But please, in order to save Bjarn. We need to find the Lone ranger.” Berlin replied.

“BRIX AND BLOX! Quick! Give me that tool right there, he's starting to bleed!” Jack yelled out as he tried to stop the bleeding.

Bourne scowled as he watched Berlin scurry off.

"I would not trust a man's life, any man's life, to a couple of trinkets." he stated to no one in particular.

"Can't you do anything??" asked Shainya frantically, tears starting to leak out from the sides of her shining eyes, "Can't you tell Bjarn's bones to stiffen and heel like you did to the beams of wood??"

Bourne shook his head. "The difference between wood and human bone cannont be measured. Only Bjarn can convince his bones to grow together, only Bjarn can control his body. You, Jack, Reno, can aid him in the process thought herbs, splints and banages, but it will be the will of Bjarn that will mend his bones and flesh. I cannot control the minds of others, what ever other might say. I convince creatures of simpler minds to do something that aids me or someone else, but I can not force anything to do something agaisnt it's will."

Jack had controlled the bleeding, and he seemed to be a little more relaxed. "Ol' Bjarn will live, alright, but he'll be livin' with nary a hand not legs lest someone else can aid 'im."

Reno patted Jack on the back. "You've done enough, let me take over. It hasn't been the first time I've...had to work on Bjarn."

"Aye, brix and blox, your're right. I've got to- oh tyco, now what?"

Sir Dractor had been carried up by two Forestmen, and they were now examining him.

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

"Mayriz, Vanderdious is aware of the situation and is...rousing the milkmaids. Go and alert Bersun, Xoneyur and Mills. Also get Gaffner and Forden to secure a large wagon and help me gather the rest of the...pails. We need to work fast, there is no time for error!"

G-10

The Lone Falcon had almost completely demolished half of one wall when two figures, walking outside the building, stopped and said carefully, "Gathering the...pails, Lone Falcon?"

"Aye, but I'd go alot quicker with two stong lads like ye helping me! Where's the wagon?" was the labored responce.

"Near the stable...here, you'll wind yourself. Take a breather."

The two brawny twenty year old brothers, Gaffner and Forden, entered through the large hole and took up where the Lone Falcon had let off.

"Thanks lads, I'm not as young as when I shoved that spear up the Ogre's finger..." smiled the Lone Falcon.

Forden grinned as he yanked a pike free. "Do you think you'll ever go back there, Lone Falcon?"

"Never. That is the type of experiance I want behind me. Now, to business. Report, please."

"Vanderdious is all groomed up and ready to put some words into the Marquis's mouth," informed Gaffener, "And Freena has returned from scouting. It seems some upstart Falcons have muntinied agaisnt Falconis XXVIII and have joined the Allied Army."

"Really? And why wasn't the Resistance aware of there ill-feelings? We could have recruited them....no matter, continue." puzzle the Lone Falcon.

"Casulty reports are high. Orion has fallen, but the Allied Army retreated to let some -- what were they, Forden?"

"Freena said they were either Dragon Masters who had gone tipsy or gone mad, for they were wearing bright pink."

The Lone Falcon blinked. "Pink?"

Gaffner nodded, a grin spreading over his face, "Yessir, pink. They certainly didn't look like Del Grakken's men."

The Lone Falcon sat up. "That was why they were pink!" he exclaimed, "They were not taking orders from Del Grakken, they were the Dragon Masters hiding in the Neverwood, the Dragon Masters loyal to Lord Void!"

"Yes, but now they have no king. Freena reports both airships were destroyed with all hands. No remains of Lord Void OR Del Grakken have been found as of yet."

"That was the risk everyone took. Alright, enough on the events south. Try to hurry and get these pails to the milkmaids as soon as possible so they can go south to aid the Allies."

Both brothers turned. "The milkmaid's aren't storming the Spire?" asked Gaffner.

"No. A certain high-ranking official has taken care of access to the Spire. Lord Drakko was most helpful."

Forden nodded his assent. "If it wasn't for him, the Resistance would have fallen long ago."

"That is very true," replied the Lone Falcon, "Alright, I'm off. I need to aquire some pink dye for the milkmaid's new...dresses, and then I'll go to the Spire. Tonight, all Black Falcons will learn of King Falconis XXVIII's true self, and what a dispicable man he really is!"

[Daimyo]

RADJAR was still weak from the blow of losing Derek, but he had not lost his nerve for battle.
The "infirmary" outside the gates of Orion was a ramshackle camp of pavilions, tents, and other hastily erected shelters, set up along the ridge where Gladwheel's rangers had been. Gladwheel had taken charge of the Forestmen rangers, and Fraun was his 2nd in command. Gonderin was commanding the rest of the Forestmen army, which had taken severe losses and was down to only 426 men.
The Dark Forest army, due mostly in part to Gereld's tactics, had lost less men and was numbered in the high 500's. The Wolfpack army was mostly stationed inside the city, making sure Bloodvaine would not dare to leave the Golden Court.
Radjar lay on the green grass, bloodied by the day's engagement, as a healer tended to his minor wounds. Radjar shunned him, prefering to lay alone and contemplate what had happened. Across from him at another tent Lord Bjarn, the Tree-King, lay on the verge of death. Radjar knew himself that if Bjarn died, no one would be there to stop the Wolfpack and Dark Forest, much less any of the Forestdwellers, from falling into conflict once again. Radjar recalled the body count for all the peopel he knew during the Bloodvaine War.
Kellynwyn. Dead. Bella. Dead. Derek. Dead. Lord Void. Possibly dead. Countless Forestdwellers, Crusaders, Knights Kingdomers, Fright Knights, Royals, Falcons, Bulls, and Dragon Masters. Dead.
It was far too much to bear. So many people close to Radjar had died this day, so few months after the end of the Fell and Alliance wars. Had Dametreos ever been so threatened? Had it ever seen such tremendous power rip the world apart?
It was then when Fraun, bronze locks unkempt and matted with blood, strolled up and rose the sleeping Radjar. He jolted up, startled.
"Are you alright?" he said without his usual candor.
"I think so..." came Radjar's unsure reply.
"Well... buck up..." Fraun said, letting a weak grin.
Radjar grinned back half-heartedly.

Berlin rushed to deliver the trinkets, but as he neared Bjarn's tent, a black-clad figure tackled him without warning, sending the Bull tumbling down the ridge a few feet. Berlin looked up. Two cold blue eyes stared out from the gaunt face of Searil Chordate.
"Sinner! Do you know what you are doing?!" the zealot cried.
Berlin was confused, startled. He dropped the trinkets to the ground. Searil abruptly rushed over to them, and with a quick swipe, dashed them off into the ravine.
Berlin looked at him like he was mad for a few moments while Searil gazed into the abyss.
"YOU IDIOT!" Berlin yelled, bounding after Searil. "YOU OVERZEALOUS, FERVENT RELIGIOUS EXTREMIST FOOL!"
But as Berlin reached for Searil, attempting to spin him around a smack him hard in the face, Searil pushed him backwards onto the grass, grabbing him by the collar.
"You infernal, craven Dog of Flanders!" he spat in his face. "Why do you dare bring such evil idols into this camp? Unrighteous sinner!"
Barbod soon came running down the hill as well as Gladwheel, who had his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON HERE?" Gladwheel barked.
"In God's name... let go of him!" Barbod ordered.
At this, Searil pounced on Barbod as well.
"DO NOT BLASPHEME HIS NAME!"
Gladwheel promptly grabbed the lanky Chordate's shoulder and threw him off.
"Where did you come from?"
Searil regained his composure, snarling at the fallen Barbod, who was slowly rising, helped up by Berlin.
"I was called here by a higher power," he answered cryptically.
"Get this madman back to camp," Gladwheel ordered Berlin.

On the outskirts of the ridge, a company rode...

[Loneranger]

Berlin was a little dismayed by everything that had happened.

“Why the bloody...Why would he through them away?” Berlin said as he slowely put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“It is because they cannot appreciate whatever is given to them.” The Lone ranger slowely walked towards the men with both trinkets in his hand, his Samurai sword was unsheilthed.

“You sinner!” The zealot cried out.

“Shut up before I stabb your mouth shut.” The Lone ranger replied back.

“If you do not want my help, then say soo.” The Lone ranger walked off, Barbod, Berlin, gladwheel, the sea elf, all just stood there and watched the Lone ranger walk off.

Berlin grabbed the sea elf's arm and dragged him off to a camp near by.

LR

[Lord_Of_The_LEGO]

Across from him at another tent Lord Bjarn, the Tree-King, lay on the verge of death.

Reno wiped the sweat from his brow so it would not drip into Bjarn's wounds. Bjarn was bad enough as it was, he did need an infection. Reno worked steadily, carefully, removing splinters of bones from Bjarn's hand and realigning the remaining bone to it's proposition, so it hopefully would grow back together. Further down, Shainya was finishing up a splint. Bjarn's legs had not broken the same, the right had been a clean break and therefore easily mended, but the left had broken halfway and then broken through the skin - a much harder wound to heal. Bjarn would live, but with how much of a crippled body would be decided by the skill of his dedicated healers, Bjarn's stanima and the whim of the gods.

yeah, yeah...short post I know, but cut me a break..I'm working on the CCRP map right now...

[Formendacil]

Grid: J-10
Location: Battlefield Infirmary

Sir Dractor had no idea what time it was when he finally came back to his senses. But whatever time it was didn't matter. All that mattered was the extreme pain he was in.

The boulder had smashed Sir Dractor in the back, irreversibly denting and twising his armour. Gingerly, he unstrapped the useless metal, and let it fall. Then he slowly stood up. His back was in pain and he was covered from head to toe in bruises and cuts, but he was alive, and able to walk.

Sort of. As soon as he tried, he nearly fell over. So he slowly, ever so slowly, got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl. Finally, he came on a broken spear-shaft, and got, very slowly and carefully, back to his unsteady feet. Using the spear as a staff, he slowly began to hobble towards the infirmary camp.

It took a long, long time....

On the way, the weakened warrior took inventory. His armour and helmet were both virtually irrepairable. His sword was broken. His shield was destroyed. And even his regular clothing was torn and discoloured to worse than beggar's rags. But he was alive, and more or less whole.

The longer he walked, the more it seemed like less whole, and the less it seemed like more whole.

Finally, after an hour of walking, he stumbled into the camp. He was barely able to stand upright anymore. Shainya happened to catch sight of him hobbling in.

"I thought you were dead!" she said. "I saw the boulder come down!"

"No," said Sir Dractor with a grimace. "I'm not that bad. Better than Bjarn, I fear. Tell me, is the battle over? What happened to BloodVaine." Shainya thought for a moment, and then her face coloured.

"You know," she said, "I have no idea. I haven't paid hardly any attention to the battle's progress."

[Jack Craft]

He was Gib. Bloodvaine was nearby. The castle was all but deserted.

The spirit-box was in his pouch.

His time had come.

Gib stumbled along the hallway, half-dazed. His pulse throbbed in his temple, and the flagstones clattered beneath his feet. He still only had the vaguest idea of exactly what had been going on, but the layout of the castle was somehow familiar, like something remembered from a dream. He knew Bloodvaine would be in the main hall, though he still wasn't sure how he knew.

The smell of blood and ozone were thick.

As he entered the hall, only one figure was still standing amid the carnage. Over three score and ten bodies lay strewn like fallen leaves around the room, decapitated. Flies buzzed among the headless bodies, but most of them were clustered in a seething cloud around the figure in the center of the room, though none actually touched him.

Bloodvaine.

Gib felt his gorge rise. His face was hot with anger. Bloodvaine stood with his back towards the door he had entered from, and Gib saw a double bladed axe abandoned on the floor nearby. The mad sorcerer was staring into space, seemingly oblivious to Gib's intrusion. But as he moved farther into the room, a reddish-purple distortion of magical energy sprang up between them.

"You're not Aezazel." The voice was enough to raise the hairs on the back of Gib's neck. Bloodvaine turned his head, but did not move. "Aezazel left you. How careless of him."

"I am Gib. Your demon is gone."

"Was he my demon? Or I his? It doesn't matter. I'm about to crush the army outside. Did you care to watch? I think there is a window in the next room over..."

Gib realized that Bloodvaine had gone completely insane. He moved forward again, holding the silvery-grey spirit box in both hands. Through the greenish crystal of the lid, he could see the tiny motes inside, moving so quickly they looked like a miniature lightning storm. The haze of reddish-purple magic faded back from the box as he approached. Bloodvaine, still half-staring at nothing and everything at once, did not seem to notice.

"I have mana again. They gave it to me." He jerked an arm around the room like a blind man. "Necromancy. Their lives for mana, and now I have the power I need to strike down this little insurrection once and for all. All the pieces swept from the board at once. How shall I? Ice? Fire? Water? So many choices. Perhaps I will just open up the ground and grind them like wheat under a millstone. Yes. I like that idea, grind them into the dust they are."

"No." Gib moved forward again, and Bloodvaine's eyes locked on the box he held before him. "No. You won't."

Bloodvaine swept his hand upward, and Gib was thrown back across the room by a wave of force. But he held the box like it was nailed to his hands.

"You presumptuous insect!" Bloodvaine spat in contempt. "You dare to think you have the right to destroy me? You presume you have the power!?"

Gib felt his bones grinding into one another, and knew that Bloodvaine's magic was crushing him. He struggled to speak.

"N-no. But they do."

Gib opened the box.