RP Bio of Aramil Sovelis: part I

Decided I'd just combine all of part one into one big post, these are the final versions of the chapters and I hope you enjoy them.

Rp bio of Aramil Sovelis

Part One: The last war of the second age.

Chapter One: The capture of Vandir

Summer, 1679 SA, Aftermath of the battle of Vestri

"Sir, we have confirmation of the enemies numbers and fortifications, and are prepared to march on your orders." Word had just come of the scout's return to camp, and as soon as word reached him, General Aramil Sovelis sent word for him to be brought immediately to him to deliver his report. "Well done Siaru. With this information we shall have this through by supper. My condolences on the death of your brother. We shall see to it that he has a proper burial." Said Aramil on a more solemn note. Siaru nodded solemnly and turned to leave, so that he might take his position in the third formation and avenge the murder of his brother. His brother was shot down delivering the demands of surrender to General Vandir of the Accursed, leaving a wife and child without a father and husband. Aramil walked briskly out of the tent to look on the valley fortress in which the Accursed, having lost the battle at Vestri had taken shelter in. It was a tall grey tower, covered in moss toward the base, wickedly sharp looking spikes carved into the windows and rooftop, and an overlook on some of the outlying villages, which had recently been evacuated. The fortress cast a shadowy grip of fear over the valley that housed it. "You there," Aramil said to the guard closest to him. "Send word to King Fyrn that we march at dusk. And that victory rides with us." The guard hurried off to deliver the message, running as if his life depended on it. A crack of thunder shook the sky, scattering several clouds and setting a small tree on fire. The clouds started pouring their fury, withholding nothing, unleashing wave after wave of cold drops of rain upon the valley, as if the heavens too were saddened by the loss of blood this day alone. But it would be worth it. "By this time tomorrow," Aramil thought. "we shall have rid the land of the scourge known as the accursed."

A peal of thunder awakened Aramil with a start. He took a quick look around his tent and rose from the small cot occupying most of the space in his tent. "Sir, a messenger is here with word from King Fyrn." Called the guard who was standing outside Aramil's tent. Aramil strode to the tent flap and pushed the opening aside. "And what is the message?" Aramil asked the guard, still trying to shake off his drowsiness. "He says that his group has their troops in position, and ready to march, You have only to sound the horn." Aramil sighed deeply and thanked the guard for his efforts. Aramil went back inside his tent and retrieved the horn from his sack. He walked out of the tent, his mind burned with the many thoughts of war, and looked up at the fury of sky and storm above them. "I do wish it hadn't come to this," Aramil thought. Most of the Accursed were people he knew, people his men knew. They were their fellow countrymen, yet for reasons unknown they had turned their backs on Lueh, and there must be retribution, however painful for the parties involved. Aramil inhaled deeply and let loose his breath into the horn.

Just a few long, arduous hours later, the fortress had been taken, and the battle won. Most of the remaining Accursed had fled by now, or were slain in the battle. Aramil's group had attacked first from the front, marching on the tower's gate, really cutting down any Accursed who stood in their way. While King Fyrn's group had waited a few moments and let loose a volley of flaming arrows towards the barrels of leftover TNT they had placed at the rear wall of the fortress, and then flooded into the tower from the hole in the wall. The Accursed; trapped in the tower, had been forced up the many stairwells up to the top of the tower. One they had reached the roof and run out of ground, the Accursed chose to leap off of the ramparts of the tower, some died, but most escaped. All in all, it had been a success. Vandir choose to make his stand at the top of the tower. They had captured General Vandir and he would be interrogated the moment they returned to the capitol. The Accursed were scattered throughout the world, doing who knows what to regroup and go over their losses, hopefully to never be seen again. Aramil turned to board his ship and return to the Vithul, when he felt a chill run down his spine, not the kind you get when setting something disturbing, but when something wasn't quite right. "Hit the deck!" Aramil shouted to the crew of the ship, drawing his blade and turning to face the unseen threat. As he turned, he realized his efforts were futile; for the crew was frozen. Not the traditional sense of frozen, as was commonly known in Ectoria, but rather, frozen in motion. No ice encased them, and as far as he could see, nothing hindered their movement, yet they, and everything else, birds, cattle, insects, fires, all was still. Aramil looked around for the source of what was obviously the result of some extremely powerful magic, when a roaring inferno of light and sound assaulted his mind. The world swirled in an elaborate array of purple and blue and green and red and every color to ever known to exist, and even some that Aramil had never seen before, until all he saw was black.

Chapter two: Revelation.

"Awaken." Called a soft voice. Aramil tentatively opened his eyes and took a quick survay of his surroundings. He was surrounded by white. Pure, unwavering, never changing, snow colored, white. He quickly took inventory on the status of all his limbs, and slowly rose to his feet. "Wh-where am I?" Aramil asked timidly, taking a better look around him and his new surroundings. "You are in the nexus," explained a calm, soothing voice. "a place where we can talk, without the presence of others." Aramil whirled around until he saw a man sitting on a throne of a strange, brown-gold substance that radiated light and sound. "Who are you?" Aramil asked, ready for a fight, while at the same time noticing that all his weapons were gone. "What am I doing here?" "I," paused the glowing figure, "am Lueh; god of light and life." Lueh stopped to wait as Aramil froze and returned to a more conversational position as he processed this information. "What need of me have you, your ah-" Aramil stopped to think for a moment. "Your luminance?" Asked Aramil. "Oh please, You need not be so formal with me, I created you Aramil." Lueh laughed, and then continued. "I've known you since the beginning of time. But we have little time to speak idly Aramil, you have proven yourself worthy here, and we have need of an elf like you." "We?" Asked Aramil, as confused now as ever, for there was nobody there but themselves. "Yes, we. I, Olun, Reopa, Tarn, Theane, and the rest of the gods. There is a great darkness on the horizon Aramil, and not just your realm, but the realms of all mortals, and even Auris are in danger of being wiped from existence." Lueh stopped and waited patiently for this to sink in. So many questions formed in Aramil's mind that he felt as the heaviest patch of air to ever exist had taken it upon itself to settle on Aramil's head. Like why are the gods in danger? Why tell Aramil? What poses so great a threat that the gods would resort to calling him, a mere mortal, into one of their presence? "I know you must have many questions, and I will do my best to answer them. Now, to cut to the heart of the matter Aramil, I need your help. The others have chosen and are choosing their champions for their part, and you are mine. Do not disappoint me as Vandir did." Lueh paused for the questions to begin flowing, as he knew they would. "What does Vandir have to do with this? What do you need me for?" Asked Aramil, bewildered by this new information and, starting to wonder if this was all a dream, began testing the use of his limbs. "Vandir was your predecessor Aramil, he was the first champion I had chosen. But alas, he could not bear the burden, and his mind snapped. He began to twist light into dark, and lead others into worship of Tarn, I thought he was ready," Lueh paused and sighed, "I guess I misjudged him. Do not disappoint me Aramil," Lueh said this not condescendingly, or threateningly, but with a look of sorrow on his face, as if he was truly and horribly distraught over Vandir's folley. "If you cannot complete the task before you, no-one can. An old foe has arisen from the depths of his dark prison. Long ago, before the creation of Ectoria, there was not eight of us, as you know today, but nine. His name was Silus. He was one of the gods. Silus was god of cunning, plots, and deception, and he even contributed to creation. A race known as the Céllion, was formed from his thought, and cast into the depths of the void after Silus' treachery." Lueh stopped for a moment as if this next part was painful for him to remember. "After creation, Silus grew restless and irritable. He invited Reopa to his realm as a time to relax and compare notes on their creations. But while they supped, Reopa's cup was made of Icciledilia, a most vile of substances, that is known in the common tongue as the bane of the gods. It is the only substance known to be capable of causing harm to a god or goddess. Reopa fell ill, and was cast into a deep slumber. It was out of Reopa's slumber, that a great plague that shall be known to your kind as The Affliction, was born. But being a plague of godly origin, will take time to ravage the people of Ectoria. Some time in the future-" Lueh stopped, realizing that he had wandered off subject and began to get back on track. "though, but that is beside the point. When I too was invited over to sup with Silus, I discovered the truth. Whilst he was fetching sustenance for us, I felt Reopa's presence nearby and started to look around for the source. When I discovered Reopa, asleep, I immediately returned to my brethren and we held counsel for a time. Finally, a decision was reached, and we cast Silus into the void, along with his creation. Many years passed and now it appears, he has found a way out of the void and into the world, along with his creation; the Céllion, and no one is safe from their treachery. They have somehow gotten ahold of a large amount of Icelidillia and are even now planning to destroy us. We have chosen you mortals, because," Lueh paused, as though it pained him greatly to say this. "we are weak. We have grown idle these many years, watching you mortals wage your wars, and it has made us like old men, weak and brittle. You and a select few others shall form a brotherhood of sorts, and your purpose will be to stop Silus, to save your realm, our realm, and all of our lives in the mix." Lueh, ever patient, paused for this all to sink in. "Who are to be my compatriots?" Asked Aramil, millions of questions still forming throughout his mind, yet not missing a beat. "Where will I find them?" "Patience, patience, Aramil. Some of your fellows in arms have yet to be born. You do not think I would cast you into the fray without time to prepare yourself do you?" Replied Lueh. "When am I to know to begin? Where? And how?" Asked Aramil worriedly. "You will know when the time is right. For now, Aramil, I have a gift for you." Lueh pulled out a parcel which Aramil had not previously seen. "I bequeath to you, Aramil Sovelis, my favor; Säer Lieli, a blade forged in the mightiest of magics. May it always serve to light your way, both physically and mentally. Take it, and use it well, for I shall call upon you again, when your compatriots have been made ready to do battle with perhaps the most powerful being to ever exist. I am going to return you to your realm, champion. You are not to tell a soul of this meeting. Do you understand?" Aramil nodded understandingly. "Then with that, I return you to your realm, mortal." Finished Lueh, for this would be the last time they spoke. A familiar swirl of sight and sound overtook Aramil's senses, and all was black once more.

Chapter Three: Return to Vithul

When Aramil opened his eyes, he was back on the ship, but everyone was still motionless. Aramil got up to his feet and walked over to the nearest crew member and was about to jab the elf with his index finger, when they all suddenly burst into motion, as if nothing had ever been amiss. The elf Aramil was about to poke turned around to face Aramil and have out a sharp gasp. "Need something sir?" Asked the Remnant sailor anxiously. "No," said Aramil, quickly stepping backwards. "Nothing at all. As you were soldier." Finished Aramil. As he was walking away he distinctly hard the sailor say under her breath "Get a life. These higher ups sure are weird..." And resumed her chores. After checking to see that all was in order, Aramil gave the order to cast off. They sailed towards Vithul for thirty seven days, making few stops for supplies along the way. When they had finally arrived at Vithul, they were heralded with many cheers and shouts of welcome. The smell of homebaked meals filled the streets as well as noses with their enticing smells. But none of it served to ease the burden now weighing on Aramil's mind. He had much to do, and did not know how much time to do it in. They reached the city streets after setting anchor at the Vithul docks, and continued along the road before reaching the royal palace to debrief the Remnant forces. After the debriefing was finished, Aramil pulled King Fyrn aside for a more isolated conversation. "My king, I beg of you, allow me the privilege of interrogating general Vandir, I must know more of the assassination attempts upon your life and the true intent behind them. Aramil finished and awaited Fyrn's reply. "Of course Aramil, you have certainly earned that and much more. But I must admit, I am curious as to why the sudden interest in Vandir's attempts to remove me from the throne. He worshipped darkness, and darkness were his ways. I do not think there is much to it, but you are free to question him as you please. Simply notify the guards when you are coming and they will be made known to let you pass. Now, if you'll excuse me," Fyrn said turning from Aramil and taking his leave, "I have other matters to attend to." "I implore of you my king, might I have another moment of your time." Aramil caught up to Fyrn as he walked down the halls of the palace. "Where might I find Ossinius?" "I belive he is up in his damned tower, as usual, couldn't be bothered to assist us, not that we needed him of course..." Ossinius was not a favorite of the Remnant court, but he was the most experienced in the entire realm on matters of the arcane and thus, was the court wizard. King Fyrn and Aramil spoke a while more until Aramil's sister and queen came upon them and asked if she and her husband might take leave from the matters of the war and begin preparations for the welcome home festivities. Aramil strode out of the palace and toward his personal stables, where he saddled and mounted his choice steed, Sielfmere, and rode out of the city at a gallop towards the outskirts of the kingdom. By the time he reached his destination, three days had passed and it was fast approaching evening. The sky was clear as he had seen it in weeks as Aramil dismounted Sielfmere and tethered him to one of the fence pieces nearby. He calmly walked up to the door of the royal wizard, Ossinius, and rapped thrice upon his oaken door. It was a curious looking door, for it was rimmed in steel, and a knocker made of bronze and formed in the shape of an ugly and distorted face. "Who dares prey upon the concerns of the great wizard Ossinius?" A voice called out from behind the door. "It is I, General Aramil Sovelis of the Remnant army, open up mage! I have urgent buisness with which to discuss with you! Hurry before I should meet the ground from weariness!" There was a loud sliding sound as Ossinius unbolted the door and bade him come in. "And what brings such an important member of the great city to one such as myself?" Sneered Ossinius sarcastically. Ossinius was a small, hunched, cranky, and sad excuse for an elf, who did not take all that well to visitors. Yet he was the most experienced with matters of the arcane in the whole of the realm, so Aramil had come, knowing the contempt he would have to endure to get the answers he wanted. Aramil stepped inside the huge oaken tree-turned-study and looked at the many objects surrounding the strange elf's living quarters. "Mage, I have come seeking answers to questions that not any other in our realm can answer me." Aramil said as he slowly unsheathed the blade gifted to him by Lueh and presented it to the wizard. "What can you tell me of this blade?" Asked Aramil. Ossinius leaned closer to take a better look at the blade, carefully studying it's craftsmanship. Ossinius removed it from Aramil's hands and walked over to one of the talks Aramil had seen earlier. Ossinius placed the blade upon the table carefully and gripped in his hand a small iron mallet and in a gruff voice asked Aramil "You mind?" He asked questioningly, gesturing at the mallet and then at the sword. "Not at all, anything you can tell me about it would be great." Replied Aramil. No sooner had he shut his mouth then Ossinius raised the mallet and swung downward with as much force as he could muster. But when the mallet made contact with the sword, a shower of bright blue sparks erupted from the sword and nearly lit Ossinius' hand aflame. Ossinius pulled his hand back almost immediately as the blade made contact with the mallet. "This blade," Ossinius looked at it thoughtfully for a while. "I can't tell you much as is. However if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to examine it for a few more days." Aramil kindly thanked Ossinius, but turned down his offer. Aramil took the blade up from the table and strode out the door of Ossinius' study and made ready to leave. But before he could, Ossinius called after him and pointed at the sword in his hand. understand, the enchantments on it are...incredibly strong! By my mothers soul I've never seen anything like this. But I'm afraid I can tell you nothing." Aramil sheathed the sword once again. "Then who can?" Aramil asked. "The High Mage would know I think," said Ossinius thoughtfully. "He would be your best bet. But I will aid you no further, for my bones are sore, and my eyes heavy. Be gone now and plague me no more!" Aramil turned and looked through one of the windows, and, seeing that it was dark already, thanked the mage, and took his leave. As he mounted his horse, he was mentally plotting out the journey ahead, and the steps necessary to make it. Aramil had ridden for a few miles from Ossinius' tower, when he made camp. He laid the arcane blade beside his cot, and thoughts came flooding through his mind. When would the other champions be chosen? Who were they? Did they know who he was? Were they too, searching for answers? Would the High Mage be able to aid him? And if he was, would he? What answers did his predecessor, Vandir, have for him? "Too many questions, and too few answers" Aramil decided. And with that he fell into sleep.

Thunder crackled overhead, and Aramil felt an overwhelming sense of dread as he unsheathed his blade and pulled shut his visor. "This is it," he thought. "all those years of training, all the pain, all the deaths, and all these events had reached their climax here, at Caér Cyrgree, was where they made their final rush on the opposing army. Aramil looked at his comrades for assurance, but they too had shielded their faces with their visors, and readied their weapons. "This is it!" Shouted one of his fellows. "We fight! Now! For victory!" Aramil roared along with the rest of his team, and delved deep into the fray below.

Aramil awoke with a gasp. He reached for his blade and quickly beheaded a snake that had approached whilst he slept. "It was just a dream, Aramil" he thought to himself. Aramil arose and started to tear down camp. By the time he had finished, it was late morning towards the noon. "Best get going," Aramil thought. "Vandir was more likely to have answers than Ossinius anyway." And with that thought, Aramil rode towards Vithul with as much haste as he could convince Sielfmere to muster. When he made camp again, it was mid-evening and he was but a few hours journey from the city gates. When he had finished setting up camp, he took out the gift from Lueh and studied it in further detail. Truly it was a sword among swords, even to the untrained eye it must appear a work of art. The blade jutted out of some strange jewel the sat in the peak of the hilt, and glowed faintly in the nighttime air. The jewel itself, was a vibrant emerald green and emitted a kind of warmth from the center. The two handguards of the sword were shaped like jagged, golden claws, expanding from the centerpiece. The base of the hilt was a small, white stone like material that had a small blue sapphire implanted in the middle. Winding forth from the base of the hilt, were two silver depictions of the ancient dragons, with their snake-like necks and savage jaws, winding themselves in an eternal dance around the handle of the sword. It gave off a soft heat that reached deep into Aramil's very soul, and comforted him like he had been comforted by his mother as a child. Aramil put up his blade, thinking that no more answers would come from gawking at it as from tasting the rain. As he laid upon his cot, he thought he heard one of the elven bryaidas, a fowl native only to elven lands, always gave Aramil a sense of inexplicable dread, calling for it's mate. "Fleee! Fleee!" Called the bird. Aramil rolled over and let sleep take him once more.
When he awoke, he put up camp and remounted Sielfmere and rode hard for Vithul as he pondered what questions he would first ask Vandir, but he could not finish the thought. For as he approached within sight of the great city, he saw tendrils of smoke curling up from Vithul.

Chapter Four: The Battle of Vithul

On the verge of panic, Aramil rode as fast as his horse would allow toward the gate,and as Sielfmere galloped, Aramil stood up, and when he neared the gate, executed a flying leap towards the city walls, grabbed hold of a ledge and pulled himself up. Aramil now stood on the castle ramparts overlooking the city. Catapults were releasing their loads up into the air, and the down into the city, cannons were tearing away constantly at the streets, fires sprung up from seemingly every corner of the city that had once stood so proud over the populace. "I'm gone for one week!" Aramil thought with frustration. Looking around for sign of what had happened, Aramil spotted a group of Remnant standing victorious over a group of slain Accursed. "Hey, you!" Aramil shouted at the nearest guard. "What happened here?" The guard whirled. "We're under attack, general Sovelis. The Accursed have come seeking vengeance for our victory at Vestri, and have breached the walls with the very TNT we used to attack them and are advancing towards the city square, what do you want us to do sir?" Asked the guard worriedly. Aramil, used to battle, as this guard was obviously not, telling by the look of panic on his face, was already thinking of how to put down this counter-attack. "See if you can find where they're holding their supply of TNT," Aramil asked as he pointed towards the marketplace. "I shall make my way towards the square through the agricultural district, and take up arms on the roof. Rally as many as you can along the way to join you after you have destroyed their supply to converge on the Accursed in the square, I'll meet you there." Aramil finished as he took a few steps back from the guard, and took a running leap from the ramparts towards the nearest house and grabbed the edge of the roof. He pulled himself up onto the thatched roof and unslung his military standard elvish longbow from his back, and drew a cluster of arrows from his sheaf as he made haste towards the market square. Aramil took the bundle of sharpened projectiles and staked them into the thatched roof upon which he stood and took aim. He spotted a group of Accursed starting to burn down one of the various shops that lined the streets. One of the Accursed withdrew a torch from the hand of his comrade and lit it before throwing it through the window of the shop. Aramil let fly the first arrow, striking with flawless accuracy and skewering the flaming torch into the ground, pinning it there. The four Accursed pyros looked around for the source of the arrow and drew their blades. Aramil silently chuckled to himself as he thought "Nobody ever looks up." And sent his arrows flying towards the Accursed at top speed. The Accursed soldiers didn't even register that they had been shot before the flint tipped arrows sprouted from their chests and sent them on to the next life. Aramil took up his remaining arrows and ran towards the edge of the roof upon which he stood and took a running leap towards the next one. Aramil stumbled but quickly recovered and made ready to repeat the leap for the next roof, but just then two accursed bowmen climbed up the side of the building and made ready to do away with the head that Aramil had grown so fond of over the years. But before they had the chance, an arrow sprouted from about midway through one of the Accursed's arm as Aramil almost simultaneously unsheathed his Elvish broadsword, and executed a spinning aerial slash from his left shoulder down. His blade bit deeply into Accursed flesh, severing the remaining bowman's torso. Aramil gave the Accursed who was still gaping at the arrow jutting out of his arm a swift kick over the side of the building as he turned to see where the well placed arrow had come from. It was the guard from whom Aramil had first spoken to. "I beg your pardon my lord, but I thought it might be safer if I aided you in your assault from the rooftops." He shouted at Aramil. Aramil gave the guard a silent nod, and rushed for the next building. They continued on like this until they had reached the palace square, where Aramil bade the guard to stay and secure the square, while he checked on the royal family. Aramil rushed inside and was quickly greeted with a swipe at his head from an Accursed foot soldier lurking behind the palace doors. Aramil easily dodged the poorly timed strike, and returned by leaping off the ground beneath him, and executing an expertly timed aerial maneuver, spun sideways mid-air and sliced open the stomach of the Accursed. As his guts spilled out on the floor where he had recently stood, Aramil rushed further into the palace, encountering little enough resistance, and up the stairs into the royal chambers. Aramil paused before entering, took a few steps back, and made a charge toward the door. Then, just before his face met the solid oak door, he lept up and planted his feet firmly on the door. As the door, followed with Aramil on top of it, burst into the room, Aramil jumped off his method of entry into the room and performed a forward flip towards the nearest Accursed and proceeded to remove his head from the rest of him. Aramil turned to take in his surroundings. King Fyrn stood armed with his broadsword doing shortly ended combat with an Accursed assassin. Queen Frieth stood nearby taking the shield from an Accursed footman she had felled just moments before Aramil arrived. "Glad to see you could join the party," Fyrn said impatiently to Aramil, wiping a drop of sweat from his brow. "Better late than never," Aramil replied. "What's the situation?" Fyrn took on a look of grave importance. "They're here to free Vandir, get to the prison before they succeed!" The words were hardly out of king Fyrn's mouth before Aramil took off down the winding halls of the palace. Many brave elves gave their lives at the battle of Vestri to put an end to the Accursed and their rebellion, and Aramil was not about to let their sacrifice go to waste. As he ran, he couldn't help but notice all the carnage around him. The roads were shredded beyond recognition, the houses and market stalls burning shadows of their former glory. "The Accused couldn't have done all this themselves," Aramil thought. He turned a corner and was finally at the prison, if it could be called that anymore. Bodies were strewn about the street, too many to number, and the prison itself had more holes than wall. Thick black smoke filled the air, making it hard to see, much less find Vandir. "There!" Aramil thought, as he looked towards two figures emerging from the smoke. "Hey!" Aramil shouted at the two. "Show yourself!" The two shadowy figures emerged from the heavy layer of smoke that surrounded the remains of the prison. One of them was former general Vandir, the other, was dressed in a dark grey cowl and cloak, with a sword strapped to his back. "Surrender Vandir to me and I shall let you live!" Cried Aramil. "Funny..." said the hooded figure in a gruff voice. "That's funny." Then the stranger lifted his hand up to Aramil, palm facing outwards. Sharp pain hit Aramil like a fire as he was forced hurtling through the air until he met the brick behind him. Such was the force that pinned Aramil to the wall, that he couldn't budge an inch to save his quickly fleeting life. "Know this, so-called Remnant." gloated the man. "It is you who will beg for the opportunity to surrender, not that I shall grant it nor will you have the time to ask. For I am a Céllion. Not that it means anything to you, but I grant you a last boon, before I end your life upon my blade, that you may know the fear of my hands. Die now, in the knowledge that you were helpless before me." The cloaked man unsheathed his blade, and raised it high. The sword swung, but before it could reach it's destination, an arrow sprouted from the Céllion's wrist. "Aggh!" He cried. As he turned to find the source of the arrow, Aramil felt the pressure pinning him against the wall decreasing. When he felt the grip on him fail completely, Aramil dove for Säer Lieli. He rose to his feet and took a swipe at the cloaked man's head, but the man blurred out of existence. "Wha-" but Aramil didn't have time to finish the thought, for the man had reappeared behind him and bit deep into Aramil's back with his blade. Aramil fell to the ground. When he tried to get up, he found what remained of the guard he had met when he first climbed the outer walls, for the man's skin had melted right off his body. "No..." said Aramil to himself, as he struggled to breathe. "You have lost this day, elf. No worries though, soon you shall have none." Aramil turned over on his back, so as to face his executioner. The cloaked figure raised his blade high, and swung hard, but before the blade made impact with Aramil's body, Aramil snatched up his own sharp steel to bring it to his defense. But even before the blades made contact with each other, a blinding light poured forth from Säer Lieli. Aramil looked down and saw that his blade was emitting a fiery white light, yet still, Aramil, trained to adjust to mid combat surprises, took this opportunity to swing at the man's head. But even stunned, he was incredibly fast. He swiftly sidestepped the fast moving blade and swiftly counter-attacked with his own. Aramil quickly ducked under the oncoming steel, and leaped into the air, spun for momentum, and gave a downward, left to right slash at his opponent's head. Aramil's blade had just barely touched him, but it was enough. His attacker moved out of Aramil's range of motion and jumped back to Vandir's unconscious form. "Well, you're just full of surprises aren't you? Maybe I'll actually try this ti-" but he never finished his sentence. For just then, one of the nearby TNT barrels detonated, kicking up dirt and smoke. By the time the dust settled, both Vandir, and the Céllion were gone. "No..." thought Aramil to himself. "I must warn the others- gahh!" Aramil cried out in pain as he began limping towards the palace square. Aramil had arrived at the battlefield minutes later, as he spotted Frieth, tearing into an Accursed hammer-miester with her dual blades. "Frieth!" Aramil coughed and sputtered. "Frieth!" He shouted. "Aramil? Aramil, what happened?!" Exclaimed Frieth, as she looked at Aramil's wounds. "I need to get-" Aramil coughed up some blood. "I need to get these Accursed out of the city." "No, Aramil, you need," Argued Frieth. "Is a physician. I'll be fine for now, listen, you see that warehouse?" Aramil pointed at one of the buildings surrounding the square. "Yes, what about it?" Asked Frieth, as she executed a backflip onto the shoulders of a particularly menacing Accursed, and put both blades to his jugular, and pulled the Accursed's head off. "There will be barrels filled with leftovers from the last festival of light in them. On my signal, push the barrels into the square." Frieth nodded, and went to complete the task Aramil had given her. Aramil motioned to a nearby group of archers. "Put your men here, here, in this corner, and there," Aramil said as he motioned at different parts of the square. "Make ready to fire flaming arrows at a number of barrels that shall flow into the square on my signal," Aramil explained. The soldier nodded, and gave out the orders to his men, as Aramil turned and limped towards the bell tower. When Aramil had finally reached the top, he reached for the rope, and pulle on it as hard as he could. "Gah!" He cried, his wounds sending a wave of pain through his body. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Cried the bell. Aramil watched as the ensuing chaos unfolded before him. Right on que, Frieth had thrown some of the barrels over the roof, and as they fell, the archers made their marks, and released. In a spectacular display of light and colour, a flurry of fireworks went off in the battlefield. "Yes!" Cried Aramil aloud. "It's working!" The majority of the accursed were fleeing, and those who didn't, saw their comrades fleeing, and either met a swift end, or quickly followed suit. The cheers of the Remnant did not cease until every last Accursed soldier was driven out of Vithul. Aramil had just made his way back down the stairs and onto the streets when a sharp wave of pain knocked him from his feet, and all was black.

Chapter five: Aftermath

Three days after the attack on Vithul

Aramil awoke to the smell of Elvish sausages being cooked before him and sat up almost immediately, only to be rewarded with swift, sharp, and piercing pain in his back. Aramil voiced aloud his pain by releasing flatulence on the bed. "Take it easy now Aramil," said one of the city healers, who was obviously cooking up the sausage. "You've been cut up pretty badly, don't want to reopen those wounds now. I'll send word to King Fyrn, he's been wanting to speak to you ever since the battle." Then he turned back to the sausage, and began humming a strange tune. Aramil waited patiently as the healer fixed a plate of freshly made Elvish sausages, and sent one of the guards to fetch King Fyrn. Moments after Aramil had finished his meal, Fyrn walked through the door. "Ok, you gotta tell me," said king Fyrn in his usual humorous tone. "How did you think of sending the Accursed running home because they heard some bangs and saw some lights?" "Being honest with you Fyrn," Aramil said, thinking of his encounter with the god Lueh, how scared and confused he had been, and responded with a tone of deadly seriousness. "I made it up as I was going. How they chuckled at that. After making little more than small talk, it turned back to serious matters. "How long have I been out?" Asked Aramil. "Three days," answered Fyrn. "In which time the Accursed, along with their leader Vandir, have fled our realm, and are in hiding somewhere along the western coast. Our scouts report they are moving North towards the forest of emyr." Said Fyrn as he explained much of what was happening since the battle. "Now Aramil, I must take my leave, got a city to rebuild you know." And with that, king Fyrn began to take his leave. "Fyrn," Aramil called as he began to leave. Fyrn turned towards Aramil once more and Aramil bade him sit, and then proceeded to tell king Fyrn about his suspicions of how the Accursed had breached the walls of the city. "Are you saying that we may have-" "Yes Fyrn, I am." Interrupted Aramil. "I...I shall think on this, though I tremble to think of what else they might know if you are right." Fyrn said thoughtfully, and then turned to leave the room. As he did so, he grabbed one of the sausages off of the plate on which they lay. After the door had shut, Aramil thought to himself,"You and me both." Not too many moments later, Frieth came in and asked how his part in the battle had fared. Aramil grinned and gestured at his heavily damaged self. "Went off without a hitch!" Aramil laughed. "How did you get those cuts?" Frieth asked, pointing at the many gashes that were covering Aramil. Nearly two hours later, Aramil had told her his tale of when he awoke, leaving out only the parts that entailed his revelation from Lueh and the Céllion. He told her of his journey back to Vithul, how he saw smoke rising from Vithul, and how he met the guard who saved his life, how they had stormed the streets, how he had died saving Aramil's life, and Aramil's duel with the hooded man. Frieth listened attentively, occasionally stopping Aramil to ask questions. Frith finally left close to evening to deal with some such royal business. This gave Aramil time to think on what questions had occupied his mind the majority of the day. "What was a Céllion doing rescuing Vandir?" He thought. "I'm not nearly capable of defeating one, much less a whole race as well as their creator. What was that light during our fight? What made Säer Lieli glow like that?" Aramil decided that these questions would yield him no such answers, and turned to his dreams.

Lightning lashed out from the churning sky and sent Aramil flying backwards into one of the nearby tents which collapsed on impact. "Did you really think you stood a chance?!" Asked as his opponent approached Aramil's weak form. "Now you shall know pain as none before you have!" Cried the man. Aramil knew he had lost this fight, and that the end drew near. They had been fighting too long, and all of Aramil's strength had left him by now. The man whom Aramil recognized as the Cellion from Vithul raised his palm and slowly pressed it towards Aramil's face-

Aramil awoke with a start. Another nightmare was all. Nothing more. Seven days more had passed since Aramil first awoke in the palace apothecary, and Aramil was as he was before the battle began: Battle-ready, and hungry for answers. He took a quick walk around the city, checking up on the progress of the repairs, attempting to find any trace of where Vandir and his rescuer had fled to, but he eventually gave up on that and watched the sun peek up over the horizon from a nearby rooftop. After he had broken fast, he bade his mother and sister goodbye, and departed on Sielfmere for the Vithul barracks. Aramil had assembled what little remained of the Remnant calvalry in the span of an hour, and called for volunteers to pursue the enemy. Six of the precious few of what remained of the Remnant army stepped up, and they they departed. After gathering their possessions and rations, they made their way along the western shoreline; looking for signs of the retreating Accursed as they went. It was approaching midnight when they stopped to rest. When they made camp the first night, Aramil had the least sleep of them all, slipping into a fitful sleep as he dreamt of his battle with the hooded Céllion, and how woefully outmatched he was during their fight.

Aramil and his group awoke at dawn and began to pack up camp. As they rode hard along the western shore, searching for signs of the retreating Accursed, they encountered little sign anyone had been there, much less a retreating army. They had been riding north along the western shore for two days before they had actually found any sign of the fleeing Accursed. "Here!" Shouted one of the soldiers. "I have something!" Aramil rode up beside him and dismounted so as to take a better look at what the elf had found. "Well done! We shouldn't be too far now." Aramil said as he remounted Sielfmere. "Hyaa!" He called, as he gave his mount a swift kick to the flanks and sped off along the shore. A few hours later, they had decided to make camp. After they had stopped to make camp, they posted watch, and went into their tents to get as much sleep as they could before they overtook the enemy.

"Aramil!" Called a distant voice. "Aramil!" Aramil blinked and attempted to find the voice. He was in a desert, surrounded by towering grey structures, shaped as though they were made by a master craftsman. "There is not much time Aramil! Heed my voice, and listen." Aramil spun and saw someone clothed in a dark green cloak, with a bright red cowl, and a sword at his side. "Who are you?" Aramil demanded. "Aramil, you are fast approaching Vandir's encampment, but beware! Do not be as hasty as you might wish, for just as you have recieved a gift from Lueh, so has he. Vandir is not to be trifled with, champion. He was not made general lightly, for his experience in battle far outweighs yours." Said the hooded man. "How do you know my name?" Shouted Aramil, wondering what the man could be speaking of. "Go now," said the man in a muffled voice. "Heed my warning, champion. I do not give them lightly."

Aramil was awakened by the sound of the soldiers packing up camp. "Sir," called one of the soldiers. "If we ride now, we may yet overtake them by evening." "And so we shall!" Called Aramil, thinking on his dreams. "If Vandir too has a blessing from Lueh," thought Aramil. "He may yet have answers for me." They packed up camp and proceeded north along the western shore, encountering more and more signs they were close. The sun had just finished setting, when the soldier designated as scout, returned and whispered to Aramil, "Their camp is within sight, what are your orders sir?" Aramil looked ahead, and saw smoke rising into the moonlit sky. "Dismount," Aramil whispered to the rest of his men. "We may yet take them by surprise." They dismounted and tethered their horses to a nearby oak, and crept up upon the enemy encampment. "...they should be upon you any day now!" Said a familiar voice. "When did they leave Vithul?" Asked a voice Aramil recognised as Vandir. "They have been on the road almost four days, and they don't have so many dying with them!" Said the first voice angrily. "Relax, Ossinius, there is no need to get worked up over this." Aramil gasped silently. "Ossinius?" He thought. "What's he doing here?" Ossinius sighed impatiently. "I shall deal with them myself. Lend me three of your men, and we shall ride tomorrow." "Patience," said Vandir calmly. "If they are as close as you say, then we should not have to wait too much longer for them to show themselves. I shall send half of my contingent eastward, one of them posing as me. The rest of us shall continue on north and sail from the coast until we reach Ardanach lands, where the Remnant lack sufficient jurisdiction to pursue us further." Aramil sat wide-eyed behind an Vandir's tent. "Could Ossinius be the one who helped them attack Vithul?" Aramil thought. He motioned one of his soldiers over to him. "Pass it onto the others, find an empty tent, and when I give the signal, set it alight. We shall regroup at camp." The elf nodded, and crawled over to his fellows in arms. Aramil waited a few moments, and stealthily made his way to the forest opposite the Accursed camp. By the time Aramil had gathered enough leaves to suit his purpose, he stepped up onto one of the branches overlooking the Accursed encampment.

"...and make camp along the creek. Got it?" General Vandir asked one of his remaining lieutenants. But before he could answer, there was a thunderous, inhuman scream of rage that made Vandir's blood chill. "What was that?" Vandir demanded. "Fetch Ossinius! Now!" He yelled at the guard. There it was again. That scream. Second later, Ossinius had arrived at Vandir's tent. "What is that?!" Demanded Vandir. "You thought I would know?!" Yelled Ossinius. "What makes you think-" The inhuman cry inspired fear in many of Vandir's troops. "Sir," called one of Vandir's sentries. "Some of the locals have a legend about a phantom that-" "I am not interested in the local legends!" Vandir snapped. "Ossinius, take care of it!" Ossinius wasn't happy about it, but he left to do as Vandir commanded.

Aramil laughed at the panic and chaos ensuing in Vandir's camp. The Accursed had ducked into their tents, some grabbing armor, some weapons, and others simply stayed inside their tents. Aramil watched as Ossinius emerged from Vandir's tent, and walked towards the forest. "Show yourself! I wont ask twice!" Cried Ossinius. Aramil laughed silently to himself as he made sure the vine around him was taught so that it would not slip. Aramil leaped from the tree, screaming his best elvish bryaidas impression the whole way. Aramil swooped down in a long wide arc as a ball of flame sped from Ossinius whizzing past Aramil's face. But Aramil was moving too fast for it to hit. The vine Aramil was tied to pulled him back into the tree at the end of his arc, and Aramil screeched once more. But as he made ready for his next dive, he saw that the tree he was standing in was smoldering in the flames of Ossinius' magic. Aramil dived with his hand on the vine, waiting for the perfect moment to release. Ossinius launched another fireball in Aramil's direction. Aramil swiftly undid the knot that tied the vine to his waist, and spread his arms wide as he flew into the Accursed camp.

Chapter six: The Battle begins!

Aramil released his hold on the vine, and flew hurtling through the Accursed camp, startling many of the wounded soldiers and scattering their supplies. Just as he was about to hit ground, he tucked his legs into his chest, and rolled for all he was worth. After he had received a few scrapes and bruises from neighboring tree roots and tent stakes, Aramil rolled to a stop and rose to his feet. Aramil gave his bryaidas impression again before Ossinius came running through the camp after him. Aramil walked slowly into camp and screeched again. "I fear you not, though you would be wise to fear me." Ossinius called to Aramil, still in his guise. Aramil, now in the Accursed encampment, called out yet again. Ossinius launched a barrage of fireballs in Aramil's direction. Aramil dove to the right behind one of the nearby tents. "You can't escape me!" Cried Ossinius angrily. Aramil rose to his knees, and slowly creeped over to the next Accursed tent. The sky grew dark as black and grey storm clouds gathered overhead. Aramil readied one of his arrows from his quiver, and set it to a nearby torch sconce. He took aim at one of the barrels of TNT the Accursed had salvaged from the battle of Vestri, and let loose his flaming arrow. The arrow was followed by a deafening clap of thunder, as the TNT detonated and slew more than a few of the Accursed. Aramil rose to his feet and dashed across to the other side of the camp, screeching as he ran. Ossinius spotted Aramil as he ran, and let loose a bolt of lightning from his fingertips towards the churning sky. Aramil turned and saw the arcane projectile, but it was too late to avoid. Lightning lashed out from the sky and sent Aramil flying backwards into a nearby tent which collapsed on impact. "Did you really think you stood a chance?!" Asked Ossinius, approaching Aramil's weak form. "Now you shall know pain as none before you have!" Cried the wizard. Aramil knew his chances were slim, if not nonexistent. He performed once more, his bird-like scream, and raised his arms high and shouted, "Leave this place, and never return!" In a loud, raspy voice. Flames lept up from several of the Accursed tents at once as the Remnant set alight the tents of the Accursed. The Accursed cried out in terror, as several of their comrades were consumed by the flames, and others still, turned and fled as Aramil had commanded. Ossinius' face twisted and contorted into a grim exposition of unchanging, unrelenting rage. Ossinius screamed, and lashed out in the form of multiple tendrils of flames. Aramil dove to the side, reaching for his blade as he did. A roaring inferno of flame incinerated the space where Aramil had most recently occupied, as well as the surrounding scenery. Aramil tore his guise away from his body, and raised his sword high, as he charged towards the mage. The soldiers Aramil had brought with him sprung from their hiding places, as they too readied their weapons for battle. By now the remaining Accursed had fled, taking their esteemed general with them. Aramil lashed out with his broadsword at his opponent's hands. Ossinius leaped back, narrowly avoiding the oncoming blade, and countered by unleashing a blast of wind, knocking Aramil's leaf disguise off, and sending Aramil back several feet. Aramil quickly rolled to the side and leaped to his feet, and then dove to the side once more as a rush of flame jetted past him. By now Aramil was close enough to Ossinius for him to be recognised. "You!" Gasped Ossinius. "I'll make you pay for this!" Aramil blinked at Ossinius was gone, right out of the air. Aramil looked around quickly to see perhaps where the wizard had disappeared to, but didn't have long before his question was answered with a roar of thunder as lightning crashed down from the dark and churning sky and struck the ground next to Aramil. Aramil felt an intense burning sensation sweep throughout his body as he flew backwards through the air until he crashed into one of the unlit Accursed tents. Aramil tried to get up, but found that he couldn't move. Panicking now, Aramil willed his joints to move as Ossinius approached his motionless form, but to no avail. Ossinius put out his hand, and summoned a fireball onto his palm. Aramil frantically struggled to move as he regained the feeling in his body, little by little. Ossinius raised his hand high, preparing for the death blow. But just then, Aramil looked over Ossinius' shoulder and a wave of hope rushed over him, for a few meters behind Ossinius was crouched one of the Remnant, bow drawn at the ready. Aramil could move his hands now, and tried to get his feet to obey him. "You have no fear, why is that?" Ossinius asked quizzically, looking into Aramil's eyes, and as he did so, he also saw the reflection in them. Ossinius turned and a stream of flame erupted from his hand and incinerated the arrow and the archer. But Aramil had already seen his window of opportunity. Another of the soldiers fired an arrow at Ossinius with expert aim, as another soldier came at him with a spear. The timing was perfect, Ossinius turned and incinerated the onrushing arrow, as the spearman gave a lofty overhead swing at his head. Aramil jerked his foot onto the ground, now able to move and drew his blade. Ossinius sidestepped the spear, but not in time to avoid a second arrow as it flew towards it's mark and pierced Ossinius' shoulder. Aramil swept Ossinius' feet out from under him with the back of his blade, and as Ossinius fell, Aramil gave him a swift blow upon his head with the butt of his sword, and Ossinius fell limp.

"What shall we do now sir?" Questioned one of the Remnant soldiers. "We ride for Vithul," Aramil replied. "We know where they are going now and we need to alert the others." Said Aramil as he pulled the horse feed sack over Ossinius' head. They had gathered some of the supplies the fleeing Accursed had left behind, and found more than a few items of interest, such as schematics of Vithul, a magnificent jewel-encrusted blade, a few barrels of the Remnant's TNT, an encripted journal, and a carriage, presumably for Vandir's personal use. They attached their horses, and loaded their spoils onto the carriage. They left for Vithul with light hearts and a spring in their step, for a victory, no matter how small, is worth celebration. They traveled for eight days and nights, all the while keeping Ossinius sedated with a mixture of herbs they found along the road and at the Accursed camp. Aramil looked up at the setting sun as they neared Vithul, and couldn't help but be overwhelmed at the thought of how much had happened in the past few weeks, and how much was to happen in the near future. Aramil drew his cowl over his face and dozed off as they neared the city.

Aramil awoke at noon to the sound of the gate guard opening the gate into the city. Oddly, the streets were vacant. Hardly a whisper was heard as Aramil and his group rode through the streets of Vithul. Finally, after a few minutes one of the soldiers, the one known as Hrai spotted an old woman. "You there," he called. "Where is everyone?" "Why, they're all at the memorial service," Replied the old woman "for the soldiers who died in the attack. It's being held in the leafwind district." And then, not knowing what else to do, they rode on towards the memorial for the fallen Remnant. By the time they arrived, the procession was just ending and the citizens of Vithul were going back to their daily routine. Aramil and his group walked through the crowd of elves leaving the district towards the district square, where Fyrn was sure to be, having just concluded the memorial. "Fyrn! Fyrn!" Aramil called out, spotting him as he was stepping down from the podium. "Aramil!" Fyrn called and made his way through the crowds. "Aramil, I hope you bring good tidings?" Fyrn said questioningly. "Not here," Aramil whispered. "A place where we may confer without chance of being overheard." "Fyrn nodded, and they started off towards the palace. When they arrived Aramil started explaining their story from the beginning, and by the time they made it into the war room, Aramil was explaining the Accursed's plans. "They are moving North into Ardanach lands, presumably seeking asylum, but we both know everything he does has a double meaning." Explained Aramil. Fyrn nodded grimly. "They will arrive at the docks of Maer in twelve days time. We are more equipped for such a journey and may be there in eight days." Fyrn pulled a map of the continent down from the wall. "Tell me Aramil," began Fyrn. "You saw the state of the city on your way in. Do you think it wise to march what little remains of our forces to capture Vandir, and leave our capitol city unguarded?" Aramil thought on this for a moment. "If we do this right," Aramil said, thinking further as he explained. "We leave a legion of archers here," Aramil said, pointing to a point on the map. "And take the rest of our men with us. Ahead of time, we might send word to the Ardanach king, I'm sure he wouldn't want the Accursed spreading their worship of the dark through his realm. If we move fast, we can take them." Aramil finished, waiting for Fyrn's reply. "This may work..." King Fyrn started. "Alright. We'll do it" King Fyrn said after much thought. "I'll send word to King Erevan of this plan. For now though," He stopped and clapped Aramil on the back. "Get some rest. You'll need it." Aramil thanked Fyrn for seeing him, and left the room. Aramil walked through the many twists and turns of the palace, until he arrived at the grand doors and stepped out into the open air. He looked around the city at the progress of the repairs. They had made much progress in the time they had been gone. The roofs were patched and the roads were being patched up. Aramil arrived at his house as the sun was setting and turned in early. Aramil lay in his bed, thinking of all that had happened in the days since the battle of Vestri. Questions crowded Aramil's thoughts as he pondered what might happen in the days to come.

Three days of intense training later had passed, and it was time for the Remnant to march. They had received word from King Erevan that they too would take up arms against the threat that was to assail them. Aramil packed up everything he needed and took his place with the war caravan as they marched Northwards along the road towards what would surely be the downfall of the Accursed. They encountered a few settlements along their way, but not much else. The winter months were drawing near, and the words of Lueh about a plague known as the affliction echoed through Aramil's mind. After dawn on the eighth day of travel, they reached the plains of Sheig, named for the the ripe harvest land that was rumored to be cursed, upon which the docks of the Northern shores were built, providing sanctum for those who would depart from it. Aramil dismounted Sielfmere and gave the order to set up camp atop the hill. It would be a long night, and Aramil had no intention to waste time. It was evening by the time they had finished, and tension was high. King Fyrn gave a speech, about how the coming battle was to not only protect two realms from Vandir's ambition, but avenge their fallen comrades as well. When Fyrn finished, a scout came running into camp, reporting that the Accursed had been sighte just beyond the horizon. Aramil ran towards the edge of the hill upon which they were encamped and pulled out his spyglass to look out over the field at the approaching enemy. But what Aramil saw was not the battered and bleeding Accursed he had encountered along the western shore, but a contingent of well armed deadly looking trolls. "Where did Vandir find so many of them?" One of Aramil's lieutenants asked. The Accursed had indeed arrived, and by the looks of it, they were almost more ready than the Remnant for what would be a battle to rock the world.

Chapter seven: Massacre on the plains of Shieg

Aramil took in the massive force slowly, making sure that he wasn't hallucinating. The Accursed had more than tripled in numbers since their encounter at the forest of emyr. They now numbered more than six hundred strong, and they had brought trolls. Huge, ugly, hulking trolls, at least sixty of them, with crude clubs made of massive spruce trees with sharpened branches serving as spikes. Trolls were one of the few creatures that cannot be directly affected by normal magic as everyone knows, but you have to take them on physically, which in itself is a pain for the common Ectorian troll is roughly eight feet tall, weighs about five hundred pounds, and has strength to match that of a dragon. They rode in a triangular formation, with archers in the middle, the wounded at the rear, the trolls on the side, and the battle ready Accursed footsoldiers in the front. "Still think we can take them?" Asked a cautious Fyrn, look wary of the approaching horde. "With little more hardship than we would have before!" Aramil exclaimed, sounding much more confident than he felt. Truly this would be not only a battle for the ages, but a battle for their very lives. "Where are the Ardanach?" Thought Aramil. "They should be here any moment now." Aramil began pacing back and foward on the grassy hillside, thinking out all the possible ways this could go down. The Remnant numbered fewer than one hundred, and the Accursed were more than six hundred strong. A fly began buzzing around Aramil's head, circling in and out, darting past his ears. He kept swatting at it until inspiration struck him like a bolt of thunder. Aramil called Fyrn back over to him and began to explain his plan. "We might make it out of this yet," he explained. "Take a group of around twenty Remnany, ten archers, ten melee fighters, and circle around southwest. Kill any Accursed you find along the way, if you should have the chance to take one alive, then do that. One of them could tell us about any surprises with the proper motivation..." Aramil talked to Fyrn for a few moments more until Fyrn nodded his approval and went to carry out his party of the plan. Then Aramil quickly walked over to the rest of the Remnant forces, and began to give out his orders. After a few momens, a scout came rushing into the camp; breathless from what had apparently been a full on sprint back to camp. "Ge-general Aramil sir," he wheezed, still attempting to retrieve his breath. "There's a messenger from former general Vandir here to speak to you." Aramil wondered what this could mean, and swiftly bade the scout to lead him to the messenger. When they had arrived the messenger cocked an eyebrow and asked "General Sovelis, I presume?" A short, stocky little man, the messenger actually gave the impression that that's what he was: a messenger. "That would be me, yes." Aramil replied. "I hear you have a message for me." The messenger nodded curtly. "General Vandir bids the great general Sovelis that he's heard so much about good fortune," he paused for a quick moment and then resumed with his message from Vandir. "He wishes you to know that there is an employment opening should you-" "No thanks, move on please." Interrupted Aramil. The messenger looked slightly annoyed at this and continued on with the conversation. "He also wishes to know if you will be yielding to him anytime soon and if so, when can he expect your surrender." He stopped and waited for Aramil to respond. Aramil thought for a moment, knowing that their chances of surving, much less winning, were slim if not nonexistent. He knew Vandir would never let them live if they surrendered. All his enemies were gathered in one place, and it was in a position of weakness. Running was not an option either, if they let him get away now, they would never see Vandir again and he would escape to the Realm of Iniquity. "Tell Vandir that-" "Oh but I'm not finished sir." The messenger said. Aramil wondered what else the Accursed leader could want with him. "He wants to tell you that the Ardanach forces have been delayed quite substantially and that they won't be arriving any time soon." Aramil reeled at this. How could he have possibly known about their reinforcements, or their travel route. It took Aramil a few moments to gather his thoughts and make his reply. "Tell Vandir that he can never extinguish the light of Lueh," Aramil replied, sounding much braver than he felt. "We will not surrender, not even in death!" And with that, Aramil sent the Accursed messenger on his way. Aramil immediately began to think of a solution, anything that could even stall them until the Ardanach could arrive. Their chances with them were slim, but without them, the Remnant would be lucky to even have one left standing when this was over. Aramil ran back into camp and called "Archers, archers to me!" After a few moments, all of the archers not going with king Fyrn had assembled before him, wondering what was going to happen next. "I'm going to be honest with you," Aramil started. "We have almost no chance of making it out of this alive. But we still have a chance. I'm going to lead the rest of our forces in a full on charge with them, we are going to try to bring down some of their trolls, then, once the foot soldiers are charging at us in earnest, we're going to give a quick retreat back to here, that's where you come in..."A few minutes later, Aramil had finished explaining the plan to them, and hurried off to gather the rest of the Remnant army.

The sky grew dark as the clouds overhead frothed and churned with their pent up fury, and gathered over the extensive, soon to be littered with blood-much of it sure to be Remnant. Aramil watched the Accursed ranks, arming themselves for what Aramil was going to make the bloodiest, most regretted victory ever to have been won in the history of Ectoria. Aramil could hear a faint hum on the air and dismissed it as nerves. "There!" Aramil thought, looking at a section of treeline where he had clearly seen movement. Fyrn's forces were in position and ready to attack on Aramil's signal. Aramil shouted at the top of his lungs "For the Remnant!" He took a deep breath and shouted "For our fallen! For the light of Lueh! Charge!" Aramil inhaled as deeply as he could, and rode Sielfmere into the fray below. He was nearing the closest of the Accursed ranks when a large, ugly looking troll jumped into his path and swung his makeshift club hard at Aramil. Aramil swerved his horse to the right to avoid the club, and leaped from his saddle onto the club. The troll, more interested in the horse than the Elven warrior scaling his club, raised it's club and started to run towards the fleeing horse. The troll had almost caught up with Sielfmere when Aramil had made it up the shoulder of the troll, dodging Accursed arrows the whole way for the Accursed foot soldiers saw the threat to their rather large ally's safety, even if he didn't. Aramil stepped carefully over to the hulking monster's jugular and raised Säer Lieli high, and brought it down, slicing through the giant's neck like butter. The monster let out a tremendous roar before beginning to lean backward slightly, and then falling. Aramil anticipated such a reaction and crouched low on the troll's collar bone until he was about to hit the ground. Then Aramil leapt from him towards the nearest Accursed calvalry man and gave him a flying kick out of the saddle which he had recently occupied. Aramil, now behind enemy lines, gave the horse a quick kick to the flanks to get it moving towards neutral ground. A few arrows had flown his way during his dash to open air, but Aramil was experienced in these matters, and deftly dodged making all of the arrows hit other Accursed in the close quarters. When he finally made it out, he reared his horse in the air and watched as the rest of the Remnant forces flew into the fray to follow his lead, taking down as many Accursed as the could. At one point Aramil thought he saw one Remnant trick a troll into bashing another in the face with his club. Aramil sounded the call to retreat quickly, and turned to move back to his camp, quickly followed by the Remnant. Aramil turned to see the soon unfolding events. As the Accursed gave chase to Aramil and his retreating group, Aramil's archers opened fire on the fast approaching enemy forces as soon a they were in range, slaying any who were unfortunate enough to have been on the front few lines. Just then, there was quite the commotion as king Fyrn's group emerged from the forest to the south and began strafing enemy lines, firing arrows and slicing up any who dared get too close to them, circling clockwise around until Aramil's group was ready for a second charge. Aramil quickly took stock of how many Remnant he had left. Miraculously, fewer than ten had fallen in their first charge against the Accursed forces, and they had felled at least seven trolls. The Accursed forces were slow in realizing they had been duped, giving time for Aramil's archers to and turned around to pursue Fyrn's group, which had now made it more than halfway around the Accursed swarm. No sooner had they done this, than, seeing his opportunity, Aramil gave the word for a second charge against the Accursed that had been pursuing them. Aramil rode in on his mount, riding low so as not to attract as much attention. He wasted no time, gripping his reins tightly, Aramil leaned right but kept the horse going straight, as he swung at the Accursed with a speed that rivaled the very wind, surprising even himself. The Remnant followed Aramil's lead, charging in and swinging with everything they had, the Accursed were dropping like flies, how fast they fell. Thunder crackled in the dark, overhead sky as the small group of Accursed pursuers, as well as four trolls fell to the Remnant. Both Aramil's group and Fyrn's, now turning back towards their camp now that they had finished with their first move, regrouped and returned to the hill upon which they were encamped. Aramil dismounted and jogged over to Fyrn. "How many do you think we lost?" Fyrn asked solemnly. "Roughly ten on my count. How about yours?" "Only four, all of them skirmishers. How many do you think fell to Remnant blades just now?" Fyrn asked, no longer solemn, but rather a devilish grin on his face. "More than one hundred for sure," replied Aramil, now thinking up how they would proceed. "And I saw at least ten of the big ones fall between us." He said with a chuckle. Just then, there was a thunderous roar and a shower of dirt, as a large explosion erupted from the rear of the Remnant camp. Then another, and another. The screams of terror could be heard from the Remnant troops for miles. "What's going on!?" King Fyrn demanded. His answer was soon in coming as Aramil and Fyrn climbed to the top of the hill, and saw the source of the explosions was. An Accursed throng of over three times the size of the horde that the Remnant had just fought had snuck up on them while they were busy dealing with the trolls. And they had TNT. "No..." said Aramil as a shower of dirt and rock exploded from the ground a few yards in front of him. "How could he have amassed such an army in such a small time?!" Aramil exclaimed. "Just a few days ago they had numbered fewer than fifty, now they were over two thousand strong!" "No matter where they got it from Aramil! The fact is that they're here and they're ready for a war!" Fyrn said worriedly. There were around two thousand in all, and almost half of them were trolls. "You should have taken my offer when you had the chance!" Called a voice that Aramil instantly recognized as Vandir, riding atop the shoulders of one of the trolls. Aramil had gravely underestimated Vandir, after all Vandir had been high general of the Elven forces for far longer than Aramil had been and was bound to be more experienced in matters of war. The Accursed were closing on both sides now, brutally executing any Remnant they came across, and time was running out. The Remnant, now numbering close to twenty, gathered in a tight circle in the center of camp, desperately searching for a way out of their predicament. Vandir stepped down from the troll upon which he had stood atop, and began walking towards the small group of Remnant. By now some menacing Accursed had forced the Remnant into a line. Vandir was dressed in a black tunic, with dark grey boots, a wickedly sharp looking sword, and a glowing transparent cloak matched by red-gold tassles hanging over his shoulders. Vandir had jet black hair and a devious smile on his face as he approached the last of the Remnant forces. "Your last offer, a courtesy call of sorts. Turn from Lueh and accept Tarn as the supreme god, and I shall let you go free from this place. Deny my generous offer, and I shall cut you down where you stand." Vandir walked steadily towards the left of the group and asked: "Will you accept my offer?" The soldier he had spoken to, Aramil recognized as one of the few he had led to chase after the Accursed following the battle of Vithul. He spat in Vandir's face, and replied "I will never-" but that was all he got out before Vandir, faster than Aramil could see, unsheathed his red blade and parted the man's head from his body. "Anyone else?" Vandir asked. "How about you, general Sovelis?" Aramil froze, quickly thinking about how to handle this. "I'm sure you feel at least a little impressed by my expertise in the battlefield. How about it?" Vandir didn't wait long for Aramil's reply, as Aramil sprung backwards and unsheathed Säer Lieli, which was now burning brightly with a brilliance to rival the sun. "As tempting as that offer is," Aramil said. "It would be even more fun to face the infamous 'blood sword' Vandir in mortal combat." Vandir nodded, and unsheathed the blade that whose name reached every corner of the realm. For Vandir's sword had slain so many, that the blood of his enemies had soaked permanently into the metal of the blade, and had crystallized, providing jagged edges to the famed blade. "I will make it quick. Even you deserve that much." Said Vandir, and he leapt forward towards Aramil, bringing his blade crashing down just as Aramil dove to the side, rolled, and brought his blade through the air in a spinning slash with a fury that would have brought down a troll instantly. But Vandir was fast, almost too fast. He was already behind Aramil and poised to stike by the time Aramil realized Vandir was no longer there, and gave Aramil a swift kick that he easily dodged. Aramil spun around and swiped at Vandir's shoulder, but Vandir brought his sword up to stop the attack. "You fight well," Vandir sneered. "just not well enough!" Vandir moved his sword in a counter clockwise motion. Aramil instantly knew what was coming, and crouched low. But it was too late; Vandir gave his dark red sword a quick spin, and jerked it to the right, tearing Aramil's sword from his grasp. Because Aramil had time to prepare for his disarmament, he sprung high, delivering a strong uppercut to Vandir's jawbone, an heard it snap. Vandir reeled back, stunned, and Aramil took the opportunity to give Vandir a swift kick to the side. Vandir backed up, struggling to catch his breath now as Aramil dove for Säer Lieli. He gripped the shining blade tight with his right hand, and rolled just in time to avoid a downward thrust from a now recovered Vandir. Aramil hacked swiftly at Vandir's wrist, but Vandir jerked it back just in time. Vandir jumped high, spun, and delivered a spinning kick to Aramil's ribs, which upon impact, cracked. Aramil stumbled over with a cry of pain, knowing his end was near. Vandir stood triumphantly over Aramil, ready to deliver the killing blow. He raised his blood encrusted sword high, and brought it down hard. As a last act of desperation, Aramil raised his hands up in a futile attempt to stop the rush of steel he knew would quickly come. But the swift end Aramil anticipated did not come. He opened his eyes and saw that his hands had caught the blade, and not only that, but they were glowing with an inner blue light. "What-" Vandir asked in astonishment, but he didn't get the chance to finish his astonishment aloud, for Aramil saw his chance and seized it. He twisted the blade from Vandir's grasp and rolled to his feet. Aramil threw the blade as hard as he could at Vandir and dove for his own blade. Vandir didn't expect the recent turn of events and staggered back, receiving a small cut on his shoulder from the airborne blade before he caught hold of it. Aramil, breathing heavily, lifted his blade, ready to strike, but just then, a loud, clear trumpet sounded in the distance and the once churning storm clouds overhead parted to reveal a bright noon sun, burning brightly in the crisp noontime air. A ball of flame shot out from a fog that had overtaken the docks of Shieg, and struck Vandir square in the back, sending him flying a few yards before coming to a stop at the edge of the treeline. The fog parted and a fleet of warships appeared out of the fog. A booming voice issued forth from the closest vessal "I hope I'm not too late to join the party!" And a figure leapt down from the ship, landing softly on his feet, and rushed towards the small group of Remnant.

Chapter eight: Aramil Sovelis vs. Blooded sword Vandir

All present froze and turned to see who he was, and what the new arrival had meant for the battle. When the figure had finally gotten close enough to distinguish what he looked like, some of the people had come to their senses and began to stir. "Well this is certainly a surprise!" Said the man. "Quite a lot of the buggers aren't there?" He said as he turned to king Fyrn. "Erevan, finally! Now if you would be so kind, rid us of these monstrosities, that we may finish the menace known as the Accursed!" Said Fyrn, gesturing at the trolls standing watch over the small group of Accursed. Upon hearing this, hope for the outcome of the battle surged forth in Aramil. Now that reinforcements had arrived, they actually stood a chance. Aramil ran towards the group of Remnant as the fleet of Ardanach ships began to dock. Erevan looked up at the group of Accursed standing watch over the Remnant. "These guys?" He asked incredulously, pointing at the hulking beasts. "Yeah, think you can handle-" Fyrn hadn't finished his sentence before king Erevan raised his left hand and gave a quick flick with his index finger towards the trolls. A tremendous blast of wind erupted from some unseen source and blasted the two hulking trolls through the air and sent them hurtling into the throng of Accursed soldiers that lay at the foot of the hill, crushing many of them, and scattering even more. Aramil stared in awe at the raw power the high mage possessed. What little remained of the Remnant forces rose to their feet. "Thank you for that." Said Fyrn to Erevan, shaking the dust off of his clothes. "Sorry I'm late," Erevan said apologetically. "We had some unexpected delays during our trip." Aramil turned as he heard a loud guttural scream, like that of Aramil's own cries during his first attack on the Accursed camp. Aramil saw Vandir rise to his feet, his cloak blazing in the crisp evening air; though not from the arcane flame which had afflicted him earlier, but rather his cloak was ablaze with light. Pure, unwavering, blindingly bright light radiated outwards from Vandir's cloak until it burst outwards in the size and brilliance of a miniature sun, stinging Aramil's eyes. Aramil turned his face and tried to cover his eyes with his arm. When he turned back to where Vandir was last, he was gone. Aramil turned back towards the remaining remnant and the Ardanach king with a look of solemnity etched upon his face. "We have a problem." Aramil said worriedly. "We need to regroup at a safer place, head for the treeline." Aramil, quickly followed by the small gathering of Remnant made a beeline for the forests to the south in which king Fyrn's group had traveled to skirt around the edges of the Accursed army. When they had arrived and had cut through some of the more bothersome vegetation, they began to discuss all that had happened since they had departed. When they had finished, Erevan had started up one of the more puzzling notes of their predicament and said "I confess, it appears there are a lot more than you said in your message. Though it seems to me that you didn't expect this many either." Fyrn nodded and told Erevan about the surprise attack from the rear, and the unexpected might of the Accursed battalion. "I see, now then, to logistics. How many mages do you have?" Asked Erevan expectantly. No one answered. "We don't have anyone else here. It's just us." Replied Aramil. Erevan gave a short look of confusion before turning back to the group. "My men have instructions to attack when we do, so they won't be too much of a communications problem, but there's still the matter of all those trolls, I myself cannot deal with all of them, and they can't be directly harmed by magic, so we need to scatter them. Any ideas on how?" By the time Erevan was finished, the gears in Aramil's head were already turning away at a plan to make the trolls flee.

After they had finished discussing the plan, Erevan had flown over to his troops to explain the plan, while Aramil made ready to depart on Sielfmere. He had packed no rations, for what they had must be shared with their newly found reinforcements. Aramil looked upon the now clear sky and wondered what the future had in store for the Remnant and for himself. He mounted his prize steed whom he had known since he was a foal, and rode hard toward Vithul. Wasting no time, and having no troops trailing behind to slow him down, Aramil had made the pace of more than double the Remnant army on the way there and had travelled almost two leagues before stopping to make camp and gather provisions. Aramil dismounted at a nearby stream and led Sielfmere to have a drink, while Aramil gathered wood for a fire. When he returned, he brought his horse a little ways away and put together a fire after tethering his horse to a nearby tree, and soon went to sleep under the stars. After a long and dreamless night, Aramil awoke and swiftly gathered some nearby berries, not caring about what kind they were, for as all know, elves have a high tolerance for poison. He mounted Sielfmere and rode hard south, hoping to reach Vithul in time to make a difference. This time, having a whole day in which to ride, Aramil rode nonstop and arrived at the city's outskirts early into the morning of the next day. Haggard and weary from the long ride, yet not forgetting his important errand, Aramil spotted one of the nearby Remnant archers that they had repositioned as a guard and told him to fetch the queen. Aramil stepped slowly through the remains of the city gate, which was now nothing more than ashes, and led his horse to the stables that it might gain as much rest as possible before they set out again. He walked as swiftly as he could to the remains of the town square and sat down on one of the few remaining benches and waited for Frieth to come. Aramil didn't wait long, for he had arrived just mere moments after the guard did, and as Frieth walked out of the palace, Aramil hailed her over to him. "Sister," Aramil began, before Frieth interrupted "Is everything all right? Where are the rest of you?" Aramil frowned briefly, before quickly explaining all that had happened since their arrival at the battlefield; about Vandir's six hundred strong frontal assault, the two thousand strong closing group, the trolls, the arrival of the Ardanach, and the plan to drive off the trolls. "Think we have enough?" Aramil asked, hoping against hope that they had enough leftover from the battle of Vithul. "I think we just might, I'll bring all we have to the front gate, along with a carriage to carry them all." And with that, the queen of the Elves walked away to make the necessary preparations. Aramil decided that it would be a time before the supplies were ready, so he took a short walk around the city to see how the repairs were going. Before Aramil had been walking to long, he remarked on how few Remnant well, remained. Close to half an hour had passed before Aramil arrived at the debris that marked where the front gate had stood. "Thank you," said Aramil politely to Frieth, and mounted his horse; now attached to the wagon loaded with the supplies. "Won't be long now." Aramil thought to himself, and he took off along the road as swiftly as his horse would allow him, for now that he had all that he would need, the Accursed trolls would be driven away. Riding as fast as his mount would allow him and taking as many shortcuts as he knew, Aramil made the return journey just shorter than the first, coming to within sight of the blood-soaked plane by three days time, and what he saw, was not pleasing to behold. The once bountiful plains of Shieg were now stained red with the blood of Remnant and Accursed alike. Craters now littered the once flat ground, and tides of flame where there once was abundant farmland. Aramil quickly scanned the blood-soaked battlefield for the Remnant/Ardanach forces. When he found them, Aramil wasted no time in setting up shop, for the fifteen or so Remnant, joined by more than a few Ardanach, had been pressed to the whole other side of the plain, and were cut off from the rest of the Ardanach who were still fighting their way to them from the docks. Aramil retrieved the barrels, one by one, from the wagon and spaced them apart in a wide line spanning the width of the battlefield, and dug out his tinderbox. He then lay out a line of gunpowder from each barrel to a central line a small distance away from the barrels, and drew a deep breath as he lit the line aflame. The long line of sulpher erupted in sparks as a small bubble of flame traveled along to it's destinations. Aramil watched as the flame reached closer and closer to the barrels until the flame made contact, and following a short delay, caused the barrels to combust; sending the contents exploding outwards in the carnival of light and sound that was the fireworks of the festival of light. The sun had just set, giving the small explosives full effect. One by one, troll after troll turned to stare at the majestic explosion of light as it expanded outward until the sparks fell to the earth. That is until the sound reached them. All at once, more than terrified by the fantastic explosion of light and sound that had filled the nighttime air and assaulted their minds. There was a cacophony of terrified screams from the hulking beasts as they fled in horror, trampling more than a few of their Accursed comrades in the process. "Yes!" Aramil cried aloud, overjoyed that the monstrous creatures had fled the field. "Now for the real show to start." Aramil thought to himself as he slid down the embankment upon which he stood and rushed into the fray below. Aramil drew his sword, and spun into the Accursed nearest him and tore his sword upwards through his chest cavity. Then, using his momentum, leapt forward and crashed into an Accursed bowman with his shoulder. Aramil raised his sword and slew the Accursed soldier while he lay on the ground, still stunned by the blow. Aramil sprinted towards the group of Remnant, when a blast of magical energy surged forth from one of the nearby Ardanach, throwing aside the Accursed in it's path. Grateful for the intervention, Aramil charged through the path made by the mage's attack. An Accursed wielding two axes darted across Aramil's path, and then towards Aramil. Aramil rushed towards the oncoming threat, and when he got close, dove to the side and came up to swipe at the Accursed's forearm. But the ax-wielder anticipated this, and knocked Aramil aside with the flat of his blade. Aramil flew through the air a short distance before coming to a halt in the midst of the rather angry looking Accursed footmen. Aramil rolled to his feet in time to avoid the first's blade swiping through the air which Aramil had just recently occupied. Aramil reached out with his foot and swept the feet out from under the Accursed nearest him, and then lept to his own feet as the third footmen swung for his head. Aramil parried the poorly planned strike with easy and moved forward in a downward thrust, spilling the elf's guts on the ground. Aramil spun just in time to block an incoming strike from the first soldier, and pushed his blade forward until the Accursed tripped over the body of one of his fallen brethren before Aramil finished him off. Aramil looked up and searched for the Remnant, but was slammed to the side by an Accursed that he didn't see earlier. Aramil recovered quickly and rose to his feet carefully. "You know what?" Aramil asked, irritated now. "I'm a little sick of the ground." Aramil reached for his sword, only to find that it wasn't there anymore. A wave of dismay swept over Aramil as he saw his blade, laying on the ground next to the last Accursed he'd slain. During Aramil's brief confusion, the Accursed saw his chance and rushed at Aramil. Aramil met the ground again at the hands of the Accursed as his anger rose. The Accursed soldier raised a spear and jabbed it towards Aramil. But Aramil saw the rushing blade and rolled over to the side, but he wasn't fast enough. The Accursed's spear tore through the upper part of Aramil's shoulder, piercing all the way through his body. Aramil grabbed the spear and jerked it out of his shoulder, jabbing the butt of the spear into the face of the Accursed foot soldier. Aramil jumped to his feet and turned the spear on it's owner, and thrust it into the elf's gut. Aramil stumbled over to Säer Lieli, gripping his shoulder that was now spilling blood all over him. Now armed once again, Aramil located the small group of Remnant and ran as fast as his injured shoulder would let him, swinging his sword and slicing through any Accursed foolish enough to stumble into his path. He finally cleared the mob of Accursed army and stumbled into the Remnant forces before ducking under a spear thrown at his back but missed, slicing through the air and into the stomach of one of the last Remnant. Aramil turned and cut through the spearmen, before retreating back into the folds of the Remnant. He quickly took stock of the situation before he heard a familiar voice. "I almost didn't think you would get here," king Fyrn shouted over the cacophony of the battle. "What took you so long?" "Oh you know," Aramil shouted back. "Just a bit of traffic!" Aramil chuckled at that and spat some blood out of his mouth. Just then a gale of wind ripped through the fields, scattering Remnant and Accursed alike among the mass of Accursed ranks. Aramil gasped as a wave of pain brought him to his knees, saving him from an arrow that had flown past him and sunk into an Accursed on the other side of the group. Aramil got to his feet in time to parry an oncoming Accursed broadsword before relieving him of his blade while thrusting his own into his stomach. A thunderous roar echoed forth as a surge of magical energy burst forth from the edge of the group, swirling in an explosive rainbow of light and tossing aside all that it touched. Aramil rolled to the side, but wasn't fast enough to escape the full brunt of the blast, and he was thrown hurtling through the air until he collided with the ground yet again. Aramil cried out in pain as a jolt of agony ripped through his shoulder as Aramil rolled along the ground before rolling to a stop. Aramil gasped for breath, clutching his shoulder as he endured the pain now crippling his left arm. "Well, it appears as if the winds smile upon me." Chuckled a gruff voice standing above Aramil. Aramil rolled onto his back to get a better view of his surroundings, and saw perhaps the last person he wanted to see. Standing above him, blood-encrusted sword and all, was Accursed general Vandir. Aramil struggled to get to his feet, but Vandir kicked gave him a swift kick to the side. Aramil gasped in pain, struggling to regain his breath. "Oh, don't leave just yet, I'm just getting started." Vandir chuckled. Aramil finally succeeded in struggling to his feet and gave Vandir his hardest glare. Aramil stood up straighter, now not appearing as weak as before, and looked around at the death and destruction that had taken place on the once bountiful plains. "Now now, don't look so disappointed," Vandir said goadingly. "I know you probably thought that this would be an easy win, didn't you? It's such a shame that the Remnant couldn't find anyone adequate enough to replace me," he said, gloating now. "but I don't know why they chose such an unqualified runt for the job." Aramil coughed and spattered blood, too tired to be angry. "Perhaps you'd like to come and see just how unqualified I am." Grunted Aramil, already working out a plan in his mind. Vandir laughed aloud before pointing at Aramil with his right arm, which Aramil now noticed was burnt along the shoulder and forearm. "You? You're far too weak to contend with me, much less so in the pitiful state you're in. In fact," Vandir smirked mischievously at Aramil. "I can't see you living much longer." Aramil coughed once more as Vandir took small steps towards him. "Then perhaps you would indulge a dying man his last wish:" Aramil said, now grasping at straws. "A duel with the infamous general Vandir." Vandir chuckled to himself before responding. "You have spirit, I'll grant you that. But spirit doesn't amount to much in war. I am not an honorless man however, and I shall honor your last request." Vandir nodded to Säer Lieli, lying in the dirt, appearingly ripped from Aramil's grasp after being blown away. "Pick up your blade elf, then we shall see just who is the better general." Aramil stepped slowly backwards, careful not to take his eyes off of Vandir, and picked up his sword. Not a moment had passed after having gripped his blade, than Vandir lunged at Aramil, point of his sword dashing towards Aramil's chest. Aramil pulled his blade out of the ground and quickly parried the thrust before countering with a swipe and Vandir's uninjured arm. Vandir dodged swiftly, as if the attack came in slow motion, before bringing his blade crashing through the air towards Aramil's injured shoulder. But Aramil anticipated the attack on his wounded arm, and scooted to the side before throwing aside his own blade, and gripped Vandir's wrist in one hand, and the sword in the other, and snapped Vandir's hand into submission. Vandir screamed in pain as the bones in his wrist shattered, before giving Aramil a kick to the rib cage. Aramil took the momentum from the kick and used it to roll backwards onto his feet next to Säer Lieli. Now armed with both Vandir's sword and his own, Aramil rushed in for the killing blow, but the strain of holding a sword was too much for his arm to handle, and his wound erupted in an unbearable wave of pain as Aramil released Vandir's sword from his grip, and clutched at his shoulder. Vandir reached for his sword and swiped at Aramil, but Aramil crouched low and used his feet to try and sweep Vandir over. Vandir jumped over Aramil's foot as it completed it's ark, before slicing downward at Aramil's prone body. Aramil used the momentum from the failed sweep to tuck his other leg into his chest before performing a backflip through the air, while also delivering a sturdy kick to Vandir's jaw. Aramil landed roughly on his feet and raised his sword in defense as Vandir roared and charged towards him. Aramil quickly stepped aside before sticking out his leg to trip up Vandir. Vandir stumbled over the outstretched leg, when an Accursed paladin rode through on a mount and jabbed at Aramil with his outstretched lance. Aramil leaped backwards and then sprung forward, swinging his blade into the neck of the noble steed, sending it crashing to the ground. The Accursed paladin dove off his horse to escape being trampled, and drew the bow strapped onto his back. Aramil sprinted towards the Accursed, but was too far away. The Accursed soldier let loose the arrow with flawless aim towards Aramil's chest. Aramil knew the end was near, and time seemed to slow down as the arrow sped through the air towards him and his life flashed before him and he closed his eyes, waiting for the end that would surley come. Then, an extraordinary thing happened, Aramil realized that the arrow hadn't hit him yet. He opened his eyes to discover that time HAD slowed down, to the extent of a snail. Aramil saw his chance and dove for the bowman, cleaving his body in two. Arami barely had the time to register what had happened, before Vandir swiped at his head. Aramil crouched low and dove for the opposite side of Vandir. Vandir turned and attempted to kick Aramil a he rose to his feet, but Aramil was too fast. He jumped over the kick and slammed his feet down upon Vandir's. Aramil saw his moment and took it: before Vandir had time to ready another blow, Aramil swung his sword downward in a clockwise ark, separating Vandir's calf from his leg. Vandir roared in pain as blood poured forth from the wound. Aramil took a few steps back to regain his breath before advancing to Vandir's side and thrust his sword to the skin of his neck. "Yield to me." Aramil said, still trying to catch his breath. Vandir snarled briefly before the grimace turned to a grin as Vandir began to roar with laughter. "By Auris," Aramil thought. "He really has lost it." "You fool!" Vandir crowed in jubilation. "I always have a trick up my sleeve." No sooner had he said that, than Aramil realized Vandir's cloak was glowing as it had before when he had disappeared. Aramil took a swing at Vandir's head, but it was too late, a blindingly bright flash of light surged forth from Vandir's cloak, forcing Aramil to step back. When the light dissipated, Vandir was standing on two feet, triumphantly grinning from ear to ear. "You see," Vandir gloated. "Even the gods choose me over you!" Aramil stared dumbfounded at the new leg of the Accursed leader. "It is Lueh's gift to me you see, and as I'm sure you can see from the carnage before you,not even an entire nation could stop a champion of the gods!" Vandir laughed triumphantly. But Aramil wasn't laughing. Instead, now that he had the knowledge of Vandir's gift, he made his move. While Vandir was still laughing hardily in the thought that he had won, Aramil rushed towards him, raised his sword high, and swung down in an arc that cleaved Vandir's shoulder from his torso. Vandir roared in pain, but was still distracted enough for Aramil to accomplish the same with his other arm. Vandir's cry of pain echoed through the fields before realizing what Aramil had done. Aramil had knowledge that Vandir didn't, that the blade he held in his hand was also a gift from Lueh, and that Lueh wouldn't choose Vandir over Aramil. Having severed his arms at the shoulder, the spaulders that held the cloak in place fell too, letting the translucent cloth fall to the ground. Aramil bent down to whisper into Vandir's ear. "I guess I am qualified." Before binding Vandir's legs together and bandaging his arm sockets. Aramil stood up and looked around the battlefield. The majority of the Accursed had fled following the explosion that had sent Aramil through the air, and the few that hadn't were being cut down by Ardanach as they regrouped from the blast. Aramil folded the cloak that had once been Vandir's and put it into his satchel before carrying an unconscious Vandir over his uninjured shoulder all the way over to the Remnant, which had somehow regrouped almost immediately after the explosion. "That was some fight huh?" Asked Fyrn, spotting Aramil almost instantly. "You don't know the half of it." Aramil replied, handing Vandir over to his comrades. Fewer than ten of the Remnant army remained at the end of the battle, and the nights would be full of the cries of widows as they mourned their loss when they returned. After having little more conversation and receiving what medical treatment the Ardanach could offer, Aramil went to the quarters offered him aboard the Ardanach flagship, and decided to take a well deserved nap. When he awoke the next morning, he got up and went to the mess hall for the morning meal. When he arrived, he was heralded over to the royal tables, where kings Fyrn and Erevan were currently seated. "Some fight huh?" Aramil began. "It wasn't that bad," replied Erevan. "Here, have a seat." Aramil nodded and graciously excepted the invitation. "So Aramil, I've just heard it from Fyrn, but why don't you tell me in your own words what happened before we arrived." Not being one to deny the king's request, Aramil explained everything they had been through leading up to his and Vandir's confrontation. When he arrived at the part where he narrowly avoided death at the hands of the Accursed general, Erevan bade him stop. "What you have described to me just now,has confirmed my suspicions that you posses the capability to perform magic." Erevan started calmly as he related events from his standpoint, that the reason he had asked them how many mages the Remnant had, was because when Erevan had arrived, he sensed the use of magic. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to take you to the realm of grandeur to teach you magic. I've already talked it over with Fyrn, but we'll be departing soon, and I need to know if you'll be coming." Aramil looked to Fyrn for approval. "We can handle ourselves for a while without you, besides, when you get back, the city will be better than ever." Fyrn said, seemingly not caring about Aramil's choice. "Will I be able to visit them?" Aramil asked. "Of course you'd be able to visit them from time to time, it's not a prison you know." Aramil thought it over carefully before giving the high mage his answer. "Yes, I'll go." Said Aramil decidedly. After that, they talked more of their experiences of the battle, the techniques they found interesting, before at last it wa time to leave. Aramil stood on the deck of the Ardanach flagship and waved at the small gathering of Remnant as they worked there way home. Aramil stood on the deck a while longer, staring into the sunrise and wondering what new adventures were on the horizon as they sailed out into the sunset, away from the carnage that was wrought upon the once bountiful plains.

SKIP TO THIRD AGE


END OF PART ONE