Spirits of the Earth

Smoke circled around candles, dripping with pale wax, appearing above the countless flames of candles through the inn. The room was still dim, because although chandeliers hung from the ceilings in great numbers, their light couldn't pierce the veil of smoke and  dust, lingering in the stale air. There was the odor of sweat, ale, beer, food, all mixed together in a combination much resembling the mixture of shouts, talking, singing, clinking of dishes and thudding on tables, that echoed from one wall to another.

Athran, sitting by a small table in the corner all alone, grabbed his goblet of red wine and drank it all at once. He was just passing through the town, and there were no pleasant memories of this place inside his head... He shook his head and let his long hair cover most of his face, hiding in the shadows. No need to be seen, no need to be heard, and no need to be recognized. A dark shape moved towards him, and his right hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, hanging by his side, but it was just a drunk man's shade, stumbling towards the counter. He sighed. Years spent in wilderness made him wary, but in the city, he felt paranoid and overly worried about his surroundings.

Inns were never very safe, especially when one attracts trouble like sugar attracts wasps and flies, but grabbing the sword with every sound and every sign of movement was not necessary. There was no wild beast to jump out of the dark, and drunkards and thieves were no match neither for him, nor for the chainmail he wore underneath his coat... He sighed. More wine will solve it, and tomorrow he'll travel again.

A loud voice rang through the air in a song, not melodic for his ears, but amusing enough for the people in the inn. Many of them begun dancing. Athran just rolled his eyes over... Dancing and merriment. Not something for me.

He saw the jug of wine he asked for a long while ago being brought to him by a woman in a green dress. Curls of her dark hair were jumping around her face like springs when she walked to his table and put the wine down. "Dance, won't you?"
"No. Leave the wine here and dance yourself, if you want." Athran growled, grabbing the jug and showing her to leave him alone, rather rudely.

He needed no attention, and he wanted none. She looked too much like Yhrana... Every adelan woman looked too much like Yhrana.
Another knife under his ribs was the last thing he wanted.
Leave the wine on the table, and get lost, that was it.

Dram never did much like brothels.  In fact, if he could help it, he steered clear of them most of the time if he could.  They seemed to be little more than a haven for horny bastards and their drunkard friends.  The Randy Peach was friendlier than most of them, admittedly, and didn't question why you were hanging around as long as you were a paying customer.  Of course, Dram wasn't a paying customer, and nor did he intend to be.

Drunks and people worn from the upstairs exercise were excellent targets for pickpocketing and maybe even muggings.  But Dram didn't like unnecessary roughness, not when it was just easier to cut a coinpurse or pilfer a necklace.  And it left people much less likely to remember what you looked like.  Not that it was difficult to forget a face like Dram's.  The scar along his cheek was prominent and the red Mohawk on his head certainly stood out above most patrons of the building.

In fact, it surprised him to find hardly any eyes focused on him when he walked into the building.  Once the dancing had begun, the dark elf wasn't so much to look at with everyone focused on having a good time.  Great, just the perfect setting he needed; he couldn't have asked for anything better.  There were plenty of drunk people around, plenty of women leading on their clients upstairs (and men too).  Dram recalled the last time he'd been here had been on exceptionally less pleasant terms, being chased by angry guards in fact.

But that was ages ago, and Dram never liked to distract himself with such unpleasant memories.  So, instead, his eyes narrowed as he took a seat at an empty table, opposing the other in the corner, and when asked what he wanted to drink, he simply asked for water, but of course, cleverly concealed in a wine jug.  Nobody else had to know he wasn't really drinking.

Dram kept to himself amidst the festivities, carefully sipping his water and peering at the man drinking alone in the corner opposite him.  He looked like he wanted to be just as he was: alone.  And Dram spied the heavy jug on the table and the wine within the goblet.  He also eyed the sword at his belt.  It looked all right.  Stealing weapons was an even more risky endeavor than stealing gold, but anything could be worth a pretty penny to the right customer.

Dram decided the best course of action would be to wait.  The drunker he was the better. 

Athran stared into his jug. It was rather big - bigger than it would be pleasant on a night when he'd like to stay at least half sober, and not spend all the money he had left (what was very little). He didn't pay attention to the dancing group in the middle of the inn, instead slowly eyeing the corners and sides. There was nothing more unusual than on other days - everything looked exactly like when he first entered, young and unaware of what he'll find inside.

He pulled the black hood into his face and put his feet onto the table, although dirt and dust was falling off his worn boots. His hand clenched around the jug. Ripples formed on the surface of the wine as he picked it up to his mouth, and begun drinking.

Turn it all into himself, then get lost and spend the night somewhere, just like always... If not for a strange feeling. It wasn't unusual for him to be nervous and paranoid in inns, and although he learned to hide it, he never surpassed this unnatural wariness. The jug clinked on the table a little as he put it down, without intending to pick it up again.

Not being even in the mood to drink was indeed poor. All he hungered for was blood, a good fight to clean the rust off the blade by his side. To let everything burn. That was what he needed.

Sudden drift of air as the door of the inn opened, and blew out the candle at his table. His fingers, only part of his body beside his face that wasn't hidden under armor, snapped, and begun burning with a bright white fire. His lips twisted into a grin as he lit the candle again, and the flame disappeared.

Dram watched the little trick with the candle when it was snuffed out and reignited once more with little more than what seemed to be a snap of his fingers.  Good gods, a mage.  Dram inwardly rolled his eyes and gave a huff over his goblet of water, coughing a little.  The dancing was a decent distraction, but it wasn't enough.  Dram's fingers itched for a pocket to pick, something anything that might make a decent haul and then be out of here like the wind!

And just when he was about to give up and step out, a glass shattered at the head of the room and the sound reverberated through everyone, of growls and grunts of a man hitting the floor with a thud.  The other man that struck him stood over him and there was a sudden growl from another man beside him and his arm went around the first assailant, knocking him to the ground.  "HEY!  That's my friend!" he howled.

From one friend to another and another and another, the brawl began to grow fervent and spread like wildfire among the drunk patrons.  One chair went sailing through the air and was aimed directly for the elf's head in the corner.

In but a short moment, Athran bent down and avoided the chair, which flew over his back and shattered as it hit the wall behind him. His feet sled off the table and he stood up, as tall as he was, reaching after two long knives on his back. Something like this wasn't worth getting his hands dirty, but blades are sharp to be adorned by blood... He slipped through the crowd, holding his elegant, but deadly weapons close to himself, searching for the fool that threw a chair at him.

His bright eyes flashed underneath his hood as he jumped onto one of the tables, getting a better view at the fight, when all of a sudden, someone crashed into the wooden board and knocked the table over right after Athran rolled off its surface. No more tables.

Almost everyone was avoiding him, as if something kept the drunkards away, till one of them, daring enough, smacked his back with a jug. Athran immediately turned around and slashed his knives against him, hitting the jug, which broke into countless shards. He breathed in. This wasn't enough. He will kill someone before he even realizes it happened... It's time to get out.

The chaos that quickly ensued had Dram backing away in a corner and quickly looking for the fastest exit from the violent heart of it.  Yes, the Randy Peach was the friendlier of the brothels, people from far away came to have a good time.  But this, this was getting out of hand even for the dark elf. 

Dram ducked from a man wielding a beer glass and his fist quickly came up, smashing into the man's gut, making him double over.  Then his eyes set on the patron with the rather smashing looking sword.  Dram inwardly grinned.  It was indeed a find.  And while it seemed the patron was busy making his own exit, Dram took a running leap forward, jumping on one of the tables still standing, then leaping across the crowd to the other.

As he zigzagged across tables that still stood, his leg bumped into Athran's shoulder, hopefully hitting him hard enough to make him flinch, all the while his hand had swept low enough to snatch the hilt of a weapon from his belt, and Dram quickly made a beeline for the stairs.  Hopefully before the poor sod even noticed!

Something flashed nearby, a dark silhouette that appeared next to him for a short moment. Athran stepped aside as a part of it knocked against his shoulder, but he didn't leave the hand, swiftly moving by his side, unnoticed. And suddenly, his sword was gone - all he saw was a figure, racing towards the stairs.

Bright flames appeared on the tips of his knives. He wasn't angry. He was enraged, furious beyond comprehension, and if he was a flame, then this would be a forest fire. With a few long leaps he got to the staircase, kicking and throwing aside the fighting drunkards. He'd get his sword back, even if he'd have to behead half of the brothel. It was a great weapon, very precious to him, and the thief just got into a problem.

When I find him, I will burn him alive and rip his head off! Stealing weapons from students was one thing, and trying to rob him was another. The second one was something for a thief to regret.

By the time he got to the stairs, his blades were completely covered in blazing white flames. The hood sled off his head, only strings of his long hair partly covered his face, and his eyes reflected the hungry flames, further twisting them with his bloodthirsty thoughts.

"If you give it back willingly, I will let you go!" he shouted.

Dram barely cast a glance over his shoulder before the words escaped his lips.  "Damn the gods!" he breathed.  But one flaming fool wasn't going to stop him from making his escape and his feet were agile enough to scale the steps in little more than two bounds and he vanished up toward the second floor.  If he could make it toward the window, he would be outside and deep into the forest before the man could even step on his shadow.

He wasn't in any position to allow himself to become distracted with conversation with the man he just robbed.  Who just so happened to become a flaming maniac with a temper as hot as his flaming eyes.

Athran's long legs took the steps by three as he rushed upstairs, chasing after the thief. The wood beneath his feet was catching fire, which was now blazing in small flames on his hands just as around the blades he held in them. When he catches him, he'll make him regret being born. He'll make breathing itself a painful experience for him.

Very painful.

If there was something in this world he prized, it was his sword and Maigrod, and everything else was trash, junk and worthless existences he didn't care about. He will have his weapon back, it didn't matter how, but he will get it back.

The figure of the thief appeared in front of him. He reached out, slashing his blades towards his back, and kept running after him.

"Accursed filth!" he screamed. "Give it back! I will tear your head off your shoulders!"

"Gods!" Dram howled, feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck already becoming singed from the intensity of the heat, never mind the proximity.  Dram had seen powerful magics in his time, and those that relied on them could turn into some nasty business when the time came down to it.  And the fact that this man could encase his entire body in flame, only made Dram want to get away all the more.

"It's just a sword, man!" Dram cried back as he made for the window at the end of the hall.  When he was within six feet of it, he launched himself forward and he slammed through the glass, smashing it to pieces as he dove down into the darkness below.  Dram had done enough acrobatics in his time to land in a graceful roll and continue bolting down toward the edge of town.

"It's my sword! I forged the blade with my very own hands!" Athran shouted. The blade never rusts, it's razor-sharp, and harder than any common piece of weaponry one could find around here.

There was only a hole in the glass left behind the thief. He didn't hesitate - he didn't even think about it - and jumped straight through it, ripping nothing but edges of his cape on the sharp shards. He plunged into the darkness underneath and landed on his bent legs, ready to spring to his feet and continue chasing the robber.

He leaped off the ground and sprinted after him with all the speed he had, fast enough to keep up with a horse, driven by the fire of his anger. His blades were leaving traces of fire in the air, and every moment just made them burn brighter. Athran let the fire spread all over his body, cover him like an exquisite garb. It seemed like it fed on nothing but his will and emotion, burning the air itself.

Everything will burn, if he doesn't get his sword back.

"Then I'm sure you could make another one!" Dram called back once more.

Damn the gods!  With the firey terror hot on his ass - quite literally - Dram bolted and weaved between buildings and stood in the middle of an alleyway.  A series of crates stood in his way, and he saw the only avenue was up and over them, but there was little time for that as he leapt onto one of them and up over another until he vaulted himself over the roof of the nearest building.

Rooftops always proved to have a greater range of mobility without having corners or walls to close you in, and the greater vantage point with which to view his escape.  Dram's muscles worked tirelessly to reach the edge of town, which seemed just within view as the Draconi forest creep closer and closer toward him.  Though his heart beat wildly, he was in no position to stop.

He leapt off the edge of one building, landing on another and another in an effort to put as much distance between him and his pursuer.

"I'm sure you could steal another one! I'm damn sure you'd be better off robbing rich ladies!" Athran screamed after him. He followed him through the labyrinth of buildings, burning like a torch, until he found himself before a bunch of crates. A dark shape flashed on the rooftops.

Athran threw himself into the air and jumped off the crates onto the closest roof. It may have been an advantage for the thief, but it was also an advantage for him - with his feet, barely touching the ground, he crossed from one roof onto another in long leaps, and there were hardly any obstacles to avoid. He could see the robber with his sword afar, aiming towards the forest.

He felt his muscles burning, as tense as a bowstring, but he wouldn't stop even if it was a hundred times as strong. He was on fire, the wild flames were consuming the air around, and he thanked whatever gods there may be for that gift. He cursed it as a child, but it was a blessing, a wonderful force... A perfect weapon.

The thief was getting closer, he could even recognize his sword in his hands. The knives in his hands once again slashed after his legs, only narrowly missing. Darn it! I'll get you, and I'll get you soon...

"Damn you! Give it back, or I'll show you what it means to burn! And you'll be burning your sorry ass till you'll plead for mercy!" Cursing, not cursing, he didn't care about the words that came out of his mouth. All he cared about was to get his sword back.

Dram, too, could run like the wind and wouldn't tire.  Certainly not so soon.  Though which each word coming out of his mouth as a distraction, he knew he was slowing down increment by increment.  And each increment could be one step closer to being thrown through death's door.  When he could feel the heat of the knight's blades slashing toward his legs, Dram knew it was now or never.

"ENOUGH!" he bellowed and turned abruptly but kept his distance, as he was but a few steps over the ledge of his current building.  "All that anger?  For a sword...  Gods, I hate to see when someone robs your house," Dram scowled.

He wasn't one to give up so easily, but he was too smart and lived to long to fight unnecessary battles, so he tossed the sword back at the flaming man.  "Take it.  Worthy little more than a paltry sum on a good day, I guess.  Sometimes might be worth dying for, but certainly not that.  I've wielded better blades."

Athran caught the blade and let most of the flames on his body cool down, except for those on his hands.

"It took you a long while to realize that it's not a good idea. You think you've wielded better blades, but I doubt it. You don't know how I made it. It's worth more than your money bag could bear, I guarantee that." He caressed the weapon in his hands, giving it a glance more fit for a lover, than a blade.

"It's not possible to rob my house. I don't have a house. The sword and other weapons is all I have. You'd be off your mind if someone would try to take something like that from you, too, especially if it spent two centuries with you." his voice was hard, but there was a little bit of sorrow between his words, barely possible to hear.

"I'd sell the king's palace for this sword. It slices iron, if I try." He shook his head, once again looking at the blade with passion and emotions.

"But I'm sorry for you if you have to rob others for living. You know, assassins and warriors for hire still earn more."

Dram almost scoffed at the man, but was still wary of his predicament to do so.  The fact that this man cherished his blade so much, amused and befuddled him, but he supposed it wasn't too far from the truth.  Warriors often grew attached to their blades and weapons for lack of better company.  Dram himself was quite fond of the kopis that lay tied across his back.  His hand was tempted to reach for it, but kept his hands along his sides.

"Sounds useful," he replied dully.  "Then perhaps you should keep it better tied to your person.  You might drop it by accident one day."  His voice was gruff and he steadied his breathing, keeping an eye on the flames.

"But keep your pity for yourself.  You seem to need it anyway.  We all make our own way in the world.  Assassins and warriors would never dare to dream of the treasures I've discovered."

Athran winged off. "Garbage in backstreets and ill-earned coins you call treasure? You deserve the pity more. I have my own treasure. I don't need to find my way, I make it, create it." He crossed his arms on his chest.

"You should be careful not to rob someone who will 'accidentally' prove more dangerous than you expected. I don't care about thieves as long as I get my stuff back, but there are others of different opinions. Be careful."

He felt no compassion towards the thief, but the anger left him, and left but a cold wasteland inside him, a burned plain of what could once have been mercy. A part of him wanted to help him, and the other part simply wanted to get drunk and black out in the nearest inn.

"I'd recommend you to go rob merchants, they're too fat to see their feet and pouches, hanging off their belts. Go to the market. They don't deserve the darned money anyway. You'd do everybody a favor if you robbed them. I have nothing you can take." He snarled.

Dram laughed inwardly at the man.  For this kind of humor hadn't come to him in a great long time.  He almost smiled at the man, that had since allowed his fire to cease, but just gave him an amused quirk of his brow.  He brushed the top of his standing mohawk and he shook his head.

"You are so quick to judge, but your lack of any true wisdom betrays you," he replied and gave a tired sigh.  "But I'm always prepared for anything and everything.  In the least, your blade is not worth dying over, if its any consolation."

Dram back toward the ledge and stared down toward the darkness below.  "I've got my eyes on the prize.  Well, you got your blade back.  Go on then, be satisfied."

Athran laughed and shook his head. "I never said it's worth dying for, if only by dying you don't mean the death of others. Which is certainly worth it. It was a mere amusement for me... I wasn't even close to risking anything."

"My wisdom cannot betray me. I have none. I lost all in madness... The world is wide and one is quick to lose his sanity on its crooked, dark paths. Don't lose yours." he said, his eyes glinting with the last remnants of fire, burning on his hands, as he returned his sword to his belt. He turned his back to the thief.

"Farewell. Good luck with robbing merchants. I hate those idiots, but they pay well for a killer."

With those words he begun walking away, humming a song to himself.

"I promise I won't lose any sleep over it," Dram shrugged and vaulted himself off the ledge of the building and with a soft flutter, he landed on Bane's back and flew off toward the trees.

He picked a coin from his money bag and threw it after the thief. "Hey! Buy yourself some ale..." he shouted, but then shook his head at himself. He was probably long gone and has neither seen, nor heard him.

Athran sled off the roofs shortly after, aiming for the closest inn in a hope to find strong wine and a bed to sleep in through the night.

Trying to start a conversation with a thief. Am I not clever? More like mad. What have I been doing? I should have taken my sword and let him go... I hope he's not following me.

He glanced over his shoulder, but there was only darkness.

I still feel a bit sorry for him, though. I got my sword back, but almost roasted him alive.

It would be weeks before Dram would ever find himself in Ketra again.  This time at least for a greater reason than looking for some easy pocket to pick.  He'd long forgotten that man with the manic flames in his eyes and body.  Just a bad dream from somewhere far away.  Ketra now would serve as the meeting place between himself and a contact that had a particular item of grave interest.  Certainly something to hold the interest of a thief looking for a score much bigger than paltry sum of a miser's purse.

His return came quietly when dusk fell on the silent city, Bane swooping over the rooftops and dropping him gracefully on the slope of a tavern. Dram waited to see the great eagle flew off toward the surrounding forest before moving his way down toward the bottom of the ledge, to slip into the window that had been opened for him.  The sounds of the inn clanged up through the floor boards from the ground level beneath him, and from the sounds of it, patrons were plenty distracted to pay any heed to him coming downstairs.

Dram slipped to the lower floor with casual ease and soon made his way toward the basement door where he was to meet his contact, Ector Maro.  After a series of one knock here, followed by a long three second pause, two knocks, then one again, Dram was granted entry into the dank and smelly confines of the basement. 

He found himself in dim lighting, wood steps creaking underneath his weight as he came down.  The air was afoul with mold and perhaps some rotten food that the innkeeper had forgotten to clean out, or was trying still to sell it.  Despite the smell, the men residing below the bar didn't seem to mind as they smoked and drank and cursed and spat over an intense game of cards.  They hardly noticed the dark elf until one of them perked up.  A rolled cigar hung from his mouth, smoke billowing up and out of it, and he peered up at Dram with dark eyes.  He grinned and snapped his fingers toward a man behind him.  "Oy!  Tell Maro the elf is here!" he said and when the man vanished into the room on the side, he went back to his card game, anteing up.

Dram was directed to follow the grunt that opened the door and he was led into a backroom and the door was closed behind him.  "So you're the Hawk, eh?  Ahahaha!  I'm glad to see you made it in one piece," Maro said in a gravelly voice.  He wasn't a very tall man, but he was stout and with a barreled chest and powerful arms that clasped Dram's hand tightly when he shook it.  Dram wasn't too enthused about the direct contact, but he supposed the sooner it was over with the better.  "Honestly, I thought you'd be taller."

"Yeah, everyone wants to be taller, when they really should be smarter.  But we both know I didn't come here to exchange clever quips.  Do you have the map?" Dram asked.  His red eyes narrowed and measured the man before him, who just laughed and moved across the room toward the chest in the corner.

"Straight to the point, I can respect that.  No reason to make this anymore drawn out than it has to be.  Do you have the payment?

"You know I do.  Show me the map."

Maro gave him a breathy laugh and removed a scroll container from the chest.  Popping off the top, he pulled the map out and carefully spread the parchment across the table.  The map was delicate looking and covered in dust which Maro promptly blew across the room and presented the parchment to his prospective buyer.  "See!  Just like I told you!  It's in rough shape, to be sure, but I know for a fact that this is the old map leading right to the Mynorian Ruins.  And there are no copies.  The price is as we agreed."

Dram's eyes narrowed.  "How do I know you didn't already make a copy?"

Maro seemed to find that devastatingly amusing.  His laugh, however, was really starting to get on the Umbraeon's nerves.  "I knew you would ask such a thing, but making a copy by present methods, getting all the discreet markings accurately would be next to impossible without destroying the original.  At least not with the rabble I have to work with here.  Now are you still interested or what?  Let me see the gold."

Dram gave him the ghost of a smirk and produced the heavy coin purse from his belt.   He set it on the table and shoved it toward him just as Maro grinned and rolled the map back up to be placed in the tube.  But something about his smile that unnerved Dram and his eyes bored deeply into Maro's that he saw his reflection, and behind him came a rope wrapping around his neck.  Dram had no time to react when the goon who had first showed him into the room wrapped it tighter around his neck in an effort to strangle him, but luckily his hands had come up fast enough to place his thumbs underneath the wire before it closed around his neck.

Dram instinctively threw his back at him, running him backwards into the wall and knocking the breath out him and loosening his grip.  He felt like his head was going to explode with the air that was force from his lungs.  Maro, snatched the coinpurse and reached for a dagger he had on his belt, his smile growing even more amused at watching Dram struggle.

"What!?  Don't give me that look?  Did you really think I'd let you walk away with something so valuable as that map?  Hahahaha!"   His laughter echoed in Dram's mind.

The dark elf scowled and just when the man came forward to run him through, Dram's legs shot up, feeling his neck strain as he used the man as a counter weight.  Dram used his feet to catch the knife between his ankles and twisted his hips around to break his grip; though from Maro's cry, Dram could tell it was force enough to break his wrist. Dram dropped his legs, nearly losing consciousness from the force of the wire, and used the momentum to toss his assailant over his head.  Dram coughed and scrambled for the knife, plunging it deep into his throat.  Red was the last he saw before he reached for the map, tossing the string over his shoulder and bashing through the door that had been closed.

But the men outside the backroom were at the ready, and didn't seem like they were going to be letting him out without a fight.  Dram stood back and pulled out his kopis.  Outnumbered ten to one...this wasn't a fight.

This was going to be a bloodbath.

The screams began when the first man attempted to club him.  Dram ducked beneath the blow and slashed the sword across his belly.  All he wanted to do was make it to that damned door!  Dram gritted his teeth and dashed toward the table, throwing it up and over into the crowd as they scrambled around him.  With one good bash, the bolt broke loose for his body was not of the fragile fabric of the human coil, and the iron bolt was rusted and brittle and snapped in his desperation, and he stumbled upstairs toward the main tavern room, with a queue of bloodthirsty rabble behind him.

A pair of heavy, rugged black boots jumped and thudded on the biggest of tables, right in the middle of the main tavern room, crossing with two much smaller and cleaner shoes. Loud singing and clapping in rhythm echoed in the stale air, as Athran turned around in a fast dance with some woman. They danced and they sang, holding their jugs with one hand while the other was entwined with each other's and placed on their hips. He was singing as loudly as he could, his melodic voice grasping the song much better than the drunkards around, and he saw the woman grinning at him.

The business was going well, better than well. It was the first time in several weeks when his money bag was clinking with coins, full and heavy, and he could even afford new clothes that didn't altogether stink from wine, dust and his own body. Off course, it was no clean business, not at all. Rich nobles pay well for a silent, deadly assassin, and his sense of honor and loyalty to his homeland was long lost, drowned in the blood he spilled in his youth, when he still believed that idle talk like a fool. Now he was older and wiser, and cared naught who he was killing - only how much is it worth.

During the last three days, he was constantly busy, and money was raining like in a summer storm. He didn't waste it, though - he slept in the same rooms and ate the same food as when he hardly had an iron coin in his pocket. He spent all on weapons and armor, the most precious things to him.

But no matter how good the business was, he had to keep it secret. Nobody could know what he's up to, nobody could even speculate what he's up to - and so he spent every evening, just like today, pretending to be completely drunk, black out in his room, and then disappeared through the window. It was going well, and everybody seemed to believe...

There were some that were suspicious of his sudden money, especially merchants and traders, but for those, he didn't care, since their wits were slow and they knew little of the ways of the world. He was hidden before the world, living in the night when nobody is watching. Knight-not knight, he'd trade the remains of his honor for a mountain of gold any day.

He raised his hand, clutching the jug, to his mouth, and pretended to drink, but instead just spilled everything around in their fierce dance. It didn't take long till he stumbled down from the table and walked to the counter, asking for more wine with a wide grin on his face.

"Let it rain..." he laughed. The innkeeper pulled a pretended smile at him, but rolled his eyes when he turned his back to him. Athran was nothing but a lost existence that can't hold himself to him, but he was paying well, and as long as a customer pays, their life is irrelevant.

He returned to dancing. Someone tossed him a lute, and he didn't hesitate to play it, strumming the rugged strings. The time came when the night was darkest, and he dropped everything and strode towards the door.

A dark man with wide shoulders stopped him in the doorway, pointing a dagger at his chest.

"Where do you think you're going, spear-ear?" he growled. Athran popped his eyes out, unable to let out a sound.

Thoughts were racing through his mind. He could simply grab his wrist with the knife, break it, take the knife and kick him into the mud. The option of stabbing him was also simple... But then he would get into serious trouble. After four successful assassinations he couldn't be found like this, revealed by attacking some commoner.

What did the man even want off him? Did someone know about his affairs and dirty work? Oh good gods... If someone knows, there will be a lot of work and a lot of bloodshed. He only really, really hoped it wasn't that.

If someone knew, he'd be most likely dead, or hanging in chains somewhere in dirty, wet dungeons. He still remembered the irons on his wrists from when he was chained for the last time... And it wasn't something he'd like to repeat, but imagining his head severed from his body was a worse thought.

He gulped. His hand sled to a hidden knife in one of his pockets. If this man tries to do anything, he'll stab him...

Dram rolled over one table and threw himself under another as the men came after them.  Maro soon followed, shouting obscenities off the top of his lungs (and nursing his arm), as Dram scrambled to his feet, coming out from the other end of the table.  The last thing Dram wanted was to get cornered.  So when the men attempted to surround him, his blade slammed into the first man at his right, sending sparks everywhere.  He shifted his weight forward and knocked him back into a few others, before driving his blade home into his gut.  He groaned and fell, rolling over onto his side.

Dram needed to escape, and escape quickly, but with as many as there were, he wouldn't make it to the stairs and to the open window that had served as his avenue of entry.  Damn him if the only way out seemed to be front door, and –gods be damned – of course there was a body in the way.  Dram wasn't about to let that stop him however.

Another sword came from outside of his view and slashed him across the arm.  Dram grit his teeth as the edge opened his flesh and he swung his kopis down right to left, severing that arm and clashing with another.  Sword play was never among his favored activities, and Dram knew it wasn't one he could afford to appreciate now as the noose was getting tighter around his neck.

Two more came from the left and he stepped up on the wall, vault off to kick him across the face, spinning him over and tripping the man behind him.  Dram dove for that opening and headed for the door, bashing into the man, or he would have if he hadn't gotten a look at his face.  "YOU!" he howled and backed away.  Dram's eyes narrowed and his muscles surged with adrenaline, just as the remaining goons came after him.

Now was as good a time as any to head for those stairs.

Athran stared over his shoulder at Maro and his men. They were the last people he wished to see right now, and he was doubtless they sent the brute that was blocking his way out, too. If anyone knew about his dirty business, it was them, and he was in no way on easy terms with them. Any meeting was guaranteed to end in bloodshed and violence. And possibly a few deaths.

"Good evening, Maro." he proceeded to let out, while he silently pulled out a pair of daggers with long, curved blades. Someone from the brutes yelled something rude about elves.

Athran stopped staring at Maro's hateful face and bolted towards the stairs, kicking and slashing everything that got into his way. A hand grabbed his ankle, and it was immediately cut by the blade, and would have been severed if its owner wouldn't pull it back. Someone threw something at him, missed, and he continued his way towards the stairs.

One of the men skewed his own knife into Athran's left hand. He dropped the dagger, cringing in pain, but despite having a hole in his flesh, he didn't stop. "Accursed filth! Rot with the damned rats in the cellars, where you belong!" he shouted. Sparks of flames were starting to appear on the tip of his remaining dagger. He heard Maro shouting something, but except a few curses, he hardly recognized his words in the surrounding noise.

He was already by the stairs, when a huge mass of muscles blocked his way upstairs. "You're done with your dirty business, Daineth!" the brute growled. And in the moment after, he had Athran's shin, and the metal plate that covered it, in his crotch. The man howled in pain and collapsed onto the steps under his next blow, bleeding from a deep stab wound on his neck.

Athran's mind was screaming the worst curses that just came onto his mind, and he payed attention to nothing but the staircase before him - now his only way out. He hardly even noticed what - or who - brought Maro and his men up there.

The only good thing to come from that Flamehead seemed to be making himself a distraction.  Dram could tell from the sounds behind him after he bounded up the stairs that for the moment his pursuers were halted, giving him precious seconds to reach the room at the end of the hall.  It was too bad it was short-lived relief and soon the men were already upstairs, or what was left of them. 

Maro's men were dogged and vicious and once they were on Athran's tail, it wasn't long before they were on Dram's too.  "Get those dogs!" Maro bellowed, spitting in all directions.

But Dram had something waiting for him as he stood at the end of the hall.  He'd taken a throwing knife from his belt and the dark elf's eyes narrowed.  They honed in on Maro and singled him out in the crowd of assailants and let it fly.  Athran might feel a gust of something zip past his head, but the knife was not meant for him.

A gurgling sound emerged and the thin knife stuck out from Maro's neck as he choked on his own blood.  Dram didn't smile despite making his mark.  His attention was taken by an oncoming sword that he ducked beneath.  Thrusting the kopis forward, Dram rose as he did so, slashing his assailant from belly to throat.  There was no more time to lose and Dram dove for the room.

"Hey!  Flamehead! This way!" Dram growled, climbing out the window and using the ledge to spring up to the ledge of the roof.  He knew the knight could probably chop his own way out, but for the moment he supposed they had a common enemy and it wasn't going to be long before the guards started prowling the place and Dram didn't want to stick around when they did.

Athran quickly climbed out of the window and onto the roof after Dram, although cringing every time he grabbed something. He managed to pull himself up and stand up again, and follow the dark silhouette before him.

"Thanks for dealing with that rat," he groaned. Seeing Maro dead was one of the goals he had for a few years already, and he didn't care who did it - the plain fact that he was about to rot and decay soon was enough for him.

In the meantime, he changed the dagger, meant more for hunting, rather than serious fights, for one of the long, sleek scimitars on his back. He kept the blade from burning, what would only give them away, but prepared to set it on fire anytime. If there was one thing he knew, then that was that they would follow them. At least surely after killing Maro.

And then there were guards. If not the brutes, guards would surely search and follow, and attention from them was just as unwanted. He couldn't afford to be caught - as a knight, he could even get executed. Vision of his own head in a basket flashed before his eyes once again, disgustingly realistic, and he shook his head to chase it away.

All he had to concentrate on now was running. Sprinting up and down the roofs, leaping over the streets underneath, just escaping for his damn life. He heard the men shouting from the window behind... He had to run, and he did run - oh, how did he run. Anything not to get caught by anyone. Athran prized his own neck above anything in this world.

He didn't know why he did it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  There were alarms raised in the streets, for there was never a guard nearby when you needed one, but there always seemed to be one in convenient distance when they were least desired.  Dram just bolted after the knight as he ran haphazardly over the roofs of Ketra like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Hey!  Flamehead, wait a moment!" Dram hissed after the knight, but it was too late as voices called out signaling men on the rooftops.  There was no time to wait and Dram looked down along the side to see guards were rallying off and organizing to cut off all points of exit to the ground below.

Dram leapt in lieu of Athran and skidded to a halt when large ladders were suddenly thrown against the ledges and men began to scale them to halt and impede their escape.  Dram scrambled to his feet and ran toward one of the ladders, shoving his body against it to throw it off the ledge.  The attempt was successful, but it was one of many and they were climbing faster and faster.

Ladders were springing from the ground in numbers too great to kick them off. While he would be running from one, another would appear. This was useless... Like this, they will only get caught, and very fast.

When muscles aren't of any use, rely on the mind... And Athran got an idea that may just work. If it would, nobody would get to the roof where they stood. In that moment, he only prayed to gods in which he himself didn't believe that it will work.

"Back! Step back from that!" he shouted. His hand clenched around Dram's shoulder and pulled him away from the ladder. "Keep away from them, if you don't want to end up like a pile of ashes!"

All of a sudden, flames burst from the tops of ladders. They burned brightly, turning from orange through white to bright blue in a matter of moments, and reached high into the night with their tips. The heat from them was searing so much that even Athran could feel it on his skin, though standing far from the fires, and they quickly begun consuming the wood on which they were set.

"I can do this on and on till there's not one ladder left in whole of Ketra..." he groaned, "But if they bring something else, we're as good as dead, I'm afraid."

Dram didn't know what else the city could throw at them, but despite Athran's show of fire, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the men devised some sort of plan to get them off the building.  As the ladders burned to ashes and were scattered away by the winds, even more came, and braver men that had not fallen when the others taken flame, began to climb once more.

It was almost hopeless, but Dram knew the longer they waited there the less their chances were of escape.  "I have an idea!  Follow my lead!" Dram said.  And he ran for the edge of the building.  Just as two ladders sprung into view, the dark elf ran into one of them  and pushed it off.  But he hung onto it and used the ladder like a giant stilt.  The men stood back before they could climb it and stared back in awe as Dram balanced the ladder underneath him, holding it perfectly perpendicular to the ground and using it to maneuver through the streets, twisting it around, balancing one leg on the ground, then twisting it as he landed on the other and so forth, and stepping between the rungs to keep the ladder moving underneath him.

This certainly beat waiting around for them to get caught.  Not to mention was quickly becoming a hell of a lot of fun.  Dram looked down, watching the guards chasing after the rickety latter, and one of them wielding a rather large ax, looking to get close enough to chop the ladder into firewood.

Athran only stared at Dram in wonder, as he used the ladder itself to escape. Something like that was impossible for him, since although he didn't lack the agility, his heavy armour, chainmail shirt and clinking weapons would not let him perform it. Ladders were springing around him, and more men were already climbing up.

There was hardly anything left for him to do - anything that would not result in him dead, or caught. In desperation, he threw himself against one of the ladders, despite a man already climbing it. It flipped over, slowly collapsing towards the ground, with the elf's figure perched atop it.

Athran held onto it tightly, but right before his end hit the ground, he let go and leaped into the air. Only a moment later, the two planks of wood, holding the rungs, broke in half with a loud crash. The guard on its other end hit the ground with his back and didn't move, but the knight managed to land on the street without any harm greater than hitting his arm.

He quickly sprung to his feet and raced towards the dark elf, who was still crossing the streets on the ladder. One of the guards was, however, most likely about to chop it to pieces with his axe - or would have been, if Athran wouldn't have set him on fire. Tall flames burst out of his body, and he immediately dropped down and begun rolling on the ground, screaming.

But that was just one man, and others were already beginning to catch up with Athran, no matter how fast he ran. He had only one scimitar ready... And one weapon isn't enough for so many men.

It will have to be.

His feet left flaming footsteps on the ground. If he'd try, he could slaughter half of the guards in this part of Ketra... Even though he hoped it won't come to that, Athran Daineth was not helpless.

"Come and get me, if you want me, drunken rats! And die in fire!" he screamed.

His means of escape was convenient in many ways a couple of which included that allowed him to gain a great deal of ground, and also in that it cleared the general path - most people didn't want to get knocked down or crushed beneath a swinging ladder.  But even Dram didn't know how long it could last as Athran ignited the man with the axe like he was little more than a moth snuffed out by the candle flame.  He almost laughed in amusement, but he had to concentrate on balancing the ladder as he swung it again.

Good gods, what a thrill!  It wasn't quite like flying through the air on a giant eagle, but it was an almost suitable substitute for the time being.  But if Dram thought his escape was going to be that easy, he had another thing coming.

A guard, he had not forseen had some with another axe, as large as the other man had before and swung it down on at least five rungs, but the motion was enough to make the rickety ladder crack and splinter and Dram felt the ladder give way underneath him.  The bottom legs split apart and forced the other rungs to break or fall out of place as well.  Many of the bottom rungs look like steps, and Dram placed his feet on them, in order to keep himself stable.

Dram balanced on his left as he swung the right one outward and slammed it into the guard that broke it, knocking him into a building.  "HEY!  Flamehead!" he hollered.  "HOP ON THE BOTTOM RUNGS!  Leave the rabble behind.  They're just doing their jobs!"  At least now with the rungs dismantled, he had greater range of movement and could maneuver through the streets much more easily than before.

But just as he did that, a hammer smashed into the wood of the left stilt part of the ladder and Dram came plummeting to the ground, smashing the scroll container on his back, and feeling the breath knocked out of him.  His vision split double as he opened his eyes before him, seeing the man that knocked him down, wield the hammer overhead and prepare to smash his face in.

Athran was already prepared to join Dram on the rungs of the ladder, when one of the guards rushed in from behind a corner, and bashed it with his hammer. Dram's figure collapsed from it, and landed on the ground.

The elf leaped to the air, as high and far as he could possibly throw himself, flying like . His legs hit the man into his back, and Athran kicked him down, landing on his body. His sharp scimitar skewed into the guard's neck, and the deep wound meant an instant death. Only when he turned back, he felt another man's sword on his own neck.

"Both of you are under arrest!" he roared. Athran didn't make a sound, only slowly turned his head back. The blade was right above his shoulders... And therefore, on his chainmail shirt. "Come and claim me, if you want, then!" he growled.

His arm slashed back, but the guard grabbed his wrist and twisted it. Athran turned back, kicked him under his ribs, and quickly stood up. Even though his right hand was still in the man's grip, he raised his left fist, and despite the pain that caused him even a simple move like that, he punched him. The guard stumbled back, but Athran cringed, barely standing. Black clouds were dancing before his eyes. He blinked, staring into the darkness of night, blinded by pain.

Another couple of men was already ready behind his back. A circle of fire sprung from the ground, but it was late - one of them was over the blazing border. Athran had only a few options left. He refused to set himself on fire, not wishing for the flames to consume Dram along with the guards, and kept the fire on his blade, instead turning around and slashing everything around as fast as he could. The white flames only flashed through the air like a distorted smudge, burning on the edge of his weapon, and guards stepped back. For a short while, they kept back. Athran offered Dram his hand.

"Come. I may get us through... It will be a bloodbath, but I can get us through." he growled.

And in the next moment, he collapsed onto the ground, as a spear, thrown over the fire, struck him in the back.

Dram, recovering from the daze of his fall, clasped wrists with the pale elf and pulled himself to his feet.  His head throbbed and his double vision soon relaxed and set his sights on the blaze that surrounded them.  Flamehead certainly was getting friendly with the fire and already the dark elf was sweating bullets.  The guards were dead set on their capture, and though most of them stood back from the fire, several lingered toward the edge of the circle, ready to risk all to see that these two were brought to justice.

But at the knight's words, Dram grabbed his shoulder.  "Don't.  They're not worth it," he said grimly and stared back at the men.  Many were covered in blood and some that were wounded with burns but still continued to fight, trying to brandish their blades and hide behind their shields for whatever was to come.  Dram peered up at the sky, the stars dotting it and appearing dim in that circle of fire.  But when he saw that spear tearing through the darkness, there was no time even for warning, and he saw the knight fall.

Without the concentration to hold it, the blaze soon fell and the guards were at the ready.  But in the precious seconds before it, Dram had thrown the heavy body of the knight over his shoulder after pulling the spear from it, grunting with the effort and taking his blade in the other hand.  The scimitar had a heavier weight than his kopis but it was not wholly unnatural and Dram tested the weight of it.  The touch was heated but Dram would not allow himself to wince from the pain.

Before the men could close in, Dram sprung his legs high up and over their heads.  His body was much more agile with the lack of heavy armor on him.  Save for the body, he was still strong enough to make it to his extraction point.  But it seemed he would need it sooner rather than later.  When he was over the ring of guards, he ran through the nearest alleyway, zigzagging between buildings and finally finding an avenue to leap up onto the nearest roof.  It wouldn't be long before the guards would find the same route.  The Umbraeon looked out into the sky and gave a loud whistle that sounded like a nightbird.

And then the night bird came.  Within seconds, the guards swarmed him, climbing up to the roof and Dram lingered nearer the edge.  When they moved in closer to him, Dram quickly turned and leaped for the edge, throwing himself over hoping against the gods that Bane would catch them.  The black shape moved over them swiftly, agile and grasping them both in his clawed feet.

Athran awoke to the feeling of cold night wind on his face. He had hardly any memories of what just happened - all he could recall was something hitting him in the back, and falling onto the stone tiles on the road. Other than that, everything was just indistinct darkness.

He supposed he hit his head and that knocked him unconscious, though through all the pain, it was difficult for him to think clearly. He'd have sworn he broke something in the fall. All of his body was like in fire, and there was nothing he could do against it. He groaned.

After opening his eyes a little, he could see a great shape above himself, and claws of a bird clenched around him. What was this supposed to mean? Where was the dark elf, and where was his scimitar? And most important, how did he get into a bird's claws?

The flight felt strange, different from riding a dragon, what was Athran used to. The night bird was not as fast as fierce as Maigrod, and he missed the security of his saddle, but it wasn't completely unknown to him. He knew that the most important thing right now was not to move, both because it caused him pain, and because he didn't want to fall. He supposed it would be a long plunge, and definitely to his death.

"Damn the gods... Where am I?" he whispered. Without knowing if the creature can talk, it wasn't really a question. He just wanted to assure himself that he's not still laying in the streets and this is only another strange dream, but that idea seemed less and less likely. Everything around was way too real - and too painful.

Athran closed his eyes again. It took too much effort to even keep awake.

"Somewhere over the Draconi forest would be my guess," Dram called down from the saddle atop the eagle.  He had climbed up when the gliding speed had lowered and climbed from the eagle's foot to the top of the saddle, but it was too risky to move Athran from where he was within Bane's claw.  At this gentle speed, Dram felt much needed relief from the fighting in the city.

He never did like Ketra much.  And every time he visited the city, his view of the settlement only seemed to worsen all the more.  From the chance meeting with Akenu to the fire and flight out, it only seemed to be a cesspool of poor marks and poorer acquaintances.  At least for now, the knight did not make himself to be a burdensome companion.

"Do you have a name?" Dram heard himself asking over the soft whisper of the winds.

"I have many names." Athran replied. "But most are just empty titles. The one I go by from birth is Athran." He tried hard to speak loud enough for Dram to hear him, but it wasn't easy. His eyes were beginning to close again.

It hardly mattered where they were right now. After all, he had nowhere to go... He was in the same situation in the middle of Ketra as in the forest. The fact that he had unfinished business currently didn't even come to his mind, but even if it would, he most likely wouldn't care. It was just merchants and nobles - not someone that the world would revolve around.

He remained still in the bird's claws. He was still aware that shaking and moving wouldn't help anything...

The world was fading into black again.

Dram had heard him for his ears were sharp and were trained to hone in at the slightest change in sound.  Athran.  The name sounded like an elf's, not that Dram looked forward to meeting many elves in his lifetime.  Most of them were ancient and dull and provided no real wisdom than the preaching of their lore.  Which always amounted to nothing.

Bane flew on gently in silence until they reached a hilltop cave, carved away by unknown prospectors in centuries passed.  Athran was set down gently from the eagle's claw and Dram made a small fire much closer toward the darkness of the cave but not quite within.  Over the fire he was mixing something in a poultice and was setting heat to it until the bluish-green substance became pasty and foul smelling.

"If you're dead, now would be a good time to wake up, Athran," Dram addressed him nonchalantly.   "And reveal your back, this salve should help seal the wound faster and reduce risk of infection."

Athran only let out a silent groan. "I can't... I can't reach it." he muttered. With how his arms felt, there was no chance he could take off his coat. "It didn't... Really hurt me, anyway... I have chainmail shirt on... It only smote me down... I'm not bleeding, not from there..."

The chainmail was a good thing - hardly anything could pierce the iron rings that covered both his chest and back. Athran doubted that the spear left anything but a bruise on his skin. What was much worse was the wound in his left hand. It wasn't the first time he would literally have a hole in his flesh, but it felt as bad as that. He could hardly feel it, and his right forearm has gone completely numb.

Despite the fire, he was starting to feel cold. He turned to the side a bit and pulled his knees to his chest. This wasn't anything new to him... But it was a sign of nothing good. He kept his eyes open as long as he could, but his mind refused to keep awake.

"Why are you doing this? Trying... To help me?" he whispered.

Dram seemed to ignore his question for a time as he helped the elf out of the cumbersome mail.  His expression was hard, stony and mouth a grim frown.  "Bruising or blood, the salve will help you if you don't fight it.  It is unpleasant but you will just have  to deal with it."

He bore the warrior's scars. Burns and blades and the mail indeed had not been completely broken.  Mail could not stop all things but perhaps the spear had been thrown by an unskilled hand and missed his mark.  Dram didn't think of it and took the salve and slapped on a great deal of it.  It would sting to the touch and burn as it cleanse the skin, but he was pretty sure he was used to burns.

Then Dram turned his red eyes to the elf as he spotted the wound on his hand.  "To make us even I guess," he answered at last.  "I don't much care to be in debt with others, whether monetary or otherwise. And for the moment we were companions and I never leave my companions behind."  He took his hand and poured the rest of the salve over it, thickening it mostly into the wound.   "You are almost careless and foolish and will die from it some day.  But that is no matter, death will come for us all.  Some sooner than later."

Athran didn't make a sound despite feeling the wounds burning. It wasn't something he would not be used to, after all, and it was only as bad as if he would try to sew himself up alone. His mind was lingering somewhere between conscience and the sweet, cold sleep of losing it.

"I'm now in debt with you." he whispered. "I'm in debt with so many damn people... I should've been dead." Others saved his neck so many times that he was thoroughly convinced about the fact that alone, he'd be rotting under the ground for a century or two already. "I know it's going to kill me... One day... But I lost all interest..."

The wind felt as cold as ice on his bare skin, but he didn't even cringe, his clouded mind just pushed the thoughts away. All he perceived were the distorted lights of flames nearby, the silence of the night.

Dram peered at Athran with a perplexed expression.  "Then it seems we have something in common.  I am Dram.  Just Dram," he informed him and when his ministrations were done he took a flask of water and offered it to the momentary invalid.  "Drink and rest.  I have small rations that I am willing to spare.  Bread and dried meat."

After that Dram pulled out the map that had survived their battle and carefully unfurled it.  The parchment was delicate and Dram's touch was tender to it, using small rocks to hold down the tattered corners.  He inspected the map and frowned at some of the runic symbols drawn along the side of it.  The map showed a hidden path, or so it seemed into a ruin somewhere in the heart of the Thunderblack mountains. 

"The Golden Door...  What does that even mean," the dark elf mused to himself.  There were several symbols that he could not decipher beside the ones he could, symbols he was unfamiliar with.  He peered up at Athran wondering if he ought to ask, but soon became certain Flamehead just wanted to rest and recuperate.

Athran took the water, but shook his head when Dram offered him food. "I couldn't eat... I'd throw up..." he muttered. "The water will be enough."

After a while, his mind started to clear, and he was finally able to think normally, without losing his thoughts and slipping to unconsciousness every now and then. He noticed the map, and how Dram handled it with great care. It seemed like most maps to him - a scrap of paper with runes and lines of ink all around. However, judging by the dark elf's expressions, he assumed that it was important to him.

He tried to raise himself to his elbows to look at the paper, too, but after a few seconds of effort collapsed back down. Fortunately enough, his eyes noticed what he needed to see - a sketch of mountains and a lot of runes all around. It appeared old and fragile, easily destroyed by a simple careless move.

"What is it for?" he asked.

Dram was interrupted from his musings and he peered up at the tired form of Athran.  Though he would have initially been defensive of his find, at this moment the Flamehead was harmless.  Dram moved and helped him up, at least until he could get a better view of the nearly ancient map.  "It leads to a hidden ruin somewhere in the heart of the Thunderblack mountains.  The Mynorian Ruins, I've heard them called.  And if the rumors are true, the home of a legendary treasure trove."

Dram's frowned deepened and pointed toward several runes that he could not decipher.  "These words do not make sense to me.  I know this one is 'golden' and the other 'door'.  Possibly the entrance to the ruins.  But I can't understand the rest of it.  I'm not even sure what language it's in.  Perhaps the rest of these runes can tell how to open the door, or at least a way around it."

Athran nodded. "Some seem familiar to me... Right now, though... I would hardly read normal letters... If you give an hour or two to sleep, I should be able to read them... At least some." The runes before his eyes still appeared a bit distorted, but their shapes weren't completely unknown to him. They reminded him of the old parchments from his father's library, which he was never allowed to touch as a child, but Elesian prized them greatly.

Once again, he peered at the map. "They're old... This type of runes... At least five or six centuries old..." he uttered. "Have you made sure... That there's no hidden writing?" It wasn't unusual for old maps and texts to have parts written in ink that couldn't be normally seen. "It may hide something else..."

"There might be.  I hadn't thought of that." Dram took a closer look at the map and gave a deeper frown at the paper as if staring at it for hours on end would finally convince it to reveal its secrets to them.  "In that case, perhaps it might be better for you to get some rest while I inspect it some more.  You look like you eaten and spat out by a wyvern."

Dram grunted and took a few pieces of bread for himself before taking a small candle he had taken from Bane's saddlebags and lit the wick, using it to get a closer light toward the paper.  But as he did so, the worst of what he feared happened.  The fire flickered and flying sparks toward the paper.  Yet as it struck the parchment, instead of going up in flames, the map flickered and rippled like the surface of water and just as Athran had guess, hidden letters suddenly revealed themselves just beneath the runic writings, spreading across the surface of the map, awakened by a touch of fire.

Athran growled. "I don't  just look like that... I feel like that, too." He dropped down. His eyes were starting to close, and yet as he watched Dram examine the map, his curiosity kept him awake for a little longer. He almost flinched when a spark of fire hit the map, but his lips twisted to a grin just a moment after.

"I told you... Can you read that?" he yawned. It wouldn't be the first map with hidden writing that he would have seen, but it was surely one of the more unusual ones - most revealed their secrets  under moonlight or when put against a flame. Before he could get an answer, however, he was already asleep. It was a relief to forget about absolutely everything and spend the few hours he could spare resting, and one or two hours turned to three.

It was already dawn when he awoke again.

Dram did not sleep and when Athran would awake, the dark elf would look even more haggard than he normally did.  He had studied the map for all those three hours, finding the flame-written letters easier to decipher than the runes that had covered it initially.  He was livid and was casting stones over the cliff's edge when he noticed the knight awakened. 

"All that for nothing!" he growled, kcking a rock over the edge.  He was fuming and when the worst of the steam had passed him he kicked a pebble toward the map and shook his head.  "It's no use.  I read the writing.  Some ancient Fae text to serve as a translation to the runes.  I read it once.  Then I read it again and I read it again and AGAIN!  And the same nonsense every time!  The door can only be opened with dragonfire...  At a certain date at a certain time.  I can manage the day and time but it's not like I can just ask a dragon to tag along with me.  What a waste of time and blood..."

Athran managed to raise himself to his elbows and then proceeded to sit, although he was still cringing in pain. It appeared that he was looking even worse than yesterday, deathly pale, and his hair was everywhere, filthy from blood and dirt, but he found out that he was feeling at least a bit better. He yawned.

"How convenient that I have a dragon." he uttered silently. "Maybe I would be even able to decipher the runes... I learned something when I was young. If I can get over the fact that my head feels like it's about to explode, I should be able to read some parts. I'm not a scholar, though... My knowledge is limited, mostly on forging weapons."

Despite the fact that on the outside, he really did look like eaten and then spit out by a huge beast, his eyes were once again burning with fire. He crawled towards the map and stared at it. "It says something about a gate on a mountainside. It has to be opened with fire, like you said... I can imitate dragon fire... I wouldn't even need Maigrod with me..." Athran narrowed his eyes, peering at the runes. "When the road of the moon crosses with the trace of the sun, golden door will glow in a dragon's flame. That's about how I'd read it. The time and date would be more problematic than the dragon fire."

Dram did not interfere with the other elf's reading for it would seem he had better luck with it than Dram did.  While he was not exactly accustomed to performing scholarly work, Dram would do whatever he must if it meant getting one step closer to whatever lied in those ruins.  Whether it was riches beyond dreams or anything else that was inside it.

When his temper passed and Dram took nourishment on a sip of water and some bites of food, he crouched beside Athran and inspected the paper alongside him.  "I can manage the time and date.  A solar eclipse is what they mean.  Then the door must be ignited  for the entire duration of the eclipse before it will open.  I can track the stars, the next eclipse is coming soon, about less than a month's time.  It's not that I knew it needed one, stargazing is something of a hobby.

"Does it say anything more?  Perhaps the fastest way to get to the door?"

"That wouldn't be a problem for me to keep it on fire... It describes a path through the ruins. There is said to be a staircase between two statues that will lead up the mountainside to a door. The door is half hidden... The path begins in the northwestern part of the ruins. There's something about water... A well I think. That's where it begins. There is an incredible lot of text here, and hardly any information. Just riddles." he sighed, and shook his head. "I don't see any other important bits... But there's only one way to the door, though there is another out. I don't understand that part, it's worded strangely."

His eyes kept tracing along the runes, but he didn't discover anything new. "After all... There's a path in the northwestern part of the ruins. It goes from a well or pool to a couple of statues, and then turns to stairs. The stairs will lead you to a door in the mountain, and if you set the door ablaze with dragon fire over a solar eclipse, it will open." he explained. His voice was silent, but clear.

After a while, he proceeded to stand up and find the directions, even though the sun was gone behind clouds. He turned to where he supposed the ruins were, and peered into the distance. "It's somewhere there. And... Do you have any food?"

Dram listened to the explanation very carefully, standing when Athran did and obseerving where he pointed to the ruins where the Thunderblacks began and would grow darker as smoke and ash cluttered the sky.  It was a start and it was good enough for him at the moment.  But at Athran's peculiar question he furrowed his brows at him.

"I have some..  Though perhaps not enough for the journey without stopping, if that is what you mean.  But I can forage as we travel.  Can't you?"

"I can hunt well. I don't know if I will be able to hunt like this, though... I can't even move my right arm... But I could still set traps." he replied. "I only need a little to keep going. I couldn't eat a lot..." He dropped back onto the ground and pulled his knees to his chest.

"Set traps, shoot wild animals, find plants that are edible. More of the first two... When I get better, I'll hunt for food." he muttered. His aim with a bow was deadly, but right now, he doubted he could even hold an arrow.

"Good.  Then I won't have to carry you," Dram replied with a curt nod.  "Here!  Try eating something.  Muscle it down, whatever you can."  Dram moved toward the bag of rations he had and offered them to Athran.  Then he moved bacl to the map and carefully rolled it back up to stuff it back into the tube for safekeeping.

"I will be back in a few hours.  Keep Bane company.  I don't think you two have been yet acquainted.  He is my mount."  Dram gave a nod to the bird and the eagle squawked before glaring at Athran with a stern eye as was befitting of eagles.

Dram took his blade and belt, equipping them before moving toward the side of the cliff and finding the narrow path that swooped down from it.  "And don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!" he remembered to yell back.

Athran replied with a nod and reached after the bag. His hand managed to pull out a piece of bread and dry meat. It was hard and almost tasteless, but right now, he would eat even his own boots. His eyes were glued to the eagle, perched on the edge of the cliff.

"Well, greetings, Bane." he uttered after a while, and stuffed another piece of food into his mouth. Bane didn't show any sign of perceiving his voice, but as he learned from Maigrod, that could mean about anything. Athran covered himself with his cape and continued eating. The wind was playing with his long hair, picking it up and blowing it into his face.

He ate slowly, and a small piece of food took him a really long time to finish, but in the end, he proceeded to pack Dram's bag back and stood up to move it to the safety of the cave. Staring more at the sky and rocks around than under his feet, he happened to trip over something on the ground and fall straight on his face.

Something cracked in his body, so loudly he though he could actually hear the sound. A silent scream escaped his mouth. His fingers slowly let go off the bag. He could feel tears rolling down his face, and groaned.

Trips over, falls on face, cries. I should be ashamed. He rolled over, facing the sky. There was one good thing on this - he could finally feel his right arm. The bad thing about it was that it was painful. Athran though he was better off before.

The eagle turned to him and squawked. The elf sighed. "Are you laughing at me?"

Bane remained silent once again.

"Well, you have a reason. A fool on the ground." Athran growled. The next few minutes he spent contemplating life and its struggles in silence.

In the hours that it took for Dram to return with the bloody body of a deer hanging over his shoulders and carefully climbing up the mountainside path.  When he reached the top, he dropped the animal down beside Athran and gestured to the animal.  "That should last us a while no?"  he gave a small shrug and half a grin.  "It's better than that horrid bread."

"Here, take a blade a show me how an elf-elf skins a deer.  Might as well make yourself useful.  Just don't turn the damn thing to ash, please."

Athran glanced at the deer. "Nice one you got there... I promise I won't burn it, alright?" His left hand reached to his belt and unsheathed a short dagger. "It may take me a while... Eventually it will be done, though."

He begun to skin it and remove its thick hide from the meat underneath. While only using one hand, it was slow, but part by part, he proceeded to divide them completely. "How did you even get so much blood out of a deer? It's usually just an arrow to the neck and the beast is dead..." he wondered. 

The chunks of meat appeared crimson and thick, placed on the hide. Athran gestured towards them. "Alright. You can cook them. It's ready..."

"I don't readily have a bow, so killing is decidedly more difficult with throwing knifes.  The hide will be of use once the holes are sewn up of course.  I can wield a bow well, but I never put it into consideration to carry one with me.  Food is not always an issue when you are traveling with just a party of one.  And Bane can hunt well enough by himself."

Dram put some spare wood on the fire and stirred the flames with the larger stick before taking the cut slabs of venison and laying them down on piece of leather, rubbing them in salt and pepper until they were properly covered then skewing them on the stick, cooking it slowly and evenly.  "These are cut well.  Who taught you the skill?  Or did you learn on your own?"

"Alone. Like everything. Do I look like someone's apprentice?" Athran growled. "And for the next time, I'll hunt. I have a bow... As you may have seen. Although I may not be able to aim well... I could just borrow it to you. But you know how's it with borrowing weapons. It's not the first thing I'd do. And not gladly." He shrugged. His weapons were always precious to him, as he crafted most of them himself.

He carefully tightened the buckles that held the metal plates on his gauntlets at their place. "As long as this holds all together, I should be able to fight and fire the bow. It's not comfortable, but it'll do. I can't just stand by because of something so stupid..." He looked down. "I've been on the battlefield in a worse state. After all, it may not even come to any fight."

His eyes watched the meat, roasting above the flames, in silence for a while. "At least I hope it won't. I don't want to get stabbed or break anything else." he uttered silently.

Dram grimaced at his tone of voice and peered at Athran as if he were some strange creature that crawled out of the depths, sorry and pitiful.  It made Dram uncomfortable to view anything in such a way, and even more so that it seemed Athran had little else but to feel sorry for himself.  Perhaps it was not the reality, but it certainly was the impression.

"Of course it will lead to a fight," Dram replied grimly.  "And if it doesn't, always be prepared that it might.  Be aware of anything.  And everything."  Dram busied his hand with testing the tenderness of the meat and tasting it for himself.  "And no not worry.  You do not need to suffer lending your bow to me.  I wouldn't take it otherwise.  You're more than attached to your weapons.  I'd hate to see you parted with them."

"And you'll likely get more hurt with an outlook like yours.  Why do you seem to pity yourself so?"

Athran raised a brow, appearing almost amused. "Pity? It's only concern. Look, I was dead before. And I din't like it... I like being alive, but it wouldn't be the same if I'd get messed up bad. It's only concern. I don't want anyone and anything to be sorry for me," he growled, suddenly sounding harsh and cold, "because I know very well what toll I pay for what I am, and I don't regret it! Leave the pity for fools. I'm not that stupid."

He sprung to his feet and turned his back to Dram, a tad enraged that someone even assumed that he would be either unprepared, or feeling something so weak and foolish as pity. "If you think I'm unprepared, you know nothing of me. I'd be prepared in the grave. I'm not sorry for anything, the less my own self."

"And if the fact that I'm trying to help in any sense drives you mad..." he shook his head, and left the rest of his statement for himself. It would only spark another argument.

Dram remained quiet during the elf's moody speech.  Despite the grimace on his face, he did not feel wholly unsympathetic.  He inderstood what he meant, truly, but did not say the words that he did.

"You're right," Dram said quite nonchalantly.  "I do not know you.  But you give off an air of...irritable impotence.  Like you are filled with regret.  Please.  Do not mistake it for judgment.  It is merely my observation.  Though perhaps it is a sign that we should find common ground before we quest together, Pale Elf."

"And forgive me, your soothing bitterness, if I find that your willingness to help seems to drive you more mad than I," Dram said, laughing as he did so.  "Perhaps, instead of parting from your weapons, you craft a new one for one not yourself.  I've seen you parted from a weapon of yours.  You aren't pretty."  Dram smirked in amusement and continued to chuckle as he did so.

Athran grinned at Dram's last statement. "That's the Black Sword. It's special. I can deal with lesser weapons getting away from me - after all, they do get broken and lost - but not the Black Sword. I can never make one like that again." he said, still quietly, but this time with more amusement than rage.

"But I think you're mistaken, when it comes to regret. I never really felt regret... What is there to regret, after all? The past can't be changed. Regret's a waste of time." he winged off.

After a while of staring at the forest, stretching to all sides around the cliff, he turned and sat back down by the fire. His eyes were watching the meat, slowly roasting, unsure whether it's ready, or still needs time... He poked it with his fingers.

Still not ready to eat... "I wish I could eat it raw. I'd eat my own shoes right now." he muttered.

Dram gave a nod.  "Please understand that it was just business, not personal," he explained.  "But makes that sword so special to begin with.  How was your forging different from any blacksmith's?"

"My forging isn't that special. It's good, better than average, but not so significant... It's more about what's the sword made from. Have you noticed how light it is? And have you seen me using it? It's blade is black. It's not made of iron..." Athran shrugged, "I doubt I can find a similar chunk of metal ever again. It's as hard as an adamant, cuts through anything - even dragon scales - never rusts, and remains sharp. I just happened to find that rock and melt it."

He carefully pulled a part of the blade from its sheath and revealed the dark, glinting metal it was made from, along with complicated patterns, twisting and turning like branches of trees, carved into it. "Plus, it took a lot of time to make. Any ordinary blacksmith would have burned himself in the flames where I made it... Fortunately enough, I'm fireproof."

Indeed it was a beautiful blade, and the black metal and complex pattern carvings twirling through it made it all the more gorgeous as Dram took it in.  "No wonder I stole it.  But no, no I haven't seen you fight with it.  I was a little too busy saving my own hide  with my own sword.  It's no where near as glamorous as yours but it is mine and has served me well in my lifetime."

Dram revealed the slender and equally light blade of the kopis, its unusual shape making it ideal for hacking, slashing, and thrusting when needed.  He spun the sword within his hand and smiled at it.  "But I see what you mean.  A warrior ought not be parted from his weapon.  It's just as apart of them as they are apart of it.  Yours is a fine blade.  It won't be a mistake I make twice."

Athran smiled, but it had a hint of sadness in it. "I love this blade more than I loved my wife... That witch, I mean." He hid the Black Sword again. "It needs no sheath, but it's simply too striking to carry it around uncovered. Your weapon is also a well-crafted one... Light, slender, good for many uses. Fits you." he admitted.

"But I'd make sure you wouldn't make the same mistake. I don't usually kill for petty reasons... Try to rob me once, shame on me. Try to rob me twice, shame on you and your grave, if you know what I mean." His smile turned into a rough smirk.

The flames, dancing on the logs, appeared almost fascinating, but not as much as the meat, roasting above them. Athran moved closer, impatient, and the fire turned from red to white, suddenly searing with heat. "When is it done? I can barely cook a thing, but I feel like it's there for long..." He narrowed his eyes, then grabbed one of the flanks with his bare fingers, and pulled it out of the fire.

"I'm eating it raw, I don't care!" he muttered, stuffing his mouth with the hot meat. "You... You don't want, or what?"

At that Dram quickly rose, dropping the meat in the fire and moving toward him like a gust of wind, smacking the meat out of his hand.  "You don't touch it until it is finished, buffoon!" he growled and threw that piece of meat over the side of the cliff.  "To the wolves with you!"  Then he turned to Athran once more.  "I don't need a sickly companion rolling around on his belly because he ate raw meat that wasn't fully cooked.  If you are so eager, here!"

Dram moved toward the fire and stuffed his hand in the flame, not uttering a peep, and snapping off the piece of meat he had been cooking and throwing it Athran.  "Chew, don't gobble.  You're an elf, not an animal."  Dram growled enough again and resumed his former sitting position.  "Grab a stick and help cook the rest of it, you bloody cur!"

Athran caught the meat in the air and clenched his fingers around it. "Ssshhh! Calm down. Do you really think I'm that stupid?" he shook his head and bit into the piece. "If I knew raw meat's not going to do me any good, I wouldn't eat it! I'm used to raw meat. My cooking is so terrible that half of the times I have to roast meat alone it's raw. And I've never gotten sick from it. My stomach can put up with worse things."

He continued eating, more like a hungry beast than a sentient creature, but when he ate half of what he got in his hand, he suddenly stopped. "If I didn't know what I'm doing, I'd be dead long ago..." he winged off. "If you think a piece of raw meat is going to cause me some problems, then you're mistaken."

His eyes, burning like fire above the dark rings that circled them, stared right into Dram's own eyes. "And I may be mad, but I'm not stupid." the black-haired elf muttered. "Don't tell me what to do. I am no child... I have seen half a millenium on this Earth. I am no fool, Dram."

Dram raised a brow at Athan's explanation and he shook his head.  "I apologize for my reaction," he replied gruffly.  "But being a bad cook is no excuse to eat it raw.  Regardless of how long you've been alive.  It is an art and really not that difficult.  I am sorry if I came off too strong, but please.  You are never too old to learn!"

The dark elf got up and moved his meager set of spices between them.  "Here you try, just set the venison in the salt and pepper like so, and just rub it in," he said, demonstrating.  He flipped a new piece of the deer in the salt and pepper.  "And then you let the fire do the work.  When it smells good enough to eat, it is done.  Now you try.  Just don't turn it to ash!"

Athran grinned as he softly grabbed the meat with his thin fingers. "I simply can't figure out how long to leave it in the fire. I burn it, then it's stone-hard. I undercook it, then it's raw..." he explained him, rubbing the slab of meat in salt and pepper. "And then it usually ends up with me eating bread and drinking wine and all my dinner in Maigrod's stomach."

He picked the crimson piece of deer up and held it in the fire, as if the flames weren't touching the bare skin on his fingers. "Besides, don't apologize. As I told you, regret is useless." His head turned back to the dark elf, and carefully watched him, not even blinking once.

"I apologize not because of regret.  But because of courtesy, and respect," Dram pointed out and did not raise his eyes to meet the Pale Elf's.  "Though it does strike me as funny.  You're older than I...and you cannot cook!"  Dram fought hard not to laugh and he merely shook his head.  "I suppose you should take a lesson then.  Wisdom does not appear solely because you are old, but because of your experiences, what you have learned.  And you are never too old to learn."

"Just eye the meat.  When it appears browned enough, but not black, pull it from the fire.  It is not that difficult.  Use your instincts.  Smell it, pierce it, if it's tender, take a taste of it.  If it is not cooked enough, hold it over the fire a little while longer."

Athran nodded. He glanced at the meat in his hand, then turned back to Dram. "I never got the opportunity to learn cooking. I was too busy training how to fight my whole long life... And I lack the patience for cooking."

He watched it for a while in silence, then begun talking again. "I doubt you'd find any time to ever learn how to cook if you lived the way I live. I spend all my time training - that's where I agree with you. You're never too old to learn! But you can be too good for training dummies." he chuckled.

His hand arose from the fire and handed the meat to the Dark Elf. "Is it ready yet? I want to eat it." he asked impatiently.

"Eat the slice I gave you!  That one is finushed," Dram said nonchalantly.  "I probably would have led a very different life had I been in your position and likely would not have squandered it.  Everyone thinks things would be better if they had been born into a different lot, but regrets solve nothing and we can't change the past."

Dram gave a sigh and shrugged.  "Cooking will teach you patience.  It seems this quest will need it from both of us."

"I already finished the first one... But I want more." Athran admitted, and begun eating the meat he roasted himself, slower and resembling a beast at least a bit less.

"I'm content with how I was born and regret naught. I used my lifetime well... I wanted to be a warrior. And I believe I succeeded. There was no time to learn how to cook." He shrugged and crossed his legs beneath himself. "Besides, I always burn it, anyway."

Dram peered at Athran through bored red eyes and his frown only deepened.  "Very well!  That means, you will have plenty of time to practice," he said, standing and moving the spices toward Athran.  "Cook the rest of the meat."  He yawned widely and stretched his arms before moving toward his bird.

"And don't burn it!  Or we'll have nothing good to eat!  I'm going to go to sleep, a luxury I have not been afforded since two nights ago," he finished and laid down to nestle against the feathers of his mount.  He fell asleep quickly and easily, though mentally kept one eye open in case the Pale One burned the damned venison.

Athran gave him another nod, and grabbed more pieces of meat to roast in the fire. Instead of holding them in his hand, he stuck them onto a long, thin knife, and cooked three at once. Even though it wasn't the best roasted deer ever, they appeared and smelled edible, and once all of them were done, he packed them and sat beside the kindling flames once again.

"I'll take watch. I hardly ever sleep more than four times a week, anyway." he whispered, despite knowing that his companion was already asleep. They will travel for many days... The ruins are far. It was time to get rid of some things that would only get in his way.

Another blade glinted between his fingers, and his left hand clenched around the long wisps of hair, hanging by the sides of his face. It was left long for such a long time... He cut all of them off without wincing, till they reached only a little longer than to his shoulders. It was a habit that he did before every journey - the long hair looked good, but only got in his way. There was no need for it.

Fire licked the raven-black locks that fell into it. The smell of burning hair filled the air for a short while, but the Black Sword sat behind it like a statue of stone, his long shadow drawn onto the stone behind.

It was time to go... One of the few times when he didn't travel by himself or with Maigrod.

Athran kept on guard through the whole night, moving towards the edge of the cliff when the fire burned out. In the darkness, many things moved under the shadows of the trees, but only few escaped his watchful sight.

At last, the bleak light of sunrise appeared above the eastern horizon, coloring the clouds into a lighter blue than the black ink that covered the rest of the sky. Athran's tall figure, standing on the edge of the cliff, appeared like a dark silhouette, unnaturally lifeless.

Sleep was thankfully uneventful and the only burning stench that reached Dram's nose was that of burning hair.  It didn't alarm him, it hadn't even awakened him.  When the sun at lost rose to break the peak of the mountain opposite them, only then did he jerk awake and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  It was rare that he awoke precisely at dawn.  Usually, he was up before the sun, running, leaping, bounding, training his body in endless arrays of exertion.

He was ever alert, ever ready.

When he stood and gathered his things, he observed the cut hair on the ground and then peered up at his companion.  "So you decided to give yourself a makeover while I slept?" he asked, throwing the tube that held the map over his shoulder.  "If you did not burn the meat, then we are ready to travel."  Dram moved toward the ashes of the fire and sifted through them, pouring a handful of ash into a pouch and strapped that to his belt.  He moved toward the black bird and climbed into the saddle and gestured toward Athran.

"And where is your dragon that you spoke of?" he called to him.

Athran shrugged. "Somewhere in the mountains... I can't sense his mind. He's too far, I suppose... I can create perfect dragon fire, though. It's the same kind as Maigrod can emit - we don't need a live dragon, just his fire. I can't call him, anyway." His bag, till then on the side of their small encampment, appeared on his back.

With a few steps, Athran got back to Dram. "The meat is packed in our bags and seems to be alright. It should last a few days... I have half, you have the other half." he explained, and carefully sat behind Dram. "By the way, what's with the ash?"

Dram shook his head.  "Not the fire.  I've seen what you can do with that!  You nealy burned the entire city down," he said.  "I mean as your mount.  Why take a bird when you can fly a dragon?"  He shrugged as he was already on Bane's back as it were.  "And how can a rider of dragons be parted from his mount anyway?  I thought they practically had their guts attached to one another.  Or so it would seem."

But it mattered little and Dram spoke no more before he gave a loud cry and Bane rose from the cliff's edge, at first plummeting quickly toward the treeline before immediately swooping upward and flying high toward the direction of the ruins, the winds in their favor.

"Not all riders and dragons are like that. For the sake of the gods, he's my mount. Not my lover." Athran growled, gripping the saddle with his hands. The wind was screaming in his ears, blowing his hair and clothes back, but it was much softer than when riding with Maigrod.

"Maigrod is more of a friend to me. Not a slave. It's not like having a horse." he explained Dram, and  slightly moved to the side to look over his shoulder at the woods beneath. They appeared dark and deep...

"Watch your temper, Athran.  You would burn off a man's face if he breathed on you strangely," Dram said.  "I meant no offense by it.  I mean simply to say that was my assumption.  And I sit corrected."

Bane was flying gently rather than swiftly, as Athran might have compared it to his own mount.  But the great bird could fly at speeds that could match a dragon.  And in great turmoil, out match them.  Dram was flying for sdistance not escape.  "But it would be interesting, you know, to see a dragon," Dram mused.  "I have never seen one before."

Athran nodded. "I apologize. I didn't mean any offense by it, neither... Some riders do stick with their mounts in everything. Maigrod and I don't follow each other like shadows, though." he explained him.

At his second statement, he raised a brow. "Have you not? Hopefully one day you'll get the opportunity. And hopefully it will be a civilized, not wild one." he uttered. Bane's wings were beating into the air by his sides, and another thought slipped into his mind.

"We should create a plan or tactics if we were to get to a battle. We can't be unprepared. Can Bane grab me with his claws during the flight?" he questioned his companion and leaned forwards to look at his face.

Dram peered behind him and blinked at his companion.  He wasn't sure he understood the question at first and made a face at Athran.  He nodded and gestured to the bird.  "Of course, if need be.  What do you want me to do?  Throw you from the saddle?"  Dram laughed.  "Bane can handle himself well enough in an aerial flight if need be.  He's gotten out of death-defying scrapes enough times that I would never doubt him, or his ability.  He may not have dragon fire, or a rider than can mimic it, but he can fight.  And fight well."

Dram turned back to face the path ahead of them, curving between the mountains as Bane glided gently along.  The air was cold this morning, and despite the natural warmth of the Thunderblacks, there was a chill that coursed down Dram's spine.  It was unpleasant and raised the hair on his arms.  His grim expression only deepened and he was starting to get a sour feeling that they were being followed.

"Look behind you," Dram said, sitting up slightly.  "What do you see behind us?  Another on a winged beast or something moving through the trees below?"

"You don't need to do anything... I will make sure I'll slip from the saddle down into his claws. Bane just has to catch me and not let go." Athran explained him calmly. "I am fully aware of his abilities - while you were hunting for that deer, I watched him closely... Maybe my mouth says less than my eyes see, but I can imagine what he can do."

The bird was similar to Maigrod - elegant, intelligent, and deadly with his sharp beak and claws, not too different from a dragon, though not as big. The flight was as natural as if he was sitting amid his own mount's black shoulders...

Athran blinked in surprise at Dram's question. "Behind us?" he muttered. His head turned around and his azure eyes peered over his shoulder into the distance, searching through the landscape with sight as sharp as that of a falcon. There were shadows moving through the woods below and a dark shape in the sky... "About three miles behind is something in the air. A bird, or beast that's close to it... Something quick and nimble in the forest under us. It's not horses, but it's moving in a scattered group. Maybe wolves, or something riding wolves." he concluded after a while.

Dram's soured feeling continued to go south in his stomach and he gripped the reins of Bane's saddle with sweaty hands.  He didn't know how.  He didn't know why, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the map that lay rolled in its tube strapped onto his back.  With Athran's assessment, it was Dram's turn to look behind him view the shadow that was carefully trying to stay out of view.  The clouds were thick  and Dram pulled Bane back a little to get a closer look.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, right?

But as his eyes cut through the shape of the creature, it seemed more reptilian than avian.  Birds had broader wings and less leaner bodies than dragons.  But if it was a dragon...  Dram narrowed his eyes and focused on the creature until something suddenly popped up from the clouds, a flaming spear and he pulled Bane back harshly, narrowly missing the projectile and from out of the clouds came not a bird, nor a dragon, but a massive winged mammal, one that Dram could only compare as a bat.

A massive bat and riding on its back were two green-skinned beast men with crude weapons and large iron mechanism strapped to it's back, almost like a giant crossbow and upon it was loaded another javelin, which the second beastman sparked to flame and carefully turned the contraption, aiming it toward them.  They screamed a harsh language, that was unknown to Dram, but it was clear that the first had been a warning shot and the second was meant to kill.  But what they wanted, he could not say.

Athran's face twisted into a hateful grimace. "Orcs..." he growled, and reached for his bow. He had no doubt that those green, crude creatures were orc-kind. And in his heart, there was nothing but eternal hate for those of which he has slaughtered hundreds.

"Take care of Bane and maneuvring. I'll shoot them..." he said, and slipped from the saddle into the eagle's claws. A long arrow, ended with a black feather at its shaft, was prepared at the bowstring, leaning against the beautifully carved wood. He aimed for the head of the beast, right under its jaw. Under that weight, it would surely collapse and the orcs would plunge to their death...

All the muscles in his arms were tense, stretched and prepared to fire the deadly arrow. Athran's fingers let go off the shaft, and the shot pierced the air at incredible speed. It hit the beast where he aimed it, but even despite that, it only sunk a bit lower... Something wasn't working right. Fortunately enough, it shook the mechanism and the riders were forced to load the crossbow again. Another arrow sprung from the bowstring, and crossed through the head of one of the orcs. The other one shouted something back...

Athran replied with a roar. "Die in fire, you dirty orkish filth! Curse you for all of eternity! Rot in the damned pits of hell!" he screamed, launching another arrow at the beast.

His hatred for orcs could be hardly matched by anything...

The bat screamed and the echo of it bounced off the mountains and back to Dram.  He could feel the vibration and the sensation of it almost seemed to daze Bane.  He was an expert flyer and Dram knew he could trust the great eagle to get him out of any sticky situation, but Bane seemed momentarily drunk and Dram pulled on the reins to turn him west, but he stalled and dropped out of the sky.

They fell for a few dozen feet before Dram dug his feet into the eagle's side, and pulled up.  Bane cried out, screeching loudly the fierce cry of a bird of prey and he turned around on their pursuer.  With Athran shooting arrows at his feet, Bane had but one claw with which to fight, but it would be all he would need.  The mechanism fired another flaming bolt but Bane twisted in the air, clutching onto Athran as it dodged the shot.

The last remaining orc was forced to focus on steering as the bath turned over and dodged a claw slash by the Bane aimed at it's belly as he twisted underneath the aerial enemy and clawed at it.  "HOLD ON!" Dram called out to Athran as Bane barrel-rolled mid-air and swept upward to turn and come in from the east.

Athran pulled his knees to his chest, shrinking as much as one could with his height, and held onto Bane's claw tightly. While they circled through the wailing wind, an idea came to life in his mind. Arrows might not work, but something else might.

He gently grabbed the feathers on the eagle's neck, gesturing Dram to listen. "Tell Bane to fly above the bat and let go off me! I will kill it in mid-air. You'll have to snatch me again before I fall... I have done this before. Trust me!" he shouted, and returned the bow to his back. The scimitars from the couple of crossed sheaths appeared in his hands again, and he prepared to launch himself into the air.

They arose higher to the air, and Bane's claw was only holding him softly. The bat was right beneath them... "Now!" Athran shouted. The reply was immediate - the sharp claws suddenly let go off his chest. He plunged through the air, pointing the scimitars down. He was ready... The wind blew his hair and clothes back. The bat was drawing nearer as fast as a lightning.

All of a sudden, he reached it. He had only enough time to bend his legs and land a bit softer than a chunk of iron, but the fall still shook him, and he could feel his body pulsing with pain. He landed between the orc and the mechanism, skewing one of the scimitars into the bat's flesh. The rider turned around to face him, but it was late - Athran already stabbed him with the other blade into his side. The hand, clenched around a curved dagger, sunk, as the orc's body collapsed, and sled off the bat. The elf prepared to skew the second scimitar into the bat's spine and kill it with a single hit...

"Count to three, then get me!" he shouted. And his hand stabbed the bat into its neck.

Of course Dram had his doubts but before he could voice them, Athran had thrown himself from Bane's claw just as the great eagle had righted himself.  With the wind at his back, Athran became nothing more than a falling blackened dot falling swiftly toward the bat just as it was about to unleash yet another screech.  The orc was easily felled and soon his blade was thrust into the neck of the foul winged beast.

But then something happened that made Dram stare in awe for even the briefest of moments.  The blade that plunged into the bat's neck, the beast unleashed a high pitched cry.  And plummeted from the clouds abruptly, darting toward the forest trees.  Dram drove Bane to dive down toward the blackened dot with billowing hair.  Wings hugged close against his body, and Dram ducked low, holding tight to the reins as the eagle fell like a black bullet.

Bane screamed as he was pulled upward and his claw reached out to snatch Athran in its embrace and flew upward, swooping back up through the clouds.  Dram turned over the side of the bird and half wish Bane would drop the foolish elf, but gave a smirk and simply shook his head.  And just when they thought they were safe, a bluish green reptilian creature flew up through the clouds.  It's mouth bore the fangs of the bat and the wounds it had suffered, but the fur was gone and four wings had burst from it's back.  It had the semblance of a dragon, but it was much leaner, and bore many spines along its back and from its mouth burst a powerful breath of burning ice, a cloud which went rumbling right toward them.

"YOU SAID YOU KILLED IT!" Dram called down toward Athran.

Athran almost dropped his scimitars as he watched the beast return. This wasn't possible... There was some kind of foul magic in this. There was no way anything could survive that strike without magic, he was certain about that.

"FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS, I STABBED IT THROUGH ITS DARN SPINE! IT SHOULD BE DEAD AS A STONE!!!" he screamed in rage. "Let me at it again. I don't want you to get any near... Fire can't hurt me, but it can burn Bane's feathers. Drop me again!" He waved one of the blades in the air, pointing at the beast.

The fury was boiling in his blood to the point where he'd rip the beast's body to pieces with his bare hands, if he would have to. He was utterly determined to kill it... Sighting of orcs awoke the hatred that burned within him since he was a child, and he wanted to fight, and kill... He hungered for blood. It didn't matter how difficult it will be, all of them will be dead if he gets to them.

His hair trembled in the wind and his cape appeared like a black banner behind him, partly clutched in Bane's sharp claws. With eyes glued to the serpent in the sky, he readied his blades once again. An even crazier idea came to life in his mind... "Dram? This might be difficult, but I trust you. If Bane can toss me to the beast's wing, I might cut it, and as I'll fall, Bane will grab me again, flying under me. Repeat this with the other wings, and break its balance... It would plunge to its death. Do you think we could do it?" he questioned him. His abilities were known to him, but he'd be risking his life on a big scale. There was a higher chance that he'd die than succeed...

...But he'd try, anyway.

Dram was quickly starting to understand very quickly that the fool within Bane's claw was just that, a fool.  It wasn't that he threw himself into the fray. it was that it seemed he must do everything.  Dram set his jaw and looked down toward Athran.  "That sounds like a stupid idea," he called out plainly.  But what choice did they have? 

The cloud of ice that billowed toward them was narrowly avoided but Dram had felt the chill of it.  He breathed out a cloud of hot breath as he tried to pull Bane higher in the sky.  The eagle screeched and turned west as the reptilian beast made chase.  It would not give them a chance to turn around on it as Bane darted left then right and swooped down, with the beast's jaws nearly  on his tail feathers.

Dram cursed and forced Bane down toward the ground.  The mutated creature behind them turned its wide neck downward, swooping down toward them.  But Dram had another idea, one that might get them killed and perhaps give Athran a chance to leap from Bane's claw to the beast.  "ATHRAN!  WHEN YOU'RE CLOSE ENOUGH!  JUMP!" Dram pressed his heels into Bane's side and abruptly twisted the bird  again, turning suddenly on their pursuer and flying upside down.  His claws were brandished and on swept across the beast's belly and the other shout out just the same.

The four-winged beast gave out a shrill cry at slashing of his underside, and the claw that held Athran launched him up in the air toward the beast, just as Dram came out from the other side, righting Bane once more.

"I know it's a stupid idea, but I can't think of anything better!" Athran screamed back, preparing to jump. After a rapid turn, Bane's claw tossed him into the air. He quickly moved the scimitars before him, and as the beast's wing drew near, slashed with them widely.

Drops of blood flew through the air as the blades cut through the wings, slicing them like a knife, crossing hot butter. Athran turned in the air around, slicing off another part of its wing, which was now only trembling in the air. He succeeded... Once again taking a position in which Bane could easily grab him, he plunged down through the air beneath.

It was a stupid idea, but it worked. They would only need to get the beast rid of one side of wings, as it still kept its body in the air, despite having one wing completely cut off. He felt Bane's claw clenching around his chest again, and knew he succeeded. Looking up towards Dram, he raised one of the blades.

"It's a very stupid idea, but it works." he growled. "Toss me again when you're close enough to the other wings."

The flying was the easy part.  As tense as the situation was, Dram could never allow himself to lose control.  One mistake, one wrong move could cost them both their lives.  Though he had only known the Pale Elf for but a moment, a pittance in a lifetime, he was his companion and Dram never left a companion behind, no matter how foolish they were.  Dram grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the reins of the great eagle as he dove for Athran.

The speed and ferocity of flight sent fire through his veins and Dram quickly righted Bane enough to pull back and swoop up, avoiding another gust of ice wind, straight from the mouth of the reptilian beast.  Dram cried out however, when a stray cloud of it hit his back and side, freezing his left arm into uselessness.  Bane screamed at the sensation of such biting cold, but kept his steady flight.  His feathers were stuck together as ice crystals bled over him, but much like his rider, Bane refused to be overcome by pain.

Dram felt the string of anger course into his eyes and he gripped the reins with his right hand, steering them up and over the other side of the winged beast.  His heels dug into his sides and Bane flipped his wings wit blinding fury, swooping over the other side of its wings.  "KILL THAT FUCKING THING!" he cried out in rage.

And still the ice continued to bite up his left arm and shoulder.

"WHAT THE LIVING HELL DO YOU THINK I AM DOING?!" Athran shouted. Avoiding another blast of ice by pulling his legs up, he outstretched his arm to Bane's wing, and heating it with bright flames, he melted the ice off. It was about all he could do to help... The priority was to kill the beast.

It would take him too much time to throw himself in the air and cut off the second wing. The beast may not collapse immediately, and he couldn't risk something like that. If he was to kill this thing, he has to cut its head off and see it plunge into the deep, severed from the body.

While his mind was calculating his next move, the flames, softly kindling just above Bane's feathers moved to Dram, melting what ice was left on both of them. Athran has decided what he has to do. In such a rage, he might not have thought clearly, but he was completely certain of this - even if it will hurt, he has to get to the beast's head and chop it off.

The scimitars were replaced by the Black Sword. Athran's hands clenched around its handle with confidence, and he raised it to his head. Bane was approaching the serpent swiftly. They were just in the right angle from its head.

"Toss me to its head!" the elf cried out. Once again, the embrace of the eagle's claws disappeared, and the wind caressed his body in the air. He was ready to chop this thing to pieces, his blood was boiling in his veins in a rage that demanded death and bloodshed.

The beast apparently noticed him and fired another blast of ice towards him. Athran had only enough time to cover his head with his forearms, but found himself half frozen over. Tears rolled down his face, but he didn't let the biting ice overwhelm him, and set his own body ablaze to melt it.

[You know, you don't have to heal everything right away xD  It's okay for characters to get hurt, even gravely, once in a while.  I kind've wanted Dram to stay hurt.]

If it wasn't ice that burned him, it was fire and Dram screamed from the sensation of the flames on his skin.  He would kill that stupid elf!    He was lucky he was too busy steering to do so.  His arm could feel some movement to it but still Dram forced his right to pull Bane upward into the clouds to drop Athran toward the beast's head.  But when it had seen him, it turned and shot a powerful icy blast.

Half-frozen, Dram watched with a grimace as he saw Athran fall to the trees below.  He gave a grun and promptly stood from his perch on the great eagle's back and brandished his kopis.   "Save the stupid elf," he growled and Bane screeched once more.  Dram leapt from the saddle and dove for the reptilian.  It swayed and flailed in the air, seeming to dart toward the ground.

Dram fell through the air, air swishing past his clothing, his hair, and whistling in his ears.  He swooped down toward the beast, toward the beast landed on his back.  He managed to grip with what feeling he had with his burnt arm onto a curve in its scales and without reserve he plunged the kopis into the creature's neck.  The magic of its form began to sizzle and steam and boil and the foul smell of green blood flickered up through the air.  Dram twisted the blade, pulled the kopis up once more and slammed it down a second time until the cut was secure and he severed the beast from it's head.

But Bane was not underneath him, and instead had Athran in his grasp.  Looking down, Dram saw the trees quickly closing before him.

(((OOC: who said it healed him? It merely melted the ice... The effects the ice caused, on the other side...)))

The ice was like a grip on his whole body, clenched him in a position where he could hardly move, and even though the fire melted it, he had to let the flames touch his skin - something that was painful even for him. Despite his muscles screaming in protests, he climbed up onto Bane's back.

"Grab him. And do it quickly..." he growled, clutching the eagle's feathers as he could with the remaining sense in his hands. Even gauntlets didn't help this.

The eagle dove down in an attempt to catch the dark elf into his claws, which gripped Dram's body in the air, and quickly made a rapid turn back up, towards the sky.

[Okay! Just making sure!]

Dram was caught mid-air, Bane's claw closing around him and he clutched around the toe of his mount.  The great eagle crooness a little, his feathers smoking from the burns and his claw clutching his rider gently.  "Athran!" Dram called, standing on one of the toes.  "Help me up!  I can't climb with just one arm."

Athran offered him his hand, although cringing every time he moved and let the armour slide on his frozen and burned flesh. "Grab me." he said, secretly wishing that his grip won't be too hard, and leaned over to get closer to him.

Bane slowed down, with the beast finally dead, and they were only floating in the air, softly caressed by the wind. Now there was no aerial threat, only the riders beneath the trees... They could escape those, but in this state, neither of them could fight them.

Dram climbed with considerable effort up to the safety of Bane's back, using Athran to help vault him up.  Everything brought him a great deal of pain and if it wasn't for the remains of adrenaline still cousing through him, Dram would have just as likely passed out.

He peered down where the beast had fallen, now plummeted through the trees and made a loud crashing sound.  "What were those things?  Those beast men?"

"Orcs." Athran growled with his teeth clenched. "And please, don't touch me." Now that the excitement and concentration of battle was over and the pain was getting into his brain, he could go unconscious practically any time. His vision was slowly beginning to fade into black, but he forced himself to keep talking.

"We need to find a high, sheltered place to sleep tonight. The wolves won't get there. We can't start a big fire, we can't hunt, we can't do anything." he explained,  slowly scanning the environment in a search for such place.

"Gladly," Dram huffed and shuffled around the Pale Elf.  He sat back in the saddle and peered at Athran from the corner of his eye.  "Orcs?  And somehow they conjured some fucking magic bat to fly after us!  Maybe they're after you," he commented and noted the icy burns along his arms and body, partly shielded by the armor, but otherwise turned his eyes toward his own wounds once more.

His arm was charred and his skin smelled of roasted meat.  It stung, painfully, from both the fire and ice, but it just needed a little patching up - he hoped - and it would be all right.  Turning his eyes toward the horizon, the light was dreary all around them, dim and low and his red eyes peered solemnly to the ashen mountains, what trees still stood and he gave a soft sigh, a longing suddenly peering in his eyes though he didn't know why.

This land, the Thunderblacks was always strange for him to pass over.  He knew the greater portion of what he should call his people lingered here, hidden away from the rest of the world.  He was Umbraeon, but he was not of them.  He belonged to the skies.

Shaking his head of his musings he peered across toward a lower plateau that stuck out from a western mountain ledge and pointed.  "Down there!" he pointed.  "That is as good a place as any.  And I'm sure Bane could use the rest.  Good thing, food at least is nothing we have to presently worry about."

Athran nodded. "I bet they're after me. I'd put my right hand into the fire... As if I haven't already done it today... That they're after me." he snarled. He softly pressed his hand onto Bane's neck and pushed it towards the possible place for encampment. Even a simple move like that reminded him of the fire - it apparently charred a bit more than his skin, and even though flames weren't unknown to him, feeling them that deep inside himself was painful.

The eagle gracefully turned, and begun descending in great circles. It was very similar to Maigrod - elegant, with a slender body and wide wings - and he felt confident on its back, though maybe it was only that he was too exhausted to notice the differences. Bane squawked, and his claws scratched the stone as they landed.

It was a distant place, with hardly any passage to the forests beneath, but that was only good, for no wolf or orc could climb the steep sides of the mountain. It was quite narrow, but well shielded by yet another, even taller and steeper cliff. It wasn't unusual for the mountainsides to be shaped like this - it was maybe why dragons favored them so much.

Athran sighed and dropped his bag onto the ground, peering at the sky. The clouds that have passed during the day were again coming from the north, dark and threatening.

"There's a storm coming." he muttered.

Dram rolled off Bane's back when they landed on the cliffside slope.  The sounds of drawing night sent chills up the Umbraeon's spine as he put am arm around his other and pulled it forward trying to get a better look at it.  "Orcs after your head, great.  Just when I thought this mess couldn't get any worse.  Well that was my mistake.  Of couse messes can always get worse," Dram plopped down and observed Bane walk closer toward the wall beside them.

"Why do they hunt you?  I've heard of the fueds between some orcs and elves but I never thought much of it.  At least your kind of elf."

"Would you chase someone if he'd kill a thousand of your kind, wish to wipe you out for all eternity and curse you at every meeting? Sure you would. Especially if that someone's not a village idiot, but a dragon rider." Athran replied.

He sat down by the cliff and unbuckled his heavy gauntlets. The softer leather beneath them was cracked and singed from fire and ice that ran over it, and ripping it off hurt like hell, yet Athran remained silent. It was only a temporary inconvenience, he convinced himself, and took off the armour that covered his chest, too. The chainmail clinked on the ground, as he dropped it. The shirt he wore under all of the heavy gear didn't end up much better than the gauntlets, but at least it wasn't stuck to his skin.

His arms were bleeding after he managed to rip the clothes off, missing large parts of his skin, while the rest appeared burned. He clenched his teeth and cleaned the wounds with what he had left in a bottle of water. It burned like fire... He wanted to scream, but instead just cursed silently.

He just hoped Dram ended up better. It wasn't concern - he just wasn't willing to put up with a companion that can't fight, or keep traveling.

At his words, Dram gave a smirk and did so as he carefully set out his things from Bane's saddlebags.  He rolled out his herbs and ointments and salves and found the solution he'd made for Athran from the previous day.  He carefully turned his shoulder to examine his wound.  The burn was quite nasty, but he hoped all it would need would be some salve and some wrapped in some spare linens.

"Idiots can ride dragons," Dram said as he wiped the salve over his shoulder, rubbing the rest of it gingerly into the wound and ignoring the sting of it.  Blood seeped down his forearm but largely the wound resided on his upper arm and when it was done, he took a piece of linen in his teeth and began to wrap it.

"So they're after you to do what?  Settle the score?  Why would you want to kill them anyway?"

Athran begun cutting the other shirt that he has in his pack into strings and bandaging his arms with the washed grey fabric, but at Dram's words he shook his head. "Idiots can't ride dragons. Dragons eat anything dumber than them..." he growled.

He could have expected this to follow, and yet he didn't like what he had to give as an answer. "It's a long story, but my family, and especially me, had long troubles with orcs. They shot my mother. It's an old family history, but due to the fact that in the neverending sway, I killed more of them than my father, mother, and sister together, they logically hate me more. The better you are in killing them, the higher threat you pose as. And your head's also priced higher." he explained him plainly, concentrating at treating his wounds, instead of talking.

It was all lies. The only truth was that their poisoned arrows killed his mother... The reality was much bleaker and less pleasant.

"Hmph, surprised you're still alive," Dram, referring to idiots and dragons.  But he shook his head from his own poor sense of humor and listened intently as Athran explained as he bandaged his arm.  He paused, mid-wrapping as he looked at him more clearly.  "Why did they kill them?" Dram continued to ask.  "Were they just in the way?  Wrong place wrong time?"

Athran shook his head. "Not entirely. Many hundreds of years ago an ancestor of mine had some big trouble with them..." he shrugged. It was simpler to tell a lie like this, than to explain the truth - that that ancestor of his was actually Athran himself, and the trouble was not as simple as that, too.

"Orcs always hated elves." he muttered.

Of course, Dram would not take the answer at face value.  He made a soured expression toward Athran and finished knotting up his arm and cutting the linen with a small knife.  "Why?  Why kill elves?  Why kill orcs?  Seems pointless to me," he replied.

"Do I look like a history expert? A scholar? Well, if I do, I'm not one. I don't have a slightest idea why they hate each other. But I was raised to hate them. They... They are but beasts. As worthy as wild animals in the woods, even less! They have nothing... And I have nothing for them..." Athran growled. He put his shirt back on, and buckled the hard iron and leather layer of gauntlets that wasn't as burned as the softer one underneath it.

It was getting difficult to keep this lie, but he kept a straight face, and didn't let it show. Straightening his back, he stood up again, and peered into the distance. "I don't have anything to give to them. Only death."

Dram looked at him with furrowed brows.  "So you would instead continue the cycle of hate?  Kill them because you were taught they were nothing more than savage foul beasts that were so undeserving of life. Certainly that must bring you relief."  Dram was growing angry by his words and turned his head away, looking down to his sword.  He brandished the blade and peered at his reflection in the metal.

"The wretched and scorned," he said, musing, frowning, seeing not himself anymore, but the pitiful, the weakened slave he had formerly been.  "Who are you to judge who is worthy of life?"

Athran turned to him, staring with empty eyes. They appeared like azure mirrors, showing the oncoming storm in their deep pools...

He dropped down. "Fine. I admit... Nothing of this... Was true..." he whispered, holding his head in his hands. Dark clouds were flashing before his eyes, clouding his sight, but he didn't pay any attention to them.

"I just told you a bunch of lies so you'd shut up and leave me alone. I see it didn't work..."

Normally it would have.  Dram had never been one much for words, not even in familiar company.  Yet the thought that a people could be slaughtered, even if they were indeed foul and wretched, sparked emotion in his eyes.  "I know, Pale Elf," Dram replied plainly.  "But I have a feeling you know what it's like to have the state of your mortality hanging in the balance, at least once or twice in your existence.  I know."

He turned the blade over and saw where the green blood had stained it from the beheading of the winged creature.  "But if they chase you solely for a price on your head...that I cannot believe.  They knew you would fly, that much is obvious, but they did not expect to find you on a bird.  There must be something more.  Something they want that is worth more than your head.  Perhaps my head, but I don't quarrel with orcs or any one people, not when it leads to nothing."

Athran turned his head up, looking at Dram. He appeared deathly pale, with dark, empty hollows where his eyes should be, only the circles of blue burning amid them.

"Do you want to know the truth? Why I hate them?" he asked silently. If he had to say it, he would... But it was something he didn't remember with awe. He pulled his knees to his chest, still piercing the dark elf with his glance.

His frown deepened at the expression of the elf before him.  His eyes were seemingly hollows, tired, angry, exhausted, somber.  "If it is a tale you are willing to tell, then you have ears that are willing to listen," Dram offered, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

"I will only tell if I really have to. I don't want to bring this up." Athran growled, slowly standing up and walking to his bag to grab a piece of cold meat from yesterday. He turned back, and sat on the other side on the cliff, biting large pieces of meat off the venison.

He didn't want to talk, especially not about this. If he could, he would fall asleep, and sleep through the whole night and next day. He felt completely drained.

At the turning of his back, Dram cast a glance at him but he otherwise said nothing more on the matter.  It wasn't his business anyhow.  If he wished to speak, that was his choice.  For the night, Dram would keep watch on the ridge of the cliff after tending to Bane's wounds.  At least his temper had passed.  He watched the stars as the night went on and drew constellations in his mind.

After he finished his meat, Athran picked himself up and laid down in the furthest corner of the cliff. He coiled up on the ground into a bundle as small as an elf of his height could - and it was surprisingly small - and covered himself with his cape. It was windy and cold, but he fell asleep soon.

While sleeping, he appeared almost peaceful, his fair face not twisted with any pain, anger or sadness. His dark hair partly covered like a veil, sliding over the pale skin.

However, even though he did appear peaceful, he found no rest in the embrace of sleep. Confused nightmares followed him all night long, and after a few hours of turning on the ground, he woke up to the cold night.

He shivered and pulled his cape to his shoulders, slowly raising himself to sit. It was deep night already, and he must have slept for long, yet he felt like he just closed his eyes and opened them again. He stood up with a groan and walked to the edge of the cliff, staring into the nothingness beneath him.

Dram had not slept.  For one, there was no one to keep watch if he did.  Two, he wasn't tired.  Three, Bane needed his rest more than he did since he was the one doing the actual flying.  Dram just meditated for the moment, taking the time to rest physically and mentally from their ordeal, but no sleep came.  He listened to the sound of the wind, to the breath of it as it whispered in his ears.

Somehow he felt at home on that cliff, in the wasteland of wilderness and dragon ash and again he thought he heard someone calling his name.  But it was nothing when he perked his head up and searched the darkness for any sign of life.  Likely their pursuers were making camp for the night.  He could see the small light of a fire miles away.  Elf eyes were always superior to that of the races of men, and though he did not alert, Athran he would tell him when he awoke.

And soon he saw a black shadow standing beside him.  "Three camps," he said, pointing one to the west, northwest, and south.  "Likely three packs or parties of those beastmen.  We should leave before dawn, gain as much ground as possible."  His eyes peered up at the Pale Elf and he studied him for a moment.  "Feel better?"

Athran nodded. "Saw them. Yes, we should go as soon as we can." he agreed. He could see the camps, with small fires burning in the middle of each one. He breathed in the cold air, and crossed his arms on his chest, clutching his shoulders.

"Not too much. I can't sleep, but I can keep awake and travel." he replied to Dram's question. His wounds still hurt and a rest on the stones was far from comfortable, but it was just a small inconvenience with which he could deal. He didn't need sleep for several hours every night to be able to perform everything normally...

"I've been dead before, and I'll tell you, this isn't as bad as waking up after it." he muttered, and buckled his dark cape. "I'm tired, but not because of lack of sleep. I don't want to sleep."

"Good, I don't want to sleep either," Dram said with a nod.  He didn't believe the whole back from the dead thing.  It wasn't his business anyway and he wasn't about to ask Athran about it either.  He stood from his sitting position, clad in no cloak or coat, for the cold didn't bother him.  He stood and walked back to Bane and gathered the rest of his things, bundling them back into the saddle bags.

Wordlessly, he mounted the great eagle and took the reins in hand, not before casting a final glance at the fires and swooping up into the black sky.

As Bane took off, Athran gripped his hands around the edges of the saddle and pressed his legs onto Bane's body. The wind was wailing in his ears, singing its sad song on the edges of the rocks... He looked up.

Stars were like diamonds on the sky, glowing with their hard shine, beautiful, yet so cold. And so far away... He would reach for them, but it was always worthless to try to touch the stars. Too cold, too distant, they would burn someone so daring with their radiant light.

He turned back to looking at the ground, and watched the terrain below, rather then letting his thoughts flow in melancholy. That was what they needed - watchfulness, not sentiment.

Bane was a steady flier and kept on the wind quietly.  Dram was thankful for the blackness of his feathers, concealing them against the sky.  No conversation passed between them and Dram kept his eyes toward the trees below.  He could still see the fires, even as they gained distance, and when they were out of sight, he furrowed his brows in thought.

"Exactly how do you rate an orc's intelligence, Pale Elf?" he asked as his eyes lingered in their wake.

Athran scowled. "They can talk and use weapons, but... Most won't find out about a trick for children. They are very dumb." he replied. The intelligence of most orcs was even lower than that of humans - which was already low. Off course, some individuals had average intellect, but those were rare.

"On a scale from one to ten, where five is an average human, I think they are a three. Four at best." he said after a while of thinking. "You won't get any intelligence from them even if you smack them on the head fifty times in a row. Brain on the floor, yes. But wit, no."

"That is comforting to know," Dram said, his frown deepening.  He peered down into the dark then forward toward their set path.  "But I get the strange feeling that they set those fires as diversions.  If orcs are really as stupid as you claim, then likely the smartest among them would take the lead, and maybe together they're smart enough to spring a trap, though how, I don't know.  I'm sorry, I just, get a bad feeling about all this.  I have learned to trust my bad feelings."

Athran gave him a faint nod. "Better be careful and fast. There's something odd about this and I don't like it..." He shook his head, "They usually do choose the most clever, or strongest - depends on situation - to lead them. Together, they often aren't as stupid alone."

He glanced over his shoulder and looked down at the forest. The fires were still burning, but there was no sign of movement around them... "Dram. Fly higher and change course... There are no orcs around the fires..." he muttered.

"Right!" Dram nodded to Athran and pulled Bane higher into the sky.  The night concealed them and soon then were just below the highest mountain top.  The air whistled into his ears and Bane was silent otherwise.  But soon there was another whistling that caught his ear suddenly and Bane gave a squawk and Dram saw just along his side a black arrow protruding.  It wasn't deep for Bane's feathers were thick, but it definitely broke skin.

Dram reached down low and plucked the arrow from his mount and suddenly realized it was poisoned when Bane suddenly dropped from the sky.  "BANE!" Dram cried out to no avail as the bird fell unconscious.  And he plummeting with Athran toward the trees below.

In one moment, Athran held onto Bane's feathers as they were ascending higher into the air... And in another, he found himself falling.

His eyes opened almost inhumanly widely. This how they die... Both... By a painful fall from a mile in the air.

No, they won't die. Not yet. They can't give up yet.

He delved his fingers into Bane's feathers and grabbed them, almost ripping them from the bird's skin. They have to wake it... Somehow. Their time was slowly running out, and Athran didn't know if they can survive such a fall. Were they both not previously hurt, their chances would be higher, but in a state so poor, there was hardly any hope.

"If we fall, aim for something softer! Not for the ground!" he shouted, wildly shaking Bane beneath himself. "It will hurt if we fall... But there is a small chance that at least one will survive!" It was helpful as hell, but right then, lingering on the edge of panicking, he couldn't think positively in any possible way.

But his pulling did nothing and Bane fluttered through the air like a spinning leaf, with his wings twirling about him, eventually shaking the Pale Elf's grip.  Dram was falling back first through the air and managed to shoot a glare at the stupid elf falling with them, trying uselessly to wake up his mount.  "Right!  Because I've never fallen before," he shouted over the air.

He turned about in the sky, facing the torrent of wind that made his eyes burn.  He aimed for the trees and when at last he landed, there echoed a horrific crash and breaking of branches before he fell into the ashes below.  Dram landed in a crouch, and was largely unharmed save for a few bruises that could easily be mended, but the soreness would pass, he instead heard the crash landing of Bane and Athran.

Athran let go off Bane before they reached the trees, launching himself out of the saddle. The air slowed his body, much lighter than that of the eagle, up, and even though the air was still wailing in his ears, the fall didn't seem as bad now.

He turned sideways, pressing his arms to his chest and head, and he broke through the branches of trees with loud cracking and crashes. A branch of an oak fell apart beneath him, and he rolled onto the grass. Nothing worse than a few bruises and grazed skin - the luck finally turned to his side.

He stood up, reaching after a knife on his belt, and his bright eyes were flashing around. Wherever was the one that fired the arrow... He was going to get him, and kill him.

Dram held a hand to his side and stepped forward though the trees until he came toward the scene of the crash.  Bane was still largely unconscious.  The arrow had been dripping with whatever serum is was coated in and so the dosage must have been great to take down a creature such as the giant eagle.  "Gods," he murmured just as he stepped forward and listened for the heart beat of his mount.

When he found it, he was thankful at least that serum did not kill him, but there was nothing he could do for Bane now.  Instead he ran in the direction he suspected Athran had landed and paused short at the presence of the blade before him.  "Watch it Pale Elf!" he whispered harshly.  "It's only me!  They stuck Bane.  He won't wake up now, but I imagine when he does, he'll fly far from here.  What direction are the parties coming from!?"

Athran's hand, clutched around the hunting knife, arose at the sound of footsteps, but sunk back down when he saw Dram. His tense stance unwinded a little, and he shook the hair out of his face. He slowly pointed south. "I have heard them coming from the south. We are going northeast, and they follow..." he replied silently.

He glanced towards the direction Bane fell in. "So poison?" he growled. "I may have..." His hand reached beneath the armour, but he shook his head in disappointment, pulling out a cracked and empty vial. "No. Nothing left."

He hid it back into the layers of clothes, and listened, tilting his head aside like a hound. His keen ears could hear the sounds of a large group, coming from the south... He gestured Dram to follow, and pointed into the opposite direction. "They're coming." he whispered.

Dram crouched low between the trees and nodded to Athran regarded the direction they had to go.  The orcs were slightly quiet when it came to stalking through the woods, but Dram could hear the sound of paws and feet stalking through dirt at least a few leagues away.  "Bane will be fine, c'mon," he whispered and took off in the direction they had to go.

"Perhaps if we split up, just a few meters between us, they might think we've gone off in two different directions," Dram suggested as he weaved between trees, having brandished the kopis in one hand and held into a throwing knife in the other.

Athran shook his head. "I have a better idea... They can follow smell, but they're too stupid to look up." he said, pointing at the dense branches of trees above them. One of his scimitars appeared in his hand, while the other was free, and he leaped into the air.

His fingers clenched around the closest branch, and threw him up. He landed on a rather thick branch, and stood up, grabbing another one for support. "I grew up in a forest. This is natural to me... Run!" he said, and launched himself through the leaves again to demonstrate his ability to run through the trees themselves, or rather leap over the gaps between their branches.

His lean body was used to the swift movement in forest, and memories of his youth returned while he ran. This was freedom... It was as natural as breathing to him. As natural as fighting... As natural as the forest can be to an elf.

"Show off," Dram said to himself with a roll of his red eyes.  He too was nimble enough to move between trees.  True, leaping among the branches would prove to be better cover than wandering through the ground.  He ran straight up onto a trunk and leapt higher than Athran, jumping from tree to tree as the sound of wargs and orcs came ever closer.

Athran was gradually leaping onto higher and higher branches, flashing between them like a bolt of lightning despite the heavy armour that he wore, until he could see the sky at the top of his jumps. The orcs and wargs were behind them, but not even they could outrun an elf in the forest.

A shout echoed through the forest, followed by a howl. The pack divided, judging by the direction the sounds were coming from, but he was shielded by the leaves of the trees, and safe so far. They must have lost their scent...

Dram matched him move for move for the elf wasn't really more nimble than he.  He wasn't encumbered by armor or excessive weapons and leaped and bounded alongside Athran as the sounds of paws and feet and indiscernible tongues wagged behind them.  Perhaps they had lost their prey, but perhaps these orcs knew just who they were dealing with.

It wasn't hard to miss the stench of elf.

They called out something between them and suddenly there was the whistle of arrows whizzing just passed their heads as the orcs began to realize their prey leaping between the trees.

They found them... There were two options: keep running, or turn back and fight. Both would require the same amount of energy...

They didn't have to run or fight together.

"Dram, keep going! Leave me behind! I'll catch up later!" he shouted, and stopped running. Quickly sliding through the branches of the tree, he hid in the leaves, and waited for the orcs to stop. They indeed did, losing his scent. The stench simply stopped at one point...

He prepared himself to jump, and kill the whole group beneath him. Dram should run alone... It was safest like that.

Bah, curse the stupid elf.  "If you think I'm going to leave you behind, you've got another thing coming," Dram cursed as he hung back in the tree.  No, he would not run.  He never left anyone behind.  No matter how annoying they were.  A companion was a companion until this journey was over.

He leaped down from the branches in a roll and threw the throwing knife into the throat of the orc nearest him.  Their stench was powerful and fowl and they uttered a nasty guttural sound, when blood spurted out and he fell to the ground.

If Athran was trying to diver their attention, Dram just gained it.  All of it.

Athran wanted to shove this idiot down into a volcano. This was exactly what he didn't want. He was going to spoil everything...

"ARE YOU STUPID?" he screamed. The orcs immediately turned after the sound of the voice. One of them shouted something, but Athran has already climbed out of his hiding place, and threw himself off the tree.

With a large crash, he landed amid them, breaking the necks of at least two. The scimitars that appeared in his hands in the meantime were already busy, covered in the thick black blood of orcs, reaching after Athran's quickly moving figure. A massive warg and his rider attempted to leap at him and gut him, but the blade ripped his underside open. The beast collapsed onto the ground in mid-air, trapping the orc beneath its body. A pile of guts was falling out of the hole, also covered in dark blood.

The orcs stepped back at the sight, and Athran stood amid them with a fey grin on his lips. "Come on! Come and claim me, if you want me that much!" he cried out. And bright flames burst out of the ground, consuming the corpses and the living beasts at once. He has gone crazy again.

Dram ducked and dodged before suddenly jumping up and slashing the kopis across the exposed flesh of an orc that leapt for him.  The blade opened him up from  his belly to his throat and upon coming down, Dram turned the blade down and cleaved it down into his skull.  At the display another orc braved the Umbraeon and spat savage words before attempting to smash him with a large mace.

Dram saw red and caught the mace in one hand.  He was not small or lithe like what most might consider an elf ought to be.  He was powerfully built, designed for punishment and beyond and he pressed the tip of his sword deep into the orc's belly, looking into his eyes as he gutted him.  He clutched the heavy mace in one hand and his lighter sword in the other, standing closer to Athran as he spat out his battle cry.

"Shut up, you fool and just kill them!" Dram growled, about to reach into his belt for another throwing knife.

A laugh emerged from the pack before them and there approached the largest of their ranks.  He was green-skinned, with splotches of black slathered across his ugly face and splashes of war paint streaked across his cheeks and nose.  He came forth on a larger wolf and gave them both an ugly smile.  "Hunt you?" he said, speaking in Common.  "We do not waste our blood hunting you, worm.  We want the map that the dark one carries.  Perhaps we will only kill you instead of torturing if you give it over now."

Athran appeared almost amused when the orc opened his mouth. "So you can speak... How surprising."

The scimitars in his hands made a large circle, and Athran leaped into the air after the orc. He landed on his warg, skewing one blade into the beast's head, and the other one was slashing after the orc. "It doesn't matter, you bleed just like the rest!" he laughed. The other blade pierced the orc's unarmoured neck.

A loud shriek echoed in the air, alarming the rest of the pack, who charged forth again, while the leader was still attempting to shake Athran off, though slowly dying on his blade.

The orc growled and grabbed Athran by the hair though his blade was plunged though his neck.  He yanked him off and sent the elf flying off just as blood splurted out of his necks, spraying his ranks.  A few orcs in the back squealed and stumbled backwards, a few of them running away in the face of the slaughter before them.

Dram ducked and dodged and rolled, slamming the mace in one hand and slammed it onto the skull of another, spinning abruptly and detaching the head from another and making short work of three more that came his way.

Athran was thrown into another warg, and bounced off the beast's side, turning in mid-air to land in a less vulnerable position. He was back on his feet in a matter of a minute, and skewed both of his knives into the wolf's chest. The orc on its back, startled and surprised by the attack, crawled down and charged forth at Athran, but was driven away by the slashing blades, and beheaded just a moment later.

A large group encircled him, and he seemed trapped, but he had more tricks up his sleeve than he expected. Dark blue flames sprang from the ground, consuming everything around, and the confused, screeching orcs were but prey to Athran. The scimitars took at least two with each blow, and he was free again.

Dram was in the heart of the battle, but he knew to keep his distance from Athran, particularly in a time like this.  His hatred would get the better of him and if he wasn't careful, Dram would be a victim in the ashes as well as the orcs were set ablaze.  Their guttural cries were harsh on his ears, but he didn't allow it to distract him.

There were many in this pack save for those that had decided to save themselves.  The rest would burn, bleed, or both.  Dram cut through several, took the heads off of many and severed the limbs of the rest.  He was coated head to do in the black sticky blood of orcs, and his blade was hungry for more.  His sword found it's way into the belly of another, digging well into his gut before ripping it out and when his warg came upon him, Dram dropped low and opened its belly as it lunged over him, the wolf yelping and falling dead to the side.

Athran's lips were twisted in a maddened grin, revealing slightly pointed teeth, and he seemed to be almost pleased by every blow that landed on the orcs. It appeared that every spilled black blood was satisfying, and he hungered for more.

He wanted to kill them all, until there won't be a single one left, and he will be victorious, forever. His rage protected him from their blows, and he broke through the circle like a lightning, running through the flames.

Most orcs were already running away, but he chased even those runaways, bloodthirsty and crazed by battle. He'd rip them to pieces with his bare hands, if he had to...

...And suddenly, there were no more live orcs around. All were slain, and he stood amid the field of corpses, searching for another prey. His eyes slowly shifted towards Dram, and they had a mad look in the blazing blue fire...

When the skirmish was finished and blood drenched his blade, Dram released an unsteady breath just as he tried to relax.  But for some reason he couldn't and he raised wild eyes to Athran.  He watched his companion and knew that in his stance there was that thirst for blood that had yet to be quenched.

He kept his distance and said nothing, though he did not lower his sword, watching the Pale Elf, now covered head to toe in fire and orc blood.

Athran skewed one of his scimitars into an orc head, laying nearby. He raised it up, and looked around himself, the mad look still in his eyes. "Is this all you've got?" he shouted. "Nothing better than this, you filthy bastards? Come on! You're just too cowardly to crawl out of your holes!" He smacked the head into a tree, and with a loud crack, it fell off. "I challenge you! More! And I'll kill you all!"

"Kill who?  They've all ready gone.  Look at the bodies, Pale Elf," Dram said, eyes narrowing and his grip on the sword remaining sturdy.  But he kept his distance.  "You would challenge your companion?  Then you aren't much of one.  And kill to what end?  It proves nothing.  It will heal nothing."

"Not you... You're useful. I want to kill... Them..." Athran barred his teeth, and clenched his fists around the handles of the scimitars, breathing in the scent of death, lingering in the air. "I WANT THEM... DEAD!"

Slowly walking towards Dram, he kept speaking. "I want to see their blood upon the ground. I want to see their corpses burn... I want to see them dead... Dead..."

With every step Athran took, Dram took one backwards and peered at the Pale Elf dead in the eyes.  "Why?  Why is it so important?" he said, remember he had asked before and it was nothing he would have answered beyond lies and dodging.  "Because you were raised to hate and in hatred you'll die.  I fight to survive because that is what I have done all my life.  But even in my darkest moments, I never turned to hate, if I could help it."

He circled around Athran, watching every move he would make, every motion and eyes steady at the madness in his eyes.  "Maybe what you're hatred is really killing is only yourself."

"Return hatred... With hatred... And death with death!" Athran replied, suddenly stopping. He peered at the sky, brightening with every moment. It was almost dawn.

"I could never help it, but if someone tries to kill me, and sends me to death, betrays me and insults me, I can't stop the hatred." He was slowly calming down as he spoke, but his eyes were still filled with madness. "I will chase myself to the grave, but if I will get them all there before myself, I will be grateful."

Dram stayed back from Athran.  "I am sorry to hear that," he said solemnly.  "They must have taken from you a great deal to give you so much pain.  But in your anger, you would have taken me with them.  Your rage gets the better of you Athran.  You should learn to control it.  Use it only in times of greatest need."

Athran looked away, and nodded slowly. "I guess... I guess you're right." he admitted. "I'm sorry. I wasn't being myself. I didn't want to turn against you."

He returned the blades to their sheaths, and delved his bloodied hand into his hair. "I think I should control myself more... If I do something like this again, warn me. Please."

Dram was still wary and did not put down his blade just yet.  "Warn you?  I'm not sure I will get that chance.  I don't understand why you let yourself become so overwhelmed, Athran.  It doesn't make any sense to me," he said plainly.  Apart of him was tempted to relax, and he did somewhat, but the look in his eyes made him all the more worrisome that he could still strike at any moment.

"But control is not so easily learned."

"Likewise," Dram nodded and reached down to inspect the bodies for a moment once the flames had subsided for the time being.  Kicking them aside, he cleaned his hands on the hide garb of one of them and the edge of his blade.  "Perhaps it might be prudent to look through these bodies.  Perhaps they might offer some kind of clue as to where they came from and just why and the hell they want the map!"

Athran nodded. "I take this half, you take the other." he replied silently, and begun inspecting the nearest corpse, moving the layers of armour around with a long blade, not eager to touch the dirty, stinking orc with his hands. There was nothing except for some coins and a broken dagger.

Most corpses didn't have much more, and some of them had nothing at all. However, he hesitated before stepping to the body of their leader - both because it stunk not like one, but ten dead orcs, and because he appeared to be much better equipped.

Dram's search didn't appear to reap much in its harvest either.  But when he observed Athran from the corner of his eye, too delicate to get his hands dirty, he scowled and called to him.  "Oh, stop being such a girl!" he growled and threw a severed hand at him.  He laughed and pulled a body off another and reached into its bags.  Within its confines was a leather skin and on it was a crude drawing of what seemed to be a map, but a poorly drawn one at that, painted in blood and ink.

"It looks like that's how they figured to find us, likely someone tipped them off somehow.  But who, how and where,  And why.  This guy musta been his scout or something.  Maybe it was him.  Too bad he's dead," Dram spoke idly, mostly to himself and turned to Athran.  "Find anything?"

Athran ignored Dram's remarks about his methods of inspecting orcs, and moved to search the dead leader. He wasn't ashamed to take the few gold coins in his pouch for himself, and was already ready to leave the corpse be, when he found something that piqued his interest. A piece of paper.

It was unusual to find something that refined and delicate on an orc, and he immediately assumed that it was not his possession. He unraveled it, and an elegant, slender handwriting appeared on the scrap before him. It was nothing like the scribbles and runes of orcs - actually, it looked like if written by a noble, or a well-educated scholar. His eyes were glued to it, but widened with surprise as he read it...

He turned to Dram, even paler than usual. "I found something. It's pretty darn bad..." he muttered. "Simply put, somebody wants the map and both our heads."

Dram kicked a body off his foot as he stood up and walked over to Athran to examine the piece of paper that he found.  It's delicate transcript was certainly something unusual in their possession and compared to the strip of leather he had found on the scout, it was something obviously done by human hands, or at least someone with opposable thumbs.

"I take it they contracted by someone with something over them, or lots of money.  Or perhaps simply the glory of killing you, not that that seems it will happen anytime soon.  But who else would want your head, and possibly be interested in a centuries old map..."

Athran further inspected the script, then slipped it underneath a plate of his armour. "I can't find out who wrote it, but it's clear it's instructions. Who to kill, what to take... I don't like this." he said silently.

"I have many enemies. I may, and may not look like your usual bounty for a thousand gold, but trust me, some people would pay that much." His voice was only a little louder than a whisper, but bleak with cynicism. "We should move on. It's not safe to linger on one place for too long. Loot what interests you and let's get lost."

It was a sound plan and just when Dram thought there was nothing worth taking, he spotted something on the ground and reached down to pluck it from among the dead.  "They say it's dishonorable to take a weapon from the dead, but he's not going to use it anymore," Dram murmured as he held the orcish bow in hand.  It was well put together, if not a little crudely crafted and better than nothing and with it he looted a quiver of black arrows with jagged tips.  A vague discoloration gave away that thet were poisoned.  It was just as well, that their pursuers would die by the same weapons they hunted them with.

"I've got all that was useful let's go before another pack shows up," he nodded and ran off through the trees.

Athran gave him a shrug upon seeing him take the bow. "Loot whatever you want." he repeated. "I took some things, too. Dishonourable or not, it doesn't matter if you need it." Looting corpses has become a habit on adventures - one of the less pleasant, but tactical ones. He himself took the coins from a few more orcs, and followed dram through the forest.

It was still dawn, but it was dark with clouds. It appeared as if it was to rain soon - and to their surprise and misfortune, it soon did. Large raindrops fell down onto the trees, dropping from their leaves onto the ground and the heads of the elves. Athran cursed. This wasn't helping.

"What's the matter?" Dram asked, running between trees at a steady pace.  "Can't stand a little rain?" 

Athran shook his head, covering it with the hood. "It's raining - there's going to be mud on the ground... And I don't want to leave footprints." he replied. "Besides, my armour could rust like this. It's broken enough for that."

"Perhaps you should reconsider that cumbersome armor.  Make something lighter, more easy to maneuver in, without worrying about rust."  He shrugged.  "I wouldn't know really know about heavier armors.  I've only what I needed for sufficient protection.  Leather, hide, something to keep me quick on my feet.  Speaking of which, you're right, perhaps we were better off when we stuck to the trees."

Athran shook his head. "It usually doesn't rust, but with serious damage done to it, I'm not that sure. I still have the lower layers of it, which is mostly leather, but those tend to get burned... It's not as easy to provide yourself gear if it's prone to damage on your body. Leathers burn like firewood if you aren't careful." he explained.

It was raining only heavier and heavier by every moment, and a thunder crashed somewhere up north. His cape was dripping with water, but even though the ground was becoming muddy, he was light on his feet, and left hardly any footprints other than crushed leaves - to his relief. He pulled the cape further to his face, to shield his eyes from the rain, and walked on.

Dram was silent and simply ran on for the time being.  He had always ran like the wind and nothing felt more natural to him than running, it freed him, both literally and figuratively, in mind and body.  He had learned long ago to become light on his feet and left only the whisper of his passing behind.  Only one thing lingered on his mind that running could not cure.

"How many more will come?"

Athran shrugged, giving the forest behind a short glance over his shoulder, and shook his head. "I don't know. But it can be many. Orcs breed fast, and their numbers are high." he replied quietly.

The storm unleashed its fury upon the mountains, but though many would find that frightening, Athran didn't. He always loved the sound of thunder and lightning, cracking behind the veils of rain, running through the wild dance of wind and raindrops. It wasn't unnatural or unpleasant to him... It was a wonder.

He looked up, and the hood sled off his head. There were still dark clouds on the sky, and it didn't appear that it should stop raining any soon... It didn't really matter anymore.

"I couldn't have expected anything better," Dram replied with a small smile.  He ran alongside Athran for the remainder of the forest.  Though trees were hard to find in the Thunderblacks, for only the hardiest were able to grow in the tough soil and ash of dragon fire, they provided ample cover from any eyes in the sky that may be looking down on them.

They moved in silence.  More rain came down on them and Dram did not have the cover of a cloak nor a hood to shield him from it.  Not that he needed one, but his mohawk was now plastered to his head and getting in his eye.  Athran had longer hair and he didn't know how he dealt with something so long and unmanageable.

When their running took them to a sudden cliff's edge, Dram skidded to a halt and peered over it.  It was a long drop, at least a league, a league and a half with nothing but sharp rocks below, boulders of broken slate, flint, igneous and sharpstone.  Dram frowned as his eyes searched the darkness and he saw a massive black shape moving swiftly from his sight.  He said nothing bu knew the quickest way down was to jump.  "Come on," he gestured to Athran and threw himself over the edge, sliding down the slope, using his foot to slow his fall.  As he hit the bottom, he gave a grunt at a pain in his ankle.  He busied himself with inspecting the damage until there was a rustle and a small light that appeared in the darkness.  Dram looked up and squinted.  "Is that a candle?"  But as he looked further, it quickly grew brighter and he jumped at the revelation of dragonfire.  "Shiiit!" He rolled out of the way just as billowing flames scorched the cliffside earth.

Athran jumped in right after Dram, falling through the air like an arrow. He landed on his bent knees, and though the fall sent a wave of pain through his body, it didn't appear that he would be hurt any worse than on the few places where he grazed his skin in the fall.

He wiped the long wisps of his hair out of his face, and looked up. A light flickered somewhere afar, but it was too red to be a candle. This wasn't a lantern...

He grabbed dram right before the auburn flames of a dragon crossed the valley. The fire singed his cape and the ends of his hair, and left him completely speechless. He slowly turned his head to Dram. "F**k." he whispered. "There's a dragon in here. We're in deep shit."

"Sometimes it's easy to forget why the Thunderblacks are famous in the first place," he growled softly, climbing to his feet.  He cracked his ankle back into place and quickly hobbled over the rocks as the dragon turned it's eyes to them. 

It growled and the sound of boiling flame raged within it's chest.  It scoured the stone in flame and heat and savage rage.  Dram ducked behind a flat stone and felt the fire dripping over the edge of it.  He kicked Athran on his side.  "Tell him to cool it!  You're a dragon rider dammit!  Start SPEAKING DRAGON!"

"How the hell am I supposed to speak with him? It's not MY DRAGON! IT'S A WILD DRAGON!" Athran yelled back, reaching after the first weapon that came to his mind.

"Go away! Leave us! We're not hunting dragons, you big lizard!" he screamed at the dragon, gesturing towards it to leave. "We're just passing through! Leave us alone!" Nothing better came to his mind, and he kept shouting.

To his own surprise, the dragon fire stopped, and the fire was gone. He stared at the large beast in front of him in surprise, then gave a slow nod, pointing at the other end of the valley. "Yeah... That way... We won't do anything to you..."

The dragon glared at the tiny pests within its nest and though the fire stopped and rain pelted down on them, they were still looking mighty delicious and he hadn't had a proper snack in days.  Though it didn't roast them further, it suddenly lunged forward and snapped it jaws at the pair.

Athran stumbled back, stabbing into the air with the knife, and a scream escaped his mouth. One of the dragon's long fangs ripped his already destroyed armour and made a deep scratch on his side. He almost fell on his back, trying to avoid the slashing tongue and gripping jaws, if not for the rock behind him.

He forced himself to cool down and think. He's not going to become any big lizard's dinner...

Dram hadn't been that far away when the dragon's jaws came snapping, but he knew better than to stick around and had been climbing the rocks just as the dragon had been charging.  When Athran's armor was just about destroyed, Dram lunched forward and snatched the Pale Elf by his hair, and gave it a savage pull, yanking him backwards before another snap could be had.

The dragon was more than furious, watching these two tasty morsels climbing and scrambling over rock and stone.  Dram's heart was beating wildly as he leapt from stone to stone.  More fire brewed within the barrel of its chest and spewed out fire, brushing it across the tops of the rocks.  Dram skidded behind one of them, feeling the heat touching his hair and he smacked a hand to the small flame before his entire head  was singed.

"I'll distract it, you run!" Dram called out and he moved from his hiding place, dashing quickly to the opposing end of the valley, a dead end where the cliffside rounded out in a cul-de-sac like fashion, trapping him so close to the belly of the beast.  He yelled and screamed and the dragon turned its rancorous fury down onto him into another blanket of fire.

Athran landed on his back as Dram gripped his hair and pulled him back. It could have saved him from a dragon's jaws, but it sure was painful just as well, and he groaned as he rolled over on the ground and climbed back to his feet. The beast has been chasing the dark elf...

And breathing fire at him. Was he... Stupid or something?

"You f***ing idiot! What are you doing? It will swallow you whole!" he screamed, bolting after the dragon. Completely ignoring his throbbing side, he reached after the scimitars on his back. The dragon was in a vulnerable position to him, exposing his soft underside... If he could slide underneath it and rip it with his scimitars, then there would be a dead dragon.

Before finding himself by the dragon's tail, he leaped into the air. As he hit the ground again, the sheer speed he reached before it kept him sliding forwards. He bent down to reach the soft underside of the dragon, and his scimitars skewed into the flesh of the beast, cutting it like a hot knife through butter. Its hot, acidic blood coated the blades, dripping onto Athran's hands, and the dragon let out a terrifying roar in its agony.

The elf rolled out from underneath its collapsing corpse as fast as he could, crawling on the sharp stones. Acid in the dragon's blood was burning where it touched his skin, and he was definitely bleeding from the scratch on his side, but he pushed all that away, focusing on getting away from the dragon.

Yes, he had placed himself between a rock and a hard place, between a cliff and the closing wall of death.  But Dram did not fear the dragon, not in the sense that he would beg for mercy, for his life, but he was ready to face whatever fate awaited him.  Athran had done enough sacrificing himself, and frankly he was sick of it. 

But before the flames could come forth to roast him alive, the dragon was done.  Dram had collapsed by a rock for the briefest moment, watching with wide eyes as the dragon fell over, its innards spilled out onto the stone.  In an instant, he scrambled to his feet and  hobbled over the opposing rocks, chasing after Athran.  "This way!" he shouted, and viewed a slit in the stone to the right of them, an entrance to a cave that seemed to be the immediate exit to the valley.

With a silent groan, Athran climbed to his feet. There was very little energy in him left, and he was still partly in shock from slaying the dragon. He followed Dram without even questioning his decisions, still clutching his scimitars, completely covered in the dragon's blood, which was dripping onto the stones below.

It was dark in the cave, but there was light somewhere afar, what seemed to be the other end of the cave. The cave, which was more of a tunnel, was wide and spacious, every step echoed between its walls as they walked through.

Dram's pace seemed too quick for Athran to keep up with, and he stayed behind, holding onto one of the walls of the cave. "Wait... Wait for me, alright?" he called out after him, trying to catch his breath. "I just... Need a short break." He returend the blades to their sheaths, and pressed his hand on the wound. His own blood was slowly flowing down his fingers, and he sled down onto the ground, staring up. "Not too long. Just... A few minutes." he assured Dram through his clenched teeth.

They didn't have a few minutes, and if they did, Dram wasn't aware of it.  His heart was pounding in his alarm, and he turned back when Athran begged him to give pause.  Dram said nothing and moved back towards his companion, observing his wound only momentarily before reaching for him and pulling his arm over his shoulder and throwing him over his back, and carried him down the steps.

[So short!]

Athran clenched his teeth, determined not to faint this time. He gripped his fingers around Dram's hand and partly sled off his back, still leaning onto him, but touching the ground with his feet. "You don't have to carry me. I can make it like this." he muttered.

He didn't want anything from anyone, and the less to be carried somewhere. His pride wouldn't let him stand it unless he'd be really dying, or there wouldn't be any other option.

"Oh shut up," Dram grumbled and lifted Athran over his back again.  He was cumbersome for he was a full grown elf, but it wasn't anything the Umbraeon couldn't manage.  He continued down the cavernous tunnel feeling blood drip down his side.  "You're hurt," he commented, stating the obvious.

"But not dead!" Athran growled back, twitching on Dram's back to get back on his feet. "It's not even serious. Just a scratch. I can walk. I don't need to be carried, nor do I want it." The fact that he had to be taken somewhere on someone's back while fully conscious was shameful at least, and completely outrageous at worst.

"You whine like a newborn babe," Dram grumbled again.  "Silence is always golden.  Now just meditate on holding the wound.  You're bleeding more than you think.  I can feel it dripping all over my shirt." 

Athran bit into his tongue to stop another bitter remark, and instead glanced at his side. It was really completely covered in blood, which somehow wasn't stopping despite the time that has passed. He could sew it up when they'd make a camp and spend the night somewhere on one place, but right now, there was very little he could do.

He shifted a plate of his armour over it and secured it with one of the belts, partly stopping the blood from flowing straight out, although he could still feel it bleeding. The blood loss was causing him to feel strangely light-headed...

Dram didn't stop for the better part of the cavern.  He could navigate easily in the darkness, like many creatures born into the darkness, and secured Athran's arms around his neck while he climbed the loose, dangerous stones.  Many of them slipped out from underneath his grasp, but he would scale it regardless, until he reached the top.

It was a long way down, and a long way up, but the ridge would prove nearly impassible to those that hounded them.  Dram rolled over the top, crawling to his feet before finding a wider cavern slit into the stone along the western edge of the wall.  It seemed secure enough and a stream passed through cracks on the eastern half of the wall.  It smelled fresh and to one with a parched throat such as he, Dram was most grateful.

He set Athran down as gently as he could and observed his back and side, covered in his blood.

Grateful to be finally put down, Athran rolled over ad pushed himself up to sit. He was tired and his head was turning, but he couldn't waste more time... His hands swiftly begun unbuckling his armour and putting the plates, often charred and broken, down, until he had almost nothing on his chest and arms except for the strips of cloth, wrapped around his wounds from the days before.

Surprisingly, his hands weren't shaking as he took a needle and thread from one of his pockets and wiped some blood from his side. No matter how uncomfortable it was, he had to sew the wound up, and he had just about enough strength to manage that. The cavern was dark, but his eyes were used to shadows, and he quickly pierced his skin with the needle on the right place. He cringed when the thread was pulled through his skin, bringing it back together, but continued nonetheless.

Dram sat down in the dark and pulled off his bloodied shirt, frowning at the stain and then moving over toward the stream to wash it.  Out from the corner of his eye, he observed Athran with a grimace and nodded his head toward the wound.  "Shouldn't you wash it first?"

Athran gave him a faint shrug, focusing more at the needle in his fingers than Dram's question. "Maybe... If I could. I won't get to the stream." he replied silently. The wound was slowly closing under his hands, though so much concentration was tiring him. Maybe his companion was right and he should have cleaned it first... But how would he even get to the stream? It was alright as it was.

"Here.  It's covered in your blood anyway.  It's better than nothing," Dram said, tossing him his already wet shirt, until it landed sloppily to his side.  "Just dab it a little is all you need."  Then after a moment he narrowed his eyes and pointed to him again.  "What was with all the whining?"

Athran caught the shirt, and softly wiped the blood from his white skin. It was cold, maybe even to the point where he'd find it uncomfortable, but he didn't complain. Finally getting rid of all the crimson around the wound was helpful, as he could see what is he doing far better.

"Thanks." he replied. He didn't give him a reply to his second question until much later, when he finished sewing his skin back together. "I just don't like being carried." he replied plainly, once again wiping the blood off, and pulling his own shirt over his head.

"You can give it back now y'know," Dram grumbled.  After observing him sew up the remains of his skin, Dram shook his head.  "You don't like people helping you, you mean.  Why?  What is so bad with accepting help from time to time?  I guess you've always stood alone, then eh?"

"If you let someone help you, you are vulnerable. And that's exactly when you tend to get stabbed in the back." he replied, tossing the shirt back to its rightful owner. "I'm alone and I like it. I don't need any help."

"Right.  Because the first thought after setting you down in a safe place was plunging my sword through your heart and selling your head to the orcs that are chasing us.  It's not like I climb up that impassable slope with you strapped by my back.  I apologize for making you feel vulnerable.  But I don't leave anyone behind," Dram said resolutely.  "Not ever."

"I'm not saying you would. But it's a habit that traces far into my past, and it's not something I can get rid of that easily." Athran replied bleakly, fastening the reins that held the rest of his armour on his lean body. "I'm sorry for going on you like that. And I thank you for not leaving me behind, but don't blame me for not trusting."

"I don't blame you.  I understand if you don't trust me, even now.  I know you can't just change your habits.  I just want you to know that I never leave my companions behind.  We all survive, or none at all.  I don't know much about honor, if such a thing could be said to really exist,  but I know that is my oath, in the least.  We stick together.  That is how we survive," he said solemnly, though with no intention to lecture.

Athran peered into the distance, eventually nodding slowly. "Only cowards leave the other one behind. We're not cowards." he muttered. "I wouldn't leave my companions behind, either. It's weak... Beastly."

After all pieces of his gear were finally on their places, he stood up again. "I think we should continue. The faster we get out of here, the better." he advised, looking around himself for an exit.

"There," Dram pointed out to the side, throwing back his sopping shirt back onto his body and taking the time to refill his canteen.  "Look to the left, that slit might be an exit, but maybe not for someone bearing a great deal of armor.  You just might be able to slip through yourself.  You can leave the remains of that crap behind or...try to fit it through somehow."

"I'll get through." Athran assured him. "I'm just skin, bones and a few pieces armour, anyway." He walked over to the slit, offering an exit in the height somewhat under his chest. Bending his knees and gripping the edges, he pushed his head and shoulders through, finding himself up on the surface again. With a grunt, he scrambled up, though the rock pushed the daggers and plates of armour into his flesh. His feet were dangling in the cave, but that was only a slight inconvenience, once he got his chest out.

He crawled up and popped his head back through the slit. "It's not as small! I got through, your turn now!" he cried out to Dram, and patiently waited for the dark elf to crawl out just as well.

Dram slipped much easier through the crag of stone and pulled his feet out.  He was not hindered by armor, nor a great many weapons.  He only needed one of those, and it did just fine for him.  He supposed some elves just needed the extra weapons for their own sense of security, but otherwise he was satisfied.

He leaned down on the ground and took the map from his shoulders.  He unfurled it and tried to make sense of it.  "Where are we now?"

Athran took a while to think about it, eventually finding their position only a short distance from the ruins. "We're southwest from them... And we have to go here." He pointed at a point on the map, glancing at Dram over his shoulder. "It's not long, just a few miles. Shall we run, or...?"

"Run.  Is that even a question?" Dram laughed and put the map away.  The night was cold, they would make it there before dawn.

Athran nodded without any greater interest, climbing to his feet again. "I remember where we should go. I'll lead." he said shortly, and turned in the direction where the ruins should be, hidden behind the mountainsides. It was dark, but he was no stranger to that.

He started noiselessly running, giving Dram a small gesture to follow.

Dram followed Athran's lead wordlessly.  He was not unaccustomed to following, for one could not learn to lead without it.  For one so gravely wounded, Athran traversed the harsh terrain easily, almost giving Dram a run for his money.  "I see it!" he called out.  "Just over that mountain.  We can pass through that ridge there."

Athran stopped for a moment, both to take a better look at the ridge and to let Dram catch up. Indeed, between the mountains was a gap, and from behind it he saw treetops. "Yes, it's there. I can see it, too." he said calmly.

"If I read the map right, there's quite a large valley with a forest over there. That's where the ruins should be."

Dram looked down into the valley, where trees pointed up from the ash and soil, thicker here than they had been previously.  The terrain was rough and ragged and it would be quite a climb down if you didn't just jump headfirst, breaking ribs, your skull, your arm, or just your neck if you were foolish enough.  And Dram was just about to look for the easier way down when a sudden war horn resounded behind them on the horizon.

He could see them, the wargs, and they were in scores beyond scores.  Dram scowled in the darkness.  "Oh, look Athran, your friends are back."

Athran sighed. "I know. They followed us for a while already. That's why I was running so fast." he growled. "We'll have to climb down fast... Or jump. If you think you can do that without breaking your neck, then go on, but I'm going straight down."

Without saying anything else, he dropped his legs over the edge off the cliff, and sled down onto a very narrow cornice. It was only wide enough for his feet to stand on it, and small rocks were dropping off its edges. He held onto the sharp stones around himself as he climbed it down, almost recklessly, often jumping into the deep below. He always found a place he could reach...

...Until then. No matter how much he stared under himself, there was nothing, and he was still high off the ground. It wouldn't be of any use to climb back up, and it would only waste more of the time of which they had so little. "Don't go this way!" he shouted at Dram, and turned around to jump.

The stone under his feet cracked a little as he leaped into the air, aiming to fall onto something at least a little softer than the spiked rocks right under the cliff. He turned aside to avoid crashing into the ground with his head.

A sharp spike of pain hit him as he bashed into the ground. He bit into his tongue to stop himself from screaming, and reached after his left arm, pressing it to himself. Something cracked, and his forearm felt painfully out of its place. Without being able to move it, he just held it by his chest, moving as little as possible. He scrambled to his feet, clenching his teeth, and looking up, hoping that Dram will find a better way.

Dram had not gone the way Athran had, so recklessly throwing himself down the slope.  The terrain  here was treacherous and unstable, and he knew the risks of falling so hard on sharp rocks.  He had sprained his ankle before in the dragon's valley, and this slope was all that steeper.  He could only imagine the kind of damage he'd endure in a fall like this.

So instead, he went around, toward the less steep path.  But it was not as secure as he'd hoped.  The ground here was covered in loose gravel and rocks.  His feet slid down the path and he leaned down until he reached the bottom.  His entire side was shredded by the rocks and dirt, scraped and he grit his teeth at the unpleasant sensation.

"Dammit," he growled and when the slope eased, he pulled himself to his feet, limping a little in the unpleasant fall.  But heavy paws were following close behind them and the four-legged wargs had an easier time, crossing down the pit than they did.  Dram only cast one glance behind him before pushing off and running down another steep slope, just as dangerous as the first one.  "Athran!  They're circling us!  Spread out!" he called out to the other dark figure running across the rocks.

Athran growled at the sight of the wargs. He knew they followed them, but this closely? This wasn't good... He was in no shape to fight. They'd have to run, or get ripped to pieces by those vicious slashing jaws.

Off course, there was a way out, and quite an easy one - for him. The hides of the wargs were flamable, and burned easily... But Dram was somewhere behind, and he didn't want to roast him like a sausage, too. He turned around and bolted back towards the cliff.

His hand clenched around Dram's shoulder and yanked him away from the cliff, sprinting in the other direction. The wargs were right behind their backs, and he could hardly find enough concentration to set off the sparks that would burn them. Their fangs were clinking right behind them, drooling on the stones, and they were definitely faster...

A black flame sprung from the back of the closest warg, and his rugged hide, crossed by scars, came up in flames. It let out a terrifying roar, suddenly turning around in confusion. Athran let out a sigh of relief - that was one less. Others were catching on fire, too, and soon, the whole pack was set on fire.

"Hold onto me..." he growled at Dram, and dared to pull one more trick with the fire. Its flames appeared in his footsteps, following him, and spread into a wall of blazing black and purple flames right behind them.

Good gods did it suddenly get very hot very quickly and everything happened faster than Dram could recognize.  So when Athran's hands came around his ripped shirt, Dram reacted in the only way he knew how and his fist shot out at his face and he struck him viciously, not realizing it was him.  He halted, even in the midst of fire, falling into one of his flaming footsteps and becoming scalded in the process.

His back was burn, as well as parts of his shirt.  Thank goodness it was still mostly wet or it all would have gone up in flames.  Dram rolled out and patted the smoke off of him and bolted through the trees once more, running with savage fury.

He halted at the sudden strike, letting it swing by his face, and snarled at Dram. "What the hell are you doing? I'm trying to save your ass!" he shouted, trying to pull him back up. There was no time to make the flames back up when he fell into them, and he scowled at his companion.

"Stop being a f***ing idiot and run!" he growled, sprinting towards the ruins in the distance. Trees appeared by their sides, shaking in the wind, and they were illuminated by the dim, dark light of the fire. The howling behind intensified as the wargs were catching on fire, violently consumed by the flames that ate away their flesh and burned into their bones.

He was going mad with rage. What did Dram think he was doing? Trying to smack him wouldn't help at all, especially when he was in control of the very flames that burned so greatly right behind their backs. He knew that he may have overreacted, but when trying to escape from wargs, he honestly didn't care. He was hardly keeping himself conscious, as the flames consumed his energy, and a stupid companion was the last thing he'd need on his side.

"I am running, you asshole!" Dram growled and ran fast enough to leave Athran behind.  He was not as severely wounded, nor attempting to control the fire that would keep their pursuers at bay.  The trees thickened around them, some of them taking to the flame, perhaps not intentionally, but a stray spark could work dangers unimaginable.

Just as Dram had predicted the wargs were flanking them, spreading out into a wider and wider field, and more and more came no matter how many Athran tried to burn away.  They were legion.  Dram ran like a madman, like his ancestors of old did within the wilds, the trees, the caves, hellbent on the warpath.

It seemed however that the warpath was upon them.  The orcs riding the wargs beat the soil in a torrent, a whirlwind fury as they tried to bottle them up as the ruins grew nearer and nearer.  Dram would not tire.  He would not exhaust, he would not leave Athran behind as stupid as he was.  But they were both fools running headfirst into the maw of the beast.

The flames were growing larger and larger, more violent, fiercer with every moment. Athran couldn't run as fast, as all his concentration was at the fire, and he was drained of all strength, but he still ran towards the ruins as fast as he could, turning sideways to watch the fire. The more of their enemies it burned the more appeared again, it seemed...

There must have been a whole army of them. Even though he created a fiery hell around them, searing with heat far greater than a dragon's fire, it wasn't enough. The ruins were fortunately getting closer... He could even recognize the well the map spoke of.

However, when he reached the wall that lined its large, deep pool, resembling a pond rather than a well, there was no other way around. It was surrounded by walls, crumbled pillars, and the path that was supposed to lead from it was nowhere to be found. He gasped in horror.

The water was incredibly deep and dark, but a dim light seemed to come from it, illuminating its clear, mirror-like surface.

"Dram?" Athran slowly turned his head back, glancing over his shoulder, and stepped to the edge of the pool. "I think we'll have to jump in."

They didn't really have time for considerations for pauses or waiting.  Dram skidded to a halt before the surface of the water and stared about them.  When their point of entry was nowhere to be found, he clenched his jaw in fury and turned back on the beasts that had somehow made it through the fire.  He cursed under his breath and suddenly he thrust Athran into the water, breaking the surface and diving in after him.

Though it seemed that he could just as easily drown the foolish Pale Elf, instead Dram grabbed his shoulder and nudged him, before taking his arm and pulling him down deep into the murky darkness.  The obscurity of underwater was not quite the same as the obscurity of a cave and Dram's eyes stung from the dirt and grime that blocked his view.

He pulled Athran along with him, down toward the gleam of light below, alit only by spherical orbs of light.  Even that was dimmed beneath the surface of the pond.  Dram hadn't had fantastic experiences when it came to being underwater.  Too many things lurked under here.  But the danger of being skewered over an orc spit was certainly a fear more immediate than the unknown of the pond.

Dram kicked hard in the water and continued to swim toward the light.

Before he was shoved to the water, Athran let the flames burst into an insane height. The trees were blazing with fire, burning like torches, and all was filed with the sounds of battle, howling of wargs and screeching of orcs.

He didn't fight when he was pushed to the water - it was only necessary, and he didn't see a different way out. His body crashed into the surface of the water with a loud splash, and its cold drips immediately soaked through his clothes straight onto his skin. It didn't even make him wince, and he just blankly stared through the dim veil above him at the surface. He was sinking under the weight of his armour and weapons, fortunately holding a breath large enough to allow him to survive a while underwater.

It was cold, and that shocked him, making him breath a portion of the air out, which arose from his mouth and nose in small bubbles, floating up like pearls. He could dimly see the reflection of the flames somewhere up above him, but below, lights were glowing with a pale, eerie light. It sent a chill down his spine to see them pulsing in the darkness below.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes, what would only result in falling unconscious, and weakly kicked into the water in an attempt to help Dram move deeper. It was burning his eyes and creating pressure onto his body, but he just clenched his teeth a little stronger and let the dark elf pull him deeper.

His lungs hurt as his eyes stung and burned.  If it was at all possible to tear up in the murky depths, Dram likely would have done so by now.  The Pale Elf proved to be a horrid weight, and he was dragging him down.  Dram slowly turned and pulled Athran up toward him, feeling himself sink before he reached for the heavy belt of small blades and daggers.  They were cumbersome and more than unmanageable in the present moment.  He was half tempted to drop the heavy black sword as well, but kept his hands from it, remembering what happened last time when he did so.

He took off a pauldron, the metal shining for a moment in the brief light before fading away, and he pulled the rest of them now through the long tunnel.  His lungs felt like a thousand needles were prickling into them, strained as they were to make the most of what air was in him.  Dram wouldn't die underwater though, there were better ways to become lost from this world.  Water had failed to kill him before, and it would fail again.

Breath sputtered and spit ran down his jaw when at last he broke the surface and pulled Athran up with him, as they reached a mortared shore, stone underneath them, wet and dank with moss and algae and smelled of rot and dirt and death.  "Home sweet home," Dram coughed, as he rolled off to the side of the aqueduct tunnel.

To be able to breathe again was a great relief, though all Athran managed to do in the first few moments was coughing out water and gasping for air. It was burning in his lungs and in the wounds that weren't yet completely healed, and he didn't find the strength to do anything but stare.

Dram has dropped some of his armour and weapons while they were underwater, but in this moment it was acceptable. The wouldn't have gotten out otherwise, and as long as he had the three main weapons, he would manage. He rolled over, groaning as he accidentally laid down on his left arm, and climbed up to his elbows.

It was damp and stunk of decay and age, but he'd rather be stuck here, than having an orc's axe in his skull. He blinked in the darkness - lights seemed to glow somewhere on the other end of the tunnel.

"We're in deep shit. Stuck in a damn well." he cursed, and dropped back down. Water was dripping from his hair and clothes and flowed down his skin onto the stone, as cold as ice.

"No, no we're not," Dram coughed and sputtered, spitting water and shaking his head.  He crawled, shakily to his feet.  He stumbled over to Athran and helped him to his feet, dragging him from the water a little.

Dram pulled out the map as carefully as possible from the waterproof container and unfurled it.  "Look...the well leads to an aqueduct system, and could very well lead us into the ruins itself.  I mean, if the main sections aren't gated off."

Athran dropped back to his knees shortly after Dram picked him up, trembling with exhaustion and pain. The water left him cold and sore, and without the energy he used to create fire, he struggled to concentrate.

He eventually managed to sit again, and while he pressed his left arm to his chest, he ran through his hair with the right one, an slicked its black wisps back to stop them from falling into his face. He reached after the map to take a better look, though all he wished for was to take a rest.

"Do we continue, or take a break here?" he muttered, raising his gaze to Dram.

Dram slicked the damp ends of his Mohawk back from his head and crouched beside Athran.  As exhausted as he was, he never felt that he had to stop.  The grave scratch on his side stung from the water but it otherwise wasn't much of a hindrance.  He rolled up the map and threw it back into the tubing before sealing it up.

"We can rest, for now.  Though I don't fancy much the smell of this tunnel.  It smells like too many people drowned in here."

"I'd make a camp on a graveyard." Athran replied. He crawled over to the edge of the tunnel, and leaned against the wall with his back. His fingers, partly numbed by the cold, unbuckled the gauntlets and bracers on his left arm. It was twisted in an unnatural position and every touch made him cringe.

He stared into the distance blankly, eventually ripping a large part from his shirt and wrapping the metal bracers onto his forearm. "It was honestly a bad idea to jump..." he groaned. "I hope you ended up better."

"I wouldn't.  It is disrespectful to the dead.  I may not be much for religion, but I know that much at least," Dram commented idly.  As he observed Athran's arm he made a soured expression, then sat beside him.  "Looks like it needs to be set.  Won't be pretty.  Need help?"

Athran gave him a faint nod, clenching his teeth. "At least I didn't fall on my head..." he muttered. "I don't know if I'd manage to put it back to place myself." He took the piece of armour off and removed also the harder leather glove that covered the wraps from a few days ago. It was all ripped and dirty the same, but he considered it a luck that it still held together.

"Then you might want to bite down on something hard," Dram said, stating the obvious.  When Athran was ready, he grabbed his arm carefully, observing where the break was most grievous and gave a mighty tug.

Athran put the ragged glove between his teeth and clenched his fingers around it. Even as Dram grabbed his arm only softly, he cringed. All of a sudden, he pulled it with far greater strength, cracking the broken bones back into place.

He groaned even despite the leather in his mouth, and bent his head back to hold the tears in.

Dram knelt beside Athran and lightly slapped his face.  "Stay awake.  Can't have you passing out now," he quipped, with half a smirk before offering him his canteen filled with clean water.

Athran blinked, and pulled the glove out of his mouth. "I'm not passing out... Not yet." he muttered, and took the flask with water, slowly taking a small gulp. "You don't have to slap me because of it..." He pulled his knees closer to his chest. Heck, it was too cold and damp to even pass out.

"Oh Relax," he smirked.  "It was a light tap.  If I wanted to slap you, my hand would be imprinted on the side of your face.  That's the downside of having such light skin."  Dram took his time to sit down for now and drank from the canteen for himself.  "Say you got anymore of those jerky rations on you?  I know now probably isn't a good time to eat, but honestly...I'm starving."

"I agree, though I won't risk eating myself... Might have something, but it's probably crushed, soaked and no good to eat." he replied, searching for any food that may yet be in an edible state. Eventually he pulled out a pack of completely crushed and damp rations. Even the wrapping was ripped and revealed the light surface of its contents through the holes.

"If you think you can eat it and not throw up, go on. I can't eat a thing." he said, handing Dram the rations, and returned to fastening the bracers to hold his arm in a more comfortable position. With little success so far, as it always sled to a wrong position.

"I'll stomach it.  I hope," was all he said before Dram opened up the soaked rations.  They were ripped and smelled a little funny, but right now, he would eat nearly anything short of the mold on the walls if it would stave off momentary hunter and he was careful to eat only the good parts of it before folding the rest up.

"So how old are you?  I'm sure you've suffered worse wounds than a busted arm, eh?"

"Five hundred and forty seven." Athran muttered. One of the buckles was already tied and appeared to hold right. "And I think it's not even the first time this year I broke it. Yeah, been through worse." The second buckle clinked a little as it closed, but the armour sled aside into a wrong position right after. He cursed under his breath and took it off again.

"I can't concentrate. I keep getting it wrong and I can't concentrate..." he sighed. "Maybe it would be better if I just took at least an hour of sleep."

"And in all your five hundred plus years you ought to know by now that you have to splint a break," Dram said with a crooked frown.  "Wait here."  It wasn't like Athran really had a choice.  Dram didn't like the thought of venturing back down into the water, but he knew that they had little else to serve as a proper tool to keep his arm from falling back out of place.  But he dove back into the murky water and back out into the pond.

It seemed to be several moments before Dram resurface once more with the belt of daggers and knives he had pulled from Athran.  He carried them in one hand and he carried the broken armor pieces in he other.  "Here, this might work, if a little tentatively," he offered and took one of the daggers from the belt, the most straight bladed one he could find and strapped it to Athran's arm, then tore what leather straps were still connect to the armor and bound it around his forearm.

"That might work.  If it doesn't, you can always cut your arm off."

"Thanks. I thought of that, but unfortunately, you got rid of the daggers." Athran replied, studying the improvised wraps and eventually using the scrap of his shirt to bind the dagger to his arm a little better. When he felt like there is nothing more he could do, he moved even further away from the water, taking a more comfortable position on the ground to sleep for a while. "I don't really have a choice about taking a rest, but it won't take me too long."

He folded his right arm under his head and carefully put the left one down by his side, and closed his eyes. Despite the uncomfortably wet clothes and painful bones, he'd still fall asleep in a matter of a few moments.

Dram only then realized he was talking to himself and set Athran's broken arm down beside him.  He sat back against the tunnel wall, observing his torn up side and frowned.  He supposed it would be a waste to just leave the other pieces of the broken armor here, so he found a way to strap it across his midsection, strapping the remain leather around his shoulder and other around his waist, to shield his savaged side.

Athran hardly slept for an hour before opening his eyes again - to the feeling of damp clothes, empty stomach, and stiff body. He groaned as he raised himself to sit and looked around in confusion, blindly searching for something to eat, or drink. He found the bottle with water, and took a drink as large as he could without emptying it, but there wasn't any food around.

He peered over his shoulder at Dram. "Hey... You asleep?" His voice came out far quieter than he expected, and he cleared his throat. "Dram, are you sleeping?" he asked. He pulled his legs closer to his chest, carefully moving his left arm over onto his calves, and delved into his hair.

He'd kill for a piece of bread, but it appeared that they didn't have even that.

Dram's eye poked open for a moment, looking at Athran from the corner of his eye.  He wasn't exactly in a comfortable position, having nestled himself into the opposing corner with his back against he wall and dropping his limps like he was a dead person.  A soft breath and he opened his tired eyes, looking haggard and old and blinking at Athran.

"I am now," he  muttered, wiping drool from his lips.  "Y'know I hardly slept what with all your snoring.  You sounded like a damn bear."

Athran frowned. "That definitely wasn't me. I don't snore, and I never did." he glowered. His eyes shifted from Dram to the water, and as they sat in silence, his ears caught the sound, resembling quiet growling, too.

"It's coming from the water..." His voice was silent, but he grabbed what things he had on the ground and crawled away from the shore, climbing to his feet. "I think we should leave. There's something there." He nodded towards the water. Its surface, till then calm, was rippled.

"Well, you were asleep, of course you can't hear yourself snore," Dram grumbled underneath his breath.  But then he at last heard the gurgling noise and he jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain along his side as he crouched beside Athran.  He stared at the surface of the water but a brief moment.

"You don't need to tell me twice," he griped and threw his sword back onto his back.  Just as he turned to leave, an eyeball popped up from the water, a burp and several large tentacles with a mouth at the center suddenly jumped up and reached for the both of them.  Dram had been half-expecting such a thing and had pulled out his sword in time.  But the tentacle still wrapped around his ankle and dragged him underneath the surface, back through the tunnel.

The first thing Athran realised was that something emerged from the water, accompanied by a loud splash. The second thing was that when he turned around to observe what that thing is, a tentacle wrapped tightly around his knees and calves and dragged him into the water with an insane strength. He dropped everything he held in his hands in the meantime and reached after his scimitars.

Another tentacle grabbed his left arm and forcefully pulled it away from the sheaths. Athran, holding his breath in the water, almost let out a scream in pain as it twisted itself around his forearm, and blindly kicked into the rest of the tentacles. He reached the other one of the scimitars, and slashed after the tentacle that held his arm. Black blood streamed out as he cut it's end off, and aimed at the one by his legs, but only then he saw how much closer to the thing's mouth he was dragged.

Too many creatures that lurked beneath the depths of black water.  Dram was really sick of it all, but it's not like that sentiment really could be helped in a time like this.  Dram slashed at the tentacle around his ankle.  While there were many appendages to be had from the creature, it seemed they were mostly preoccupied with trying to straighten Athran for devourment.

Dram swam quickly toward the creature, wrestling away what tentacles sought to swat him away.  The edge of his kopis was freed for a brief second and stabbed down toward the hardened husk of the creature.  A muffled cry echoed through the water, and blood clouded it further like leaking ink.

The creature sunk deeper at the slash of Dram's kopis, pulling Athran down and fiercely shaking him with its tentacles. He hit the slick tentacle that held his legs, and the blade of the scimitar cut it to pieces, leaving a cloud of inky blood behind. Athran kicked into the water to launch himself higher and get rid of the pressure the water made at him.

Another sharp slash of the blade cut deep into an exceptionally large tentacle that reached after him while he swam towards the creature's head. He closed his eyes for a moment, as the water burned them, and with another couple of kicks he found himself somewhere by its large beak. The tip of the scimitar skewed into it, letting more inky black seep into the water, and it was yanked out shortly after to stab again, deeper and stronger.

The creature was suddenly aware of it's mortality the more the elves began to skewer and slash at it.  It suddenly tore away from Athran's blades, shrieking as well as it could under water.  It pulled away from him, fleeing for it's life, leaving a trail of black blood in its wake.  Dram's lungs were starting to hurt and he felt his head hurting from the pressure.  He could no longer hold his breath and swam back to the surface, kicking until he gasped for air, crawling back through the tunnel.

In the moment the beast started backing away, Athran pulled the blade of his scimitar back, and kicked himself up, towards the surface of the water. The pressure was pressing his lungs and ears, burning them, and he was almost out of breath.

For a while, he couldn't catch his breath when he threw himself out of the water, crawling away and forth in the tunnel, gasping for air. He pressed his arms on his chest and spat out some water, slowly stumbling away from the shore.

"I already thought that we're... Screwed up..." he muttered.

"With our luck, things are only bound to get worse," Dram muttered as he pulled himself up onto the stony bank once more, resheathing the sword and shaking the water from his hair.  He was starting to chafe and he really didn't like it.  "Let's just get the hell out of here.  I'm sick of water monsters."

"Only water?" Athran growled, standing up and shaking the water off himself. "I'm sick of all of them. I feel like shit, and it has hardly been a few days." he admitted. "And I'm so hungry I'd eat even a warg."

He rubbed his left arm, pressing it onto his chest, and made a few steps towards the tunnel. A trembling flame appeared above his fingers, and he used it to light the cave behind.

Dram moved haggardly behind him.  "I can handle the ones on the ground, at least they're a little easier to detect when they sneak up on you.  But man those creatures in the water...fuck you can barely see in all the murk.  Bah, but what good is complaining doing either of us.  Look at your arm.  You're bleeding out!"  Dram frowned that the wound was disrupted, but there was little either of them could do about it.

Athran glanced down, noticing that his arm indeed was bleeding, and his fingers were already covered with blood. He must have accidentally cut himself with the dagger that was fastened to his forearm at some point...

He sled onto the ground and ripped another piece of his already damaged shirt off, wrapping it around the cut and stuffing it between the dagger and his skin. "F***ing knife..." he snarled, wiping the blood off with one edge of his cape, teeth clenched. "I don't even know what we're doing here. All we got through this time was frozen, burned, cut, and beaten."

Dram was silent for the longest moment before he peered at Athran from the corner of his eye.  "For what lies inside these ruins," he replied.  "A treasure beyond wildest dreams.  Maybe that doesn't matter to you.  But it matters to me.  I told you I wasn't a petty thief.  I don't go after paltry purses and pockets filled with a day's worth of coin.  One score, one find, one hit.  That's it.  You're set for life."

"That sure must be worth a lot..." Athran muttered. "I guess you're right. I'm sorry for going off at you like that." He pulled himself back up on his feet, and grabbed what of his belongings was still on the floor. "I haven't eaten for a few days, and it's really getting onto me."

Holding onto the wall, he stepped forth into the dark, and gave Dram behind him a short glance over his shoulder. "I guess we should get going. I don't want to stay near the water."

"Please, let's move on from here," he nodded in agreement and lead the way through the tunnel.  It wound around them and opened up to a high-ceiling antechamber.  And before them was a broad frame and underneath that the broken chamber, piled high with bones and heavy with the stench of death.  A chill ran through Dram, but he pressed on anyway, adjusting a hand on the grip of his sword, dread filling him.

Athran cringed at the sight before him, but as he held his hand with the flame higher, another exit from the chamber could be seen - much higher and smaller than the one they stood in. A narrow path led by the wall, which then turned into a staircase, leading into the dark hole up on the wall.

"I guess that's it. There doesn't seem to be anything else." he concluded with a shrug, and stepped onto the ledge.

"Careful, Athan, you never know with these old ruins.  They could just fall apart around you."  Such a warning was obvious and he stepped onto the ledge and suddenly had his foot plummeted through the stone and he used his other leg to vault back toward the side wall, pressing against it.  "I guess I should take my own advice.  Let's go."  And they proceeded to walk back up the ledge and shortly reached the staircase.

The edge of the ledge was crumbling as they walked, and every now and then, Athran shot a glance at it, wondering if it will collapse any soon. The stairs seemed even more fragile, but when they finally reached the tunnel, a quite pleasant - though also slightly scary - surprise awaited in it.

By the side lay two backpacks, quite full, and obviously not older than a few weeks - they were hardly even dusty. Athran immediately bent over above them, examining their contents, and he was amazed when he found a nice load of food and water... "It's got food, and quite new. Maybe even edible... It's not more than a few weeks old. Should be good. But who could have left them here?"

At the sight of loaded rucksacks, Dram paused at the entrance of the tunnel.  Athran was more than enthusiastic about it and immediately inspected them.  But Dram kept his distance and he frowned at the sight of them.  Not because they were filled with unused goods, but his curiosity was stemmed more towards where the owners of those bags were.

"I don't know," Dram said idly as he stepped into the tunnel and as he did so, he felt something beneath his foot stink into the ground and suddenly the pathway behind him was closed off as stone shifted and a great rock moved into the doorway.  Suddenly there was a great grinding that echoed into the tunnel before them.  "Athran..."  Dram's eyes were suddenly wide as he noticed the wholes in the walls.  "Grab the bags.  Run! RUN!"

Dram himself snatched on up one of the sacks and began to run for the end of the corridor as spikes began to shoot out from the holes in rapid succession and with them sections of the walls were close in, bottle-necking them out of the tunnel and onto the ledge on the other side.  Dram stopped just before falling into the pit and turned just in time to see two crushed skeletons protruding from the spikes, where they'd been skewered through and hidden in the walls.

Athran grabbed the other bag, and bolted towards the other end of the tunnel after Dram. He could hear the spikes behind him moving out of the walls... As he turned his head aside when they were already out, he saw the skeletons, crushed and punctured by the spikes, and slowly glanced down at the satchel in his hands.

"At least we have some food." he uttered, and immediately reached into the bag for something to eat. The rations were slightly smashed and old, crunching in his teeth, but they seemed to be edible, maybe even more than those that he carried with him only a few hours before. It was a relief to finally eat something after a few days, and he ate it far quicker than one would have expected from someone like him. He offered the rest to Dram. "It tastes good... Want some?"

Dram was too busy catching his breath before turning his eyes to Athran, watching him scarf down the food like a savage.  He took a drink from his canteen and set it back to his side.  "No. No, I couldn't eat a time like this," he said, and his eyes then traced the narrow ledge as it trailed all the way up the square cavern.  Below them was nothingness a pit whose mystery Dram had no care to discover.

But above them the ledge spiraled higher and higher, with small openings to other chambers along the way.  "We got a long way to go.  You eat it.  You'll need your strength."

"There's enough for both of us, for a few weeks if we'll eat scarcely." Athran mumbled, and swallowed the last part of the ration. "Mostly things that don't really decay. Rations. Dry meat. Something that's either water, or wine..." He pulled out a flask, and opened it, smelling the liquid inside. "Yeah, wine, and seems like red. But I wouldn't drink that."

He slipped the remaining food back into the backpack, and threw it over his back. Feeling far better than before, finally able to think clearly after a meal, he studied how the ledge led spiraling up the walls of the chamber. There were many hollows in those walls... "Now which way is supposed to lead to the wall? I think this is the staircase that leads to the actual ruins... We have to find a door that is outside... That's how it was described on the map. So we need to find a way out. I'd go for one of the upper doors, and then..." he shrugged, "Then we'll have to see which one seems less suspicious."

"I think I've learned my lesson with that kind of thinking in the past," Dram said idly.  "Just follow the ramp."  He did so, moving carefully and being sure to secure his footing before stepping down onto it, ensuring also that anything that remotely looked like a button wasn't stepped on.  It had been too long since the last ruins he wandered into, but a good rule of thumb would be to always watch your step, and never take your eyes from the path.

They wound up and upward, the blackened hallways on either side of them proving empty and fruitless.  Soon however, they came to a larger chamber, the high roof opened up and violet flames alit torches as they made their way to the golden wall before them.

"This must be the Golden door..." Athran muttered, standing in the doorway still like a statue. "Don't go forth. You don't know what's there." he warned Dram, studying the hall, and the large plate of gold on the opposite side of it.

"We'll have to wait for an eclipse. Don't you know when the soonest one happens?" He settled down in the hallway, not too eager to enter the chamber, and put the backpack down beside him.

Dram kept his place where he was standing in the first place and watched Athran for a moment before turning his eyes upward toward the darkened ceiling.  Up above them, high beyond mortal reach, was a small hole carved away in the tip of the ruin's peak.  It was rimmed with what appeared to be a stained glass designed which had not failed over the years and he peered higher up and saw the sky slowly moving above them.

"I guess if we wanted to get out, this would be the only way to do it, if we could even reach this far," he said, pointing up to the antechamber ceiling.  "But I guess in a few hours, we will have to await the dawn."

"Guess we should sleep, then. It will do both of us good... I'll take the first watch, if you want." He stretched his arms, careful not to move the left one more than necessary, and sled down the wall a little further, nonchalantly crossing his legs.

He eyed the hole in the ceiling. It was high, too high for both of them to reach, but if one would stand on the other's shoulders, it could be reached. He delved into his long hair with one hand and carefully studied the door. It shouldn't be so difficult to set it on fire and keep it ablaze.

Now, they only had to wait.

With rest their only option, Dram sat down on the floor, careful to strewn himself beside a pillar that had nothing on it that made it obviously dangerous.  No pressure plates, points, or trap buttons that he could detect and he leaned against it.  He tried to close his eyes but sleep wouldn't come.  He opened his tired eyes to Athran and he blinked at him for a few moments.

"Athran," he muttered.  "Tell me a story."

"A story?" Athran raised a brow. "What kind of story would you like to hear?" He scratched his head. "One of my own, or those I've only heard? Mine aren't nice... I don't know if you'd like them."

After a short while, he spoke again. " I know a fair share of them... I don't think that speaking of bloodshed and battles would give you exactly sweet dreams."  He snapped his fingers, and a small, auburn fire danced above their tips. It had the color of a dragon's flame, and the same twinkling, warm quality...

Dram blinked and stared at the flame for a time.  "I don't buy heroic tales or legendary feats.  Life has enough mystery for us all," he murmured.  "You're old.  Tell me a story about yourself if you wish.  I don't mind what it might be about."

Athran let out a sigh. The flame bickered a little under his breath, casting dancing shadows on the walls around, and Athran begun speaking.

"I remember a tale that might not be as bad... A long time ago, when I was young, I knew a woman. She was a treasure hunter, or so she said, but I think she was just a thief... I didn't care, I was a mercenary since I was young, and it didn't matter. But she once saved me from getting arrested, and I crazily agreed to help her on what she was doing right then." For a moment there was silence. "She found out about a tower... An old watchtower where there was supposed to be a treasure, but something guarded it. In the forest. I was a young fool and I agreed without thinking... But as we found ourselves in the forest, once in a night, as she persisted on traveling till we drop, we were suddenly ambushed by trolls. We ran from them, but we got to a dead end, and the trolls knocked us out. We awoke roasting like boar-flanks above a campfire!"

He laughed shortly on the memories, and continued in the story. "But the trolls, they weren't too clever. The fire can't burn me unless I let it, so I made the flames burst so high that they burned the rope I was bound with, and the trolls ran scared when I chased them with a flaming sword... And then the dawn came, and they turned to stone! It was truly convenient - she was already beginning to grill. And we continued in the journey. Off course, with a bundle of bad luck as we had, we got lost in the forest, as she couldn't read her map, and neither could I. We were lost and hungry, till someone found us... He had a cabin in the forest, and helped us for a few days, as we were already fainting with hunger. That was the nice part of the little adventure, because afterwards, we got ambushed, and chased by wolves. It was sheer luck that we got to the tower with all limbs."

He took a long break, changing the color of the flame and letting it dance on his fingers, before he continued. "When we got there, it was already almost winter. The tower was very big and tall, surrounded by other ruins... We got almost lost in those. There were strange things in them... Eventually we found a way into the tower, but you would never have guessed what was inside. I sneaked in first, to check what's there, and all of a sudden, I get grabbed and pulled in by some screeching monster! A vampire, but one of those wild, winged ones. She got scared when I pulled fire at her, and I chased her to the peak of the tower, but I can't keep feeding the fire for all eternity. I had to fight her sword on claws. A vampire, however, isn't easy to kill, and she tossed me all around the tower till I couldn't even move, and then she tried to eat me. That was when my companion entered, shot her in the head from the doorway... And I was, fortunately, not dead. There really was a treasure, some strange, but prized relic, though we couldn't leave the tower, considering the little food we had, and how bad off I was. That was when the hunter that saved us for the first time appeared again. And got us out of trouble."

Dram's eyes flickered tiredly in his direction, eying at Athran as he spoke his story.  "Sounds rightfully dramatic.  Sounds kinda like our adventure.  What happened after that?"

"We took the relic, sold it, and shared the deal when we got back to Ketra. It was a nice load of money... I have only seen her once after that, and she was already old, very old." Athran shrugged. "Humans."

The flame in his hand grew dim as he laid down, using his backpack as a pillow, and yawned. "I'd go to sleep... But rather keep guard. You sleep first, then we switch, what about it?"

He wouldn't get an answer when it seemed Dram was already dozed off.  He leaned quietly against the pillar, breathing softly and soundly.  He had no dreaming, but he didn't need it.  He hadn't slept in two days, and dreamless sleep hit the spot.

Athran played with the flame for a long, long time, seemingly never running out of various colors and shapes he could give it, but it was merely to keep himself from falling asleep. He was yawning, and every time he closed his eyes, it was difficult to open them again, but he didn't want to wake Dram yet - there wasn't a reason.

Time flew by till the lights of morning colored the large hole in the roof dark, dusky blue. Only then he finally stood up and slowly walked over to his companion, poking him with the tip of his boot as he stretched. "It's already morning..." he muttered.

Dram stirred and blinked awake, noticing it was Athran in time to keep from reaching for his weapons as his instincts told him.  " Oh!  Good," he murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and cracking his neck and back.  "All right I'll keep watch now!"

"Wake me if something unusual happens." Athran noted before laying down where Dram first slept, and coiling up in the remains of his cape. He pulled his knees to his chest, and laying on the ground like this, he didn't seem half as tall as he really was - it was almost surprising to what a position he can curl up.

Within a few minutes, he fell into a deep, soundless, dreamless sleep of exhaustion, not moving once. After a few days of hardly any sleep, even he was tired, and he welcomed the rest about as gladly as the oblivion of sleep welcomed his mind.

What morning light bled through the top of the cavern stained glass window, Dram blinked at drearily the dawn and rubbed his eyes again.  He rummaged through the packs and began to eat quietly, or as quietly as he could as he scarfed down some jerky and bread and an apple that was a bit dusty but not rotten.

He took time enough to eat and when at last he saw the sky darkening, light gradually fading away.  "Athran..." Dram breathed.  "Athran!" he said, kicking his foot.  "It's time!"

Athran kicked back somewhere into the air, groaning, and rolled over onto his back. "What... Why the hell are you waking me up, it's still dark!" he moaned, climbing to his feet, and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Only then he noticed that it was dark from the eclipse - a different kind of darkness than the night...

"Oh, it's... It's time? Grab the bags..." His eyes flashed with excitement, reflecting the flames that sprang at the bottom of the gate, auburn and twinkling with bright blazing orange flying out there and now like shooting stars. In a matter of few moments, the entire gate was coated in it, and Athran pushed Dram away a little, to avoid him getting singed by the fire.

He didn't have to push, Dram knew well enough to get out of harm's way himself.  He put his arms up in shielding his eyes from the fire, the brightness of it as it reflected off the golden door.  The shining metal stood strong against the flames, not even blinking at their ferocity, but then Dram began to notice the shapes and carvings along the gold began to droop and sag.

"Keep it up!" Dram howled.  "Fire it up like a kiln!"

Stepping somewhat closer to the fire-coated gate, Athran spread his arms, as if he wanted to reach after the door, and the fire grew stronger, brighter, until the whole door was like a blazing furnace, strands of gold flowing down in the intense heat as it melted.

The gold was holding up though it drooped and sagged in places and began to leak out in smaller etched sections.  Soon the designs were melding together until the gold began to burn away at last, the intensity of the heat becoming much too much.  But it seemed is if it were about to splash out at them and Dram quickly shouted.  "Athran!  MOVE!"

The gold was beginning to melt away, showing a different door underneath - one of stone, which the gold only seemed to cover. It was slowly moving forth, driving the melted mass of glittering gold before it, and Athran quickly jumped out of its way, pressing his back onto the wall of the chamber, while still keeping the fire burning.

Finally, the eclipse has ended. The sun came out again, and the flames eventually faded away, showing a massive block of stone in front of a large gap, behind which was most likely a tunnel or corridor.

That was when Athran stepped closer to it, and peered in. "It's dark in there!" he concluded, his voice echoing from the walls before him, as he stuck his head into the tunnel.

"Well of course the first thing you do when you step into someplace you've never been before is to call out nice and loud!" Dram hissed but scampered on after Athran, pulling his sword from his sheathe and holding it at the ready.  Just in case.

Athran rolled his eyes over at Dram's remark, but unsheathed the Black Sword, too, with a sigh escaping through his gritted teeth as he let a little too much of its weight rest on his left arm. He made a step into the dark tunnel before himself, letting a small flame appear at the tip of his sword, acting like a torch.

"Got all the bags?" he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. "I think we're gonna need them."

"I just hope I don't drop them.  Go on then!  Don't be such a scaredy elf," Dram said with half a smirk, wearing one pack in front and one on his back.  He walked a bit awkwardly, but he carried it with not complaint, eyes cutting through the darkness and viewing the path ahead of them was forged out into a long, black tunnel.  They walked out onto a bridge, which hung over a black pit, and at the end of its spread out into two divergent paths that ran along the rectangular walls, spiraling down below.

Athran let out a short sigh upon sighting Dram with the backpacks when they walked onto the narrow bridge, and took the one from his chest, throwing it over his shoulder. "Just give it here..." he muttered.

The surface of all the tunnels and paths around were surprisingly smooth and straight, cut perfectly, without anything marring them even after such long centuries. Sharp, angular ornaments were often revealed as the glowing tip of the Black Sword passed by, followed by Athran's tall figure.

The paths both seemed to lead down the same direction... Athran lowered his sword at both, but there was no difference. However, something seemed to glimmer and shine in the deep with a warm metal glow...

"When in doubt, go right," Dram commented just before they reached the divergent paths.  But they did not seem to lead any other place but down.  As they descended further into darkness, Dram had to unleash a steady breath to keep his nerves under control.  It wasn't the dark, it wasn't the unknown.  He was just on alert as he always was, but this place especially irked him.  Then a notion struck him.  "Athran...do you think the orcs found a way in?"

"Way in?" Athran scoffed. "No. Even if, I think that they'd be eaten by the beast in the well." he replied, taking the spiraling stairs by two. He carried his sword low, to light the stairs before them, which seemed to jump out of the dark, dusted, but still straight and perfectly regular.

And all of a sudden, they ended.

Athran frowned, stepped back a little, and then cautiously extended his leg to step forth. Something clinked under his boot... A silent shuffling, like plates of metal sliding down metal. He reached back, and put the tip of the Black Sword down to see what is there that caused such a strange sound.

A pile of gold coins. No, not pile - a continuous cover of gold coins. A carpet of jewels and precious metals... His jaw fell upon sighting it. He carefully picked his sword up, and made the flame burn brighter, to light a larger portion of the hall than before, but what he saw he didn't expect even in his wildest dreams, for it was beyond imagination.

This large hall must have extended through at least half a mountain. Its ceiling was somewhere in the indistinct darkness, where even that bright light couldn't reach, and everywhere his eyes turned lay gold, mountains of treasure. There were many staircases and corridors thorough this hall, but all around was nothing but insane amounts of jewels. They themselves stood atop one, towering under the stairs, and leading down a relatively steep slope.

He turned to Dram with a wild fire in his eyes, and a slightly mad grin. "Gods bless us. There isn't more gold on one place in whole Le'raana."

The gold, the precious gold that he had searched for all his life.  One good haul, one great find, one object to end all hunts for anything of precious value again.  Not that Dram would ever think about quitting, for half the fun was the thrill of the hunt, the pursuit, the passion of it.  And that was where his greatest love resided.  But it didn't make this moment any less impactful.

All this gold....that no one in the world could possibly carry all by themselves.  Dram was hesitant, despite his despite, to simply leap head first into the pile of gold before them.  Yet that didn't halt his flashing grin and he suddenly laughed out loud.  If he was afraid anyone would hear them, he didn't show it as he suddenly grabbed Athran's good arm and shook it.  "We did it!" he shouted, and howled loudly like a wolf, which echoed further and further out into the cavernous tunnels and hallways.

Dram released Athran and leapt from the precipice of stairs, sliding down a river of gold, which only clinked and rang out below.

With eyes glinting in the glow of the gold, Athran cheered - something truly unusual for him. This was enough gold for a lifetime, even for an elf - it was practically impossible to spend all. Not that it would mean that he'd stop being a mercenary - he loved the fighting and excitement that brought - but at least he wouldn't have to worry about expenses such as armour any more.

He grabbed a shield, laying nearby, and stepping onto its underside he sled down the side of the golden pile, using it like a board. "Watch out! You're gonna get gold in your shoes!" he shouted at Dram from behind, laughing. His smirk disappeared for a moment as he almost crashed into the dark elf, but in the last minute he turned the shield aside and sled around him, giving him a wide grin.

There were mountains of gold, mounds and mounds of them as far as the eye could see.  Dram was in awe of it all, that he nearly didn't notice Athran sliding around him.  He paused to look at the Pale Elf and his grin only grew.  "You can carry that half over there and I'll get the other," he said, gesturing with his arms and threw himself down the slope, rolling off with trails of gold behind him.  At his movement, more coins clinked together and slid down various paths, and he was swimming in jewels and gems, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and so much more.

As the slope ended, Athran's shield stopped sliding, and he picked it up and carried it atop the next one, where he stepped onto it again and kicked himself forth to slide down again, slightly hunched over on his bent legs to keep his balance. Something strange glinted in the pile...

He bent forth, but unfortunately fell off the shield, straight into the gold onto his head. It seemed to open underneath him, like a sea, and when he stood up again, he was partly covered in jewels and precious metals. His hand flicked a chain off his head, and he laughed, throwing coins out of the folds of his clothes. Right before his feet was a beautifully crafted helmet, shining like silver, though made from hard steel, and adorned with dark rubies and a pair of wings by the sides. He picked it up, and set it onto his head.

"Look what I found! Aren't I pretty?" he laughed, tilting his head aside.

"Like a regular bar wench," Dram quipped as he skipped and jumped through the hold piles, from mound to mound, spilling sapphires and rubies and other gems everywhere until he looked down into a larger pit where he stopped suddenly.  He saw what looked like a skeleton's hand protruding from a pile of gold, holding on to a necklace and he gestured Athran to come over and look.

"I guess we weren't the only ones that found his place," he said, pointing to the skeleton's hand.

Bolting through the sloping mounds of gold and valleys between them, Athran got to Dram in a matter of a few moments. There indeed was something that looked like bones... Very old and withered bones at that.

"Looks as old as these ruins themselves... I wouldn't touch it, who knows how it died." he muttered with disgust. "But there are lots of armours and robes around, I think we should find some for ourselves. Just to be sure... I guess it would be better than those scraps we're wearing."

"If you want armor, go scavenge for some," Dram gestured to him, as he leapt down to the bottom of the gold pile the skeleton hand was thrusted out of.  He stepped around it and knelt to the side while he examined the delicate necklace within it's grasp.  It shouldn't have been hard to pull out if Dram was careful to avoid the bones.

They were stone still, and soon he had to decide either to break the chain of the necklace or to snap the fingers.  The crack of dry joints snapped off the upper knuckle of the middle and index finger and Dram examined the diamond pendant at the center of the necklace and promptly put it around his neck.  And he didn't notice the flicker of movement from the skeletal hand.

Athran ran off to search for a suit of armour that would fit him, looking all across the hall, through the mounds and piles of gold...

All of a sudden, it just... Appeared before him. The most wonderful suit of armour ever, at least he thought so... A black chainmail shirt, hung over though leather armour, and topped with several plates of black metal and dragon scales, all of the highest quality and crafted so masterfully.

He didn't hesitate to grab it, and almost immediately threw away the broken remnants of his own armour. Most surprisingly, it fit him...

After buckling all the plates in their place, he looked around himself for a moment. Another armour hung beside this one, a somewhat smaller dim silver one - he grabbed that one, too. Dram could use that. And then he started finding his way back to him.

It appeared that he was still where Athran left him before. He poked him in the back, and handed him the armour. "I found this, it should fit you."

Dram turned around and peered skeptically at the armor shirt and made a face at Athran.  "For what?  I don't wear armor.  Too heavy.  Impedes movement.  Besides, I've got my eyes set on what the hell I can take back with me.  I'll need several trips to be sure, but I think I can haul maybe three hundred, no four hundred -"

His voice trailed off as the coins began to move from their place and the skeleton attached to the hand emerged from the pile of coins.  It was rotted, half way at least with some hunks of flesh still clinging to his torso and face as his eyes glowed a rotted green.  And in his hands there clutched a black hammer that it raised above its head and slammed it down toward Dram.

A wight. Foul stench seeped out of the rotten chunks of meat that hung from the bones, and it emitted something between a growl and a groan - before the Black Sword smote it down, cutting it in half through the skull and ribcage. The hammer missed them only by a few inches when it collapsed, just a pile of bones under the blade, and Athran stepped back.

"Put that thing on. It's so light you won't feel it, I have a similar suit... But if this is how you thank someone, for all I care, stay in your scraps, and rot here if something rips your head off." he snarled at him, throwing the armour to his feet. "If a dragon can fly in its scales, it should be enough for you, too."

"I don't want it, I don't need it!" Dram declared and sprang to his feet, leaping back and away from the pile of bones that fell to Athrna's blade.  But even if he changed his mind, he didn't have time to consider it before more gold moved and shifted aside and more hands crawled up from the piles of treasure, bearing weapons and arms until there was a great army of them.

But even then, they halted, and didn't attack. The mass of gold kept moving, more strange bones appearing amid the mounds of coins like if an avalanche rolled down a hill, leaving the rock barren and revealed.

The skeleton was different than those of the half-rotten warriors. First, because it was far larger. Second, because it wasn't human at all.

Scales hung from an almost decomposed corpse of a huge wyvern. It was towering above the army of dead swordsmen, while chains still hung from its figure, stretched across the enormous ribcage, wings, and spine.

Athran tossed the helmet at Dram, unsheathing the massive blade of the Black Sword. "Put it on, you idiot! If you like your head well enough to keep it attached to your body, but that piece of shit onto your head and shut your mouth!" he yelled at him, almost instinctively taking a defensive stance, hands clenched around the sword's hilt, and its tip in the same height as his head, ready to swing down at the first attacker.