A Long Road, A New Partner, An Old Evil (Closed for Thyri)

Name: Strahan Vladdross
Occupation: Knight-Commander in service to the Knights of Pelor
Age: 25
Features: Long dark hair, a full mustache several abdominal scars.


The sun just crested the horizon. It had been another exhausting night of defending the perimeter against small skirmishes. The grizzled old captain in charge of the defense of the town had said they orcs were just testing the defenses. They were looking for a weak point to exploit. The defenders could not give them that weak point or everyone would pay the price.

“Well” Jamus muttered to himself one part sleepy, one part starving, and one part angry “I’m no soldier. I’m not cut out for this. I just want my bed, and to go back to workin’ in the fields. Why the next orc I-“

We will never know what Jamus planned to do to the next orc he saw. At that moment he saw something as he looked out across the sea.

A dot.

Then another.

Then six more.

He knew then what he saw breaking over the horizon; Hope.

He dashed to the nearest warning bell hung on the makeshift palisade and rang the bell with all of his flagging might. The bell stirred the town from a sluggish stupor of hopelessness, of lethargy, and exhaustion. First it was fearful faces turning toward the sound of the bell, but then they saw young Janus’ body trembling, tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t speak, he just pointed to the water. They were going to survive.

*********

He hated the sea. Of all the ways he had traveled, the sea was the worst. He had ridden horse, gryphon, and even dragon back. In all those situations he felt there was at least some control on his part. However on sea one was at the whims of the wind and the water. It made his stomach turn. Still it did not mean they were entirely unprepared for the journey. Heavier armor was stored in the provisions ships, and them men were draped in chain mail. In case there was an accident and a man went over they could at least swim for a short time. If you went over in full plate you were as good as dead.

He needed to halt this line of thinking. Death did not scare him, it was the prospect of being able to die with his sword in hand, fighting darkness. No man in his command feared death, but the idea of such an ignoble death was unmanning. He stroked the length of his long black mustache in irritation. He turned to find the captain to ask for the fifth time this morning how long until they felt land beneath their feet when he heard a call from the crows nest. “Land ahead!”

He gripped the rail and sighed in relief. Offering a muttered prayer to Palor, it was then he heard the water rushing, and the sickening sound of wood splintering. He turned his head just in time to hear splintering wood turn into screams of terror as men went skyborn, then crashed into the dark water.

The knight turned to the captain of the ship who was swearing and shouting orders. Three steps and he crossed the deck. His thick hand closed around the captain’s shoulder and he pulled him close to shout into his ear, to be heard above the booming death. “I thought you said this was the safest route!?!”

“Sir Strahan, I’ve sailed this sea for the five years this outpost has been here and never seen anything like that!”

“Well it see’s us captain. Move this boat, I don’t care if you have to crash it onto shore!”

The large beast waved tentacles about in fury, like a child throwing a tantrum. The water churned and foamed beneath the beast and around the formation of the ships. It made the beast look even more ravenous. Another pair of tentacles lashed out and circled another ship. It ripped the hull into pieces just like a child could tear a cloth doll apart. Except this cloth doll sent thirty men to their death.

The cold realization sunk in right at that moment. This creature being here was not a chance encounter. Someone was trying to stop them from landing on the shore. Someone who had a way to control this sea monster, someone who knew they were coming. He glanced around as an idea formed into his head. He loosened the sword at his belt knowing it would do almost no good against something that size.

“Captain! Evacuate your men. Take as many people as you can, get them in the life boats and get to shore. Those people need the knights to make it to shore. If we don’t distract this beast it will wreck the whole fleet.”

“With respect sir… what is your plan here. Life boats won’t make it either.”

“I’m going to distract that thing.”

He was planning, the wheels in his head were turning. He didn’t notice his men were lining the deck, staring at that monster, listening.

His second in command aboard the ship called out over the chaos. “Sir you cannot kill that monster, or pilot this ship on your own.”

“No, I can’t Sir Gregor. I don’t plan to kill it. Just to get his attention.”

“Then I am not going Strahan. I’d rather die with sword in hand than trying to swim to shore.”

Strahan just nodded his head. “Then make yourself useful Gregor, get on the wheel.”

The older man gave a grin that was lacking more teeth than normal and promptly ordered the captain to ‘hop to’ and follow his orders.

This had been a shipping boat for a long time. The captain had been smart enough to keep harpoons and nets on hand in case rations ran low on the voyage. Strahan hefted one of the harpoons, tested the balance in hand. Then he back up a few paces, ran forward and threw with everything he had. The barbed weapon flew true and struck the rubbery hide of the beast. It roared more likely in indignity than real pain. That couldn’t have done any real damage. The sound was deafening and could easily be heard echoing for miles. Men followed suit and a stream of harpoons streaked from the side of the boat even as it lurched and started to turn head on toward the mighty beast. So far the plan was working. The beast began to turn toward them and it began to rush forward, flailing in rage.

The men began to see what the knight-captain had seen immediately. The prow of the ship was decked with a long spire of wood much like a sword fish. It would make a wonderful lance.

Above the noise Strahan’s voice rose up. “Remember, we have to keep the ship together long enough to get close. We need to buy as much time as possible and wounding this thing as much as we can is as good a plan as any!”

More harpoons sped from the prow of the ship until their supply was exhausted. The beast was a terrible and imposing sight, but what was fear when you have braved the charge of dragons? He pulled his shield free along with his sword. His men followed. He raised the blade up to the rising sun and cried “For Pelor! Victory or Death!”

The ship picked up speed as did the beast. With no more of those biting barbs coming his way he sensed the kill. Men began beating sword and shield together and chanting “Victory or death!” in rhythm.

Just when the ship drew within tentacle reach of the Kraken , Strahan threw his shield to the deck and took his sword in both hands. Raising the blade high above his head the paladin focused himself, imbued the blade with the force of Pelor himself. The blade glowed radiant bright in the sun for just a heartbeat. Then he cocked the blade back and hurled it with all of his might. The blade spun end over end. He did not wait to see if the weapon struck true. He dashed forward and ran the length of that wooden spine upon the brow. Drawing his belt knife he leaped the gap. The Kraken froze. Obviously surprised by either the fact that the blade just lodged hilt deep into a rubbery eye, or one lone figure charging off the boat to actually charge it.

Behind him the knight-commander was given strength by the sound of his men.

”Victory or death, victory or death, victory or- SNAP

The prow steered clean through the destruction of the stunned tentacles and lodged into the beasts abdomen where the boat reared, and the prow snapped off. Just as the knight commander landed he brought the long bladed knife to bear just to be able to hang on. It carved a long rent into flesh and finally caught. He held on with both hands just as the Kraken gave another terrible roar. This time there was definitely pain in the roar. The beast coiled around the ship like a snake. The hull gave a shuddering snap, and then the beast, passengers, and ship all sank beneath the dark waves.

Of the ten ships on the horizon three made the actual landing and one was filled with much needed provisions. An hour into the sickening task of dredging bodes in from the sea the body of the knight-commander washed up down the south western edge of the shore.

Her weary head dropped to rest on the heel of her upturned palm, her arm propped up, elbow on her knee. She was near exhaustion, pushed beyond her limits, yet somehow still giving all she had. She already knew it wasn’t going to be enough. The young life was slipping away from the still figure in the bed she sat next to, maintaining her vigil. Lank, limp auburn hair hung down to curtain her face, concealing the lines of worry that hadn’t been there two months before. Hollowed cheeks and dark circles under her violet eyes gave her elvish features a gaunt look, but she was no death-bed spectre awaiting another soul to torment. She was the reason there had been fewer than there otherwise would have been.

Yes, she waited for the spirit’s blessed release, and a blessing it would be; an end of suffering and fear for this callow youth on the little cot. But that was small comfort to make up for the premature end of one so young. There would be no one to grieve; the youth's mother lost to the disease a month ago, and his father falling to the cruel wounds inflicted in the last raid on the palisade. But she would grieve. She grieved for them all; all those she failed to save. It weighed on her weary conscience heavily. Yet what more could she do? The virulent disease had swept the colony, even as the enemies were literally at the gates. And she had fought her battle for every soul the plague claimed, just as those on the walls had fought battles in their way. Thank the Goddess they had been marginally more successful than she had, she mused. Otherwise, the colony would have been overrun long ago.

But what would it have mattered? Death at the hands of the orcs would not be merciful, but it might be quicker than the slow lingering kind the disease wrought on its victims. She could not understand it. She'd tried everything she could to ease the suffering of those afflicted. Some responded, but many did not. Curing a disease should have been easy for her. In the past she had done so with a touch and a thought. But this one was different. It seemed to defy even her most desperate measures. She'd lent her own strength to the sicker ones, especially those who more recently had suffered. With the siege persisting, the colony had run short of fresh food three weeks before. Now they had only sparse rations of mealy flour, salt, and rancid pork to hold them; and the lack of proper nourishment had weakened the colonists, giving the disease an even greater foothold in their bodies.

She'd resorted to using her own vitality when her herbal supplies for medicines had run out. But the lack of proper food and rest had sapped her as much as the colonists. She had few potions left, but they were of no use against disease. Still, they may help those who suffered injury on the walls, she thought. At least that was something she could do for them.

The rattling sigh of the final breath of the young lad in the cot signaled the end of his travail, and the beginning of her silently falling tears as she covered his face with the sheet. There were no sobs; she was past that. She'd seen too much suffering. But she did regret that she could not do more for him than she had. Burying her face in her hands, she wept.

A hand on her shoulder interrupted her mourning. A quiet voice softly spoke to her, "Come, Lady Thyrienne. There is no more you can do for him. But others need your help, lest the walls be shorthanded 'ere the raids to come. Come, I'll see to his burial."

She looked up with tear streaks trailing through the dust on her cheeks, her eyes bloodshot and swollen with her crying. The strain of the past two months showed on her, a burden that one appearing so young should not have had to bear. Yet she had borne it, and so much more. Still she wiped away the tears, and took a deep breath, rising to her full height of 5'-2" and squaring her shoulders. She would persevere. She would because they still needed her.

Lifting her soiled and worn skirts, the last remnants of the elvish dress she'd worn the very day she arrived here, she trudged with weary steps up the short flight of stairs out of the cellar that had served as the boy's final home in this life. She squinted as the rays of the morning sun slanted in low over the trees. There, on the eastern wall, she could just make out the form of the grizzled watch captain through the glare of the new day, and she headed in his direction. He would tell her where her services were needed.

Her eyes roamed the figures on the wall, widening in shock. There seemed so few left. When she'd arrived at the little settlement there had been 150 armed defenders, able bodied men no stranger to their weapons. Now, after the ravages of the disease and the constant raids on the walls, there were fewer than 50 men left, and less than half of those were fighters. Her steps slowed with the shock of her realization and she wondered how long they could hold out. It might soon be over for all of them, she realized as she noticed the smoke trails of the orcs' campfires from the forests edge beyond the walls.

She'd covered about half the open compound when the alarm bells rang out from the seaward wall. She turned towards the sound, wondering what new threat menaced them now, and with a groan of despair, she realized the lookout was pointing out to sea. It was the one direction that they thought they had nothing to fear....until now. Dread at the possibility of a new menace lent her feet the strength to run to the seaward wall, along with the few people who had reason to be out this early in the morning. She climbed the steps to the upper level and pushed through the excited crowd to catch a view of the sails coming steadily closer.

The gaily colored pennants fluttering in the breeze from the masts identified the ships as the true hope of succor that they represented, and she found herself smiling happily along with the rest. Hope! There was hope at last! She felt like the burden weighing down her heart was lifted.

The hope was crushed to splinters along with the first ship.

A hush fell over the shocked colonists, stunned to silence at the sight of the snaky black tentacles churning the roiling waters. The quiet horror of the watchers on the wall only served to amplify the sounds of rending wood from the splintering ships and the screams of dying men coming from the scene of carnage. Not even the dull roar of the waves on the shore could drown out the sound of dying optimism; for that is what those horrendous noises represented.

Through tear misted eyes she watched in horror as the scene unfolded, until a slim spark was reborn in her bosom. Sharp elvish vision picked out the details of a figure, mail clad under a colorful tabard, as he leapt from the bowsprit of the ship onto the monster's slimy body just moments before the spar pierced the hide of the beast. Her heart swelled with admiration of the raw courage it took to perform such a deed. There was a soul with a noble heart!

But it was a sacrifice that had so dearly bought a chance for the remaining ships to land and his comrades to reach the shore. She wouldn't let it be in vain. Clasping the shoulder of the captain, she urged him to follow her as she raced down the steps towards the path that led to the shore. "Come. Let us see what we may do for them. Perhaps there is still some hope." There would be need for her among those who made it to dry land.

++++++++++++++++

For the better part of an hour they helped those bedraggled few ashore who had managed not to be swallowed by the restless sea. She saw to those she could help; most were just exhausted and spitting up sea water. Those colonists who were not actively manning the walls all came to help, and to see what could be salvaged from the wreckage washing ashore. Some rejoiced at finding the crates of much needed supplies, weapons, and armor. Others aided the nearly drowned warriors who would bolster their ranks to help stave off the incessant attacks of the dark forces besieging the palisade.

Not three full marks of the candle had passed from the time the few surviving ships had landed before a loud cry went up from the direction of the palisade wall facing the forest. A new attack was underway. Every man who could hold a weapon rushed back to man the walls. She considered whether she could be of more use to them with her bow, or staying to help the shipwreck survivors.

Just then a glint of sunlight reflecting off of steel down the beach caught her eye. She opted to stay and help when her sharp vision identified the colored tabard of the gallant hero who had charged and attacked the beast from the depths. She ran laboriously through the sand, reaching the side of the drowned man and turning him over. She pressed her ear to his sodden chest, listening for a heartbeat. Even her delicately pointed elvish ear could detect nothing. There was no rise and fall of his chest, but the inspirational gallantry he had shown still played the scene in her mind’s eye. Such heroism must not be extinguished without trying everything she could to save him. “No!” she murmured, then shouted it at the cruel fates that would take this one away from them, “NO!!!”

She didn’t know if she had the strength left in her, but she determined to try, and centered herself for the effort. Her consciousness receded within herself as she closed her almond shaped, slightly slanted violet eyes and focused inwardly. With every measure of her remaining strength, she pushed her consciousness through the physical link of her slender hands placed on either side of his neck, and into his body, then into his mind, seeking his departed spirit, hoping it had not yet passed beyond the veil. She would guide him back if he were willing to come with her. If not, he had more than earned his rest with his last acts of heroism.

Focused as she was on finding his spirit, she was totally unaware that the palisade wall was even in that moment being breached, the dark hordes pouring through the gap, overwhelming the desperate defenders. Some of the fell creatures managed to race through the small village, seeking new victims to attack.

The newly arrived men, both warriors and sailors, grabbed whatever weapons they could lay hands on and rushed to fend off the attackers. Even so there were not enough of them to turn back every foe, and one large half orc, half troll lumbered towards the slender kneeling figure bent over the lone man lying at the end of the beach.

She felt the odd sensation of her lungs being full of water and she coughed with a shudder, her body wracked by the effort. An answering cough from the still body under her hands gushed sea water from lungs those functioning had stopped. She turned him on his side, letting the water run out. Another heaving shook her, and he puked even more of the brine from his body. Still his spirit had not returned. This was her doing, preparing his body for him, in case he could return with her.

She rolled him back to lie flat, bending over him to breathe her own precious air into his lungs. All of this she did as if an automaton, her healer training kicking in to do what was necessary even as her spirit searched for his in another place. In that place, she was confused. She had done this before, but this was different. There was another being there with her, a figure of light, but not with features she could see. This one had gone before and had already passed over. She could sense that it was trying to persuade him to come back, and she could also sense that there was a familiarity between them that she did not share.

Oblivious to the threat that lumbered down upon both of them, she sensed the moment that he decided to return. Another breath, her soft lips pressed to his, breathing her life force and her air into his body. It was all she had left. Her consciousness returned to her only for a moment, just long enough to recognize the looming danger raising the massive ax high above them to strike. She managed to scream once, flinging a handful of sand into the eyes of the hideous monster before the last of her strength ebbed and she fell to the side in a faint.

Ships moved with as much speed as the wind allowed and then some. Men manned oars nearly as long as evergreens to add zeal to the crafts movements. They were coming in fast, too fast to land safely aground and consider a return trip. Calls came from the decks that could be heard from the shore. “Brace to go aground!” As the large ships came closer they could see men holding on to railings, grappling with rigging, doing anything to stay on the deck.

More shattering wood as the breasts of the ships struck sand and rock. The ships moved on with sheer inertia and many even managed to scar the beach head as they skidded to a stop. Even the sailors seemed to move with martial precision. Sails were taken down, the loading decks were thrown ajar. Men flooded the decks and others still ran ashore. Soon enough precious supplies were being moved from ships onto shore. Food, bandages, arms, medicinal supplies, even siege engines began to roll across the sand.

All of the fighting men seemed to have vanished. Yet after another few heartbeats men came down loading ramps in shining breast plates and helmets. Some bore full plating covering the body from head to toe in protective plating. It was a brave showing despite what they had been through. The men who chose not to don helms were pale, but there was no fear in their eyes. They knew there was a job to do and no more help would be coming. Hope was a candle and with such heavy losses the flame was flickering.

An older man with slight streaks of gray in his black beard and long black hair walked toward the watch captain and saluted. Immediately the two man began to speak in low, but animated voices. The discussion was short lived and then the heavily armored knight began ordering his fellows to the walls. As the men deployed those beleaguered defenders were ordered off the walls and to an area where food, water, and bandages were being staged.

Some men moved among the injured, with golden embroidery on their tabards displaying the sun in full blazing glory. Where they walked, who they touched, where they prayed, injuries faded and spirits rose.

It wasn’t long before people began swimming ashore. Those well enough to fight trudged to the walls, some were sent back to the rapidly raised tent where a cluster of clerics were gathering to treat wounded.

The knights had quickly taken charge and were establishing order to the decimated outpost. It was then the bell rang of impending attack.

***********

The rhythmic pounding of the hammer soothed his thoughts. Sparks flew from the red hot metal as he pounded it into the shape that was necessary. Another day working the forge, and another repaired farm tool. Some might think this mundane and strange, but to him it was perfect. He had been taught how to work the forge from the day he was big enough to pick up a hammer. His life; his old life was a memory and this was life now. All the battles had been fought, evil was banished and there was peace.

He knew deep down that this was only partially true. His battles were over, but battle still raged on. He had been allowed to put down his sword. This was the hope of all warriors who fought because they had no other choice. One day all the battles would be done, and what they had fought and killed for would one day come to pass.

He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and it was then that he saw the elven man standing to watch his work. Something tickled at the back of his memory and a smile bloomed upon his features. He set the hammer down and turned to greet the other man in a brotherly embrace. “It has been too long my friend. You look well. How is your wife?”

The elven man returned the embrace and spoke in a lilting speech that came from the complexities of the elven tongue speaking common. “She is well, I am well, but I do not bring good tidings my friend. I am afraid I have urgent news. The battle is not yet over. You are needed. Will you choose to go?”

Strahan paused as he looked into his friends face and frowned. He looked over his forge. There was much work to do, but suddenly plowshares turned to swords. He paused thoughtfully and reached out to examine the half done work. This would never do. He could almost hear his father’s voice reprimanding him. Then it was another voice; the voice of Lord Commander Bediviere. He paused with his hand poised over the haft of the hammer. It was no longer a smith’s tool. The balance was similar but the haft was steel, the head had a point on the opposite end. It was a tool of war, not peace. Still he hesitated and turned to the elven man.

“What is the situation, can it not be managed without me?”

“No it cannot. She needs you. Without you there will be no shield to protect her. Hope will falter and darkness will overcome.”

“She? I do not understand. I do not know anyone on the shore. I never landed.” The young knight’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“No, but she stands over you even now, trying to pry you from the brink of death. Will you go?”

His chest rose and fell in a weary sigh. His hand closed upon the hammer and he nodded.

The elf intoned softly “Dawn must always come to challenge twilight. Go with honor old friend. I am sorry.”

Suddenly his leather apron was changed, he was once more draped in the familiar weight of chain. He was aware he could not breathe. He coughed, he could feel the water rushing out of his lungs.


****


The sound of lumber tearing from the sand, being rent by sheer brute strength awoke him. Battle horns sounded, and combat rang out. He was still coughing water out of his lungs and he felt his airway burning. The taste of sea water and stomach acid made his mouth twist. Still he did not open his eyes. His limbs felt like lead, and each breath came burning into his lungs. He was aware of delicate hands pressing against his body, he was also aware his lips tingled for some reason.

It was not until he heard a woman scream just above him that his blue eyes flicked open.

Above him was an elf. She looked tired, and malnourished but there was something about her bearing that radiated an inner strength even in exhaustion. Yet her body failed her at precisely the wrong moment. He had no idea that she had just spent the last of her energy healing his battered body. A shadow was cast over the both of them. A beast roared in rage as it franticly tried to rub the sand from it’s eyes. It was easily seven feet tall, and weighed three hundred pounds. A build of both muscle and lanky sinew gave away his heritage. A mixture of trolls blood and orcish blood, and the rage of both. Strahan frantically reached for a weapon. His own had been cast away, and was likely now at the bed of the sea with the Kraken. His hand closed on the hilt of something however and he offered a silent thanks to Pelor.

The sodden knight rose to his feet and despite the protesting muscles in his body he charged forward. He moved with an unhuman amount of speed and the curved scimitar of some poor dead mariner streaked in the sunlight. The evil abomination tried to raise the axe to deflect the blow, but by the time he could react the blade was already buried deep within his chest. The weapon actually shattered upon impact and nearly cleaved the beast in two.

The knight looked around himself and the elven woman. For the moment they were out of danger, but then he saw just where that beast had come from. The body of two ogres lay propped against a wound in the palisade wall. Orcs poured out of the gap like fetid water. Many died where they stood as arrows poured into the gap creating a bottle neck of corpses. It was not enough however. A small group of armor clad warriors stood in the gap swinging sword, mace, spear. They were moving with precision and fearlessness. Outnumbered six to one they held their ground and the sea of creatures were forced to break around them like waves on rocks.

This provided the archers on the walls to pick their targets and they fired with precision. Peppering the orcs with deadly arrows from behind, from the flank; piercing the hide armor scraps they wore with ease.

The rest of the knights were formed around the villagers in a two deep wall of swords and shields. The sailors behind them were working to push up large logs that had been lashed together and covered with planks of wood and bound to an angled platform on wheels. It provided cover from arrows and crossbow bolts that streaked into the encampment.

Weaponless but undaunted Strahan turned to the woman who had saved his life and in the process had spent the last of her precious energy. He knelt beside her, cradling her small form into his arm and hugged her to his chest. He towered over the small woman at 6'2'', and in his grasp she was almost childlike in her sordid state.

Clutching his precious burden he made a dash for the line of defenders, and the infirmary tent. Ignoring the combat around him he broke into the line of defenders and they let him pass and quickly closed the circle around him. He carried her into the infirmary and lay her gently on a hastily constructed cot.

The clerics looked up at him questioningly and he spoke softly. "As I was coming too she feinted. I am not sure if it is terror or exhaustion, or maybe both. I saw no wounds, but look her over regardless."

He knelt beside her and pulled out an ornate, decorated flask from his belt. It was one of the few items that survived his battle with the kraken and it was one of his most precious objects. A gift from the high cleric for her service it was decorated with divine symbols. He trickled just a tiny hint of water in between her parted lips. The water was ice cold and tingled as it touched her lips and trickled down into her throat. His large thumb tenderly nudged her throat and urged a swallowing motion.

It was like swallowing pure energy, though it healed no wounds the water rushed vitality into her system. That small bit of water was enough to restore energy of a nights sleep and a full meal. Perhaps it was not enough to wake her, he did not have time stay and check.

He grabbed a flask of oil from one of the nearby tables and drew a hasty glyph similar to a sunburst on her forehead. Speaking softly "May Pelor bolster your spirit and give you strength"

The effect of the blessing was immediate. Conscious or not her body and spirit were wrapped in the touch of the divine. Bolstering her courage, confidence, and granting her guidance.

It was all he could do for her at the moment. The clerics would have to do the rest. With that he dashed off into the melee. Scooping up a nearby spear he led the small group of men at the gates directly into the gap to repel the attack.

At first there was nothing. Darkness. Oblivion.

And then she became aware of herself, not awareness of her body. Not yet. Only that she existed. And in that moment of awareness, she felt the icy cool surge that revived her; that unknown vitality that made her know she could go on, could struggle back from the blackness to continue. And in the next instant, she was kneeling before a cradle, a precocious baby girl already standing to hold onto the edge, looking out at her, reaching for her, despite being only a week or two from the womb.

She knew this babe intimately, more intimately than any two mortals could know each other. Maia. The Mother. An avatar of the fertility goddess, born incarnate in the body of her best friend’s baby girl, whom she, herself, had delivered into the world. She remembered that magic night, the end of a tragic day. It was a day she thought she had lost everything, completely. A day she had wanted to give up. And then Maia accepted her prayer of devotion, given completely, whole-heartedly, making her Her Chosen One.

She was back there now, reaching out for that divine little hand that reached out to her. Bathed in the warmth, in the supreme love, she didn’t want to leave this place. But that gentle voice told her she had to go back. “There is more for you to do, Chosen. Your work on my behalf is not yet complete. You've helped so many to be fruitful, but there is more use I would have of you, my Child.” She knew she would obey; not out of compulsion, but out of love for her goddess, devotion unmatched in any other aspect of her life. And so she would go on.

But there was another with Maia, one shining presence, standing just behind Her. Features too bright to make out; it was like trying to look into the sun.

The Sun! The sunburst rays signaled a bright new hope. She remembered. Suddenly she was struggling in the grey, swimming upwards to the surface of consciousness, and coming awake with a ragged gasp, her slender hand clutching at the robes of the priest who tended her. Her violet eyes locked on the sunburst image on his robe, and understanding dawned in her like the bright new day.

It was the same brightly colored symbol she’d seen on his tabard; the Gallant One, as she’d begun to think of him. She had brought him back, and now she had come back for him. Their fates would be linked, she knew.

She struggled to sit up, and the priest at her side helped her. "How long has it been? How long was I sleeping?" Her eyes widened when the priest answered that it had been less than two marks of the candle. She puzzled over this for a moment. Usually the cost of guiding a departed spirit back from the veil was a day or two of unconsciousness and sleep. This time was different. She wondered if it had to do with the bright presence she sensed with the spirit of the Gallant One. Was it the same bright spirit she sensed with Maia?

She had to find him. He would have the answers. She had sensed he knew the Shining One. His decision to come back had more to do with that one than anything she had done. But he had come back, that much she was sure of. And now that their fates were linked, she had to make sure he stayed in this world.

"Where is he; the Gallant One?" She blushed as she realized she didn't know his name and had used the term she had begun to think of him as. The slightest hint of a smile on the lips of the priest reminded her, and she clarified, "The one from the beach, who charged the sea creature. I found him washed up on the beach, drowned. His spirit came back with me. Where is he now? I have to find him and make sure he's safe."

The priest opened his mouth to answer, then stopped as he realized what she'd said. "I think you mean Sir Strahan. But Lady, did you say that his spirit came back with you? He was drowned?"

She stopped, her mouth opening, but no words coming as she searched for the right answer. She sensed the confusion and questions in the man, leaning in earnestly towards her. How could she explain? What did he want to hear? She remembered how the colonists had first treated her with suspicion and concern when she'd used her healing gifts. They were not used to someone able to do the things she could do. In a somewhat timid voice she replied, "Yes. He was drowned. There was no beating of his heart, and no breath in his lungs. I wouldn't force him to come back, you understand. That would be wrong. Sometimes they want to pass beyond the veil. But he met someone there, someone from beyond. And they convinced him to come back with me. That's when the troll attacked us."

The man looked at her with disbelief and incredulity in his eyes, unsure if this woman was recalling a dream from her recent state of exhaustion or what. Fortunately, just at that moment the object of her interest ducked through the opening of the tent. She rose to meet him, brushing past the astonished priest before he could pepper her with more questions.

Without concern for his position or ranking, her hands explored him, searching for injury. "Strahan, you are well? Unhurt?" Satisfied that he was suffering only from the weary exhaustion to be expected from all that he had endured, she questioned, "I'm glad to see you safe. How goes the battle?"

The small group of men rallied around the commander as he directed them with a loud voice that boomed above the chaos. “Together! Crush them against the Palisade and close the gap! We have to push them out!”

Like the tip of the very spear the knight-commander carried the men began to move forward, pushing the dark forest denizens back against the remaining walls of the palisade. With no tactical room to maneuver, and the unexpected organization of the attack those caught within the walls simply fell to a flurry of steel and arrows. From near the shore’s edge ballistae began firing into the roiling mass of orcs as they tried to pour back into the gap.

Suddenly what started as a daring attack, turned into a hammer and an anvil.

The orcs had no way to retreat without taking losses to the ballistae, but they could not push forward. The knights along with the knight-commander formed a physical barrier of armor covered men and shields. All the while arrows flew without remorse.

That was when it happened. Utter panic among the orcs set in. With nothing to fear more than the knights they broke and ran. Dropping weapons, and ducking through trees the orcish front line collapsed and they fled the field. They had not been prepared for organized defense, they expected helpless and exhausted villagers.

A cheer rose up from the villagers as they saw the knights break the orc lines, but the knights themselves gave no cheer. The barriers that had been used to protect the defenseless were pushed across the sand and wedged in front of the glaring scar in the palisade wall. Strahan turned to the sailors and they saluted him, fist to chest.

“I want this wall fixed. They are broken now, but they will be back, and we must be ready.”

The men acknowledged the knight-commander and went about working to fix the area where the wall had been destroyed, and digging ditches in front of the walls and filling them with foot long wooden spikes. This would greatly discourage further attempts to physically dismantle the walls without siege weaponry.

As the project began the knight-commander darted quickly to the medical tent the clerics had set up. He was immediately greeted by the elven woman he had rescued on the beach. She approached him in a very familiar way, but he made no move to retreat, or reach for a weapon. Instantly he was bombarded with questions from her, and the Clerics themselves were quiet, but obviously itching to go check to see the tolls of battle. His eyes focused on the lovely, if disheveled elf and he placed his fist to his chest, bowing deeply. Long streaks of dark hair covered his face and clung; still sodden from the sea.

“My lady, I am quite well thank you. The battle is over for the moment, but please how are you? Were you injured? When I…encountered you, you fainted.”

(The following is a conversation held between held mostly between Strahan and Thyri. Thank you Thyri for having patience with my plan to do this back and fourth. I think it greatly helped the flow. For Clarity Thyri's posts have been written in blue.)

She smiled an embarrassed little smile. "I'm afraid you caught me at less than my best, Sir knight. I am unharmed; only exhausted through and through. When that trollish orc bore down upon us with his ax, I thought for sure my efforts to revive you would be for naught." She took his hand and led him over to a cot, sitting down next to him.

Tired? He could understand tired. He was bone weary himself and it was starting to show on his features. Walking the path between life and death, mixed with the unique nature of the curse that afflicted him, it burned stores of energy that he did not know existed. It did not matter though, there was far too much to do.

“Revived… so you are a cleric of some sort my lady? Then it seems I owe you my life, both due to your gifts, and clever thinking. I awoke in time to see the beast stumbling around blinded. Otherwise I may not have been able to even get to my feet.”

" I could feel the last of my strength fading, but I hoped to buy a moment's delay with the sand I threw in his face. I trust it helped you, or we would not be talking her now. It seems I owe you my life. We all owe our lives to you and your men. The colonists were just about beyond hope."

"I'm very glad you did. I saw what you did on the ship, when that monster was attacking. I could not recall seeing such gallantry in quite a long time. No, in answer to your question, I'm not familiar with the title you mentioned. I'm a healer, as was my mother before me. I came here when I heard about the sickness. I thought I could help these people, but I've had only partial success. The disease was something beyond normal treatment. None of my potions seemed to work, so I could only treat them with my will. That's why I was so used up. I still feel as though I could use some good food and a long rest."


She led him to the small cot by the hand. He settled in and looked to her with a smile and spoke softly while closing his hand around her own and giving a comforting squeeze.

“Everyone should be proud. You held here against impossible odds, for much longer than anyone could have hoped. You have earned respite and should take it while you can. I regret that more of my men could not make it to shore, but we were not prepared for… whatever the nine hells that beast was.”

Her clothing was once fine, travel clothes of finer elvish crafting suggesting a high station, but they had since seen hard times. Still, her posture and bearing hinted that she was used to conversing with intelligence and confidence in any setting. Her violet eyes fixed him with a steady gaze as she replied, still holding his hand. "We've had a hard time here, that's for certain. The orcs have only been part of the problem. I would swear this colony was cursed, but who could do such a thing? We've fought disease, orcs, hunger, and desperation for many weeks. But now that you and your men are here, will you be able to defeat and drive them off? With that thing in the bay, it will be a hazard to any more ships that come. And when all of this started, there were many more men to fight them than there are now, even with your knights. What are our chances of surviving this siege? Will there be any more aid coming?"

He paused for a moment to consider everything she had said. How to explain this to her? Despite the shape of her clothing she looked as if perhaps she held some high station. So why was an elf here? Was she drawn by the need to help them? It didn’t matter, he spoke his thoughts to her quietly as the rest in the room were trained warriors, or unconscious wounded.

“I will be honest with you my lady. What has happened here has the feel of something evil. Until we can find the source of the troubles, no help will be coming from the sea. That monster in the sea will tear anything apart that leaves, or comes into the harbor. My memory is fragmented, but that beast is still alive, and angry.”

He paused and turned to gaze into her violet eyes. His jaw was set with grim determination and his tone echoed it.

“We have supplies, and my men have faced down things worse than orcs. We had intended to take them in the field, but with so few that would be suicide. At best my men will be able to hold the walls until supplies run out. At worst…”

“We will have to find another way. I refuse to just let this happen. We are far from beaten, and the Gods are smiling upon us. This entire colony would be dead if you were not here my lady, and my men should not have survived to land on this shore. Pelor smiles on us yet.”

She listened to the grim assessment with quiet consideration, remaining silent for several moments after his finished speaking. Her delicate brow furrowed with thought. At last she sighed wearily. "Then it is a waiting game again. The orcs will not give up; they have shown us that. I agree that there is more to this than would appear. Someone does not want more human colonies in this land. Someone who can organize the orcs and other creatures into an army, and keep them focused on the task even with no prospect of reward or gain."

Someone brought a trencher of bread and sliced meats and cheeses from the supply crates, having overheard her desire for a good meal. Her eyes widened at the largesse, and she began to eat with obvious relish. "Forgive me, Sir Strahan, but it has been weeks since we've had anything but mealy flour cakes and salted pork. The lack of good food has taken a toll just as the daily battles with the orcs and their kin." She continued eating in silence, observing the mannerly custom of a hiatus in conversation during the meal. She pushed the tray towards him, indicating he should eat some too.

As she ate, she thought about the situation. "So with the monster in the bay, no help will come from that direction, and no escape may lie in that direction either. The orcs and their brethren have us cut off from the land, likely being controlled by someone or something to keep them here. And remaining here to fight means only a matter of time until we are overrun or starve." Her clear grasp of the situation belied her image of a humble healer. Here was a person used to leading, who could quickly cut to the heart of the matter. "If only I could get word to them, there are possibly allies who would help. There are other colonies of humans in this land, well established, many days travel to the north. I don't know of the politics in the other continent where you come from, whether your country and theirs are on good terms, but perhaps they would help. The problem would be in getting there."

He gained a new respect for this elven woman as she digested what he said and then spoke of a potential solution. It was still a grim solution, but there wasn’t much to do outside of wait to be defeated in the end. He took a few uninterested bites of the food she offered in a mechanical way. It was obvious by the way he ate that the last thing he wanted was food, but he had both mind and body trained to take food and rest where he could get it, for there may be a time when he would have to go without.

“There are more than orcs in this army. They have no siege weapons, something broke through the palisade with brute force and any of the creatures capable of doing that are typically solitary, they do not organize and they do not share spoils. No, whatever motivates this army has motivated them by fear, or reward and something that powerful is more than likely the source behind the sea creature, and the disease. I imagine with a bit more study we would find it is a magical plague.”

His mind mulled over the possibilities. There were not many creatures powerful, evil, and intelligent enough to organize such a task.

“Our best hope is to send a sortie against the orcs to draw their attention, and slip a small force north to one of the other area’s. Politics or not they would not have much choice but to send aid. If the orc forces overwhelm us, it is unlikely it will stop there. They will be the next target.”

A thought occurred and he leveled blue orbs to meet almond shaped violet.

“When you are finished with your meal will you join me outside the tent? I need to gather the townsfolk and you have done much for them, it will bolster their hearts to see you are safe.”

"I think you're right about the possibility of magic behind these incidents. I've never before encountered a sickness I couldn't cure. But far too many of these people have died before I could help them. The latest victim passed just before your ships crested the horizon." She shakes her head in self recrimination. "I still don't know what more I could have done to stop it, but that boy should not have died."

Her appetite seemed to leave her at the remembrance of her latest failure. When she looked back up at him again, her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "I've reached the limit of what I can do to help these people. The boy who died was the last one with the sickness. Maybe it died with him. Now that your people are here, they can help with the injuries from battle. I might be able to help more if I could enlist aid from elsewhere. If you send a force for help, I'd like to be among them. My half brother, Gareth, is commander of a troop of Rangers in the town of Rockbridge. He has helped me before, and his men are a good lot, if rough mannered. Though Rockbridge lies some long ways to the north, there may be other allies we could meet along the way."

She pushed the tray back, nodding her thanks to the man who brought it. "I will stand at your side, but I don't know how much they trust me. I'm only half human, and they see me as different. Perhaps they have good reason to distrust any of the native races from this land, but honestly I only meant to help them."

He rose to his full height but paused as he saw unshed tears glimmering in her gaze. His own gaze turned soft and he smiled of all things.

“My lady, it does not matter what your lineage is. The truth is without you here many more would be dead, and without you to help the injured these walls might have fallen a lot sooner. Captain Arizz told me everything you have done. You helped even the ones you could not save. Giving comfort to those who are passing beyond takes great strength. Those who die are free. It is those of us who are still here who must continue to fight.”

That last was spoken with a deep undertone of sadness and weariness, almost as if he were envious of those who passed beyond this world to the next.

He held out his hand to help her from the cot.

“When you are ready”

She took his hand, a graceful curtsey before walking by his side. Looking up at him with gratitude for his kind words, she said, "We haven't been introduced formally. My name is Annisthyrienne, but my friends call me Thyri (Teery). My family name is Annis; it is traditional among high elves to put the family name first. My given name is Thyrienne. (Teery-ain)"

She preceded him out of the tent flap as he held it open for her. Impressed with his courtly manners, she smiled a little. It did wonders for her appearance, the tiny lines at the corners of her lines showing that she was used to smiling often.

Her hand was dwarfed in his larger one. The difference between the two was as striking as the difference between his hand around hers. Yet somehow they were already complimenting each other well, fitting together like their clasped hands.

“It is my honor to meet you Lady Annisthyrienne. I am Strahan Vladdross, Knight-Commander of the Golden Spear.”

He stopped, then realized she may just have no idea what any of that meant. Hastily he corrected his mistake.

“Knight-Commander is a military rank, and our knighthood has three different ranks as well. You start as a golden blade, then comes golden shield, and finally golden spear.”

He pushed the flap back and the glaring sun was high in the sky. It still wasn’t quite noon yet. Runners were sent to gather up a large majority of the townsfolk. Captain Arizz approached the pair and Strahan finally released her hand long enough to embrace Arizz. The older man flicked the sea sodden tabard and gave a grin.

“Knight-captain now is it? What did you do to earn that? Bare-knuckle box a frost giant?”

The young knight just laughed and shook his head.

“no no not at all, just a pair of hill giants.”

The pair laughed and then Arizz turned to Thyri and saluted, fist to chest just the way he had been doing all along, but now among the other men brought over the ocean she could see the salute, the way he moved, even his features all shared an origin with the knights who had come across the sea. He had in fact once served in the infantry with them.

“My Lady, don’t you worry. They could not have sent a finer bunch to help dig us out of this situation. The young lord here is as brilliant as they come and strong as a bull. One time I saw him face down a….”

He trailed off looking at all the gaunt, haggard, and terrified faces around them. The people were not just worn down, they were beaten and battered in body and spirit.


She put a hand on Captain Arizz' arm, recognizing the reason he stopped. She knew the importance of the people's morale on keeping their spirit and willingness to keep trying to survive and thrive here. She'd seen how simply having something to believe in could galvanize an entire community of people. And also how losing that faith could prove disastrous. All too clearly, she remembered the devastating riots in Randalee when word reached the city-kingdom ahead of her travel that she had been slain by an assassin's poison dagger. It had been part of a ruse, to allow the belief to continue among the general public in the city she had been visiting when it happened. That belief had allowed her and her retinue to slip out of Rockbridge without further danger. But the news had traveled faster than their group could, and when it reached her home kingdom, half the people mourned their Princess-Goddess in the streets, and the other half refused to believe it could be possible. That half rioted and attacked the mourners, claiming blasphemy. Many buildings were burnt and many people hurt or killed. Yet she also knew the bolster it gave the members of her retinue when she 'rose' from the polished ebony coffin to rejoin them, literally glowing with unearthly radiance and floating several feet above their heads. Many true believers were born that night.

Quietly she gently admonished, "Please continue, Captain. You were telling me how we are fortunate we are to have the knights sent to help us. I think these people need to hear it as much as I. These are your people, Captain. They need to hear from you that hope is reborn."

The captain looked into the elven eyes that were slightly sunken with her own exhaustion. He recognized the steel behind them however. It was not for her benefit, but the benefit of a near broken people. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and turned to the people gathered around.

“Friends, family, neighbors. I see despair in your faces, I see fear. Well I am here to tell you such feelings are misplaced!”

Memories came flooding back and he felt his leathery old heart beat again with pride, blossom with energy and life he thought he had lost forever. He may be a farmer in occupation, but he would always be a soldier, and a patriot!

“Many of you like me came here hoping for a different life. We all know too well how hard life in the Eschean plains have been. It is a never ending battle for survival. We thought this would be different. We thought this would be easier. We were wrong. We knew we would be wrong in our hearts. Evil is not isolated to one place in our world, or in other worlds. Those orcs camped outside our walls represent that evil, have shown us that we cannot outrun our responsibilities! They have tested us, pushed us to our limit, but we are not without friends, we are not without hope!”

He began to pace, the energy pouring from his spirit, and the sun warming the elder man’s face shaved years off of his visage.

“I have had the privilege to serve with the knights before, my last engagement was when I met the knight-captain himself here.”

“I met the men and woman who have come across the sea to help us on the spine of the dagger mountains. I swear on my own life’s blood that there is not a man or woman in this battalion who would not ride into the mouth of the burning hells if they thought it would save your lives. They embody everything that is the knights code. They are not simply our aid, they are the hand of the sun god himself!”

“The knight-captain has accomplished more in six years of service than most knights do in their entire lives. Never has one man advanced so quickly through the ranks of the knighthood, and I say no one ever will again. He fights like Pelor himself. It was his tactics, and his battle prowess that gave us the victory over Glachia The Great White! You saw the orc assault break upon spears and shields, you saw them run from a quarter their number. We could not be in better hands.”

There it was; hope broke over the crowd like a wave. First it was the sound of clapping hands, then a lone cry or two. Finally cheers and shouts lifted the hearts of the people as they clapped their hands and stomped their feet.

Strahan had not said a word. He let the crowd have their moment, but as he looked out among them and saw the truth. They were hanging on a thread, and he could not force them to give more. His gaze shifted to Thyri. The two of them would have to be enough. He hoped that he was not asking too much of the woman, she had already given so much of herself to these people. Could she, would she give more?

The knight stepped forward and he was an imposing figure. He was young, of that there was no doubt, but his bearing told of a lifetime of experience, the weight of a thousand burdens, and the strength and wisdom to bear them. The crowd was silent in an instant, if from awe, or respect for his station the knight was not certain.

“Citizens. I wish I could step before you and claim an end to this struggle. The truth is it has just begun. There is much to be done, and I must ask the most of you, who have already given so much. I know you are all exhausted, and my men will man the walls alone for now. The orcs have been routed, but they will be back. We must prepare to hold out as long as possible. The lady Annisthyrienne and myself will be taking a journey to seek aid in our struggle against the orcish horde. This is not just a threat to us, but it is a threat to every free person on the continent. They must be warned, and united.”

He paused and let all of this sink in. It was a fine line between telling the truth, and robing people of hope. As it stood now even in their roused state hope was a guttering candle in the eye of a tornado. He continued.

“It is with regret that I must institute martial law. You will all be given time to rest, and regain your strength, but in two days time every man and woman who is fit to hold a weapon will receive basic weapon training. The children who are just shy of weapon bearing age will be given tasks as runners. Everyone who does not fit this criteria will be given other tasks to help. In order for us to win against this darkness we must all rise up to banish it.”

“Finally I am proud to stand among such valiant souls. You have held on to your homes against terrible odds. You have stood fast against everything the orcs have thrown at you and refused to surrender. The costs were dear, but that was a victory. Captain Arizz please step forward.”

The captain stepped forward and dropped to a knee in front of the younger knight, fist to chest.

“For your actions, for your guidance of these people in a time of great peril I hereby raise you to knight of the golden blade, with the concession that you may set this commission aside as such a time where peace once more rules in your home. Mostly because I know your wife would run me through if I tried to draft you”

A burst of laughter rushed through the crowd, the captain’s wife had a temper well known. She had been a survivor of the plague, and it was said that she had done it with pure anger.

The captain rose and the men embraced once more and then he fell back into step.

The knight then turned to the elven woman at his side. He dropped to his knee similarly and saluted her fist to chest as the captain had done to him.

“Lady Annisthyrienne, I know not what to say other than thank you for offering your gifts to so many without hesitation, and without fail. Many here owe you their lives, myself among them. I wish there was more I had to offer than the gratitude of a simple servant. What you have done is beyond my ability to reward, but anything you require that the clerics can offer will be yours.”

He rose to his feet and looked into her eyes.

“I, Strahan Vladdross Knight-Captain of the Golden spear, and first of his line thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and then once more cheers rose up from the crowd, this time the sound was a deafening roar. He let them have their moment, the people needed hero’s, people to look up to, goals to strive for.

After a moment his hands rose and the sound died down.

“That is all for now. Please return to your homes and take your rest while you may get it.”

The knight started to turn toward Thyri once more, apparently he had something he wished to say to her, but immediately four people stepped up to him and began to talk at once. He flashed an apologetic smile toward her, and then began to heard, two knights, a cleric, and a sailor toward one of the larger houses, which had been taken over as a make shift command center long ago by captain Arizz.

It was unexpected, and she felt the heated blush creep up her throat and cheeks. She should be used to it by now, she reminded herself. After all, how many times before had she been recognized in front of a large crowd and praised for what she’d done, and sometimes even what they attributed to her that she hadn’t actually done. And that this gallant one, this handsome knight from across the sea, would salute her, kneel before her, unaware of her past as he was, left her with feelings fluttering inside that she couldn’t immediately understand.

She had finally returned to the small quarters that had been afforded her. She was the only person among the colonists who had not come from across the sea, and as such, she knew some of them had looked upon her with a measure of hesitation, even suspicion. And considering how they had been greeted by other denizens of this land, she could understand why they would be concerned about anyone who was native, let alone of a different race.

She was part human though, and she had helped them as if they were her own people. And so she had a small room to herself, even though space had become precious when more of the town buildings had been burnt or destroyed or overrun by the orcs. It was partly out of respect and partly out of their reluctance to be in such close quarters with her that she had the little room to herself.

But she was not alone at the moment as she worked at packing away her things. The young cleric who had been tending her when she woke earlier had made a point to escort her back to her room. He was polite, but she sensed what he wanted, and as was her way, she confronted the matter head on. "I'm sorry, but I don't know how to explain it any better than that."

He sighed in exasperation. "But Lady Annisthyrienne, no one I've ever even heard of can revive the dead! I'm not trying to steal your secrets, but think of how many people it could save! Can't you tell me how you do it?"

She smiled a tired little smile and sat next to him on the small bed. "Let me tell you a story." she began. The way he rolled his eyes belied his impatience. He didn't think any 'bedtime story' would reveal anything useful. It was probably a stalling tactic because she didn't want to explain. It was probably her elvish heritage, he figured. They had all the time in the world.

She patted his hand and continued. "My mother was a healer, and her father before her. In fact, I come from a long line of healers. I was even named after my grandfather, only the spelling changed to feminize the name. When I was little, my mother taught me much of the conventional ways of treatment that I know. All the herbal remedies and medicines, the salves, how to treat and bandage wounds.....so many things. And yet I saw her do amazing things many times. She could heal a wound with just a touch, like a casual caress. Almost as if it were but a thought to do so."

The young cleric listened politely, wondering when she would get to the point.

"Now, after many years, I can do those things too, and more than my mother ever could. But you see, she died when I was still only a beginner. I couldn't learn all those miraculous things from her before she passed beyond the veil. After she died, I left and traveled quite a bit. And I practiced. I had no one to teach me how to do the things I knew were possible. I had seen her do them, but she never told me how."

"I met another healer in a town called Rockbridge once, and he taught me some things. I studied with him for almost a month. I remember one day he put his hands in my temples and something happened. I felt dizzy at first, then sleepy. And then, of a sudden my head cleared and a rush of feelings overwhelmed me. That was the beginning; my awakening. From then on, I could feel what my patients felt. I could sense their pain, their pleasure, their emotions, and how they felt inside."

The young man perked up at this, no longer disenchanted, but quite enrapt.

"When I left him to travel on, I began to think about things differently. When I 'felt' someone's pain or sickness, I just wanted to help them so much. And I could sense we were connected….through our spirits." Her violet eyes were distant, as if her gaze was directed far away to another place and time. "In wanting to help them, I just thought about making them feel better as I touched them. I don't know how to explain it better than that. I can't explain how to cast the spell, as you asked, because it's not a spell. It's just something I think about doing, and it happens."

She paused then, gathering her thoughts. His impatience banked for the moment, he tried to digest what she had told him. At last she began again.

"With no one to teach me the proper way to heal people, I just learned to do it my way, as I went along. But I noticed that whenever I would try to do something I hadn't done before, or at least very much, it would tire me very quickly. There have been times that I've dropped across my patient while healing them, completely exhausted! A few years ago, I found out why."

"You see, that was when I met my grandfather for the first time. He tested me, and was surprised at what he found. He said that I was unlike other healers, even of his line. He explained to me that most healers are taught to tap into the same kind of energy that mages and other spell casters use; the natural energy of the world I guess. And had I learned to do that, I wouldn't be affected so much when I heal people. But apparently, according to my grandfather, what I tap into when I heal people is my own.....spirit? Life force? Whatever you wish to call it; I give some of it to help those who I heal. I impart some of my 'health' to them?" She shook her head slightly, unsure if she explained it in a way that made sense. It made her nervous to reveal this kind of personal information to this man, who fervently believed in his own gods, and his own belief system.

"Anyhow, that's why I can't tell you exactly how I did it. I just sent my spirit to find him, his spirit, and asked him to come back with me. I willed my spirit to find his, by going into and through his body, and......out there." She gestured vaguely at nothing in particular. She grew quiet, thinking about what she'd seen; about the shining figure with him. Her voice was so soft that he barely heard her words when she began to speak again. "Sometimes they don't want to come back. And of course, I'd never force them. And I was so tired already....it was all I could do. Thank the Goddess it was enough."

His eyes snapped up to hers, her words reminding him that she was very different from him, even in her choice of deity. His mouth opened to offer some theological debate, but seeing how tired she still was, he realized that she wasn't looking for an argument. He smiled instead, rising from the bed as he touched her shoulder. "Lady Annisthyrienne, I thank you for your kind indulgence. Forgive me, I've been thinking only of my curiosity, and gave no regard for the dangerous journey you must soon undertake with Knight-Captain Strahan. I should let you get your rest."

She offered him a shy smile, rising with him, seeing him to the door of her small room. "Please, my friends call me Thyri. I know you just wanted to learn how to help others the way I do. Your eagerness for knowledge will serve you well."

He kissed her hand before leaving, and she smiled as she closed the door behind her, turning back to the task of packing her few belongings.

A thousand small problems. That was what took up a good portion of the next hour or so. Giving commands, answering questions, assuring scared citizens that they were in good hands with him passing command off to Arizz. It isn’t like he had led them through every step of the way of this crisis, right? Oh wait yes it was. The truth of the matter was that Arizz had nearly as much training as Strahan did. The footmen saw almost as much combat as the knights, maybe even more if you lay two careers side by side. Foot was up front in the face of battle; often times the knights took on strategy roles, and would lead foot, or calvary. Sieges were one thing foot were not trained to handle, but Arizz had seen his share, and knew the ins and outs of them, knew how to repel them and hold the walls for a long time.

The truth is Arizz had been up for knighthood a year ago. He had excelled where other footmen just did their job. He had turned it down and returned home to his wife and kids. He remembered the conversation like it was yesterday.

“My lords, you honor me beyond what I deserve, but I do not want the life of a knight. I served my years and I’d like to go home to my family. They need me around, not off on some quest to banish evil from the land. That is left to better men than I.”

And that was it, he went home with the money he had earned and his family thrived. The truth is Strahan respected his choice, and was envious of it. To have family, land, loved ones to go back to! Even if he could find the time to court a woman, how would it be fair to her for him to be on the road all the time, away from her? Many of the knights had women and they tended to the estates, raised the children, they lived a family life all by themselves while their men were out in the field earning glory, or dying at the hands of darkspawn and criminals.

The order demanded even more of him. The list of firsts he had accomplished were many. The first man to rise to knighthood, despite being a commoner, the first paladin since the great departure. Even as other paladins joined the ranks he stood out. Even though many paladins could do things he could not. The truth was he carried a curse, a taint in him and it gave gifts, at a price. Much like paladinhood, and knighthood, you gain much, but at great cost.

He realized he was sitting there, lost in brooding thoughts. His distraction had ruined the parchment he had been writing on. A blob of ink made the damn thing illegible. He crumpled the parchment and slid it to the side. That was when he heard a sound behind him. He turned to smile at the young boy behind him. The look in that child’s eyes was awe, and a bit of intimidation. He was standing behind a living legend. Strahan’s exploits were known across Eschea. Sometimes they even compared him to Pelor, and that bothered him. He was a servant, a vessel, not a god. The truth was few men had long careers if they were promoted into Strahan’s care because he was given missions no one else could complete. The list of the dead, was nearly three times the length of the mission complete category. Being responsible for the death of so many good men weighted on him, perhaps more than anything else.

He rose to his full height and spoke in a welcoming tone down to the young boy, he couldn’t be any more than ten. The young boys excitement quickly overtook his shyness. “Uh… sir knight strahan captain sir? My Da says you are gonna teach everyone how to fight. Can you teach me? I want to help! I want to learn how to use a sword like my Da!”

He couldn’t help but smile wider. The child was a few years shy of being able to handle a weapon, but he would not dare crush the boys dreams. Kneeling down until he could look the young man in the face. Putting his large hand on the lads shoulder he spoke

“What is your name son?”

“Eric, sir!”

“Well Eric all things come with patience. You are still a little young to be out there on the walls with your father, but I will give you a private lesson. How does that sound?”

The child’s eyes lit up like the very sun in the sky. He reached his small arms out and hugged the large knight with joy.

“Really?!?! No way! Wait ‘till all my friends see that! Thank you thank you!”

The boy ran out of the tent at full speed. Giggling with childish mirth. Unable to help himself he shared the child’s joy. This would be good for him.

As he walked out the door he spoke softly the knight guarding his tent entrance. The knight looked at him with confusion for a moment, then darted off to see his request taken care of. A few moments later he produced a spear which had been cut in half, and the cut end sanded clean. Also he presented a small shield designed for archers. It was a buckler that strapped to the arm rather than held in the hand. However it was just about the perfect size for the young man.

Strahan came up to the boy with the two pieces of gear and a small crowd began to gather around. He knelt down to the youngling and set the spear down. “Ok Eric. Shield first, give me your left arm, this is going to be a little heavy. “

The child slid his left arm out and Strahan fastened the straps to his arm. The boy grunted as the sudden weight was transferred to his arm, but he held it up like he was the victor of some sort of duel. With a chuckle Strahan then took the sawed off spear and put it in his other hand. “Alright, this is your sword Eric. I am going to teach you how to use a long sword. This type of sword has two ways it can be used. You can use it to stab, or to slash. Here I’ll show you.”

Walking over to a weapon rack he pulled a shield and a long sword. He stood beside the young man and smiled. “The sword has a sharpened point on it which you use to stab. Like this.” Strahan raised the sword and thrust it forward, attacking an imaginary opponent.

The boy bubbled with excitement and thrust his stick a little wildly forward, the shield through him off balance and he swung in a circle, landing firmly on his backside. Startled for a moment he started to laugh, and the crowd joined him.

“Not bad, not bad. We will work on that. Now the slash. This is a more common use of the long sword. It lets you put more of your strength behind the weapon, as well as taking advantage of how long it is compared to smaller weapons. Watch” The knight brought the sword in a neat slash from shield arm across. The air whistled as the steel weapon cleaved it.

“I can do that!” Eric said excitedly. He slashed his stick from left to right, nearly dropping the shield in the process. He managed to keep his feet this time so the crowd cheered him on.

“Very good Eric!” The knight’s voice boomed excitedly and he walked over to put his weapons back in the rack. “Now the shield. It is fairly simple to use. First thing first is to keep it close to your body. Keep your arm straight, and elbow bent. This will keep you from having it come back and hit you from the impact of someone striking your shield, and give you more control.” He knelt and shifted the boys arm to the form he was describing. Then he reached out and struck the small domed shield with his hand. It rang out metallically. The boy nearly stumbled, but held it up well “That was perfect!”

“Now this also lets you tilt the shield. It creates what is called a “glancing blow” If you let them hit the shield straight on it could damage it. If you angle it though just even a little it will cause whatever you are blocking to hit, then slide off of the shield. It will also help keep you from getting tired so quickly. It takes a lot of effort to use a shield. Now there is one last lesson to give you about these items.”

He took the ‘long sword’ tip in hand and shook it. “This can only be used to hurt people. Never pick one up unless you have no choice.”

The boy nodded solemnly, he could tell somehow that this was a serious conversation. Just shortly after Strahan put his hand on the shield. “You want to be the shield, not the sword. The shield is used to protect yourself, and others who need it. This will keep you, and your Da, and Ma safe. Never forget that Eric.”

The boy nodded, giving a toothy grin albeit he was missing a few. Then he hugged the knight tightly. “Thank you Sir Strahan! I won’t forget. Be the shield!” The knight hugged him back and nodded. Before he could properly disarm the child he bounded off into a group of other children chanting “Be the shield! Be the Shield!”

A mother darted off after the boy and promptly swiped shield and spear end. It didn’t stop Eric’s rallying cry one bit. He bounded off continuing his chant, and the other children took it up in droves.

An older man with no small amount of grey in his hair stepped forward and put a hand on the knights shoulder. “Thank you for that my lord. The boy is so excited to get in and fight. No matter what I said I couldn’t discourage him. Battle is not a place for boys. I think this will help that thought sink in.”

The knight turned to the older man and smiled. They clasped forearms amiably and the knight nodded. “I pray he never has need of that lesson. My fondest memories were not of learning the art of war, but learning the forge from my own Da. Boys look up to their father more than anyone else. That is why he is so excited about learning to fight.”

The older man nodded and grumbled in a slightly embarrassed tone. “Thank you again my lord. I won’t keep you”

Nodding once the knight departed and headed in the direction of Thyri’s living space. He wanted to make sure she was getting everything she needed before they had to leave, so that she could get some rest. On his way he saw a stream of townsfolk gathered in front of her tent. One man came in. Somehow in this desolation he had managed to find flowers. That baffled the knight. Then the man disappeared into the elf’s quarters. Strahan crossed the rest of the distance and his voice boomed out above the general roar of activity. “Alright, that is enough bothering our guest. She has to get rest before tomorrow evening. Perhaps she will find time to speak more later. For now leave her in peace.”

The knight did not immediately enter her quarters, he stood outside patiently, respectfully.

Inside, the man still looked a little haggard, but he spoke, clutching the few wilted flowers in his hand. “My lady, you may not remember me, but I hear that you helped me get over this plague. I don’t know how to properly thank you, you saved me….”

Turning back to her packing, she took out the bow that had been her wedding gift from her husband's mother and father. Lovingly her fingers caressed the white wood, tracing the golden inlays that depicted entwining vines, fruits, and leaves along the length of the bow. It was a double recurved short bow of the finest elvish craftsmanship, and bore the Royal Seal of Randalee. In her hands it was an instrument of precision in sport, yet could be lethal when used to protect those she loved. She had used most all of the arrows she possessed in the early days of the siege, helping defend the walls in the only way she could. Now barely half a dozen arrows occupied her quiver, which also bore the Royal Seal. She laid it on the small cot, next to an old leather sheath containing a gladius that had belonged to her human father, long ago. He had taught her it's use, but she'd never struck a foe with it in anger.

From outside, she heard a rousing cheer coming from some of the colonists. She stepped out of her tent to see what was the cause and spotted the crowd gathered around a small boy and Sir Strahan. It soon became apparent that the young one was getting a lesson in sword and shield use from the gallant knight-commander. The sight took her back in her memories to another all too eager little one, seeking to learn the skills of the weapons favored by the one she most looked up to and admired. Thyri's lips smiled a bittersweet smile at the memory of her beautiful Sommerblossom, the little orphan girl she had adopted when it seemed as if she might be unable to have a baby of her own.

Blossom had wanted to learn the bow, and the short sword, like her adopted mother. She tried so hard, and worked so diligently at both skills. As she stepped back within her quarters, Annisthyrienne was lost in the memory of the first time her little girl had gone hunting with her adopted father, Elendar. What a proud day it had been when she came back with a large 12 point buck, taken all by herself with one shot from her bow. Thyri's hands traced over her own bow as she recalled the day, remembering the celebratory feast they all had enjoyed that evening, and the many retellings of the tale.

She was brought out of her reverie by a knock on the door. She wiped away the tears brought on by the aching longing the memory had brought back to her for her little one. But Blossom had been left behind to stay in the palace of Randalee. It was for the best, Thyri thought as she softly called for her visitor to enter.

She glanced up in surprise to see the bouquet of wild flowers the man held in his hand. He seemed hesitant, as if unsure of his welcome, until she smiled. His gaunt face lit up in an answering grin, his eyes taking on a spark of life she hadn't seen when he was her patient.

“My lady, you may not remember me, but I hear that you helped me get over this plague. I don’t know how to properly thank you, you saved me….”

Of course she remembered him, so deathly sick he had been, but with a strong will to get better. She took the partially wilted flowers, letting him kiss her hand so gallantly. When his eyes were diverted, she let her power flow into the blossoms, reviving them to their former vibrancy.

"I do remember you. You look much better now than when I saw you last. I'm glad to see you again. But please, no thanks are necessary." She noticed his gaze passing over the weapons she had laid on the bed, and she took his hand, leading him to sit on the edge of the cot. In moving the weapons aside to make room for them both, she casually covered the weapons with the blanket, only partially covering the royal crests. She sat beside him, blocking his view, but not before he had seen. She could see it in the way his eyes grew wider.

Hoping to distract him from the questions she knew he would want to ask, but she didn't want to answer, she said, "The flowers are lovely; thank you for bringing them to me. It's so refreshing to see such beauty here, after all we've been through."

"Oh Milady, they pale in comparison to your beauty. You do me honor by accepting them as a token of my gratitude. I only wish I could do more to make you smile."

"Oh, but you have made me smile. How could I not with such a handsome visitor come to wish me well on my upcoming quest?" She squeezed his hand as she smiled at him, noticing his furtive glances over towards the covered weapons. She scooted closer, hoping to draw his attention.

He interpreted her smile and the squeeze of her hand as more of an invitation than she had intended. "Lady Thyrienne, are you sure you must go? I'd hoped that you and I.....You are so fair, and I thought that....." He looked at her intently, losing himself in her slightly slanted violet eyes. She was just like this land: so exotic, so mysterious, and like this land, she had to be tamed. Impulsively he took her in his arms, hands clasping tightly to her shoulders as his larger frame leaned forward over her much smaller body, pressing her backwards. He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her hard, cutting off her murmur of protest. The kiss was heated but quick, and when he broke away, he was breathless in his need.

His hands clumsily began to work at unfastening her bodice, too impatient to finesse the delicate lacings. At last he just pulled at the fastenings, desperate to expose her breasts.

"No, wait! Not like this! You shouldn't...."

"Oh Lady, we must! Can't you see how I feel for you? I need you so badly! My woman died on the passage over, and it's been so long!"

"But, this isn't....No!"

As she wrestled with his amorous endeavors, she realized her protests were falling on deaf ears. But she'd handled situations like this before; a certain overeager bratty little elf wench who thought she could just take what she wanted from the world, whether or not she had a right to it. Thyri summoned the power granted to her by her goddess, slipping her slender hand along his hip to the waistband of his trousers.

The warm tingle from her touch was easily accepted by him as merely the thrill of his anticipation of what was about to happen. It seemed to him that she had acquiesced and was willing now. His hands searched within her dress for her supple breasts, squeezing them roughly. She moaned at the unpleasant force he used with her. Surely she liked it, he thought. After all, wasn't her small hand even now encircling his tumescent manhood?

And that's when 'it' happened. He felt a sudden surge of warmth, of tingling in his crotch, bringing a moan from him just as he leaned close to place a sucking kiss to the graceful column of her neck. Before he knew what had happened, his groan echoed through the small room as his cock exploded in his premature release, filling his britches with spurt after spurt of his creamy spending. His body went limp above her even as his member went limp in his sticky trousers. His struggle to have her, to possess her had come to an abrupt end.

Suddenly flushing red with embarrassment, he murmured his apology and quickly fled the small chamber, even as a knowing smile curled the corners of her lips. She began to gather herself, straightening her bodice and brushing her hair back behind a delicately pointed ear.

Outside the chamber, the door suddenly opened, emitting the fleeing paramour. In his haste he nearly collided with the knight-commander, murmuring a hasty apology before hurrying on.

Strahan watched the man's hasty retreat across the compound with some puzzlement before turning back to knock on the door, only to find himself face to face with a rather flushed elvish face. Her eyes smoldered with unknowable emotions, and her bodice was still largely undone as she watched the fleeing man. "Well, he seems to have gone as quickly as he came." she murmured. Turning her glance to Strahan, she smiled a genuine smile. "Sir Strahan, how nice of you to visit. I do hope you will come inside?" The hint of a knowing smirk played about the corners of her lips as she turned to let him follow her within.

He heard sounds just at the edge of hearing. He had wished he couldn’t hear them. He did not know the man she was in there with but something just felt wrong. He paused just on the threshold, just about to shatter their privacy. Then a man came stumbling out. He was flushed, his face a deep ruddy crimson, sweat trickling on his brow. He was flustered and that almost caused him to step right into the broad chest of the Knight – Commander.

He paused , nose inches from the barrel broad chest and looked up to meet the Paladin’s stern gaze. Already Strahan suspecting something was off he focused his will and let his eyes pierce the older man. The sensation was like having a fingertip trace your spine, if the soul had a spine. He wilted under the Paladin’s gaze and offered a hasty apology. He saw it then, saw the faint outline of dark around his form. The knight closed the conduit between himself and the divine. His mouth gave a wry twist.

His hand closed around the smaller man's shoulder. He drew him close and gazed down at the older man. The sight itself was ludicrous, a young man staring down a man twice his age, who likely ten years ago would have had the knight-commander over a knee for misbehavior.

"I'm no fool, if I find you have harmed one hair on the Lady's head I will personally punish you. Trust me when I tell you I have the cure to any and all problems. Now, as for idle hands there are thirty men digging trenches right now and I am certain they could use another healthy pair of hands. Now GO!"

He motioned to the knight standing guard, giving him specific instructions to deliver the man to the front gate team, but not to work him too hard. Then the guard was to come right back to keep watch over the Lady's quarters.

A gentle knock announced him. Her back was turned, but when she was able to see him, he was a looming form in the door, sun glittered off his mail shirt. She turned and smiled, inviting him in. He entered and pushed the door closed softly. When the back lighting was cut out, his eyes quickly adjusted to the much darker room. He spoke in a friendly tone as he walked toward her.

“Greetings Lady Annisthyrienne I just came to check to see if there was anything you required, rations, weapons, some fresh clothing, any sort of suppli – “

Suddenly he was across the room in three steps. His hand reaching up to finger the frayed edge of her bodice. This was not the hand of a man who knew the proper way to treat a woman. His eyes traveled the tattered garment, and then drifted up to her face. It was unlike him to be so bold with a woman’s personal space. Yet this was not a lusty caress, or a lewd attempt to undo her clothing. His strong hands came to either side of her face and he saw the slight swelling on her lip, he had used her, somewhat roughly in his haste.

The knight let his thoughts recede, his mind calm and his spirit swell within his body. Whenever he tried this there was always resistance. What should have been a bubbling spring of water was a murky pond, covered with oil that sat upon the surface. Each time he reached in it took effort to sort through the murk and find the power within.

His brow started to dot with sweat, and while his eyes stared at her face, she could see the struggle within them. See him wrestling with something, even his broad jaw clenching with effort. His touch was firm enough to keep her within his grasp, but not aggressive, she could free herself at any time.

Finally his jaw relaxed, and his eyes glowed, shone with power that welled up from within his soul. Paladins were not trained, they were forged at birth, it took the right person to walk the path but the power was always there, a touch of the divine was left on their essence, like fingerprints. That light turned blue eyes into small supernova lights. She was looking into the fragments of a god made flesh.

Warmth rushed from his hands and sank into her skin. The well of power was deep and only scooped a hand into the depths. He poured that warmth into her slender body, washing her in pure divine energy. It didn’t require much to soothe those swollen lips or stop those bruises from forming on the swell of her breasts. He could feel every tendon, every bone, every inch of her skin, even feel a bundle of emotion that he recognized as her. Amusement, but she had such a tight hold on those emotions he could not decipher the rest. Not that he was trying to pry, it was just an after effect of this power he wielded. In turn she could feel him more strongly than ever before. On top of her natural ability to sense others, this was another layer, this was a direct connection of his soul to hers. She was aware of things he was yet to even be aware of.

Those eyes that glowed with iridescent light had taken in the image of her tattered bodice, the pout of those kiss swollen lips and it was the first time he could recall in a long, long time he felt an instant carnal attraction to a woman. This close he could smell her skin, and feel her flesh beneath his hands.

His body was responding eagerly, not unlike her former paramour. His heart was beating wildly, his length swelled beneath his clothing. His body started to close the distance without the focus of his mind to keep it in check.

Beneath the searing heat that was flooding his body she could feel something iron hard, a cold hardened ball of steel. Anger. Anger at the man who had assaulted her, more importantly anger at himself for not following his instincts and stepping in to solve the problem before it happened.

The connection was severed sharply instead of pulling back slowly like he would normally do. She was suddenly robbed of that heightened sense of his desire, but he was oh so painfully aware. His eyes fluttered a moment before he opened them fully once more. His own carnal need hit him as he was once more aware of himself. His body went rigid, and his hands drifted from her face. He took one step back, thinking that the distance would help him ignore the now dull throb in his groin. It only made it worse. His eyes drifted to her bodice, and the ache became sharper.

He snapped his eyes up to hers. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath to reign in his desires. He could not fool her empathic nature however, on the outside he looked calm, but just beneath the skin he was a growing bonfire. When he spoke again his voice was slightly hoarse.

“Forgive me for not asking your permission My Lady. That is not normal. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I will see that the man is punished severely, such behavior will not be tolerated.”

He glanced around for a moment, then spotted a chair. So flustered he couldn’t quite think straight he sank into it without asking permission to sit. Unfortunately this made his desire very visually obvious, but he chose to ignore it. A thought flashed through his mind, the image of her just drawing herself over his lap while he sat in the chair flitted through his mind. He drew a deep breath, frantically searching for a distraction. He saw the half empty quiver sitting on the bed.

“I …will see to it that more arrows are brought from our supply ship. Is there anything else you need…?”

(Apologies for quoting so much of the previous post. There was a lot I wanted to respond to.)

......Suddenly he was across the room in three steps. His hand reaching up to finger the frayed edge of her bodice. This was not the work of a man who knew the proper way to treat a woman. His eyes traveled over the tattered garment, and then drifted up to her face. It was unlike him to be so bold with a woman’s personal space. Yet this was not a lusty caress, or a lewd attempt to undo her clothing. His strong hands came to either side of her face and he saw the slight swelling on her lip. The man had used her, somewhat roughly in his haste.

Her violet eyes widened as he approached her so suddenly. Despite believing she had nothing to fear from him, she took a step backwards, and her breath caught in a slight gasp as his hands caught her face. She could sense the undercurrent of his growing anger, but then felt it fade as he forcefully calmed himself, revealing a mastery of self control that her experience told her that few ever attained.

The knight let his thoughts recede, his mind calm, and his spirit swell within his body. Whenever he tried this there was always resistance. What should have been a bubbling spring of water was a murky pond, covered with oil that sat upon the surface. Each time he reached in it took effort to sort through the murk and find the power within.

His brow started to dot with sweat, and while his eyes stared at her face, she could see the struggle within them; see him wrestling with something, even his broad jaw clenching with effort. His touch was firm enough to keep her within his grasp, but not aggressive, she could free herself at any time.

Finally his jaw relaxed, and his eyes glowed, shone with power that welled up from within his soul. Paladins were not trained; they were forged at birth. It took the right person to walk the path but the power was always there, a touch of the divine was left on their essence, like fingerprints. That light turned blue eyes into small supernova lights. She was looking into the fragments of a god made flesh.

She saw him struggling, and held still, no longer fearing anything he might do. It seemed strange when she thought about it; they had only met a few hours before, and yet she felt she could trust him with her life and her safety. This gallant one held no fear for her, but plenty of surprises waited to be discovered, she thought as his eyes opened to look at her, shining so brilliantly. But though he looked at her, he didn't really see her, and she recognized that divine bliss state, that trance-like focus that overcame him. She knew what he would be feeling in that state of Grace, for she'd often felt the same way when in the presence of her divine Mother. She watched his face, handsome in its serenity, and wondered if people saw her that way when she did in the past what he was about to do.

Warmth rushed from his hands and sank into her skin. The well of power was deep and he only scooped a hand into the depths. He poured that warmth into her slender body, washing her in pure divine energy. It didn’t require much to soothe those swollen lips or stop those bruises from forming on the swell of her breasts. He could feel every tendon, every bone, every inch of her skin, even feel a bundle of emotion that he recognized as her. Amusement, but she had such a tight hold on those emotions he could not decipher the rest. Not that he was trying to pry, it was just an after effect of this power he wielded. In turn she could feel him more strongly than ever before. On top of her natural ability to sense others, this was another layer, this was a direct connection of his soul to hers. She was aware of things he had yet to even be aware of.

At first she stiffened when she felt it begin; that power flowing through her. She flushed as she realized that he knew! he knew what had happened to her, what that man had done. Did he also know what she had done to him in return? She flushed, ashamed. She lowered her gaze, feeling unworthy to meet his eyes. She dared not speak, dared not resist him. Part of her sensed on some level that he had not come to judge her. She trusted him then, and she gave in, opening herself to him, letting him make contact and flow into her.

Not often had she been on the receiving end of this kind of energy. And though her own healing efforts borrowed from her own life source rather than from the power of her goddess, she knew from the way that her own patients had described what they had felt from her that this was something special, a sensation not many would ever know. She relaxed in his grasp, letting it flow around and through her. She felt the bruises that had not even formed yet release any claim to her bosom. The tingling swell of her lower lip where the rough kiss had stung her faded.

And then she felt it.

She'd felt the contact with another's spirit before, many times, but this was different. This was a connection that led to a deeper understanding: a knowing at the most intimate levels of just who this man was, in the spirit. She felt their destinies entwined somehow, and wondered if this feeling was a by product of her earlier dream from her Goddess. This man's spirit would be part of her; as much a part of her as her own essence.

But not yet. That was the future, and how she knew it she couldn't exactly explain if she'd been asked to do so. But she was as sure of it as she was of her own name. They would walk the path of fate together. Soon, as one.

Those eyes that glowed with iridescent light had taken in the image of her tattered bodice, the pout of those kiss swollen lips; and it was the first time he could recall in a long, long time that he felt an instant carnal attraction to a woman. This close he could smell her skin, and feel her flesh beneath his hands.

His body was responding eagerly, not unlike her former paramour. His heart was beating wildly, his length swelled beneath his clothing. His body started to close the distance without the focus of his mind to keep it in check.

Beneath the searing heat that was flooding his body she could feel something iron hard, a cold hardened ball of steel. Anger. Anger at the man who had assaulted her, more importantly anger at himself for not following his instincts and stepping in to solve the problem before it happened.

The connection was severed sharply instead of pulling back slowly like he would normally do. She was suddenly robbed of that heightened sense of his desire, but he was oh so painfully aware. His eyes fluttered a moment before he opened them fully once more. His own carnal need hit him as he was once more aware of himself. His body went rigid, and his hands drifted from her face. He took one step back, thinking that the distance would help him ignore the now dull throb in his groin. It only made it worse. His eyes drifted to her bodice, and the ache became sharper.

The spirit connection was intense, on a higher level of understanding. But her own empathy told her of baser desires, yet no less intense, and no less interesting. It had been a long time since she'd been with her husband, Elendar of Randalee, Regent of the Middle Woodlands. Too long.

She'd been raised all her lives among elves, and considered herself to be elvish. But truth be told she was a half blood. Her father had been some human adventurer, and her birth hadn't even been sanctioned by the formality of marriage. She was a bastard half-breed in the eyes of many elves and humans alike, but some had looked past that. Elendar had. He had loved her for who she was, not her lineage. And he'd made her his bride.

The common folk in his kingdom had accepted her; some had even worshipped her as a goddess incarnate, though she'd always denied it herself. Unfortunately, her headstrong ways and the radical changes she tried to bring to elvish society was too much for the conservative Council of Elders to accept. And so they managed to force her husband the king to agree to an edict banishing all of less than 3/4 Elvish blood from the boundaries of the kingdom.

That was over two years ago, and her needs were as great as any woman's. Perhaps greater. Being the Chosen of the Goddess of Fertility carried with it certain burdens. She felt his need keenly as desire of her own, a common problem of her empathy. Sometimes it was hard to tell where those she sensed ended and she began. Her soft red lips opened in a silent moan as she surrendered to the strong desire for just a moment before he broke the contact with her, stepping back to separate them. When he did, she found herself involuntarily leaning forward, and had to catch herself to keep from falling into his arms.

He snapped his eyes up to hers. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath to rein in his desires. He could not fool her empathic nature however; on the outside he looked calm, but just beneath the skin he was a growing bonfire. When he spoke again his voice was slightly hoarse.

“Forgive me for not asking your permission, My Lady. That is not normal. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I will see that the man is punished severely, such behavior will not be tolerated.”

She recovered herself, slightly flushing with the effort, and swallowed hard before speaking in her soft even voice, now slightly tinged with an edge not normally present. "No, please do not be troubled. I take no offense. I'm fine and no harm was done. Not by you, nor by him. I would not see him punished. He meant no real harm; only was overcome by his desire. His will has been weakened by the hardships we've all endured. I'm sure he regrets his actions, and won't be eager to repeat them."

He glanced around for a moment, then spotted a chair. So flustered he couldn’t quite think straight he sank into it without asking permission to sit. Unfortunately this made his desire very visually obvious, but he chose to ignore it. A thought flashed through his mind, the image of her just drawing herself over his lap while he sat in the chair flitted through his mind. He drew a deep breath, frantically searching for a distraction. He saw the half empty quiver sitting on the bed.

“I …will see to it that more arrows are brought from our supply ship. Is there anything else you need…?”

She sat on the edge of the cot, her eyes downcast demurely, avoiding the obvious evidence of his arousal. Quickly she seized upon the opportunity to change the subject when he spoke. "Yes, I used mine rather soon after the sieges began. I could use a couple dozen I suppose, in case we must fight our way through the horde outside the palisade. And we should be well rationed. I can find enough to nourish us along our journey, but not if we must move quickly at first. Foraging takes time, and if we are pursued, there won't be any time. I can also replace my medicines and potions with herbal supplies along the way."

At last beginning to regain her composure, she changed the subject. "I watched you with the boy out there. You are a natural father figure. Have you any children of your own? I would imagine they must miss you terribly, as would their mother."

He was finding air to be a precious thing. Still reeling from the contact of her soul and then the sudden release. He had never felt anything like that before. Sure he had connected with other souls as he used the innate gift he received from Pelor to heal by touch… but this. He felt like they were being watched. It was like having fingertips brush on the back of his neck. There was something between them, something that bound them. Yet he already knew that, from the vision he had when he had been dead. Drakor had specifically spoken of a ‘she’ who needed a shield. When he connected with her it felt…right. For lack of a better term it was divine in its own rite.

It was not just Pelor however that was watching them. He could sense another presence it was very female and very…. Potent was the best word he could find. He could not understand the vibes he was getting from the goddess, or the elf herself. Then he started to list all the aspects of nature in his head. He filed the question away for a later moment. She was speaking now.

"No, please do not be troubled. I take no offense. I'm fine and no harm was done. Not by you, nor by him. I would not see him punished. He meant no real harm; only was overcome by his desire. His will has been weakened by the hardships we've all endured. I'm sure he regrets his actions, and won't be eager to repeat them."

He listened to her words and gave a nod. Arousal or not he stood up to his full height, pointedly ignoring his arousal as it stood proudly against his pants, and even the chain link sitting over it. He spoke in a firm tone. He was judging now, but it was not here.

“I understand what you are saying my lady, and you are gracious to plead for mercy. However not only did he attempt to break a law, but his actions were dishonorable. I cannot release him of all responsibility. Even though he seemed like he was already punished in some way, he must adhere to our laws. “

He paused for a moment, looking at the elven woman with a soft smile.

“Taking your words into account however I will be lenient on him. A few days doing a few hours of digging should be good for him. Help burn off some pent up energy, and get him out in the sun and fresh air again. Honest work is the best cure for overcoming illness. Gets the blood pumping again. I will leave instructions that his work detail should only last until we are gone, then he will be put back in line for weapons training.”

The thought flitted through his mind automatically, like a mantra. Strength, wisdom, mercy, honor, sacrifice. This is what a true knight holds in his heart.

"Yes, I used mine rather soon after the sieges began. I could use a couple dozen I suppose, in case we must fight our way through the horde outside the palisade. And we should be well rationed. I can find enough to nourish us along our journey, but not if we must move quickly at first. Foraging takes time, and if we are pursued, there won't be any time. I can also replace my medicines and potions with herbal supplies along the way."

With a firm nod at her words he added it to his mental list of things to do.

“I will have a couple of spare quivers waiting, and an extra few dozen heads. They are easier to carry and we will be able to make new arrows if the need should arise. I’ve done a little bit of fletching in a pinch. You learn how to do many things stuck in sieges like this. As for the potions our clerics do not know the art of producing magical potions, but they have brought fresh bandages, and medicinal poultices. I’ll make sure to add some of those with the rest of the supplies. Food should be fine for a week or so. It may not satisfy but salted meat and bread will fill the void. Once we get past the majority of the horde we can do some hunting as well”

"I watched you with the boy out there. You are a natural father figure. Have you any children of your own? I would imagine they must miss you terribly, as would their mother."

The next question caught him by surprise. The boy? Him a father figure? The knight actually managed to blush. Laughing in slight embarrassment he shook his head vehemently. Putting his hands up as if to ward off the words.

“Father? No no no. I’ve never really been around children much except in dire circumstances or the occasional ceremony. So they are either scared and worn, or so excited they can’t sit still long enough. No that was a lesson my father taught me when I was a young boy. I think he knew in his heart that I would end up serving the knights somehow. Young men hunger to make their mark on the world and seek glory. If the gods favor them they grow to be old men who just want the comfort of a woman and peace.”

“My father worked closely with the knights. He could have been a fine knight himself, he lived his life by the code more than most knights I had met. He had a wife and a child to support however so he chose to work the forge instead. Safer, steady work in a land constantly at war. I learned more on how to live like a knight from him than my lord knight through my squirehood. We were not always as you see us now.”

He drew a deep breath, she could see shame and sadness flitter through his gaze. Feel it weighing upon her through her empathic gift.

“When I was younger the knighthood was a shadow of what it was. We had lived bereft of the touch of our patron saint for generations. He is the heart, the core of our code, our laws. Without his touch, his guidance the knighthood grew arrogant, and corrupt. In our darkest hour it took the sacrifice of one man, to show them what it was to live like a knight. He died a squire despite his noble blood they would not recognize his claim. Yet he stood alone on the battlements alone and gave his life buying time for citizens to flee the city from a dragon attack. He purchased with his life the precious time that was needed for us to mount a counter assault. It was men like him who paved the way for me.”

He drew a light smile and spoke again, softer.

“I was the first man ever in our order to obtain knighthood without having noble blood. This was years after, when the knighthood gathered it’s wits again, and found the touch of Pelor once more. Compared to your power our clerics are children playing with building blocks. That is why they stare at you so. So many people die because we simply do not know how to wield the power to save them. They must learn however that power must come from wisdom and strength of the soul. To gain it any other way would be a dangerous road to walk.”

“There is no lady waiting for me back home. I simply have not had the time to really court a woman, not for years anyway. The call of Pelor is simply too demanding. I could not subject a woman to sleeping in an unwarmed bed every night. Many of the nights do so, but I could not imagine a night without my wife by my side, yet I could not subject her to the dangers I face either. I fear I will be the first, and the last of my line, my lady. My father and mother are gone. I am all that is left…”

For the first time he turned away from her, staring at the closed door as if he could see through it. To be honest he wasn’t seeing anything. He was remembering something. Pain and agonizing loneliness radiated off him like heat from an open flame. It was there for a moment, then he crushed it, pushed it down, buried it deep inside.

“There was one woman who I courted for a brief time. She was wild, beautiful, strong. I was fascinated by her. I had just started to attempt to court her, she laughed at me. She was not like the women of my homeland. She was passionate, intense, and had no problem showing that passion…”

A flash of embarrassment was enough to cue her in on just how she showed that passion.

“She died as she lived, in the moment without regard. Three crossbow bolts to the chest battling bandits trying to rob a caravan. A family fleeing from battle, three kids. She was outnumbered but she died with honor. “

The swell of pain, an old pain nearly forgotten flashed through him. Apparently an honorable death did not soothe the pain of loss.

Annisthyrienne listened attentively as he spoke of his past, of the father who meant so much to him, and of the Order of Knighthood that had lost it's way, and then found it again through the efforts of one heroic man. She felt the weight of his emotions as he recalled how they restored their honor and tradition. And she felt the pride when he recalled how he became one of them, despite his heritage.

She listened as he spoke of the power his priests wielded compared to hers. And for a moment, she wondered if it was going to happen again, that near awe of her that separated her from people. She wondered if she should leave her book behind; the one that held all of her medicinal recipes. Then she remembered it was written in elvish, and likely would do no good here. If only there were time to teach some of them....

Her attention was drawn back to him as she felt his feelings change. He was speaking of not having anyone, and the pang of loneliness she felt rolled off of him in a wave, strong and bitter flavored. He turned away from her and she wanted to reach out to him, to offer comfort. It was her way. She couldn't stand not to try to soothe any pain she felt. She touched his shoulder lightly, and just like that, the feeling was gone.

No, not gone. And not from her doing. It was banked, like the embers of a fire, but still burning underneath. She looked at him intently, marveling at the control it took o hold such feelings in check. She could easily see why he had become on of their foremost knights. His self discipline was extraordinary.

He went on speaking of a woman warrior he knew, and unbidden to her mind came images of a flame haired warrioress, brave and loyal beyond compare. It was not her brave Keira he recalled of course. He could not have known her. But his mention of an honorable death brought a choked sob to her as the pang of sorrow rose up within him. She felt it, but was it his sorrow or her own?

He grew silent, lost in his memories. It was her turn.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I knew such a woman once. Her name was Keira. She was my bodyguard, and.....my friend. She wasn't always. In fact she started out as an enemy. But Tetyanna - she was my friend too - she always said that given enough time, I would have no enemies, for I'd turn them all into friends." Her remembrance of her friend brought a little smile to her lips, but it was fleeting.

"When I had to leave Randalee Keira left with me, and we traveled together. She was loyal and a good friend. Perhaps the only one I could count at the time. One morning we were just getting ready to break camp. They came on in a rush, five or six of them. Gnolls. Keira fought them as best she could. She shoved me towards her horse; shouted at me to ride, to get away. I knew she couldn't fight at her best if she was too worried about protecting me, so I fled on her horse. W-When I got away from the ones who chased me, and made it back to our camp, I...I found her. She......she died protecting me from them."

She stopped, unable to relive any more details. The gnolls hadn't left much. And to try to bring her back would have been cruel and probably useless. She shook her head, her brow furrowing as she pushed the memories out of her mind. She felt him behind her, his hands on her shoulders, rubbing slightly. His touch helped to calm her. She reached up with one slender hand and covered his strong fingers with hers.

Changing the subject to one less painful for both of them, she asked, "Have you devised a plan for getting out of the compound without alerting the orcs to our presence? We are cut off by land, and they watch our every move. Is it safe to go by sea with that monster out there?"

She turned to regard him, directing her violet eyes up to his. "I can be ready by nightfall, if you wish to leave that quickly."

He drew a deep breath as he pushed his emotions aside, ground them into the dirt with his boot. He was supposed to be leading these people. In the matter of a few hours this elven woman was going to set out on a journey with him they might not survive. She needed to have faith in him, not see a man broken up about the past. He tried to grip that iron hard calm he was famous for, but it was eluding him. Something about this woman put him…off balance.

He listened intently as she began to tell her story. He wanted to say something that would soothe her but nothing came to mind. She would not be comforted by her friends death being honorable. That wasn’t what it was about. She embodied everything a warrior should strive for and the words need not be said. Instead he simply rested his strong hands upon her slender shoulders.

She switched gears. One moment relaying the loss of a friend, then she was talking about potential idea’s for escape. He could not help but chuckle softly. He knew that she just stuffed it all down just like he had. He gave her shoulders another warm squeeze, then met her eyes. His voice was soft, calm, sure.

“Well the plan is I am going to send a small sortie out of the gates and draw the attention of the orcs. This should force them to divert forces and scouts. It will give us our best chance to get away with minimal interference. While my men are drawing them out, we are going to sail along the coast line about a mile or so north. This should put us well clear of the main host, and keep us too far inland to be of any danger from the sea monster. Let us just hope that the orcs are not being supplied by sea. If we run into their supply line well… that wouldn’t be pretty.”

He drew a deep breath and looked at her, really looked at her. Off balance was not the right word. She had a way of bringing his guard down, making him feel comfortable and at ease. What he did next was a perfect example of that.

Reaching out he brushed a few strands of her hair from her face. Despite the strength in those calloused fingers his touch was surprisingly gentle. His rough hand stroked her skin as he framed her jaw with the palm of his hand. Looking down into her eyes, as if he were trying to read the depth of her soul. Finally he nodded his head, whatever his internal dialogue was, he wasn’t going to share.

“Tonight it is My Lady. However we go nowhere unless you rest. I will send someone to take care of the rest of the details. You need to recover as much strength as you can. The next 72 hours are going to be very hard. Someone will be here shortly to take your measurements. As lovely as you are in this dress, it will not do for what we have in store for us. So relax for now, rest. If you have something to help you sleep I encourage you to take it. I will wake you when we are ready to leave.”

His touch seemed as if it wanted to linger, wanted to travel her skin. It didn’t take her potent empathy skills to sense that there was a spark building between them. He drew a slow breath and pulled his hand away with regret. If he continued to stare into those eyes, and touch her that way she might be fighting him off. He took a step back to remove temptation.

He spoke again, forcing mirth into his voice to mask the longing that was creeping in. He could not hide it from her empathic powers however. Something he did not know and would have embarrassed the hell out of him to know.

“I may just get some rest myself. Coming back from the dead is rather taxing. Hopefully I do not have to do that again any time soon.”

Dipping his figure into a low and formal bow, he spoke again. This time the longing crept within his voice anyway.

“Is there anything else you need, My Lady?”

Annisthyrienne listened attentively as he spoke of his plan, nodding in agreement as the details were unfolded for her. She didn't like the idea of men being put in danger so that she could get away, but she supposed that these knights were well trained men at arms, and knew how to minimize their risks. And with the clerics of Pelor here to aid them, she could relax and focus on her own situation. Slipping away with the gallant Strahan was no easy undertaking in itself. It would entail no small amount of risk.

The orcs and their host were formidable, but not the greatest of her worries. Orcs she could understand. She'd faced them before, and felt reasonably confident that she could elude them in the forest. What truly concerned her were the still vivid images of the sea monster crushing men and ships alike in it's horrible tentacles. Thyri had never been to sea. In fact, she recalled the first time she had crossed a river on horseback, and nearly drowned when the current swept her off the mount's back and down stream. And now there was something more than just the water to fear.

She almost preferred trying to sneak through the lines of their foes on land, though she had no certainty that the Knight Commander was used to stealthy evasion. That he had a boundless supply of courage and experience at fighting was never at question in her mind. Even now she felt comforted by his strong hands on her shoulders. In a strange way, it soothed her, even if the contact served as a conduit for her empathic awareness of his feelings.

Still, she couldn't be sure where his feelings began and her own ended. It was always the way. She felt the attraction that others felt for her; felt it growing within herself as surely as it grew within them. But she couldn't pretend that it was all his feelings. She was becoming more aware of the pleasant tension between herself and the man whose eyes she earnestly studied even now.

His tender caress brought a smile to her lips, which grew as he cupped her chin in his palm. It was a familiar gesture, considering they had only met earlier in the day. But somehow it was welcome. Considering the bond they had shared on the beach - each one saving the life of the other without hesitation - this small gesture only hinted at the trust and ease they would develop between them. 'Yes,' she thought as she looked deeply into his eyes, 'I will be safe with this man. We'll take care of each other, and it will all work out.'

Impulsively, she wanted to press her cheek to his caressing palm, and she almost gave into the urge as he was speaking. She barely registered his words; her mind more on what her feelings were telling her. Would it be so wrong to give in to those urges?

She might have found out the answer to her unspoken query in the next moment had he not stepped back with a sigh of regret. Her body swayed forward slightly, barely a hint of her desire to go to him, but quickly held in check.

"Y-Yes, I will try to rest." she stammered, nonplussed. We both should, while we have the chance. Let us hope that neither of us have cause to visit the veil again anytime soon."

She smiled politely at his courtly bow, still not used to the way people treated her, even after her life in the palace of Randalee as the wife of the king. Even worse were the worshipful followers who believed she was a goddess herself.

"I have nearly everything I need. The arrows and food are all I can think of at the moment. I have traveling leathers I can put on, but another set would be welcomed if it can be spared."

She hesitated before continuing. "I must confess I am....a little fearful of going by sea, Strahan. I've never traveled that way before. The creature from the deep worries me." She rummaged in her battered pack, pulling out a finely crafted bronze scale mail tunic, holding it up for his appraisal. It had been a gift from her husband, after the assassin's poisoned dagger had nearly claimed her life. "I have this mail tunic for protection, but if the beast tips us into the water, it's weight would drag me down. Yet if I don't wear it, and we must battle for our lives....." She trailed off, unsure what she meant to ask him after all.

Worry crept in to that tangle of emotions that she could feel flowing from him. Worry was always mixed within that ball of emotions and this was not a sharp worry, as one would worry for a loved one in battle. It somehow felt more dull, less thorny and exaggerated yet all the same it was there. What was worrying him? That was simple. He felt a potent and immediate draw with this woman. That posed dangers all its own. The mission could fail if he were more concerned about her than getting the job done and many lives depended upon this mission coming to a successful end. Also there was his honor to think about; something that every knight worth the title always was left to consider. He would not dishonor this woman or himself intentionally but he had already slipped up more than he was comfortable in her presence. Though she had not seemed to mind the caress, the familiarity that did not mean it was correct.

He was just about to make his way to the door when she spoke again. First it was about having a pair of leathers for her. That would be simple enough to do. However an empathy he was not, still he could feel the tension in her. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the set of her shoulders. Once more he found himself closing the distance between them. Through the bond, that tangled mass of emotion one feeling overcame the rest. Confidence. His touch once more settled upon her slender form, his hand rested upon her shoulder again. Giving her a gentle, soothing squeeze he spoke in a tone that was a mixture of warmth and rock solid confidence.

“I have never seen a beast like that before my lady. However that is an encouraging thing given our circumstances. Seeing as no one but the most experienced seamen could identify the beast I would wager my best sword that the beast must stay confined to deep water. That will be our boon. We will be going in a small row boat and staying as close to shore as possible; the orcs and that beast will be watching the deep waters. It should be enough to keep us safe until we reach land again.”

He paused, gazing down into her eyes for a moment. Something about her eyes, about being close to her, about being washed in her presence that made him smile warmly in her direction. The desire to more than smile at her was strong, but instead of breaking contact so suddenly like he had before he simply weathered the desires of flesh and let his voice flow from his lips. He spoke with intensity.

“As long as there is breath in my body and strength in my limbs I will not let you come to harm, my lady. This I vow.”

Her question went unspoken but it was not a hard choice for him to make. They would not be going out into water any deeper than could not be waded across. With a reassuring smile he spoke again.

“That will do fine my lady. We will not be going through water any deeper than can be walked across. There may not be time to change once we hit shore, so best to be prepared before we depart. Now let us find rest while we may it is going to be a long night.”

He stood there despite his words frozen. He wanted to do something to put her at ease but the only thoughts that ran through his mind were not appropriate thoughts. It would not be proper to hug her, or to kiss her cheek or brow and those were the only thoughts that came to his mind. Far too familiar for someone he had just met. Though they did know each other in an intimate way that no one had ever known him; she had reached across the veil of death and touched his soul after all. He settled on giving her shoulder another warm squeeze.

“I will be back at nightfall my lady. Rest now.”

He slowly turned and made his way out of her quarters. The walk back to his own sleeping area was strange. He felt the lack of her presence and it struck him as odd. He had just met the woman and already he was finding it hard to endure being separated from her. What in the hells had gotten into him? He had not been so immediately attracted to a woman in years. He simply had barely noticed them in truth. The weight of duty had drowned out the weight of male need for companionship and intimacy. So why the sudden change? Well he had never met a woman who had been introduced to him by divine vision, maybe this was just his way of processing it? Maybe she was an avatar of Pelor? The truth is it did not really matter. He had to keep his head.

He felt tired by the time he made his way to his modest quarters. He gave instructions to his aide while the man was helping him undo his armor. He was to make sure the items the elven woman had requested were prepared, and also that no one was to disturb him unless there was an imminent threat to the safety of the colony. Once free of his armor he felt the full weight of his exhaustion hit him. He wanted to sleep for a full week but he could not afford that. Luckily his exhaustion allowed him to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the lumpy pillow.
*

He had been too exhausted to dream. His sleep had been a near deathlike state. This day alone had taken a great deal out of his body. If it were not for his divine gifts, he would have worried about illness. His Aide woke him with all of his gear ready to go, and armor ready to be buckled up. He felt weary to the bone, but this trip could not be put off any longer. Every day they waited was a day longer the defenders had to hold out without reinforcements.

He rose from the bed and started to slide into the armor with a resigned sigh. His body would adjust, it always did. There were too many people counting on him to take a day off to rest. The last of the buckles were done up, he adjusted his sword belt, hefted his pack and shield onto his back and made his way across the square toward the elven woman’s rooms.

He sent the soldier he had stationed outside of her quarters to ready the sailors who already knew of their task. The lights were still out and as he quietly pushed the door open he could hear the soft sounds of her slumbering breath. He was surprisingly quiet for a man covered in full plate armor. It was not until he reached down to gently put his hand on her shoulder and kneel beside her bed that the armor clattered together. His voice was soft and gentle.

“My lady. It is time to go. If you need help making ready I can have one of the female clerics come and help you dress.”

It was time to go. She stood by the small rowboat nervously as the sailors loaded her pack and traveling gear into the small craft. She didn't notice much of it; her gaze was directed out towards the endlessly rolling, shifting mass of the dark waters. What might their mysterious depths hold in store for them tonight? Was the Gallant One right? Would they be safe in the shallower waters closer to shore? She quelled a rising tide of panic within her as she became aware of the weight of her scale mail tunic. How appropriate, in a way, that it was scales like a fish, if it were to drag her down into the depths. What would it feel like to drown, she wondered.

Then again, that might not be her end. If the beast still lurked out there somewhere, she might never make it to the drowning part. What must it be like to be torn limb from limb by those slick, slimy tentacles, wielded by that unrelenting, uncaring strength? Or perhaps cast against a rock to have her life dashed out of her in one blow?

She shivered noticeably, hoping that if anyone saw it, they would attribute it to the chill breeze coming in off the ocean. A gruff voice interrupted her anxious thoughts, bidding her to embark so they could be away. She accepted the offered hand, calloused by the life of hard work on the sea, and stepped into the prow of the boat, sitting on the small bench seat. Two of the seamen pushed the small craft into the waves, then hopped in and took up the oars. At the other end of the boat sat Sir Strahan. His warm gaze resting on her worried face, trying to convey a sense of reassurance that all would be well. She offered a smile in response, but it was only a slight one, and wasn't convincing. She knew that he was aware of her fears, and he'd understand that she'd try to be brave, but wouldn't really feel at ease until they had land under their feet again.

For about the hundredth time since they had embarked upon this plan, she wished she could just attempt to sneak through the lines of the besieging forces of darkness rather than face the unknown lurker in the depths. She was afraid of the danger she did not know, making the danger she was more familiar with seem almost like an old friend by comparison.

As she fretted, lost in her thoughts, the sailors made their headway against the surf, and soon turned up the coastline. As the moments passed in tense silence, broken only by the sounds of the oars passing through the water, she slowly began to notice little things about their surroundings. The water contained small phosphorescent creatures that made it ripple and shine with the passing of the oars through the surface. She marveled at this beautiful phenomenon that few ever got to see. It was like a swarm of fireflies in liquid form, and for several moments she lost herself in the almost mesmerizing patterns.

She had nearly allowed herself to relax when the boat bumped into.....something, with a sudden jolt. She looked up in alarm, her eyes searching the posture of the rowing sailors for any telltale signs of their own concern. Strahan called out to reassure her, "Most likely just a sandbar, or a passing fish, My Lady. Nothing to be al...." His words were suddenly cut off as a thick brown shape whipped through the night air, knocking him into the sea. At the same time, the boat heaved out of the water by nearly the height of a tall man. She grabbed the sides of the boat with a white knuckled grip born of her unreasoning panic.

One sailor rose to defend her against whatever it was, lifting the oar he wielded in a defensive manner. The boat lurched to one side, spilling him overboard, and nearly pitching her into the dark briny depths as well. Another whipping sound split the air, and something wrapped around her wrist, giving a sudden yank to dislodge her grip. It was cold and wet, and immensely strong! She tried to scream, but the sound was strangled in her throat by yet another slimy tendril wrapping her neck. It was hard to breathe! She felt herself being lifted, torn from her place in the boat even as it was overturned. The last sailor's fate was lost to her as she was held aloft, but she heard the sickening crunch of wood being split asunder, and somehow she knew there would be no boat to make it back to, even if she could escape the deathly tight grip.

She clawed at the tentacle around her neck with her free hand, growing ever more desperate for air. She felt rather than saw another ropy thick cord of cold flesh wrap her leg, pulling in opposite direction of the one on her wrist. She would be ripped in two, she thought. This was it.

But it wasn't. The tentacle around her throat wasn't tightening, just holding her. It was her panicked breathing that constricted her airflow just enough to bring her to the edge of losing consciousness. Still, she was aware enough of what was happening to her to know when yet another of the slimy cold ropes of flesh caught the elbow of her other arm, pulling her hand away from the one at her throat. She was pulled in opposite directions, and thought surely that she would be torn apart now.

Still another tendril emerged from the depths, the moonlight glistening off it's slime as it curled around her thigh like a constricting snake. She could feel it squeezing her, snaking it's way up her leg from knee to upper thigh. She struggled against the opposing pull, trying to hold herself together, quite literally. But it was like fighting against the force of the entire ocean for all the good it did her. The tentacles tightened, suddenly taut, snapping her limbs out to full extension, spreading her body until it was open and vulnerable.

The suddenness and violence of the action ripped her clothes, and she could feel the cloth - wet under the slime where it contacted - rotting away as if dissolving. The slime was cold on her bare skin, making her shudder as she felt the tip of one tentacle oozing it's way under the fragments of her sundered clothing. Her breath caught in her throat as a new horror made itself apparent.

Her body was turned so that she could see the water surface under her, and with growing dread, she saw the hideous body of the monster rise out of the depths. Huge saucer eyes stared coldly at her, their color black as the pits of hell, lifeless and constantly staring. Below and between them, a huge parrot-like beak snapped in loud clacking sounds. It was a pale pinkish coral color, and the edges were serrated. An image came unbidden to her mind of that horrible beak snipping bits of her flesh away a chunk at a time. She tried to scream, but suddenly a slimy tip from the tentacle around her throat forced it's way into her open mouth, filling her and threatening to slide down her throat. It forced her head back until she could see only the stars and moon above.

Her tear filled eyes widened in horror as she felt those slippery tips begin to explore other parts of her body. The tentacle wrapping her leg up to her thigh slipped in under the rent seam of her leggings, and she felt that cold slimy appendage prying into her, separating the lips of her sex, worming it's way inside her. Her body convulsed in protest at the invasion, bucking against the uncompromising strength of the bonds that held her.

But still worse was yet to come.

The tentacle tip forced and shoved it's way deeper inside her. Already was she filled, and yet deeper it slid in. Inside herself she could feel the thing pressing against the barrier of her cervix, and still it would not stop.

And then a new dishonor was visited upon her.

Her mind shrieked its anguish in her head as she detected the dreaded chill touch at her nether opening, probing between the cheeks of her buttocks. It insinuated itself in her crevice, poised to impale her.

Desperate to fight back in any way she could, she bit down on the tentacle in her mouth, and the response was immediate. The tentacle tightened around her neck, cutting off her air. And the tendril poised at her rear opening plunged unmercifully into her tortured body, seeming as if it would split her apart. The slimy appendage in her pussy pressed even further into her, breaking past the restriction of her womb, completing her unnatural rape.

Something seemed to tear inside her, and she felt the warm wetness that was her blood, oozing out from around the invading member. Somehow she was aware of it forming a droplet, then falling free down to splash into the open beaked maw below. Her ears seemed to fill with the excited clacking sound of that horrible pincer as she began to black out from lack of air. That is when she knew her end would come quickly. Would she feel it when it happened? Would she succumb to unconsciousness before the ultimate violation of her body - that of horrific dismemberment - could be completed?

++++++++++++++

The clasping hand on her shoulder shocked her awake from the dream. Annisthyrienne jerked bolt upright, a scream on her lips, heedless of the sheets - now soaked with her panicked sweat - falling away to leave her breasts exposed. Tears streamed down her face, and her heart beat wildly in fear. She cried out, some unintelligible utterance. Or perhaps it was something in Elvish, too garbled by her horror to make out. In that awakening moment, she knew her utter fear, but in the next, she realized that it had been a nightmare. She was alive, unharmed. And the gentle voice she heard belonged to Strahan.

Impulsively she turned to him, clinging as she trembled and tried to calm her breathing. Naturally he was concerned about her, asking what was the matter, trying to reassure her that she was safe. She couldn't answer him, too shaken up to form coherent words. For long moments she just clung to him, gradually regaining control of herself. She felt his strong hand on her back, rubbing in a soothing caress meant to reassure and calm her.

At last, she came back to herself, realizing her state of undress, and she reached for the sheet. His words finally registered in her mind and she nodded hesitantly. It had all been a dream, but that was both good and bad. Good that it hadn't happened; but bad in that she still had to face the passage by boat and the risk, however slight as he had assured her, that 'It' could be lurking out there.

She forced her dread deep down within her, nodding again as he asked if she were all right. "I will be. I.... Just let me dress, and I will be ready. Give me a few moments."

He hesitated before nodding, unsure if he should leave her alone in this state, but at last he stepped out. Thyri drew a deep shuddering breath, steeling herself for what she must do. The villagers were all depending on her and Strahan. Their only hope lay in the successful completion of their perilous mission. She had to be strong for them now, and for him.

Her nervous fingers trembled as she dressed, noting with admiration the traveling leathers that had been left for her. Someone in the village was a skilled tailor, she thought. She hadn't recalled anyone actually taking her measure, yet the leather garments fit perfectly. Perhaps there was some magic involved.

That thought brought her up short, and she rifled through her belongings for an item she had nearly forgotten. It was short thin brass wand, a crystal set in the tip, and carved with a strange runic engraving. She knew what it would do, if she needed to use it. It would ruin the stealth of their mission; the loud booming thunderclap and bright flash of the lightening would see to that. But better that than to be violated and devoured by that thing, she swore. It would not find her such a tasty morsel if she had anything to say about it.

She donned her scale tunic, then the wide belt containing her sheathed gladius. She tucked the wand into the dagger sheath, and put the dagger into her pack instead. If it came to it, the wand would be of more use against the monster than a mere dagger, enchanted or not.

A quick glance around the room assured her that she left nothing behind. And with a sigh, she shouldered her pack and quiver of arrows, picked up the beautiful white recurved bow, inlaid with gold filigree designs, that had been a gift to her from the King and Queen of Randalee when she had married their son, Elendar. Her smile was bittersweet as she remembered, wondering if she'd ever see them all again. She wiped away the tear that had formed at the corner of her eye, and stepped out to join Strahan.

Together they strode down to the shore. Thyri tried to hide the growing unsteady feeling in her legs as they got closer, and when they came at last to the rowboat, she stood transfixed, staring out at the heaving dark mass of the ocean swells, lit only by the sliver of moonlight. The similarity of the scene to that of her dream as the sailors loaded her belongings into the boat struck her, and she shivered. Was it the chill breeze that made her shudder?

She bolted up from sleep and he half expected to see the flash of a dagger from under her pillow. That would not be an uncommon reaction for anyone who had spent time on the road in small force. Things worse than bandits roamed the world. Instead of trying to stab him she clung to him trembling with fear. The sweat, the tossing and turning, she had been having a nightmare, and one for the record books by the look of it. Try as he might, he could not coax the substance out of her. He only prodded her about it twice, then he simply nodded respectfully.

He noticed her state of undress but he managed to keep his eyes away from her sweat sheened breasts. Though one look was enough to sear the image into his brain; he knew what he was going to be dreaming about tonight. Another problem for another time however, he asked if she required help. She denied his request to help her so he gave her a reassuring smile and stepped from the room. She had been mostly prepared so it was a simple matter of dressing. Once she was properly garbed she stepped out and he turned to smile at her again.

They strode down to the shore together where sailors were loading up a small row boat. It would be a short boat ride away to be far enough out of the patrol lines so allow them to sneak through. Once the gear was loaded it was time for them to settle in for the short ride. He turned to Thyri and noticed her shivering. He walked up to her and put an arm around her. He spoke softly to her in elvish of all things. It was the low form of elvish spoke by commoners, pixies and the like. He also missed the accent on the last word which would have changed the meaning to ‘dear friend.’

“Do not fear. I will be by your side. There is no challenge too great that we cannot overcome together, my love”

Unaware of his mistake he released her and stepped into the boat. He was used to the rock and sway of the water by now so it only took a moment to gather his footing. He extended his hand to her and provided a sturdy anchor to help her into the boat. She managed quite well considering, must have been that elven dexterity that was so legendary. With the pair of them settled in to the boat he handed her a dark blanket and wrapped another around himself.

“This will keep the moonlight from reflecting off of our equipment until we are in the cover of the forest, after that we can just stow them in our gear for the road ahead.”

The rest of the trip was uneventful until they reached the estimated landing zone. He could see two orcs prowling just outside the tree line. He cursed inwardly but he was not unprepared for this. He motioned for the sailors to pause rowing with the oars and he silently slid three throwing axes from the loops in his pack. He had rubbed ash over the blades to keep them from being reflective. It would not last long, but long enough to hit their targets. He paused, drew in a deep breath and threw the blades with tremendous force.

He held the third axe just in case he missed but the first to streaked true and the first caught the unsuspecting orc in the face, he went down with a ruined jaw bone. The second one caught the weapon in the chest. He didn’t have time to grunt, he went down to the ground sucking air and only managing to drown in his own blood.

Silence fell in the forest, The knight had his third axe ready but nothing came to check on the two fallen scouts. He nodded to the oarsmen and they grounded the boat. Strahan stepped out first, his boots sinking heavily into the wet sand. The tide had just come out and the footing was uneasy at best. He motioned for the pack to be thrown his way, then caught it and slung it around his back. He held his hand out to the lithe elven woman and nodded his head.

After Thyri was deposited upon the shore and her pack handed to her gingerly the two men were motioned off and they made the trip back out toward the besieged town. Strahan motioned for Thyri to follow him and he moved with remarkable quiet in the heavy armor he wore. Leaning down he retrieved the throwing weapons from the orcs and then hefted the corpses, one in each hand. He dragged the bodies out toward the water and quietly dumped them in. He cringed at the splashes but it could not be helped. The tide was still receding and hopefully their bodies would not be discovered for hours yet.

The pair moved in relative silence. Strahan pressed his lips to her ear as they reached the line of trees. This time he spoke common, his knowledge of the elven tongue was small, he only knew a few phrases and words. Not enough to fill a few pages in a journal.

“I will not be able to see much in this light. We dare not use a light source this close to enemy lines. Orcs can see in the dark and you will have to be my eyes until we can put a few miles between us and the army.”

As she stood shivering in the ocean breeze, the arm he slipped around her shoulders offered warmth and comfort. But it was his murmured words in her own language that caused her eyes to snap to his suddenly. They widened slightly in surprise at his choice of words. The nuance of the phrase he used and the accent made it the affectionate familiarity one would use with a child, or a beloved younger sibling, or perhaps an affectionate term for a particularly intimate lover.

The last time she'd heard that term used to address her had been from her mother. The dialect of Elvish that her former husband's people spoke did not include such nuance of pronunciation. Hearing it again captured her thoughts, turned them away from the danger lurking in the murky depths, and instead focused them on the man she was accompanying on this journey.

She didn't really notice the brief boat ride through the surf; her mind was considering his words. It was possible, she thought, that he had simply misspoken. She could believe that he wasn't well versed in the subtle intricacies of her language easily enough, but the thing was, she'd sensed how he had been feeling earlier in the day, in her chambers. And she couldn't shake the feeling she'd had since she'd sought his spirit at the Veil that there was something their gods had planned for them both.

As the sailors strained at the oars, she huddled in the blanket he'd given her. Her eyes darted briefly over the water's roiling surface, but always came back to rest on his shadowed form. It kept her mind off her fears, and before she knew it, the sailors shipped their oars. She looked around to determine the reason why, since they had not yet reached the shore. Her eyes spotted the two orcs prowling the shore near the forests edge. She watched dispassionately as Strahan dispatched them with his weapons.

There was a time when she would have nobly asked for their surrender, or at least offered them the mercy of her healing touch after their wounds were inflicted. But she had seen too much cruelty at their hands to the villagers she had reside with to extend her sympathy to these monsters now.

Moments later found them on the shore, safe for the moment from the perils of the sea, and Annisthyrienne breathed a sigh of relief as she accepted her pack from the knight. She stood watch near the forest's edge as Strahan disposed of the bodies of the orcs. Her violet eyes scanned the darkened tree line even as her keen hearing tracked his approach as he rejoined her. His whispered words in her ear received a nod of acknowledgement, and she found his hand in the darkness, clasping it in her own as she led the way.

Her movement through the night darkened forest were like a timid doe: move forward a few steps, then stop. Look. Listen. Then move on. It was the way of those raised in the forest. It was time consuming, and their progress was slow. But time for one of Elvish blood was of a lesser priority. And Thyri's caution was well founded.

Her hand squeezed that of the knight as she stopped yet again. They'd only managed to make their way about a half mile into the forest, and it had taken them two hours since landing on the shoreline. No sound was apparent at first, but soon the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. The sound came closer as they stood stock still. Thyri's mind raced. What would happen if they were seen? Strahan would be disadvantaged in a fight in this darkness. And she didn't relish the idea of an armed confrontation, especially if there could be more sentries nearby. She knew she was not an accomplished warrior, capable of ending the conflict quickly enough to prevent any warning shout.

She let go of Strahan's hand as the sound came closer. Barely a whisper of sound could be heard as she melted away into the forest.

The heavy breathing approached Strahan's position, but not in a way that seemed to portend discovery. The movement through the forest was not purposeful nor particularly stealthy. Suddenly there was an exclamation of surprise, muttered words of orcish curses, coming from a spot barely seven feet from where Strahan stood. The sound of a heavy body whirling in place, was followed by an extended sigh and the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground.

Tense moments passed before a slim elvish hand slipped back into Strahan's. "I sedated him. He will sleep, perhaps for a day. He will remember nothing, and if anyone finds him, they will think he fell asleep on guard." the soft voice whispered to him. "Better than finding his body and knowing we passed this way."

It was a difficult thing to try and keep his calm in the darkness and also to follow the steps of his lithe companion. The night was well lit, the moon was full and well overhead but that light only barely reached the forest floor. The canopy was a thick lush green and the finger like branches locked together to blot out the light. He could see Thyri’s shadowy form but little more than that. Their interlocked hands gave him a strange sense of comfort as they moved through what seemed to him a living darkness.

This was the first real test of their journey together, he was quite literally putting his life in her hands. The level of trust he offered her was insurmountable but in order to gain trust, one must give it. He felt her worthy of the burden he settled upon her shoulders. He could sense the pureness in her soul, he could see it due to his divine gifts. He did not need those tools however to feel at ease in her presence. It was an odd mix of ease, and tension. He had only felt this way one other time in his life, around her. What did it mean? Was it just the reaction of the body? His path was a lonely one, he simply didn’t have time to forge a meaningful relationship with anyone, he was rarely in the same place for more than a few months.

No, there was more to this than simple attraction. Granted he knew that he was attracted to her. The reaction had been so strong. Even in the state she was in, weakened by malnutrition and taxing herself beyond endurance she had an unearthly beauty. That was only a small piece of it however. It was a rare moment when a man was quite literally given divine edict to stay by the side of a woman. He had been given a message, she needed him, protect her. The question was, where to draw the line? When did the line between need and want blur? Did it even matter? Sometimes it was hard to think clearly in her presence. Even right now, the feeling of her hand in his; it felt right. A romance between them would be a distraction and a danger. It would be a tool their enemies could use against them. However it could also be a source of strength. There was nothing that could give a man more strength, no more pure well of light than love.

Would what he felt for her be the poison, or the cure?

Being bathed in near blindness gave him a tremendous focus. Despite being weighed down in heavy armor he did not rattle and clank like knights were so wont to do. The blanket also helped deaden the sounds of his armor. He was no forest doe like his elven partner, but for a heavily armored soldier he was a whispering breeze. His focus was narrowed to a point. Keep his breathing silent, keep his body mechanics fluid, keep his ears open, remember how each plate fit together to keep metal on metal down to a minimum. He had a unique edge, both in combat, and when trying to move in his gear that most men didn’t have. He had the martial training that taught him where the weak points in all types of armor was, what weapons worked the best for piercing them.

He also however had the experience of a blacksmith. Most types of armor were made by metal work, so he had knowledge of where they were weak, how they fit together, how they moved, where movement was restricted and where it wasn’t. Paired together it allowed him a better knowledge of how to silence his own movements.

The pace was exhaustive. Start and stop, start and stop. Despite his best efforts he was tense. Not being able to see was taxing, and it was making it increasingly difficult to judge distance properly. There was a knot forming in between his shoulder blades that made it feel like he had taken a blasted arrow. Still he made no sound, voiced no complaint, a knot was hardly the most difficult pain he had suffered.

The slender elven beauty paused as they had been doing since they left the open shore, but this time she did not resume quickly. He couldn’t hear a damned thing, but she obviously sensed something. He could feel her body suddenly stiffen, and then her hand slide from his. She gave him no warning. They would have to work on their non-verbal communication. He did see her shadowy form dissolve into the darkness and not for the first time tonight, cursed his inability to see in darkness. He eased his sword from the well oiled sheath silently.

He stood frozen in place, focusing on trying to listen to his surroundings. It took him a moment to hear anything other than the blood pounding in his ears as adrenaline kicked in. He spoke several languages and he picked out the words of alarm in orcish, but then an odd sound. Darkness seemed to amplify and distort the sounds. Assuming that his position was more or less given away he drew his blade quickly, despite the sound of metal on metal. Just as he was about to activate a prepared spell that would have shed light for him to see, and at the same time surprise the orcs and ruin their dark vision for a moment, he felt her slender hand slide into his. For just the slightest moment he tensed, but then relaxed as her scent affirmed her identity.

He slid his blade into the scabbard and let out a heavy sigh as her words whispered into his ear. His deep voice did not carry far in the still air, just quietly enough to be heard. “I am not certain if I should kiss you for brilliance, or scold you for giving me no warning.”

The joke hung in the air before he realized that it was not quite terribly appropriate. He did not rush to correct himself however, he fell silent. Sometimes it was better to act more confident than you felt. If she had a reply or not, it was time to get moving. He gave her hand a soft squeeze, then nodded his head as if to signal he was ready to move.

**********

It was a few hours later of tense darkness before they paused briefly. He squeezed her hand to get her attention as not to startle her before speaking quietly. “We should be far enough away to risk light now. Besides in another hour or two light will be cresting and we will lose any advantage it gains us to move in darkness. Best to put as much speed between us and the host as possible.”

He spoke a soft word and touched one of the throwing axes at his belt. The weapon began to glow with a soft light, shedding about as much illumination as a torch would. After being in the dark for so long it took even his eyes time to adjust to the dim light, blinking away the spots he turned his gaze toward her with a smile.

Hisssssss

Thwack

An arrow struck the tree next to the knight’s skull. Turning upon his heels he could see an orc just out of the edge of the magical illumination. It would do him no good to snuff the light, it would just put him at a disadvantage again. Blasted orcs could see in the dark.

He managed to slide the shield off his back and raise it just in time to catch the second arrow as it flew toward his midsection. The arrow struck the curved shields surface and glanced off harmlessly and into the darkness behind the pair. Sparing a look around at the same time he drew his blade as the archer drew another arrow from his quiver was likely what spared the pair of them from being taken from behind.

Another orc had come around behind them, wielding a large two handed hammer with a steel head. He had it poised to crush Thyri before she even knew he was there. Strahan had caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and he made a split second decision. Turning his back and exposing himself to the archer he pivoted on his heel. He moved with speed that no human could posses. Streaking in place just in time to deflect the haft of the hammer with his bastard sword, the head of the hammer barely missed crushing his skull.

Battle had a pulse, a feel. Like music did. It flowed as the body mechanics of the combatants shifted and changed. It was not pretty, or particularly polite of him, but the knight shifted his hips firmly, brushing the elven woman off balance. He knew what would be coming next and he could not spin to cover her from the archer, so instead he bodily shoved her out of the arrows path, hoping that his armor, and the light would protect him.

He was not so lucky. The curved plate buckled with a pop as the arrow pierced his left shoulder. The jolt was more surprise than anything as it did not penetrate deeply, the arrows energy was mostly absorbed by the plate armor, however it was enough to drop his shield out of place just enough, and weaken the arm. He did not have the right angle, or the strength to deflect the hammer blow.

The blow struck, his shield twisted at a horrible angle. The sickening snap was not metal twisting, it was bone breaking as his arm bore the brunt of the impact. To the young knight’s credit he only staggered a little, and kept himself bodily between the orc and his divine mission. With a grunt of agony he planted his feet firmly and drove his blade forward with tremendous force. The blow could have felled a small tree, instead it cleaved the orc clean in two. Both hammer and shield fell in unison.

The shock of his shattered arm finally had time to set in. His vision swam and his stomach lurched. Pain surged up his arm in a torrent, sweat broke upon his brow, and he set his jaw. He had just enough time to duck as the next arrow came streaking through. Gasping against the pain he barked out roughly.

“We can’t let him get away, can’t let him alert them –“

He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence. Thyri had plucked free an arrow and fired in one clean motion. The orc hadn’t even seen it coming. The young knight would have been impressed if he wasn’t suppressing the urge to vomit from pain. He slammed his sword into the scabbard, scooped up his shield with his sword hand and met her eyes. He didn’t need to see the concern to know she wanted to tend his wounds, he shook his head.

“No time, we have to go.”

“I am not certain if I should kiss you for brilliance, or scold you for giving me no warning.”

His words brought a flush of embarrassment to her face. Not because of the suggested familiarity. It was more because he was right; she should have known better than to just leave him without some kind of signal as to her intentions. When it came to decisions that had to be made in the heat of the moment, she was good with those in her field of expertise, even had learned to be good with those requiring leadership when she had been Princess of Randalee, and in her duties as High Priestess of the Temple of Maia. But making combat related decisions in the heat of danger was not her strong suit. She resolved to do better, but didn't offer an excuse.

They made their way onward, using the same stealthy tactics for another few hours. At last he chanced a light, but the results were almost instantly regrettable. She heard the hiss of the arrow's flight through the air just above her temple, then the 'thock' as it impacted the tree. The shot was a surprise to her. Her eyes were adjusting to the light. But it was that split second of surprise that nearly cost them.

She was unlimbering her bow to return the fire when the loud clash of sword meeting the haft of the other orc's war hammer sounded close behind her ear. Focused as she was on the archer, she had totally missed the approach of the other foe. Strahan barely deflected the hammer blow. She knew something had to be done about the archer so that the knight could concentrate on his opponent. She notched an arrow to her bow string, taking a deep steadying breath. 'It's just a target, Thyri', she thought to herself. 'Don't think of it as a living being; just as a target.'

In her mind's eye the orc's facial features shifted, changing. The fringe of dark lanky hair that framed his face merged with the shadows under his jaw to become an outer ring of the target. His bulbous nose shifted and blurred to become the bullseye in the center. She drew the string taut......

And that's when Strahan's hip knocked her to the side. Her shot, spoiled, went wide, and she cursed the interference. She was a competitive shooter in the archery tourney's of Randalee, and her intensity almost made her forget that this was not just a competition here. But if her drive to excel at her skill made her forget the situation, the sudden twinge of pain that echoed in her arm when the hammer crashed loudly into Strahan's shield reminded her that this was no tourney. She knew the pain wasn't hers, but she'd never felt another's injury so clearly before without being in contact with them.

There was no time to reflect on the reason for it, however. By the time she regained her balance, the archer was preparing to fire again! No time for the niceties of visualization. This had to end now. She drew forth another arrow from her quiver, nocked it to the string, drew back and loosed all in one smooth fluid motion. The instinct was true, and her arrow flew straight to it's destination, sinking into the orc's left eye.

She turned to offer what help she could with the other foe only to find that the Gallant One had dispatched the beast with such fury as to cleave him in two. Her violet eyes widened at the gruesome sight, but there was no time to process it. Perhaps it was for the best that she spied the arrow lodged in the knight's shoulder as he bent to retrieve his shield in his sword hand. She wondered why he didn't use his shield arm for the task, but the dull throb in her own arm echoed the pain he felt. She realized with a sickening dread that the way he held his shield arm close to his body, and the way it hung rather limp indicated the seriousness of the injury.

Her eyes searched his face with concern as she reached out to help him. She knew she could heal the arm, and the arrow wound. She could see the agony written in his features, but his gritted teeth held back the pain long enough for him to insist they had to move on immediately. She realized that full healing would have to wait, and once again she wondered at the suffering he seemed to be able and willing to endure for their cause. That he had sustained the injury while saving her life was a fact that was not lost on her. They had to flee now, but she could still do something for him.

She shouldered her bow, then reached out to help support the injured arm as they hurried onward. She dared not ease his pain completely; too numb and he could injure himself worse and never know it. And yet further healing would have to wait until they could stop somewhere safe. She couldn't do much on the go like they were. But she managed to dampen the pain enough to keep them going.

"We need to stop soon so I can immobilize this arm at least. And that arrow wound is still bleeding. I wouldn't need long to heal you. It just might leave me a little tired, is all." But even as she pleaded with him to let her help, she knew he wouldn't stop until he was sure she was out of danger. She knew him, knew his kind. And that was just how it was.

And so they kept on. By the time the first grey light of dawn showed through the forest canopy, they had slowed to a stagger. At last she determined to enforce her will, and led him to a fir tree with low hanging branches forming an evergreen skirt around it's base. She led the way inside it's shady sanctuary, crawling under the hollow of the lower branches, into the space around it's trunk. Once inside, she pressed him down onto his back, setting his shield aside and easing his wounded arm to his chest. "Now just lie still and let me do my part. You fought bravely, and took the hit that was meant for me. Now enough. I'll have my way with you now."

She worked the armor and under clothing loose and exposed the arm revealing the ugly discoloration of the break and the accompanying bruising. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she began lightly stroking her fingertips along the flesh, over an over, like a gentle caress. Her touch was as light as a breeze, and almost tickled at first. Then slowly a tingling heat - like the pins and needles prickling feeling of a limb regaining it's circulation and feeling after being too long restricted - began to be felt within his arm. Inside, bones knit together. Flesh suffused the blood from bruises. Pain receded into a gentle numbness. Now that the damage was mended, there was no need for the caution of keeping him aware, but she stopped short of putting him completely to sleep. She knew he wouldn't want to give up his alertness.

"You may find that using that arm will be difficult for an hour or so. I've numbed the pain for now. I've also mended the bone, so there is no need of a splint or sling, but you won't be getting in any battles for a bit. Better if we both get some rest. Let us hide away here for part of the day at least. If anyone is searching for us, let the commotion die away before we emerge again. Now roll over and let me look at that arrow wound."

She had to work a little more of his clothing free and ease his tunic off his shoulder. Even trying to be gentle, the cloth stuck to the clotted blood, pulling at it as she exposed the wound. The tug of the scab started the wound bleeding again, but she was easily able to staunch the flow, then used her senses to determine that there had been no poison on the arrow. It was a small matter afterwards to urge the flesh and muscle to knit itself back together. After the wound was closed, she wet a cloth from her waterskin and gently dabbed to clean the blood away. With the urgency to treat his wounds past now, she let herself admire the muscles in his back and shoulder. Soon the dabbing cloth was moving more slowly, in more of a caress almost.

Becoming aware of the quiet that had fallen, she realized how lost she'd become in her thoughts and pulled her attention back to the moment with an embarrassed little sigh. "I'll watch while you rest. Then you can spell me in a few hours. Don't worry. I'll wake you if there is any trouble." Without waiting for any objections, she nocked an arrow in her bow and sat with it across her lap where she could see out through the branches of the fir, and yet still remain concealed within it's welcoming shadows.

"We need to stop soon so I can immobilize this arm at least. And that arrow wound is still bleeding. I wouldn't need long to heal you. It just might leave me a little tired, is all."

Her words were tempting. His arm and shoulder hurt like damned hellfire, he knew the arm was both broken, and bleeding from the shoulder wound, but he also knew there would be a hunting party when these men failed to return to their post. They could not be here when that hunting party showed up. They nearly met an end with two orcs, a whole part of them might just be the death of the entire group of townsfolk. He would simply have to suffer for now, and endure.

He gave a stubborn shake of his head in reply and he urged her onward, away from the battle and toward their intended destination.

He started out strong, his long legs helped him keep pace with her and his strength was holding for a time. They moved at a quick pace, stealth was no longer the goal, they were out of the orcish lines now, they just had to be lucky enough to dodge out runners and flankers. However just like the arrow wound in his shoulder his strength began to falter and flag as the night wore one.

By the time the first streaks of light ruined the darkness he was starting to lag behind, his steps were heavy, and he was occasionally tripping over underbrush and roots. She could feel the pain coming back despite the fact that she had numbed it lightly, she could feel him breath out energy with each step, bleeding it out into the metal shell that had saved his life.

As she drug him to the base of the tree he stumbled. He got a face full of fir needles before he managed to catch himself. Amazingly he remembered to keep his bad arm tucked in close to shield it from the jarring impact. They could not afford to have him screaming in pain. That could get them killed. He let her guide him down and all he did was roll his shoulder to keep what remained of the arrow from being jammed further into the wound.

Her words were hazy, the pain was clouding his senses, all he could hear was the soft music in her voice and the blood pounding in his ears. When she began to delve him, when she began to knit bones together, to mend flesh, push blood into the right places once more she would feel just how worn out he was. He was used up far more than such a small battle would have suggested and even the wounds while bad, should not have taken such a toll on his body. No… something else had sapped his strength.

As she continued to bond herself with him in the healing process there was something else. Something just barely on the edge of sensing; almost imperceptible. There was a… a film on the surface of his life energy, like a light, but murky tar settled over the light and strength of his soul. It was hard to follow, hard to find the source. Reaching too hard, delving too deep scattered it like a feather buffeted on the breeze. However it was there, and not something she had found the first time she mended his body. As the two became more in tune, her senses became more aware of him it was easier to see.

He was barely responsive as she further numbed him and rolled him over to examine the arrow wound. Strong as he was his body was running on too little sleep, little food, and responding to massive trauma. He was taxed and he was finally starting to show it. The weariness was bone deep, almost as exhausted as she had felt when he had landed on that beach.

As she bathed his faded wound, as she drew the cloth over his skin in more of a caress he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Nearly unconscious as it was a deep relaxation settled into his skin. This too was becoming familiar, every time she touched his skin, was within close proximity to his body this warmth and relaxation washed over him. Yet this time there was no desire to interfere with it. The walls came tumbling down and he stretched himself like a cat, trying to seek out more physical touch.

Then it was done, but that relaxation did not fade. As she rolled him back over his breathing was already the deep sleep of slumber. His eyes only fluttered at the sound of her voice. Reaching out to brush his hand over her slender thigh, giving a firm, affectionate squeeze he let himself succumb to slumber and darkness. He gave her the purest showing of trust he could, he put his safety, his life in her hands and slept.


*****************************

For several hours his sleep was deep and dreamless. If she were not able to sense him through that unique empathic gift of hers she might have thought him dead. He was barely taking the deep breaths of sleep, and he was mostly still. It was not until several hours later that he began to dream.

The dreams were mild at first. Quick little dreams that flowed from one to the other like water in the banks of a river. His mind barely had time to process them before discarding them. The ebb and flow of sleep took him into different levels of consciousness. He was aware of the elven woman beside him somehow. She had become so very familiar to him in the span of half a day. It could only be the touch of the divine, but he knew she was close by.

His nose detected the scent of pine needles, of the perfumes of the forest, the sickly sweet decay of leaves fallen, and the intense musk of new live thriving in the sun’s light. It was that mixture and one other thing. A power that was both familiar, and at the same time foreign to him caressed his mind, stroked his soul. The touch of a divine being, the presence of a God, that was the part he recognized. What was unfamiliar to him was the nature of the deity. He had never been so completely invaded by a female presence. It was just the slightest touch against the spark of his soul but it was like being wrapped in the essence of a woman. He could feel her power, sense the domain of her wisdom and strength.

She was life. She was the mother that cradled you as a babe, and at the same time she was the lover that left you quivering and panting from pleasure. It was an unusual blend, at least to his mind. It was however a natural truth, for all women could and often would be both of those things. For this to exist in the space of his soul ever so briefly shocked him.

In the waking world his body reacted as if struck by a lightning bolt of sexual energy. Letting out a low groan, he shifted against the mattress of pine needles. Even in his unconscious state he gravitated toward the beautiful elven woman beside him. Where he had previously been at a state of emotional neutrality, suddenly he was an inferno of sexual desire. The chain mail skirt that flowed into metal greaves shifted as his length strained against the unforgiving metal links.

In the dream world they were walking together. Talking, laughing, simply enjoying each other’s company. Still he could not keep his eyes from drinking in her slender form. She had chosen a shoulderless dress and the V shape dipped low enough to keep drawing his eyes to her cleavage. The corset beneath pushed her breasts forward, they heaved with every intake of breath, shook with her laughter. Her hair was done up in an elaborate series of braids along the outside edges and beaded at the ends. The beads clicked together when she turned to look into his eyes. The rest of her hair was done up loosely at the nape of her neck. It looked elegant, yet informal. It also highlighted the slender column of her throat.

She had just small hints of color on her skin. She was naturally beautiful so there was little need to paint her face. That would have done her a disservice. No this was done expertly to draw attention to her full lips, to highlight the glitter in her eyes.

They stopped walking and there was a look in her eyes. He felt a sharp, sweet pang of agony in his chest. That look pierced him heart and soul and the grip was stronger than any force in this world. Her voice was soft, pitched lower than normal, almost a purr as she spoke his name in a breathy whisper. That was all she said, as if the rest of her thoughts, she could not speak. She didn’t need to, but he heard her voice in his head, speaking those thoughts that her lips couldn’t form.

I did all of this for you. I am here for you. I want you

Both in the dream and the waking world his body gave a violent shudder. In the dream he gave into the overwhelming desire to kiss her. It started as a sweet, tender, loving embrace; but it could not stay that way. As her curves pressed lightly against his hard form he felt fire stir in his gut. It was not enough to push him over the edge, but every nerve in his body came alive. Then it happened. Her body went soft against his, she yielded to him.

The dam burst, the walls came tumbling down. With a low, hungry groan his lips crushed against hers. He pressed closer, desperate to feel every curve against him. His thick fingers drifted down to the fabric of her dress. He took it in both hands and gave a rough tug. Fabric shredded beneath the strength of his desire. He growled in frustration as the laces of the corset kept him from feeling her skin under his hands. Passion fueled him and in an uncharacteristic act of aggression he pulled free his belt knife and slid the cool steel through the laces until he heard the last one snap in protest.

Her chest bare to him, he used his body to bear her against a nearby tree. Ravenously kissing her throat he moaned low in his throat, then offered passionately.

“Thyri, I need you.”

The words echoed in the dream world, and in the waking world clear as day, despite the throaty moan that they were wrapped in. The sound of his own voice pushed him violently from the dream world. The touch of the Goddess was lost harshly, but he could swear as consciousness came to him he could hear a throaty, feminine chuckle in his ears.

He bolted upright, panting hard, staring at Thyri. The passion and lust in his eyes should have wilted the pine needles around them and started a fire. He wasn’t sure if he had really said that out loud, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he had. Closing his eyes, he tried to get a handle on the surge of desire that was threatening to overcome him. Gasping raggedly, swallowing hard his eyes flicked open again.

“How….how long was I asleep?”

He couldn’t keep the passionate quiver from his voice. The words sounded forced, as if he were purposely trying to talk about something other than the thoughts running through his mind, but it took every ounce of will power to do.

That was when things went from embarrassing, to completely mortifying.

The thick layers of pine needles acted like a form of insulation and while the scent of pine sap was heavy within their sanctuary another smell suddenly permeated the area beneath the tree. His scent, his unique, tangy musk which had urgently rushed from the swollen head of his male desire. It had not been a dream with a happy ending, but that did not stop him from offering her a sample of just what she was missing.

Her sharp eyes swept the forest around them, watchful through the drooping branches of the fir for any sign of threat or hazard. In her lap she held her bow, a double recurve of white polished wood, decorated with gold inlaid filigree. It had been a wedding gift from the king and queen of Randalee the day she had married their youngest son. It was still one of her most cherished possessions, one of few that she still had to remind her of those times gone by. The arrow that was nocked on the string was not so finely crafted, but it was made to be efficient in it's purpose, enough to be deadly in her hands.

Her violet eyes scanned back and forth, never settling on the mundane details of the forest clearing, but rather ever alert for what would be out of place. That would be the tell-tale signs that trouble was afoot. But even as she watched, her thoughts were elsewhere. Her mind was reviewing the brief contact she'd had with Strahan when she healed his broken arm. It wasn't normal, she thought. That 'film' or barrier on his spirit was something she'd never encountered before.

Another healer might have missed it. Even she might have, had she not already touched him in so intimate a way as meeting his spirit at the Veil. Yet, she reminded herself, she had not guided him back; he had returned on his own. That was something she didn't know was possible. That his spirit had found its own way back was testimony to his special nature. It was a special quality she sensed in him even now. But she wondered if this had something to do with the barrier on his spirit.

The hours slipped by as her active mind worked over the matter from every angle, ceaselessly, stubbornly trying to find the answer. It was her nature. She was obsessed with the need to understand these things. And in the vacuum of an understanding, she had to come up with her own explanation theory. That she could sense the film at all was only because of their close contact before. And she had sensed that he had been much weaker than his wounds and their desperate escape should have accounted for. This, too, troubled her. And she wondered if the two things were related somehow.

She felt she needed to find out the truth, because this man would be important to her. She didn't know how she knew that; only that she did. She'd had the same strange sense of destiny since she'd seen him that first time fighting the creature from the deep that she'd had the night she pledged herself to the infant daughter of her best friend: the physical form that her goddess Maia had taken to manifest in the world again. Thyri recalled that night as if it were only days before.

It had seemed a strange thing to do, to kneel before an infant in her crib and pledge life and soul in service. But Annisthyrienne was as strongly convinced now as then that it was what she was called to do. And her life in service to Maia had not been without it's rewards. She'd been the Chosen One of her goddess, and the first priestess of the new temple she'd had built in Randalee. Many of the common folk their had thought she was a goddess herself, and some had tried to direct their worship to her. But she had always denied it, saying that she served a goddess, but she was not one herself, despite the amazing things she had done. Still, people would believe what they saw, and when they had no explanation other than the miraculous, what could one expect them to think?

The light in the clearing began to dim slightly as the sun dipped below the treeline on the far side. It had made it's transit of the sky, marking the passage of most of the day as Strahan slept. Now it would be nightfall again soon. Thyri was just about to decide what could be done about a meal when she heard her companion stir. He shuddered in his sleep, and rolled on his side towards her. If the shoulder hadn't been healed before, it would have woken him in pain now. But his moan seemed to be inspired by some dream rather than any physical cause. She glanced over, watching him for a moment to make sure he wasn't hurting, and let her eyes roam over his features with unabashed admiration.

His human characteristics might have been found wanting by the elves she'd grown up with. They had always made the worst kinds of comments about her own human blood when she was growing up. But it was exactly this part of her to whom the rugged features appealed. She reached out to softly caress the hair back from his brow, her lips curling into a smile as he reacted to her touch. The smile remained as she turned back to her watch.

But no sooner did she regain her watchful position than his voice called out to her. "Thyri, I need you!" It came out in a needful moan, and she moved to attend to him. No doubt the change in position had brought him some lingering pain after all. She opened herself empathically to him, already trying to sense where he hurt, where her skills were needed. Instead of a sensation of pain, she caught the fleeting flash of images across her mind's eye. She was looking down at herself, her dress bodice cut asunder, her breasts laid bare before her. She was holding her bare shoulders in strong hands, looking down into her upturned violet eyes, showing such unbridled desire in their depths......And then she was looking up into his eyes, being held by his hands, her breasts heaving with the strong urges she felt.

It was over in an instant, and her touch rose with him as he bolted upright, embarrassed and flustered it seemed. He looked around, his eyes seemingly avoiding contact with hers at first. Had she imagined the look she'd glimpsed in them before he closed them? His breathing was ragged and quick. Clearly he'd been dreaming, but the images she'd caught the barest glimpse of were not the sort she'd associate with his perturbed state. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze upon her, quickly stammering out his question, as if seeking to divert attention from his flustered state.

She was about to answer when she felt it.

She'd opened herself to him in that first moment of his awakening, and hadn't closed the contact. The sudden twinge of pleasure in his loins echoed in hers. She felt the sudden wetness between her thighs, like a flood as the strong desire overcame her. Her mouth opened in a silent 'O' and her eyes widened as she looked up into his. A little shiver of pleasure swept through her body as she shifted her position, leaning over him slightly. The movement squeezed her thighs together slightly and it brought a low throaty moan to her lips before she could stop it.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw in his eyes the acknowledgement and spark of understanding as to the source and meaning of that moan. And in seeing the answering desire in his own eyes, she was undone. The lightest touch of her contact through the slender hand touching his chest became a firmer pressure as she impulsively pushed him back down on his back, following his body down with hers atop him, coming to lie partly over his chest as she pressed her lips to his in heated passion.

Her lips nibbled and sucked at his mouth with inflamed lust awakened and fed by his own attraction for her. It had always been the hazard with her empathy; not knowing where another's feelings ended and her own began, and vice-versa. But in that moment she didn't care. Even as her mind recalled for her the words he had said about the women in his life, and the duties of his calling preventing him from taking a wife or raising a family, her body was responding to him with an enthusiasm that scared her a little. her mind questioned this, but her body wanted it. And her spirit accepted it. It seemed right.

Her hands roamed over his chest, finding armor and clothes instead of the comfort of flesh. She wanted more of him, needed more. And this metal shell was frustrating her, hampering her efforts. It was perhaps for the best. It delayed the inevitable surrender that would mark the point of no return. She was driven to the point of abandon and with a groan of frustration, her hands rose to slip fingers through his hair. Her kisses strayed along his jaw, working her way back to his neck. The hot whisper of her breath carried her urgent words to his ear.

"Strahan, I want you out of this armor! I want to feel your body next to mine!"

Trying and failing to hide the feelings that seared beneath his skin he couldn’t look at her. He felt shame flood him almost in equal measure to desire. This was not an appropriate reaction, and only one night removed from him recruiting her for this mission. She must think him a slovenly lush! He parted his lips to speak, to try and apply some sort of balm to what he viewed as a failure on his part.

All he found waiting for him when he opened his mouth was her soft, very hungry lips crushed against his. Was he so completely without subtlety that she knew of his desires? How had she read them so easily, and more to the point, what could he possibly have done to have her return them so readily? That was a kiss of passion like none he had ever shared. She nearly flayed his flesh from the bone in one heated moment and he didn’t know how to process it all at once. It was like being set to flame, and then left out in a blizzard from one moment to the next. There was no doubt out of the two of them she was the more experienced of lovers. Almost all of his life he had been groomed for duty and battle.

He found her slender hand pushing him down into the coat of needles, her lithe fingertips and inwardly part of him found the sudden surge of strength to be amusing. It was the rest of her actions that had him melting like molten metal in the forge. Her lips, the way her hips settled atop his, and her smaller frame draped over him like she belonged there. It had been far too long, and the desperate ache between his thighs let him know it.

Her words sent sparks ringing through him like a forge hammer. She wanted him free of the armor, and he wanted the same thing. He needed to feel her skin against his, more than the air that left his lungs burning. This process could have taken solid minutes with normal plate and mail armor. Without a squire, with only her unpracticed hands to work the complex series of buckles and straps, they could fiddle and grope until the mood had cooled. It paid to be the son of a blacksmith.

His own armor had been modified with cleverly hidden buckles. A quick slide of his hands and the shell that covered his chest sagged free. It was a period of forever, or so it seemed, but the truth was in less than fifteen seconds the metal prison was a discarded memory. The clothing and padding beneath came less easily, some of it was still stuck to flesh with dried blood, and it was designed to be thick and help divert and deflect a blow. With a little rolling and squirming between the two of them it was finally just plain fabric to separate them.

He was struggling to find words, he should say something that inspire poetry, or romance, or something right? That was what women wanted at times like this, or so they claimed. Struggle as he did for something to say, just that right thing to soothe her needs he came up empty. He lay beneath her, staring up at a complete loss for words. No words could ever express how he was feeling in that moment. Something about her just drove him completely wild. She shook him in a way he had never encountered before. It was like being grabbed by the hair and thrown across a room. He couldn’t find his feet, couldn’t find calm, light even if he wanted to beg Pelor for forgiveness the words never would have come.

He was drowning in her, but the look in his eyes, and the emotions that she could feel surging through his soul could tell her that. Unfortunately she could also feel him trying too hard to make sense of it. His eyes shifted and locked to her soft lips. They were swollen from the intensity of them kissing and he felt a throbbing ache surge up his hardened shaft. His hips rolled beneath her just at that moment and a low, throaty groan bubbled up from between his parted lips.

His whole body shivered violently and the world seemed to turn end over end. The polite and noble knight fell away in that moment as his desperate hands dragged over her small frame and settled on her hips. Digging his fingertips into her, urging her down onto his probing length he lay there panting desperately. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think of stopping. The deep commanding voice rumbled out from his broad chest, it vibrated, held that air of command but it was softer, something only for her ears.

“Come here…”

He didn’t wait, he drew her down. He devoured her lips once more with passion he had never felt in all of his years. Being lost had never been so perfect. He was well and truly lost within her.