“Release your army of mindless thralls,” I shouted, unsheathing The Sentinel. Its tip angled and pointed towards Arlond in a universal sign of challenge and defiance.

Smoke slowly rose from one of the run-down buildings. The flames flickered twice along the old wooden column, before morphing into a conflagration.

“The last embers of a dying flame are sometimes the brightest,” the Mind Flayers spoke wordlessly but their thoughts carried their vitriol nevertheless, “still they die, eventually.”

“The eyes of the gryphon riders are upon us,” I taunted back, “subdue us with your superior numbers and they will be alerted. Either way you lose.”

Noises, both human and inhuman drafted from the West District, the cracking of wood under fire, and finally, the sounds of armoured sabatons marching. By my reckoning, not more than a few hundred. At the distance, the gigantic form of Ar’krak, in a single leap, rose above the buildings and with a thunderous roar disappeared back into the fray.

A few Mind Flayers could pose no threat to the ascetic Zaehran, but a hundred mindless thralls would succeed, where a few Mind Flayers failed. I need to take the fight away from Fargate and either towards Forlorn Fair or Heather Barrows. Forlorn Fair was closer to Fargate. Should I fail to their blades or should the poison in me win, then the thralls would be easily rerouted to Fargate. Heather Barrows is where I should make my stand.

Resolute in demeanour, I bolted forward.

I could not ascertain if it was courage or despair that gave renewed vigour to my feet. With steps, lithe and fleeting, I crossed the wide snaking street that lead towards the Tradeward. A few thralls, heavily armoured, to block my advance, barely managed to hold themselves. Against The Sentinel, their heavy armour fared no better than torn rags.

Four hulking figures, clad in heavily scaled hauberk, stood blocking the entrance to the Tradeward. The sunlight reflected from the lambent surface, blinding my senses. Without breaking stride, I approached the four figures, their eyes devoid of inner light, but their callous hands encased in thick gauntlets, held huge warhammers with grit.

“Remember Vira, if you face Mind Flayer thralls in a corner,” the voice of General Savvas stirred from a deep long-forgotten memory, “Engage.”

I engaged them.

“Three non-fatal blows, you will exchange but only three,” The lucid voice of my brother rang clear as if he was near me.

We exchange three blows.

“The fourth blow, you will reverse the grip. Work those hips and swing a wide arc behind you,” his instructions surged in my brain.

I swung the blade behind me in a wide arc. It felt like cutting thin air but the silvery-white fluid on the blade was the proof. The Mind Flayer crumbled on the floor, wide head slit horizontally, with viscera and its alien blood tainting the ground where it stood to ambush.

Uttering a silent thanks to, General Savvas for his ages-past valuable tutelage, I finished the four thralls eventually and moved ahead.

*****

The obvious signs of the poison working its way through my body presented itself as I reached Heather Barrows.

First, there was the mellowy warmth that spread, slowly enveloping my senses from within, till the sweating began.

The Mind Flayers threw a few more of their thralls, futilely, in my direction, only to have them leave a pool of crimson in the wake of my footsteps.

Now, fully drenched in sweat, my heart pulsated vigorously. I had to remind myself that Karlienne was not an alchemist but a wide-eyed girl who dabbled in herbs. She could have no means to control the active effects of her concoction. Staring at the sky, I saw the sun hid behind thick clouds. If fortune favoured, I would survive till the dusk. But fortune had long abandoned my humble self.

Arrows flew past, striking the pavemented streets harmlessly. Mindless thralls wielding rider bow moved on rooftops across me.

With a celerity, putting a striking serpent to shame, I darted towards a dilapidated alley, placing myself out of their line of sight.

The unease welled within me. My stomach protested as it attempted to expel the malicious contents it held. My throat burned with the familiar vitriolic feeling of acid rising and the involuntary need of my body to regurgitate. Out of the corner of my eyes, things that were not supposed to be stationary stirred and blurred.

Thrusting The Sentinel blade into the ground, I held the pommel as support, inhaled a deep breath and fought against the rising tide of nausea.

Encouraged by my pitiful state, the Mind Flayer boldly strolled towards me. Its long purple mantle trailed in the dust-covered cobblestone pavement. Its footsteps were almost silent as if it glided through the air. In a cruel vicious mockery of the lesser races, it raised a single slender arm and flicked its wrist twice, instructing the thralls to stay, even though it could order the same mentally, without a grand gesture.

The Mind Flayer's non-callous and yet cruel hands grasped my shoulders as it leaned forward. Tentacles, dangled from the oval face, writhed and in a hideous imitation, rose upwards to caress my lips.

In my mind, there is a sanctuary. A place where only I exist. Where my thoughts roam unchained. Unhindered. It is a place where only I could seek solace. My thoughts there were shared neither with Savvas nor with my daughter. Not even with Lyria was privy to the thoughts in this place. And it is here that the Mind Flayer sought to invite itself. To invade.

“You will not gain any,” I cackled like a madwoman who knows that the icy fingers of death coiled around her neck, which I am.

“I am poisoned,” I laughed maniacally, “Go ahead, perform your vile act and you will taste the poison regurgitated. I might have a higher resistance to poison but I reckon you do not. A drop on your tentacle and you will greet your beloved void.”

At my words, the Mind Flayer retreated back. It knew them to be true.

“Your brain poisoned,” I taunted more, “no longer able to join your Elder filth. A fate worse than death awaits. I dare you.”

Without a warning, only a mush of silver-white entrails and viscera, wrapped in a purple mantle remained as the hulking form of Ar’krak rose, lifting his clutched hands. His simian face deformed, long jagged canine teeth exposed, in what I interpreted as a victorious grin. Without any further words, Ar’krak swung his long fur-covered powerful limb and took a swipe at the advancing thralls. The latter collapsed as if struck by thunder.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“T’orrac sent us as reinforcements,” came Zurin’s voice from the corner of the alley where it met the street.

The sniffer took one long look at me and then exclaimed in shock, “This is bad. It spread faster.”

Ar’krak curled his long arms around my waist for support as I leaned to his side. Delicately and fearing his own monstrous strength, he held my wrist and slowly pronounced, “A thousand heartbeats, maybe ten thousand, if you do not push yourself.”

As if in acknowledgement to his diagnosis, a flash of sharp lightning shot up.

This is all wrong was my first thought. Lightning does not go up, they come down.

The first lightning was followed by a second, shooting upwards. Originating close from the entrance of Octant Laboratory, the cerulean blue streak travelled towards a single-pole hosted on a nearby building.

While Zurin held his hands together and shivered uncontrollably, Ar’krak furrowed his brows in worry. Only I had the sense to throw back my head and laugh.

“Syrune and Colby conjured something worse for the Mind Flayers,” I added.

The originating point of the reverse lightning moved further towards the Tradeward square.

“As I promised,” I screamed at the top of my lungs with whatever paltry strength left in me, “The second phase begins.”

*****

We rushed through narrow crumbling alleys, with Zurin leading the way and Ar’krak holding me for support.

The wide main street of Arlond, suddenly sprung into life with activity, after witnessing years of loneliness. As we snaked around the main street the central fountain and the encasing long pylon of Tradeward came into view.

“The Mind Flayers would be throwing everything to stop that thing from reaching the Tradeward,” I said, “Gather your people and stop the thralls from succeeding.”

“And you?” asked Zurin.

“I will take the street east and join them,” I answered, “The explosion must not be stopped.”

The huge beastly form of Ar’krak stood as if glued to the ground, unwilling to leave me alone. He stared at me one long moment before averting my gaze and leapt into the crumbling buildings to disappear.

Ignoring the poison induced fatigued and the pleading on my aching muscles, I trudged myself towards the steady pulsating streak of lightning.

Before me, lay the grand view of thousands of armoured thralls lying motionlessly on the ground. Some writhed in pain others were still. A few thralls, clad only in rags, having met the fist of Zaehran, stood stunned.

Slowly marching ahead, at a steady pace and with mechanical precision, were the two brass spiders. A small ephemeral globule of pristine cerulean blue danced in the air before the marching mechanical creatures. It blinked in and out of existence as if reality rejected its presence.

Even in my addled state, I stood transfixed watching the weird carnival.

Thralls who attempted to reach were zapped and crumbled like puppets with their strings cut.

Colby sat proudly on one of the mechanical spiders. With a wide grin, in one hand, he held a cylindrical container in his pudgy fingers while the fingers of his other hand curled around a small flask confining a bright greenish vitriolic fluid.

As the weird procession neared, close enough, for me to ascertain freshly carved runic sigils on the mechanical spiders, Colby waved with a grimace and screamed, “Do not get close. Stay at a distance.”

Guided by their instructed directive, the machine creatures, took a sharp left turn and moved steadily towards the Central square of Arlond.

Gathering the flowing robe in one hand and wiping the sweat from the brow, Syrune soon appeared. His expression brightened like a flower bathed in sunlight upon seeing me.

“What happened?” I questioned.

“We soon figured that the mechanical skeever could only move within the premise since it needed to constantly recharge. That would make it unusable for traversing the city. So we sought the power source......”

My vision dimmed a little and a constant low buzzing sound slowly escalated.

“Focus, Syrune,” Accentuated by my discomfort, I hissed.

“We accidentally summoned a lightning elemental,” explain Syrune, “to power the Spiders, but then Colby got this brilliant idea to bind its distorted space and use it to stun every mindless warrior of the Mind Flayers.”

“So we just hit the pylon with the lightning elemental, “ I shouted with relief.

But my relief was short-lived as Zaehran dived down from a tall building.

“The outer layer of the pylon is resilient,” he said.

“The monk is right,” added Syrune, “the outer layer of the pylon is some sort of hardened Ceramic. The effect of the elemental will be negated.”

“So why is Colby riding the Spider, holding, if I am not wrong, the explosive?” I asked.

“Because of the lightning elemental, we could not let the explosive, in its final form,” explained Syrune, “We added those runes to protect the spiders and Colby from the lightning. To explode, Colby just needs to break the flask on the container.”

“And how do you intend to protect Colby from the blast?” I screamed. Anger seeped through my words. Mages make bad soldiers. A lesson thought to every leader and I now realise the importance of this wisdom.

“I would use my mage hands to levitate,” answered Zaehran calmly.

“But what about the shock from the blast?” I turned toward the ascetic monk with blind undisguised rage. My face more contorted from their inability than the pain of the poison acting in me.

“You should have more faith in the youngster,” uttered the monk in a patronising tone, “He will hold his balance.”

“Hold his balance?” I screamed. Drops of spittle pojectiled with my words and stuck the veiled face of the githzerai. The monk stood unflinching.

“You are an ascetic,” I shouted with my rage unabated, “You own nothing more than the clothes on your back. You know nothing about raising children. I have seen seasoned warriors stumble from cannon fire. He is only a child.”

Zaehran stood silently, making no attempt to block or dodge my accusations. Dejected and betrayed, my explosive fury soon turned towards Syrune.

“How could you allow this to happen?” I asked.

“Colby is strong-willed,” shrugged the mage.

“Syrune, please stop playing the role of a responsible parent,” I admonished the mage sarcastically, “You are not his mother, or his father, or anything. You are nothing. You are not even self-aware.”

The twin brilliant glow dancing in the Syrune’s eyes disappeared at a moment’s notice and a grim sadness settled in its place. The mage struggled with uneven breathing. Bright emerald green eyes strained against welled salty tears. The scholar’s lips quivered holding back her weeping.

I threw The Sentinel at the crumbled mage.

“Make sure you deliver it to either Savvas or Lady Stormaire,” I spat out and ran towards Colby.

*****

Either I was enfeebled by the poison or the tiny Colby had a hidden inner reserve of strength, that I struggled wrenching the cylindrical container and the flask from his tiny hands.

He screamed about his fool-proof plan and the importance of his presence in detonating the explosive.

With my consciousness fading in and out, I tapped into my inner reservoir, relieved the gnome of his two temporary possessions and with all my might threw him towards Zaehran.

In an eerie and surreal reaction, the pylon at the Tradeward started to glow. Mystic arcane rune pulsated along the surface. Soon the pylons surrounding Arlond joined the chorus of pulsating light.

A still silence settled on Arlond for a narrow fleeting moment. Huge thuds echoed soon after, as the paralyzed dominion gryphons pummelled down to their death. Every sentient being, with the exception of Zaehran stood paralyzed and dazed.

Even paralyzed, seated on my mechanical spiders, I neared my target.

Realizing the nugatory of the wide mind blast, the pulsating of the pylons reversed. Dark runes crawled up the pylons, soaking the surrounding light.

Tendrils of sheer black rose, and snaked their way upwards, ascending the pylon.

With my consciousness oscillating, tethering me from the world of the living to the land of the dead, I tossed the cylindrical container and placing my trust in the ascetic monk, I leapt into the empty air above.

Taking aim mid-air, I threw the flask aimed at the container.

For a narrow and fleeting moment, pristine white phosphorus fire danced, then the resulting explosion shuddered through, ripping through the surrounding. The air rippled, sending in shockwaves around the point of origin. The deafening sound thundered between my ears ripping my conscious further.

The shockwave blew me over. I landed on the pavemented floor, tossed aside like a ragdoll. My body paralyzed, from either the shock or the poison, refused to heed to my commands.

As my consciousness faded and the calming cold crept slowly with its promise of eternal slumber, my thoughts whirled in a chaotic maelstrom.

Vitalia, would no doubt, deliver a moving eulogy at my funeral. Arlene would shed tears but will eventually move on. Rodo might offer an evenings drink with Ellie and Anselm in my memory and then they would celebrate my life instead of mourning my death.

Taltil, the little goblin, would bawl her eyes out. Maapu will lash out in rage but Theko will carry the pain in him, silently.

But my daughter.... She was always a mystery. Will she shed tears for me? I do not know.

Savvas the younger, he would mourn. Twice. Once for me and once for Celerim. My nephew will never recover.

Finally Lyria, she would be oblivious to my fate. Till the end.

And the cold embrace spread, snuffing out my consciousness.