Chapter 11

Glasses

Their lips met, their fingers intertwined. Arethors other hand held Tolos head as he laid her down on the quilt gently. She looked positively radiant in the dying light of the evening sun. They'd spent hours out there talking, laying together, absorbing one another's presence. Their Connection tangled into a web of love, one he hadn't felt since their earlier days together. Arethor had longed for that feeling, chasing it at every corner but only being led further away.

He didn't need to make chase anymore. She was in his arms. Warm, and bleeding into his touch. How could he have gone this long without this? Something deeper than love. A word unrealized, only felt.

"It's getting dark." Tolo muttered between kisses. "We're going to get locked out."

"Would that be so awful?" Arethor forced himself to give her some space. She smirked at his remark.

"Perhaps not. That is until the wolves make themselves known." Tolo said coyly, running her fingers through her somewhat knotted hair. Arethor felt partly responsible for that.

"Wolves I can deal with." Arethor shrugged, laying his back against the quilt beside her. Taking a deep breath, he could smell the smoke of fire pits and chimneys now sprouting up across Tavernkeep. There was indeed a chill drifting across the country, and a storm. Just what they needed.

"Come on, we can take this back to my house." Tolo took off her glasses, rubbing away at them before placing them in the grass gently. Those words made Arethor quickly perk up, and he instantly began putting unfinished food and wrappings into the picnic basket. Tolo giggled at his eagerness, and helped the elf finish packing.

Tolo couldn't help but catch a glimmer of something in his expression. It wasn't sadness, but perhaps a deep sense of melancholy. She recalled a late night long before where Arethor had expressed his deepest worries. A worry about himself, something that held him from truly feeling. A sort of wall that had been built around him since he was a child. If it was of his own making, he wasn't sure. But it smothered the joy in his life, like two wet fingers to a lit wick.

Leaning in, she kissed him softly on the cheek.

"You're there again." Is all she had to say. His smile faded, though not completely.

"You alway notice." Arethor chewed on his inner lip, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. But with a finger to his chin, she lifted his head.

"Allow yourself to feel this. Feel me." Guiding the elfs hand, she placed it on her heart. She was so warm. Like a hearth burning bright in a blizzard. He ran his hand up her chest and to her shoulder, then carefully to her neck and finally her cheek. Tolo was quick to let her head relax in his tender grasp.

"You know they called me a Stoneman?" Arethor felt a wave of repressed emotion burn against his throat. Was that a cry? Was his eyes starting to water? How pathetic was he? Tolo pulled his hand away, letting it rest on her lap.

"They were just intimidated. It's not your fault you're better with the blade than them."

"No. It wasn't so much that. I just couldn't get myself to care. I would win, and win again, and found nothing to be worth celebrating. They ridiculed my lack of love for slaughter."Arethor remembered the children in the university prodding him as to why he wouldn't bask in the glory of his victory. At first it was confusion, but soon it became anger. Anger toward Arethor for winning, but never acknowledging it.

"When you see someone drink your Remedy, and watch the very moment it calms their nerves and stills their mind, does that bring joy to you?" Tolo pursed her lips, her hands finding their way to his. Arethor blocked all the other thoughts that had emerged from those memories, and honed in on what Tolo had just said.

"It does. So much more than anything else ever has." Arethor whispered, almost more so to himself. "You shouldn't have to be consoling me like this, not so often." Suddenly he became aware of his vulnerability, and sat himself up straight. Tolo followed.

"Arethor, I love you. And if I am going to console anyone, it's going to be you. Now, why don't we get back inside those walls? You feel that breeze too, don't you?" She egged him on, bringing them both to their feet and folding the quilt neatly. This time, Arethor held everything, and still managed to make room to hold Tolos hand as he led them back to the gates.

They were surprised to see that two people had been waiting for them just as they arrived. Otis and Amber. Uthir gestured for the gates to close behind them, trapping the city safely inside.

"Good news, I hope?" Arethor said, the quilt beginning to slip out of his hands. His sister swiftly grabbed it before it hit the ground, and smiled.

"Great news. I have to put my entire future into the hands of King Orieth!" Amber laid the quilt over her arm, the venom in her voice not going unnoticed. Tolo chuckled, unaware of what ridiculousness Amber had dragged herself into.

"I'm guessing that means you couldn't pull any strings, Otis?" Arethor looked to his friend, who seemed a bit pale in the face. His eyes shifty. The human coughed into his arm and shook his head.

"No strings to pull, afraid this is up to the king and Missioner. I'm no Heathgrim after all." Otis looked behind him as if the captain would suddenly appear and drag him into the dark alleyways. In truth, he had been worried Heathgrim secretly knew the two had been watching their meeting with the Ruiner. And was waiting for the opportunity to catch them off guard. But from what he had seen of the captain, he was much more direct with his foes.

"You did what you could, and for that I am thankful to you. I'd offer you a drink but Tolo and I have business as it happens." The elf couldn't help but smile as the words came out. The human frowned, looking around once more.

"I could do with a word in private, at least. Just for a moment." Otis took a half step forward.

"Otis, if this is about the Oak, I told you…"

"Please, Arethor." His friend's voice grew stern, desperate. The intensity of the moment was quickly dampened though as Tolo sighed.

"Dear Hyvale. I forgot my glasses out there. Do you think they will let me go get it real quick? I don't want it getting buried in this rain." She patted her dress in hopes that they'd magically clung to her skirt, but sadly they hadn't. The worst part was she knew exactly where she had placed them too, and felt rather silly for having let it slip once again. Amber raised her hand eagerly.

"Oh! I'll come with you. I need to stretch my legs real quick anyways. Been doing a whole load of nothing today." She looked at Otis and winked. She was lucky it was out of view of the others, as the implications were certainly not what they would've thought. Otis blinked angrily at her, hoping she would keep her mouth shut as she'd said. It hadn't seemed like Otis really needed help with listening in on the captain. If anything, her presence only heightened their chances of being caught. Amber wondered if he simply wanted an excuse to be around her. The idea made her blush.

"I'm sure they will, just make it quick as you said. We'll be around." He kissed Tolo on the cheek, to which Amber rolled her eyes and looked away. The two wandered over to the gates where Tolo hailed for Uthir to open up. The Gate Captain was hesitant, but she managed to convince him she would only be a few minutes. Arethor watched as the two disappeared around the wall, the darkened sky and rolling clouds layering them in darkness.

"Let's talk in the stables. Come on." Otis ushered him forward, pushing on his back. The elf sighed but let his friend lead the way. He then heard the portcullis being dropped.

"They know where the camp is. They plan on storming in there as soon as they can ready the Oak." Otis didn't seem nearly as nervous, but rather that a weight had been lifted off him. "It's going to be posed as a trade for peace. They made a replica of this relic that they seek, and are using =it against them. Then, an ambush."

"Sounds much better than Orieths plan. I guess this means this city is going to be stirring again soon, huh?" Arethor didn't like the sound of the city shutting down once more. He had just finally started pulling more people into his tavern after the initial attack, according to Hemm.

"So it would seem. But Arethor, I don't trust it. I think we're messing with something we shouldn't. Something far beyond us." The fear in Otis' voice was palpable, and for a moment, Arethors heart quickened. But his logical side soon prevailed.

"What makes you say that?" Arethor raised a brow. His eyes drifted over to his horse Judas, who was resting.

"These are Deadspeakers. Why would they risk exposure for something they aren't even certain is real? That is, unless they are certain." Otis muttered, rubbing his hands together as the stable provided very little insulation for warmth. "Think about it. There are maybe a few hundred Deadspeakers left in all of Joryk. What power, what influence could drive them out of hiding in search of a myth?"

"You're going in circles."

"Because it is a circle. More and more we have learned about what really caused the Green War. Who caused it, rather. We know Uttral somehow survived the Purge, and created an army of nearly unkillable beasts. But no one has ever been able to figure out how he created them. Now, a group of Deadspeakers are trying to find a relic long lost that supposedly creates things from living beings." Otis paused, reading Arethors faces which still seemed unconvinced.

"Do you recall what was the first thing that started happening when the Jorinian were being sighted?" Otis pressed.

"People were being dragged away in the night, and sometimes even in broad daylight. Though that was further along when they seemed to…" His words trailed off as the implication hit him.

"When their population began to grow. When groups became swarms, and sightings became attacks." Otis finished for him. "Heathgrim isn't buying it, but you know he's not one for superstition. Despite the fact that an actual unkillable army of Stonemen dropped from the Endless and wiped out a third of the planet's population. And then, suddenly disappeared without leaving so much as a sword behind!" His voice had risen, to which Arethor quickly slapped his hand around his mouth, smothering any further words.

"Quiet! Lest someone overhear the words of a madman." Arethor growled, but his hands were quickly swatted away.

"It's not mad, and you know it. It makes sense, Arethor. The relic is real, and if it's in Tavernkeep we need to find it." What annoyed Arethor to no end was the fact that it did make an unfortunate amount of sense. It would explain away a lot of the mysteries surrounding the Green War. But Otis hadn't even been alive then. He hadn't watched as swarms of the Jorinian tore through the towns that defied them and left nothing in their wake.

"You need more proof? Tell me, what cities were affected the most?" Otis crossed his arms. It didn't take much racking of his brain to remember.

"Torchill and Lightholde."

"And what do these two cities have in common in history?" The human looked at him expectantly. Once again, the answer became clear.

"They both were major opposers to the Deadspeakers during the Purge." The words seemed to just fall out of him. Otis clapped his hands together and nodded.

"And us? We fought those Purgers until they nearly gutted this city apart. Tooth and nail until every wall was knocked down, every building reduced to rubble. The city was still in shambles by the time the Green War started only a decade later. And what happened to us? Nothing. Those beasts, spawn of Uttral, split around our city like a torch to a swarm of rats. It was only when we went to war in the name of Riverden and all of Hyvak that they turned on us." It was a truth most unconventional, and yet, entirely plausible when everything was lined up. Otis' words once again filled in the gaps that were the holes that riddled the Green Wars origin.

"What does that mean then, for us?" Arethor blinked, the air becoming even chiller than before. Only then did the words seem to snag in Otis' throat, who stared at him for a brief moment before drifting down to his feet.

"It means we can't let them get this relic, Arethor."

"But they won't. The Oak will trick them with the fake, and ambush them as you said. They may be Deadspeakers, but they won't have our numbers. Then we can search for this relic and keep it buried away." Arethor felt that knot in his chest begin to tighten again. He was in no immediate danger but it felt as though the world was starting to shrink around him. The walls were closing in and he was forced to realize that he was not ready for war.

"It's unnatural. I feel like it's starting to come around full circle. Something's wrong." Otis sat down on the stool, letting his head hit the beam behind him.

"Or you're wrong." Arethor muttered, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

"You know I'm not. Hell, you were there, in Greyholde. You saw things you couldn't explain! I even have reason to believe that's connected as well." His friend was right, he had seen things that neither him nor anyone else could ever explain. And yet, the mentioning of it brought upon a spark of anger.

"That was evil, Otis. Pure evil."

"Unexplainable evil." Otis corrected, looking up through his brow. Suddenly, another voice cut through the darkness, one frantic and unnerving.

"ARETHOR! GET TO THE GATES NOW!" The voice screamed in a raw, fearful manner. A chill shot through both of the men, who for a brief moment couldn't move, but eventually in unison both ran for the doors of the stable. Sliding it open, one of the guards, Bulrin, stood panting with his mask detached hanging beside his face.

"Bulrin, what the hell is the matter with you?" Arethor felt the panic begin to rise in him as the Oakman struggled to catch a breath.

"Just run, damnit!" Bulrin managed, furiously pointing behind him at the gates. The two didn't need any more convincing, and began their desperate sprint across several blocks until the gates came into view.

"You are tall." Amber noted as the two rounded the city walls. Tolo couldn't help but chuckle at the seemingly random comment.

"Yes. I happen to be. It has always got on Arethors nerves that I am just about the same height as him." Tolo grinned to herself, remembering the times she would stand on her tippy toes and give herself that extra inch or so to look taller. Of course, he would immediately do the same while pushing down on her shoulders to try and get her flatfooted. All in good fun of course.

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"So he's always been this way, huh?" Amber asked as she swatted away a low hanging branch. Its plastic-like limbs bent but didn't break. For a moment Tolo was confused, then remembered that Amber wasn't nearly as old as her brother. In fact, Tolo had known Arethor far longer than his own sister had. The thought made her feel old. Incredibly old.

"Yes, and no. He has his mood swings I suppose."

"Isn't that a woman thing?" Amber raised a brown. This earned another chuckle from Tolo.

"Are you not a woman? Would you not know?"

"Well, duh, I'm just saying I don't recall him ever being so…emotional." Tolo couldn't quite tell if this was a touchy subject or not, and even worse so couldn't tell if she had been the one to bring the conversation to that point. She often found herself getting ahead of herself when talking. Sometimes her words worked faster than her brain, and other times, it was the other way around. She supposed it was one of the defects of being an Achiever. Remembering everything had its perks, but more so, its faults.

"Your brother has had a very difficult life. A lot of loss and…confusion." Tolo tried, and failed, to find the right words. Trying to sum up such a person as Arethor in a few words was like trying to catch all the rain that fell from the sky in one bucket.

"My mom." Amber muttered bitterly, suddenly growing sluggish in her movements.

"Yes, he feels a great deal of responsibility for your mother. A burden I have tried to get him to realize he shouldn't carry. But if your brother is anything it's stubborn. Beautifully stubborn." Tolo couldn't imagine the pain Arethor felt in losing his mother while he was away in the Green War. It was something that haunted him, though he almost never spoke of it outside of blaming himself.

"I missed him, while I was gone. Is that dumb?" Amber pursed her lips. The two stopped as thunder clapped above them, and their way forward grew ever darker. They needed to hurry up. The two quickened their pace without needing to say a thing.

"It's not dumb at all. He's all the family you have left. I missed him too and I was still in the city." Tolo had yearned for the nights they'd spent together in secret. It was daring and stupid of them, but it felt like her chest was on fire every time they'd done it. She'd never felt so stupid in the head for someone in her entire life. And yet…

"Why didn't you leave the Oak earlier then?" Amber blurted out. Though it was a reasonable question, even Amber realized maybe she shouldn't have asked it so brazenly. "You don't have to answer that. Not that I'd tell him or anything." She shrugged, hoping she had saved the moment. And while Tolo's heart had jumped at the question, it was something she'd yet to truly even ask herself.

"No, it's quite alright." Tolo took a moment to think through her words this time. As it turned out, it was a heftier task than she'd hoped. "I suppose I felt betrayed when Arethor left the Oak. Given the circumstances of his…well your father disappearing, and what happened to him at Greyholde, I shouldn't have been upset. But I just was. Selfish as it is, I wanted to keep him close even if it meant we couldn't be together for a while. And I just simply wasn't ready to leave the Oak like he was. But as it turned out, I only ended up wasting time we could've spent together thanks to my stubbornness. And I suppose I wouldn't mind if those words found their way to him. He deserves to know at the very least." Just as Tolo finished, they reached the spot where they'd had their picnic.

Sitting in the center of the open patch of grass was her glasses, untouched. She quickly picked them off, brushing off the dirt and placing them on her nose. The glasses revealed to her a much uglier looking sky than she'd anticipated.

"Well, it was easy leaving the Mission. Everyone there was fake." Amber scoffed. The two young ladies then found each other's hands before quickly running along the wall towards the gates. They could already feel the specks of rain, though, and could only hope the sky would hold its temper until they sought shelter. But just as they turned the last curve of the wall, and stood before the dropped portcullis, something drew their sight.

Standing in the center of the road, only a few dozen yards back, was a cloaked man. Attached to his face was a mask, or rather, the entirety of an elk skull, antlers and all. The antlers arched up toward the top of his head, demanding the attention of anyone around.

The eyes looked vacant, two black voids peering emptily at all that stood before him. His posture was not hostile, but certainly not friendly either. The man held nothing in his hands, both obscured by his cloak.

Suddenly the two heard shouts from behind them.

"Tolo! Amber!" It was Arethor and Otis. The two had clearly been running as fast as they could. Shoving his hands through the bars of the portcullis, the confused girls looked at him confused. But both of them grabbed his hands regardless.

"What's wrong? Why won't they raise the gate?" Amber asked, looking over her shoulder at the man. He was just standing there. It looked as if he was a scarecrow, unable to move even as the wind pounded against him.

"I don't know… they just told me to run. Are you two okay?" Arethor was out of breath, his chest heaving as his sight grew fuzzy from exertion.

"Yes, of course. Can we come in now?" Tolo asked, feeling more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Stepping back, Arethor shouted up the wall.

"Uthir! Pull it up already, quickly!" His voice carried, and the Gate Captain looked down over the wall at him. His face was stern. Arethor knew that look.

"I can't, Arethor!" Uthir shouted back down, before disappearing again. Arethor muttered curses under his breath, and turned to Otis, who stood paralyzed. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape.

"That's him." Otis muttered, raising his hand to point. Suddenly, a flurry of Oakmen appeared from down the street behind them, getting into a battle ready position. They kept their distance from the gate though, where Arethor still stood. "Their leader. The one who vanished." Otis clarified, though Arethor had picked up on just who it was.

A voice cut through the growing rain and thunder, somehow loud enough for all to hear.

"Be still. Be silent." The voice carried out, echoed in their head as if two voices were fighting to be heard. "I want but one thing. So simple, and so just. You denied us, and you, your salvation. A chance to breathe new life into the dying species that make our cities. A chance to give back to our ancestors and…" The voice was cut off as Uthir shouted into the night.

"Quit your ramblings! What do you want?" He shouted from the deepest corner of his lungs. The Ruiner leader seemed to halt, as if the interruption had left him scrambled. But then, a wry laughter.

"I want the Celspawn." The words were simple, and yet, meaningless.

"Is this your relic? Your magic trinket?" Uthir called back, shaking his head as the rain started to come down in heaping drops.

"It is what you say it is. And I know you have it." The leader responded slowly, still unmoving despite the increasing intensity of the storm. Just then, a different face appeared beside Uthir. It was Captain Heathgrim.

"This relic?" The captain shouted as he hoisted a massive stone slab above his head, showing it off to the forest and all who occupied the road. Rain battered against him, egging him to drop the heavy false relic, but his will kept it above.

There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. Just the sound of rain, bottles hanging from store fronts clattering gently, and heavy breathing.

But after those moments, everyone flinched as the man reached up, and grabbed the elk skull by the antlers. Gingerly, he lifted it off his head, and revealed a surprisingly youthful human beneath. His face was scarred, old scars that were faint and unseen by those too far away. His head was shaved down, more scars running along it leaving behind thin hairless spots.

A playful, almost entirely wholesome smile crept across his face. Rubbing his hairless chin, he began nodding to himself. Then, he chuckled, faintly but noticeably.

"How many men have you killed using deception, Heathgrim?" The Ruiner said, speaking to the captain as if he had known him for years. The question brought everyone to an even more tense standstill.

"I fight with honor. I don't slaughter innocents in the name of a chunk of stone." Heathgrim rebuked, a look of disgust plaguing him.

"You're correct. That is a chunk of stone." His nods slowly became shaking, his smile fading to a frown. "Liar." The Ruiner spat bitterly.

"What is your name, Ruiner?" Heathgrim called out, not really expecting an answer. But to his surprise, the smile returned to his face.

"I don't make a habit of giving my name to liars. But, as I believe it must be known, I am Kimer Byrnns. I lead the Ruiners of Mordd in hopes to bring you all a better life, a better chance to fight what will soon return. So I am giving you one more chance to produce the relic, or else I will make my first sacrifices in vain. This, too, I do not make a habit of. But for your own good I must." Kimer's smile once again dissolved, only this time to an expression of pain.

Arethor shook his head.

"Uthir, UTHIR! Open the damn gate!" Arethor screamed, cupping his hand around his mouth in hopes it would cut through the rain. But the Gate Captain didn't appear this time.

"This is the relic you seek, that much I can promise." Heathgrim let the relic rest against the edge of the wall. Both Tolo and Amber shifted uncomfortably, unable to speak. Instinctually, Tolo stepped in front of Amber, pushing her behind her and pressing her against the gate.

"Tolo, listen, just grab Amber and run. Run as fast as you-!" Arethor started at a near whisper, but was promptly cut off as a voice forced its way into their heads.

"Do that and you will not be given your last chance." Kimer spoke, though it was unclear how he could've even heard him speak in such a hushed tone.

"Listen to me, Kimer, this is the relic. Now you either take it or we come out there and take you." Heathgrim shouted angrily, the composure that was once in his voice now long gone. Arethor grew increasingly frustrated with how he was handling it, and was close to running up those spiral stairs and throwing him over. He was never a good diplomat, even if he was the public face of most important events. If there wasn't a script, it seemed he didn't know how to handle himself.

"If it was truly the relic, you'd have used it on me already. But if you do produce the true Celspawn, I may advise you that if I don't return to my camp by the morning, my people have been instructed to lay down their lives if they must in order to tear this city apart." Kimer said with a shrug, before putting back on his elk skull. "Believe it or not, I was being civil the first time."

Heathgrim turned to Uthir, who had his bow close at hand. The rest of his men had their bows trained on the Ruiner, hands shaking as they withheld their arrows, waiting for the command to let loose the volley.

"So where is it, huh?" Uthir muttered to the captain, who cocked his head at him in confusion.

"This is it." Heathgrim bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed. It was just one man after all. But he had simply disappeared amidst combat, something he had never seen. What was stopping him from suddenly appearing beyond the gates and causing a massacre? Perhaps because he hadn't before. If Kimer was as powerful as they'd like them to think, what was stopping him the last time as well?

"He seems pretty damned convinced we have it." Uthir noted, looking back at Kimer who eerily enough seemed to have gotten closer without having actually moved.

"We don't, Uthir. We checked every archive, every private collector, every museum in Riverden. No one has heard of the thing. As far as we know, what I hold now truly is the relic." Heathgrim held his icy glare on the Ruiner. He recalled seeing the man standing in the center of the library, surrounded by his members. He hadn't so much as lifted a finger as the people around him slaughtered innocents. In a weird way, Kimer hadn't done anything other than command. And yet, somewhere in Heathgrims mind, that was much worse. Able to kill dozens by demanding it of your followers was twisted in its own right.

"Arethor, darling." Tolo pleaded for the elf's attention, who quickly ran back over to the gate. "I love you, you know that?"

"Stop it, it's going to be okay." Arethor grabbed at the portcullis and began trying to lift it. A fruitless endeavor, but one he had to try no less. He couldn't just stand there and watch as Heathgrim ruined their chances of survival.

"Otis, come on! Please!" Arethor cried out to his friend, who was still stunned by the figure on the road. Snapping from his trance he ran to the gate and began trying to lift it as well. It did nothing to help, as even the weight of the rain seemed to pull down upon them.

"You would forfeit these two's lives in the name of selfishness?" Kimer's voice held strong over the growing winds. "I ask of you one last time. Give me the relic, so that we may all rejoice in the return of the King of the Moon." The world then grew utterly still as those last words rattled out into everyone's minds.

The wind silenced, the rain coming to a stop. Arethor stopped trying to pull, and stood to his feet. Amber looked at him frantically, then up at Tolo who still shielded her.

"You must understand, this is-!" Heathgrim started, but was silenced as Kimer ripped his hand free from his cloak. With two swift slashes of his hand, two bolts of light, thin rods of pure unfiltered energy, shot free from his palms and ripped across the open road.

The first one landed directly into the back of Tolos head. Slicing through it and leaving a perfect hole in her forehead. The second tore through her chest, then into the throat of Amber. Both of their bodies dropped like rags being blown by the wind. Tolo collapsed onto Amber, pressing her against the gate.

Arethor watched the lifeless expression on their faces. The vacancy in their eyes. Or had he? Surely not. That's not what happened. No. They opened the gate, let them in. Amber was led back to the tavern by Otis, where they spent the night drinking and talking. And Arethor and Tolo went back to her house, where they drank wine and held each other until the sun rose.

But that isn't what he watched. No. He watched as blood began to trickle down from the hole in Tolos head. And as Amber choked and gargled on the blood rising up her throat, her arms trapped beneath Tolos body, unable to grab her wound.

Every nerve in his body fired at once. Like his body had been encompassed in infernal flames. The next few minutes played out before him like a memory, unable to act but fully aware. He recalled turning for the door of the watchtower, and tearing past several men in order to throw himself inside.

Violently, he tore his way up the spiraling stairs, practically on all fours as he launched himself forward. And as he reached the top, he slammed his weight into the door so hard the hinges bursted. The men around him began to release arrows. He hadn't even watched if they hit as he ran straight for the barrel of swords.

Sliding past it, he just barely managed to grab one before toppling the barrel over. Two more steps and he was at the edge of the wall. With no regard for himself, he let one foot hit the half wall and pushed.

He remembered soaring through the air, holding the sword with two hands and pulling it back behind him. Arrows shot past his head, narrowly missing him as they plunged into the ground around Kimer.

Arethor struck down just as he neared the ground, the sword coming down over his head and in perfect line with Kimer. But with inhumane speed, the Ruiner strafed backwards, and Arethor slammed into the ground with the force of an anvil.

His sword was ejected as he sprawled out across the road, rolling several feet and stopping just before Kimer.

Everything seemed to slip away from him. His body ached, bones were no doubt broken if not bruised. He was more durable than most, but even that had him feeling like a boat had been dropped on him.

But the restless flame in his chest pounded on his ribs, and his eyes stayed open. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he coughed into the ground, and pushed himself up. Kimer looked down at him. Nothing to be seen beyond those blackened sockets.

With some unseen willpower, Arethor jumped to his feet and swung.

"Cease firing! That's Arethor out there!" Uthir screamed out the order, and the arrows indeed ceased.

His fists met nothing as the Ruiner effortlessly dipped and dodged. But it only worked for so long, as the thumping in Arethors chest quickly revealed itself to be the pattern. He simply honed it in, and his fist soon met the elk skull. His hand screamed out in pain as it struck the solid bone. But watching Kimers head hitch in pain, his hand reaching up in distress, it made his chest blaze with confidence.

Lashing out more and more, his fist met stomach and skull, ribs and chins. But soon the Ruiner grew tired of the encounter, and sent forth a wave of Energy that sent the elf back several feet.

Just as he stood back up again, in bloody defiance, Kimer swung his hands in a slash. A Splinter shot out from his palms once again, and struck Arethor in the shoulder. His body snagged in that direction, but still he ran forward. It wasn't until the next one hit his side that Arethors body gave out. And his face once again struck the dirt road.

He felt his energy leak out of him. And as the blood began to drain from him, and turned toward the gate. Ignoring whatever remained behind him, Arethor crawled toward the two figures now blurred against the portcullis.

A long streak of blood was left in his wake as he pulled and dragged himself toward the gate. Where eventually his fingers found what he was looking for. The still warm bodies of the two women he loved more than anything.

Pulling himself up as much as he could, he tried with all his might to cover their bodies as the sound of falling arrows surrounded him once more. The sound, the wave of near euphoria that he assumed were the results of death, all played out as his eyes slowly shut.