Aulon's Battles: part 3

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--------- Filch's Struggle: part 3 of First Test


Filch crept down the corridor, his dagger guiding the way, glistening golden from the reflection of the half-burnt torches hanging on the old walls. His stride was determined, his face cold and grim. He was about to kill a goblin, and hopefully wake up the entire keep. Filch let his ears lead him, the sounds of the goblins’ shrill laughter and snarls directing him down tunnels and corridors as he searched out his prey.

Filch turned into a dead-end, a large wooden door standing in front of him. He ducked down, looking into the keyhole. He cursed badly. The keyhole still had the key in it. He couldn’t see inside. Filch stood up, plastering his ear firmly to the door. He could hear three goblins grunting with laughter as a fourth one told a joke.

Filch held his breath and said a silent prayer as he decided what action to take. His felt his hands quivering and his mind racing as adrenalin pumped through his veins. Filch flipped his dagger round, holding the razor-blade point between his fingers. He pushed the door open an inch, the goblins too drunk to notice the tiny gap. He peered through, choosing his target.

The fourth goblin appeared to be some sort of leader, wearing a golden crown which hung around his long, torn ears. A heavy medallion hung around his neck, the burden of carrying it causing him to slouch down.

“Looks like I’ve found me target,” Filch said as he stared at the goblin, malice in his young eyes as he thought of possible failure.

Filch jerked the door open, taking the drunken goblins by surprise. He held his dagger at eye-height, aiming. The goblins banter had died down, staring at the young, cold killer in front of them. The goblin leader was the first to come to his senses. He rushed forward, a golden scepter in his clawed hand. He twisted his waist, preparing to smash the golden rod into Filch’s face. Filch had finished aiming, his young eye and strong arm causing the dagger to fly straight and true. The dagger sliced into the goblin’s eye, deep into its brain. The goblin dropped its scepter and began to tear at its face, blood and jelly dripping down onto the ground as it tried to dislodge the dagger.

Filch turned and sprinted out the room. The goblin was as good as dead, and it wouldn’t take long for the other goblins to snap back to reality and give chase to the young boy. The burning torches blurred as Filch dashed down the corridors, his small body moving vast speeds. Filch could hear a goblin hammering the gong with the mallet, trying desperately to bring help to their dying leader. Filch jumped onto his knees, allowing his momentum to carry him across the floor till he stopped in front of the servant’s door. He tore a thin strip off his already destroyed shirt, wedging it into the door’s lock.

Filch could now hear heavy footsteps as the warrior goblins came down the corridors, their thick metal armor rattling noisily. He finished wedging the cloth into the lock; he turned round and ran back down to the sewer entrance, jumping the flight of stairs straight into the waist-deep water. His wind was heaved out of him from the long fall, but he ignored it and ducked his head under the water.

Xambag, ruler of the goblin warriors, mightiest of all fighters, killer of a thousand men, ran down the corridors, his unarmored chest remarkably built, his thick, barrel sized arms moving backwards and forwards as he ran. He snarled at his foot soldiers to run faster, to find the intruder.

“The bloody coward must be around here somewhere!” He snarled at a whimpering goblin captain which shook in fright at the thought of having his master’s wrath directed at him.

Filch held his breath, his eyes shut firmly as he tried desperately to forget he’s in sewage. He felt his fingers and hands tingle as his body began to run out of air. He felt his arms and legs become weak, and feared he would float to the top. He threw his arms out to his sides, wedging himself underwater. He couldn’t give up. He was so close now.

Xambag walked down the halls, his neck rounded so that his massive frame didn’t collide with the roof. As massive and mighty as he was, Xambag’s gift wasn’t his strength – all orcs where strong – his gift was his intelligence, and the fact that an intruder had managed to infiltrate a keep which he commanded insulted it. People never insulted him and lived.

Xambag peered into the sewer. If he had been an infiltrator, that’s where he’d have come from, he thought as he prodded the ground with the tip of his sword. Filch felt something disturb the natural current of the water. He opened his eyes. He was greeted with dark, filthy water. Unspeakable things floated in the water, not only excrement, but pieces of corpses, eyes, and livers, and tongues.

Filch looked up, he could see the dark outline of a creature on the background of the golden light of the torches. Filch felt dizzy now; he had been holding his breath for near two minutes. He focused himself, and began to slowly edge his way back from the monstrous being which overlooked him.

Xambag grunted. He couldn’t feel anything in the water. He turned around, making his way up the stairs, taking them 4 at a time.

After Xambag disappeared, Filch burst out of the sewage, gasping for air. He dragged himself out of the water, his tired body unable to do even a trivial task like standing. Filch lay in the darkness, the sound of dripping water his only company. He pulled himself up to a wall, sitting upright. He vomited into the sewer, his meager stomach contents floating away. Filch wiped his face with his arm.

“Tuskash, God of Mercy, if this is yer way of telling me to pray more, lighten the hell up,” Filch snarled at the darkness.

Filch heaved himself up, sneaking his way back into the corridor. He sat in the shadows, timing the patrols. Crouched over, too weak to stand, Filch opened the servant’s door, careful to lock it behind him. He hobbled in the darkness, moving down the lightless corridor. He held his right hand in front of him, fumbling his way till he found the servant’s exit. His hands ran over the doorknob. Never had Filch been happier. He turned the lock, pulling the heavy metal door open.

In front of him, The Kingdom’s Shield stood, ready to finish the mission.

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A death for another: Final Part of First Test

Filch fainted. He fell slowly to the floor, floating down like a feather towards the ground. He slipped into nothingness, his vision swimming, his ears taunting him with echoes of past conversations. Elizabeth rushed towards him. Her shield and warhammer fell to the ground noisily as she pulled Filch up against a wall, forcing him to drink one of her vile green potions.

Filch spluttered, gagging on the slimy liquid. Aulon’s eyes stung as he tried to hold back tears, watching his young servant suffer over the dangerous mission he had given him. What a cruel man I am, he thought as he squatted down next to the boy, his scabbard scratching against the cold granite floor.

Aulon pulled off his gnarled gauntlet, rubbing his unarmored hand through the boy’s golden hair.

Filch opened his bright blue eyes, glancing towards Aulon,” My master, I beg of you. Be careful,” Filch’s breathing was light. He tried to suck in air, his skinny chest shaking from the effort.

Filch’s eyes closed, his body became limp. Aulon turned towards Elizabeth, fearing confirmation over what he had said.

“He lives, yet only just. His life cord is thin and weak, and it would need just a thin slice from a god to end it. The rest of the company should continue the quest. If Filch is to live, I must be by his side, arguing his case to the gods.”

Aulon nodded to Elizabeth. Aulon stood up, his face grim, his eyes alive with hatred and anger. He pulled out his thick blade, the metal glistening in the moonlight. He held it to the skies.

“I swear upon my soul, that if this boy dies, I will kill goblins, elves and orcs until my sword turns crimson, my armor as dull as the thunderclouds of the north, my soul as black as the dead of night. I do not ask for Filch to live. I command it! For if the gods do not grant him life, I will full the hells to the bowels of the 7th!” Aulon snarled at the sky.

With his unarmored hand, he gestured that his band of warriors should follow him. Aulon walked down the ancient passageway, the only light coming from a solitary torch which stood forlornly upon a cracked coat-of-arms, a trace of the former glory of this once fine keep.

Aulon stopped at the locked servant’s door, glancing at each one of his warriors, silently wishing them luck.

Cane had his left hand clutched over his crucifix, his other hand rotating his longsword, warming his wrist up for combat. His sword sung softly from the speed.

Wispur was stringing his longbow which hummed like harp, the bowstave arched over tightly. He readjusted his quiver. He nodded to Aulon, his face expressionless.

Zed was leaning against his pike, drinking from a leather skin of ale. He belched loudly, his belly grumbling. He could see the rest of the party staring at him, waiting for a sign that he was ready. He quickly downed the last of the leather skin.

“Alright mates! I’m ready now! Let’s get em!” Zed said enthusiastically.

Cane broke open the door, shattering it onto the ground. He rushed through it, slicing a runty goblin across the torso, spilling its guts across the floor.

Zed sprinted out, sliding on the bloody floor. He laughed gleefully as he skewered another of the sentries, kicking the corpse off his long weapon.

Aulon had not bothered with the sentries, walking coolly down the walkway, his chainmail the only clean set of armor among his bloodthirsty band. Aulon felt arrows flicker past him, Wispur’s bodkin arrows flying gracefully towards an oncoming group of warrior goblins.

A goblin jumped from behind a pillar, snarling menacingly. Cane shouted his holy war-cry as he punched it with his mailed fist. The goblin’s attempt to surprise the experienced band of fighters proved foolhardy, his face broken in, he slumped to the ground, his jaw lying next to him in a bloody mess.

The Shield made their way towards the oncoming goblins, which, after seeing their companions killed within minutes, had slowed their charge down to an insecure shuffle. Wispur’s arrows continued to fly past the company, each yard-long shaft slicing deep into armor, flesh, bone, then more armor.

Aulon stopped in front of the party of goblins. Throwing his massive sword from his right hand to his left, and then back again.

“I wish that only one rotten soul travels down to the lowest hell, so I give you the option. Join me, together we can kill Xambag, your master, and you will all be granted freedom to travel back to your homeland, or fight me, where you will only be greeted with death.”

Aulon smiled as he said the last words, his lips thin and icy. Aulon thought of Filch as a son, even if he wouldn’t say it.

A large goblin, the biggest goblin in the group, charged Aulon, his ragged armor rusted and bent, his sword frayed and damaged, he would be no challenge. His high-pitched voice squealed with glee as he swung his blade down towards Aulon. Aulon ducked down, rolling to the side, his chainmail giving him freedom to move as if he was unarmored.

Aulon came up from his roll, swinging his body to the right, slicing his mighty weapon deep into the unarmored portion of the goblin’s leg joints. The goblin cried out as his limbs where sliced from under him, severed completely, he crawled towards Aulon, his torn legs dragging behind him. The rest of the goblins stood back in awe. Aulon was a well-known warrior, and he would as easily have killed one man as he would have half a dozen. Aulon stood up, flicking his sword round, he slammed the point into the goblin’s skull in a spray of blood.

“Does anyone else wish to fight?” Aulon said tonelessly as the rest of the Shield caught up to him. All of them bloody and dirty, they scared the goblins into submission.

Together, the goblins leading, they made their way towards the hall, the place where Xambag and his royal guards would be feasting.

The floor became cleaner, the walls better lit, the decorations more extravagant the further they went into the seemingly endless keep. After a few minutes of brisk walking, they made their way to a set of huge doors, reinforced with thick steel and engraved with grizzly scenes of battle.

A small goblin stepped forward, a ring of keys round his waist. He lifted the biggest one – the size of his forearm – and heaved it into the keyhole. He turned with all his strength, the key grinding noisily on the metal as each pin clicked into place.

The Shield prepared themselves, flexing tired hands and cleaning dirtied faces. All of them occasionally gave the goblins menacing looks, they had heard from the boy how terrifying Xambag was, sketchy details, but very fearful ones, and tried to ensure that the goblins wouldn’t turncoat on the band.

The small goblin pushed open the heavy door which creaked loudly with protest, so much so, that it was as if a herald had announced them.

The hall was beautifully lit, with a large chandelier that dominated the center. At the far end there was a massive throne, reaching up to the roof, forming a support beam which had been decorated with an intricate engraving of the a map of the world of Aryol. Upon the throne sat a massive figure, standing near 8 foot tall. It looked forward menacingly as the Shield walked inside.

Several young human slave-girls where cowering in a corner, whimpering as they dragged an unconscious girl away from their master. He obviously beat his servants.

Xambag stood up, his massive frame reaching towards the roof. He laughed sadistically as he looked at the force before him, “You enter my keep and try to kill me, with a band of half a dozen?” Xambag sneered, his thick green skin wrinkling. Xambag gestured towards his chamber warriors, “Kill them.”

Xambag stayed back, enjoying the bloodsport, he occasionally laughed when a goblin was killed or when a human was injured.

The small assortment spread out, surrounding the Shield and their goblin allies. The force giggled manically as they came in closer, the braver of the them jabbing with spears and halberds and any other weapons with reach.

Cane took a spear blow on his shield, “Aulon, What should we do?” he asked as he sliced down on the spear, ripping it into a pile of splinters.

“We do as we have trained. We fight,” Aulon said grimly, wondering if he had not only killed Filch but the rest of his party as well.

The royal guard broke formation, running into Aulon’s forces. It became a bloody orgy as humans and goblins fought in a crazed days, men fighting not with training or tactics, but simple, primeval instincts.

Zed roared as he swung his pike round, slicing four goblins, spraying blood onto his already crimson breastplate. He spat on the corpses, his once joyful disposition gone in the fear of outnumbered, well-trained fighters.

A goblin swung a handaxe down onto Cane, who blocked it neatly with his shield, stabbing his sword underneath, cutting the goblin down groin first. Cane turned immediately to his next enemy, screaming a holy war-cry. He bashed his shield into a goblin’s face, leaving it a messy puddle of broken teeth and exposed bone.

Wispur shot off his arrows, taking down one after another goblin, his reload and aim taking a single heartbeat. His quiver was near finished now and his hands where bloodied and sore from the tremendous effort of drawing his bowstring. His left hand was cut and bruised from whiplash, but he didn’t notice, he was too busy fighting for his life and the lives of his friends.

Aulon swung his powerful weapon, shattering armor and steel and flesh under his mighty blade and mightier arm and mind. He was quiet; he felt no joy or happiness in killing these goblins. He felt only hated towards them for putting his young friend in such danger – or rather making Aulon put his young friend in such danger. He cut down another goblin, its severed sword-arm twitching on the ground from his mighty cleave. He felt his face refreshed anew as the stump sprayed blood onto him.

Xambag laughed loudly, his massive chest heaving in and out, “Well fought, smallins! I was hoping I would have the honor of fighting you.”

Xambag walked off his throne, pulling out a set of twin greatswords from the scabbards across his otherwise naked chest. He hit the blades together as he walked towards the Shield who stood facing the mammoth being, lost in awe.

Xambag screamed as he swung his blades at Wispur, who appeared to be the most vulnerable of the group. Wispur dodged, jumping backwards, letting loose a dozen of his bodkin arrows. The arrows hit Xambag’s chest noisily, but it had no affect on the huge orc.

Xambag slashed backwards, parrying Aulon’s sword blow, then kicked forward towards Cane. Cane braced himself, taking the full force of Xambag’s kick on his sturdy shield. The shield bucked inwards, throwing Cane across the hall to hit against one of the support beams.

Zed lunged hard at Xambag’s back, trying to surprise the massive creature. Xambag spun round, blocking the pike with his greatswords. Aulon saw his opportunity, slicing across Xambag’s hamstring, the orc’s cry of pain echoing in the hall as he flicked his greatsword towards Aulon. Aulon dropped to the floor, letting the blade swoop over his head.

Wispur continued to launch his arrows, near thirty of them lost in the orc’s massive chest as blood began to seep down onto the ground from the tiny cuts. Wispur shot off the last of his arrows, fingering his quiver as he tried to find more. He dropped his longbow, rushing forward to the melee, a hunting dagger in each hand. “An archer’s work is never done,” he mumbled under his breath.

The fierce battle drew on for minutes, the seeming indefatigable orc slicing and parrying the Shield’s futile attacks.

Cane had recovered from his nasty blow, his helmet dented in and blood splattered across his visor, he was injured, but he refused to give up.

Xambag dived into the Shield, knocking them all to the floor.

He laughed gleefully,” You had honestly thought you could better me in combat?” he sniggered.

Filch had scaled a support beam, hanging on the chandelier as Xambag laughed at the Shield. After Elizabeth’s potion he had quickly recovered and knew that the party would need him. He inched along, careful not to cause the chandelier to shake, less the dangling crystals warn Xambag.

Xambag raised his greatsword, preparing to swing them down onto the Shield, all of whom was beaten and tired, their goblin allies dead.

Filch pulled out a dagger, the small blade fitting perfectly into his tiny hand. Filch dropped from the chandelier, kicking his legs out to gain the distance he needed to land on Xambag’s round head. His wind was knocked out off him as he landed, the orc’s thick skull feeling as hard as stone.

Filch stabbed his dagger into Xambag’s skull, the orc roaring as he clawed at his head in an attempt to pull off the small boy. Zed saw his chance, gripping his pike with the remainder of his strength. He shouted his battlecry as he lunged towards Xambag, driving the pike deep into the orc’s thick body.

Xambag stood awestruck as he peered down at the pike which had been driven through his body. He ran his hand up the weapon, the blood from his wound greasing it. He heaved out the pike, spinning it round so that the butt was on the floor, spraying blood onto the nearby walls. Filch howled as he fell from the orc, hitting the ground with a crack.

Xambag leaned on the pike, using it as a staff as he hobbled his way back to his throne, his once enormous presence reduced to that of an old man. He sat down heavily, a mixture of blood and spittle running down the corner of his mouth.

“Twice I have lived, and twice I have died,” Xambag said between gasps, his soul escaping his weak body,” Yet even in twice lives, I have been the same man’s servant, even though he too has lived twice, but never died. I wish to end my eternal slave-ship, I ask that you kill the man Sashan, the man Cuskan, the lost god.”

Xambag’s eyes glazed over, his breathing stopped. The pike fell to the ground, rolling down the three stairs which led to the throne.

Wispur rushed to Filch, checking that he was uninjured. The boy had cracked a rib, but no serious damage had come from the long fall.

Zed picked up his pike, mumbling under his breath,” Aulon was right, only one death will be remembered today, yet it was not who we had initially thought it was.”

Aulon shivered as he thought of Xambag’s dying words. The world of Aryol was in darker times than even he had thought.

“How can a party of men kill a renegade god?” Aulon asked the dead orc which peered back at him mockingly, “If only you had lived but a moment longer.” Aulon sighed.

Cane knelt on the ground, his helmet on his lap, his crucifix held tightly between his hands.

“Grant me the strength to finish the mission you have given to me. I know now that I was not thrown from your ranks, but granted a mission with a higher purpose. I will prevail,” Cane murmured to his god, knowing fully well that Aulon was going to take them even deeper into the heart of darkness.

And so, The Shield traveled deeper into the darkness, seeking peace for their troubled race and even more troubled world.


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Heya guys,
was just wandering if any of you'd mind criting my work. After writing my last three I've had no feedback hehe =(


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The Half-Day Off: part 1 of the knowledge Quest


Aulon brushed aside the thick green foliage, the thin papyrus reeds leaving pink lines on his tanned skin. He was awestruck as The Greatsword, a mighty river, opened up before him like a curtain unveiling a beautiful piece of artwork. He stepped forward, looking down towards the depths, his reflection a mirror image, the only difference being a small bug which swam across the water, blurring it, sending the image of his face into tiny whirlpools.

After Xambag’s death, the Shield had been traveling along the The Greatsword, trying to find the Red Wizard, a man of immense mental strength and power, the only being likely to know how to kill a god, for he himself was almost as powerful as one.

Aulon ran his hand across his face, his week old, unshaved chin already growing the first tuffs of an uneven beard. Other than that, his appearance was unchanged; dark, intelligent eyes, a strong, angular jaw, long black hair tucked behind his ears, and thick eyebrows which were always frowning.

Aulon pulled off his chainmail, the tiny links clicking together as he laid it down on a large moss-covered rock. He unbuttoned his cloth undershirt, discarding it on a thick branch which hung out like a squire waiting on him.

Aulon had told The Shield to consider the afternoon their own, free to do as they wished before they began to explore the last section of the long river which ran from The Blades of the World, across to Durugath to Calcuth, onto the Nurbith Plain, flowing finally into Hydra’s Ocean.

He dived in, swimming as far down as he could, trying to touch the riverbed. Gasping for air, he came up, blowing a line of water out of his mouth like the statues one sees at temples. His long hair plastered onto his forehead, he absentmindedly brushed it aside with his scarred left arm.

Aulon swam along the bank, following his ears which heard the soft sound of a woman’s sweet singing. The thin rays of light penetrated the thick green overhanging, shimmering down onto Elizabeth’s naked back. Enclosed in the light, Aulon thought she looked like an angel, her pearly-white skin luscious, her small naked bottom round and full, her buttocks like a chipmunk chewing on a nut, each cheek swinging from side to side gently as she moved deeper into the secluded pool.

Aulon gasped in awe, amazed that anything could be so beautiful. He moved behind an overhanging shrub, pushing it open slightly so that he could watch this beautiful creature while maintaining secrecy.
How unlikely, Aulon thought to himself, that I let the Shield have the half-day off, and I meet my cleric in the river, enjoying the cool water the way I am?

“Yet she doesn’t have the spectacular view I have,” he whistled softly.

Elizabeth dived into the water, the last of her beautiful backside and legs disappearing in one graceful movement, lost to the water.

Aulon lingered, holding his breath as he waited for his beauty to return to the surface. He became impatient, hopping from one leg to the other. Elizabeth hadn’t returned for near a minute now, and he still wished to see more of her.

He stealthily came out of his shrub, careful to keep his head down incase he was discovered. He cautiously made his way forward to where Elizabeth had disappeared, her clothes and armor discarded on the ground nearby. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Aulon sucked in as much air as he could, his chest puffing out. He dived underwater, the water brackish and dark, he struggled to see further than a few feet. He blindly felt the ground, trying to find where she disappeared to. It took him seconds to discover a large hole with a cleverly designed trip wire, working on airbags to pull the unsuspecting victim deep into a tunnel.

Aulon, now worried for her life, forgot his lust. He swam for the shore, shifting through her belongings until he found her dagger. He dived into the river, the blade held tight between his teeth. He purposely placed his arm within the trap, the ropes quickly tightening, the airbags floating higher, he was rushed deeper into the dark water, his eyes burning as the dirt and grit were forced into them. He felt the muscles in his arm stretch as the speed increased, the seemingly bottomless tunnel disappearing around him.

After about 100 heartbeats, the tunnel ended, air bubbling past him, blinding him as he fell from the tunnel into underwater cave. He gasped for air, his dagger cutting into the corners of his mouth. He looked from side to side, greeted with nothing but a long tunnel and darkness.

Aulon climbed out of the underwater lake, the cold rock slimy, covered in thick green seaweed. He followed three pairs of wet footprints down the tunnel, his dagger hidden so that no light reflected from the gloomy sunlight shining from the holes in the cave roof.

Aulon walked for several minutes with no sound beside the swish of running water and the slap of his wet feet as they hit the hard rock floor. He grimaced as he wondered what possible deeds Elizabeth’s captives had done to her, and began to jog, the slap of his feet echoing down the small dark tunnel.

It didn’t take him long to hear the clatter of clawed feet scratching against rock, the soft sound of Mermith slime running off greased bodies. Aulon squinted into the distance, making out three figures, two large, powerfully built humanoids carrying another, smaller one, its limp body being dragged across the floor.

“Sukis, Le Red Wizard namakos, Sambay a thu,” Aulon heard one of the Mermen speak, it’s hiss-like voice menacing. Although Aulon didn’t know this specific dialect, he did understand something about the Red Wizard’s capture, and the merman’s thoughts that Elizabeth might be a spy sent to rescue him.

The bigger merman dragged Elizabeth forward, its stabbing spear slung across its muscular back in a seaweed scabbard. It gestured to the other merman to open the door, it’s clawed, webbed fingers each possessing its own 6 inch nail, ending in a sharp point, smothered with Goblin blood, a deadly poison.

Aulon inched forward, his body crouched over. Aulon knew of the Mermith people, and that although very powerful and dangerous foes in water, out of water, their eyesight was terrible, their reactions dull and slow.

The mermen shoved Elizabeth through the door, both of them crouching down so that they could follow her, leaving the door ajar, its old hinges creaking, rusted from sea water.

Aulon rushed forward, slipping inside, the door continuing its noisy complaint as it shut. Aulon found himself in large cavern, huge stalactites reaching down to the floor, small droplets of water trickling from their sharp tips into the underwater river which ran alongside the walkway. The mermen were preoccupied with securing Elizabeth onto one of the larger stalactites, her hands and feet tied behind her back, spreading her body.

Aulon regarded her body briefly, her breasts perfectly round, her waist infinitely thin, and her curves dramatic and interesting. Her wet blonde hair had dried across her chest, covering her nipples.

Aulon shook himself out of his enchantment, his eyes snaking over her body towards her face. She had a nasty cut across her forehead, blood and water running down her face, between her breasts, dripping onto the floor from her sex.

“If she is to live, Lord Umbuk be wishing, I will need to save her quickly. Soldiers have died over lesser wounds,” Aulon told himself.

He ducked behind one of the spiky pillars, his dagger held tight in his right hand, his knuckles white. He moved slowly towards his victims, their chatter guiding Aulon in the darkness. He came up behind the smaller merman, slicing him in the chest, ensuring his silence, then spun round, throwing the dagger into the other merman’s neck, its thick green blood spraying out onto Elizabeth, rousing her from sleep.

Aulon placed his hand over her mouth as she tried to scream, holding his free hand over his own mouth, indicating she should be silent. He slowly removed his hand.

“Aulon,” she sobbed,” Thank the gods you’ve found me. I had thought that they would kill me for sure.”

Aulon nodded, unwilling to divulge how he managed to find her.

He sliced her bonds, catching her weak body with his left arm, throwing her over his broad shoulder as he prepared to try and find his way out of the Dark Mermith peoples’ last underwater burrow.

He ducked down, pulling out his dagger from the merman’s neck, its throat cracking noisily as it was dislodged. He placed his dagger in his mouth, flinching as the sharp tips found the bloody grooves at the end of his lips. He held her hand tightly, smiling encouraging to her, then dived into the underwater stream, knowing that the river mouth was at Hydra’s Ocean. His body shook violently as the icy water flowed over him. It was mere seconds before he flaked out, the water colder than an ice dragon’s malevolent heart.

 

Very nice please contnue.