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[Zadown]

A tall armored figure appeared out of thin air to stand on dark, lifeless ground. It held a spectral no-dachi ready and eyed the surroundings with almost palpable wariness with its yellow eyes. The cracked and dry black plain it now stood on was the edge of a plane, and behind the planewalker arose the crystal wall that kept the Void in bay. Before him stood a gloomy fortress of dark grey stone, filling the whole plane with its immense bulk. It had thick, smooth walls, obviously not crafted of blocks but rather shaped with magic, and massive gates of black iron carved full of runes of warding and protection, now hanging open, useless. Above the battlements were two flags, one displaying the old mage sigil of the Dreamer, the other flagpole supporting an impaled, blood-drenched angel whose wings were scribbled full of obsceneties in various demonic and planar languages. A pale light constantly changing its color pulsed from between the half-open gates.

 

Guess the battle was lost and the chaos storm released, then. This fortress was a bit close to the nearest abyss, I must admit, but still .. how very unfortunate. And just when I had been working hard to get the numbers of my angel army back to the normal. Hmm... can't smell any demons, devils or fiends nearby.

 

The Dreamer walked slowly towards the gate, keeping himself alert and holding his sword ready. The only sound he could hear was the crunch of his boots on gravel and stone and the flutter of his sole survivng flag. There was no wind here but he had enchanted the flag to flutter, whether out of boredom or vanity he had forgotten by now. He paused in the shadow of the two tall gates, almost twice his height, and examined the runes he had wrought on their surface dozens of human lifespans ago. The planewalker frowned, demons forgotten for a moment.

 

Not very great work. Even Valdar could do this by now. I've been lazy, should've reworked the enchantments on these ages ago.

 

Sighing, he pushed both gates wide open. Before him opened a grotesque view, a convention of half-molten demonic nightmares and slaughtered celestials in a corridor that itself had mutated and twisted in the caustic chaos that had been let loose here. He could still feel the bitter, sickening warmth of the chaos storm around him. The air was thick and corrosive, it chafed against his fingertips and stinged his eyes, tasted like some long-dead scavenger in his mouth. The wall near him had grown scales that oozed some bluish liquid - the ceiling went from grey stone to green metal to iron rotted through with rust, changing to far more bizarre materials further along. Floor was so stained it was impossible to tell what it had changed to, but he disliked the manner it gave way under his boots. He walked forward even slower, examining each chaos-corrupted demon's corpse carefully before venturing near, noting every dead angel down.

 

Not many demon corpses that weren't alive when the storm hit. The defenders must've been totally overrun - can't stop good old demon stampede once it gets properly underway.

 

The Dreamer paused. He tilted his head slightly, then closed his eyes. He could hear something at the edge of his hearing, an organic, snapping noise. Just as he thought he got a good idea where the sound was coming from, he stepped backwards before realizing why. He opened his red eyes with Pain held ready to parry, and saw that one of the dead demons was still alive, twisted but not killed by the chaos. It rose up to its three new spindly legs of different lenght, its entrails swinging in the air from the re-designed and more open stomach, and gazed him with its insect eye and the empty eyesocket. Out of its two maws came out a pitiful warcry, half-hearted growling whimper. The sad mismatched creature brandished its chaos-bent blade and hobbled towards the planewalker. The planewalker stepped forward and prompty dispatched his opponent with a single sweeping blow.

 

Flickering the ichor and blood off the blade, he turned away from the remains of the demon and stared towards the depths of the fortress. The colorful pulsing light was stronger there, and he could feel it pulse in accordance with the rhythm of the remaining chaos. A mist blocked his vision however, and he didn't feel like exposing his more supernatural senses to the tainted and stained fortress. Chaos in its most unpleasant and deadly form already assaulted all his normal senses from touch to smell, and even though he was protected by enchantments and doubly so by the fact he was branded by chaos himself, the sensations were still wholly disagreeable. Turning his gaze back, the Dreamer went through the rest of the remains, poking and prodding with the tip of his sword. There was a fixed grimace on his face now, a look that showed his dislike of this butcherer's work of shifting through disfigured corpses. After examining the dead for a while he shrugged and let them be - they did not seem to hold any secrets he'd been interested in. His eyes focused somewhere past the bodies and he was lost in thought, eyes turning deep blue. The contemplation of abstract thoughts and far-away things did not last long; in a few moments the harsh enviroment jolted the Dreamer back to this world.

 

... ah. Yes, I should go see what, if anything, remains in the storerooms. That is why I am here, right.

 

He blinked a few times and turned to walk deeper into the fortress when by chance he saw what his more careful searching had missed: a partly eaten human cadaver still clothed in the blue tabard of Tlaenor's army, skeletal fingers curled around the hilt of a broken sword.

 

Thrice cursed gods! I sent him HERE?

Edited June 5, 2004 by Zadown

[Zadown]

Nobody would know what fate befell on him or grieve after him if I'd just leave him there. All his comrades are gone or patrolling the streets of New Tlaenor as shades. It was pure chance he ended up here.

 

The Dreamer sighed and knelt down to examine the corpse better. The soldier had clearly died before the chaos storm had hit, and was still in normal human shape. He was missing most of its lower torso and big chunks from both legs - the throat was cut open and flesh torn away from fingers. Mouth was open, jaws dislocated by a scream that had ended up in death, wide dimmed eyes stared at the thoughtful visage of the planewalker. With another even deeper sigh, the Dreamer muttered a few words of magic and ignited a bright blue fire on the floor. His gesture sent it dancing across the floor, burning runes on the floor at the same time the planewalker himself kicked and dragged the few closeby corpses away from the soldier. He finally nudged the soldier away from the wall and nodded to the long-dead human, gestured again to the flame. It finished the runes and ran around the soldier leaving behind it a perfect circle.

 

He rubbed his hands together in an uncharateristic show of uncertainity. He sheathed Pain in the black scabbard on his back and stepped carefully over the runes and the circle to not to smudge them, then turned and examined each of the burned runes. Third small gesture made bluish light dance over the now activated runes and protective circle and he turned yet again, obviously satisfied with the wards.

 

Raise the dead, so they say. Short words for this whole abysmal procedure. I should've brought one of those morning stars the clerics used in Norrath with me as I left.

 

The acrid air made him cough and he realized he had drawn a deep breath, as if he needed it. His deep blue eyes narrowed and he knelt down again, tracing the wounds and lost flesh with his scarred fingers. Without any definite start, he whispered gently, then muttered and finally spoke aloud words of life and regeneration, drawing small sigils on the pale dead flesh that shone green for a second or two, then faded. As he worked on the complex spell, the air inside the circle purified and a sweet fragrance akin to the smell of tall oil filled the small space. Time passed but nothing much seemed to happen to the corpse. After a while, the Dreamer abruptly stood up and turned to look deeper into the fortress, eyes turning into a curious shade of yellow.

 

Is there still something alive down there? Or was that just some transmuted wall groaning?

 

He gazed into the depts of the swirling mist illuminated by seemingly sourceless pulsing light, but the sound did not repeat itself. He shrugged and turned his blue eyes back on the corpse. It was still missing the same pieces of flesh as it had been when he started, but its skin had an almost lively color now and ghost images of the green sigils danced above the wounds. The Dreamer took a steady posture, pointed both of his hands at the corpse and spoke aloud a litany of true words, creating flesh out of nothing with each. His voice turned harsh and spent and sweat trickled across his brow as he draw the runes of each word in the air with his deftly moving fingers. Finally he was finished. With a shuddering breath he inhaled enough air to growl aloud the last word, word that restored some tiny but important piece of lost nerve tissue to the hands, and fell quiet.

 

The planewalker took a half step backwards and wiped sweat away from his brow. Before him lay now a complete human body, every wound and missing scrap of flesh restored, skin flushed with lively colors. But soul gone, still.

 

Here ends the easy part.

[Zadown]

The Dreamer took one last look around, noted that the wards were in place and there was nothing threatening nearby. The place was silent, the pulsing colored light the only thing that wasn't perfectly still. He sat down into a lotus position, had the scabbard of the no-dachi hit the floor and poke his back, spent an awkward moment shuffling his long limbs. Finally he was ready and closed his eyes, reached forward with his left hand to touch the temple of the dead soldier. He exhaled slowly all the air out of his lungs and froze into that position for a moment, then inhaled the pine-scented air, whispering. When the planewalker opened his eyes the scene before him had changed: before him stood a silvery ghost reflection of the Dreamer, waving and transparent, holding Pain in both hands, and from the corpse rose up a thin strand of smoke that vanished somewhere beyond the normal three dimensions. He exhaled again, let his awarness flow from his body to his astral projection, and closed his eyes to fall into a trance.

 

I feel .. stronger than usual, now. Reminds me of those shards of me I dreamed to existence when I slept; perhaps it is legacy of the dream god, this unusual strenght of my mere reflections.

 

He opened his eyes to look at his immortal body sitting inside the warded circle in a trance. The scarred face looked worn, a look reinforced by the wispy strands of grey hair floating around it as a halo. The body glowed with power that was easy to see in this form, swirling streams of chaos and raw magic engulfing the planewalker in a protective cage. The projection turned its head to look at the soldier. The corpse was empty and cold in comparison, only thing separating it from dead, soulless items being the thin, smoke-like line that connected the body and the soul even after death. Now he could see the way it wormed its way through the Astral even if the destination was too far to discern quite yet.

 

Wherever it goes, no place hoarding souls welcomes a planewalker. There is no shape I can take that'd prevent a fight with the demons if that's where his soul has fallen...

 

The Dreamer drew forth a copy of his angel mask from thin air, waved goodbye to his corporeal form as he put it on. The astral form wavered and transformed, wings sprouting from its shoulders, scars vanishing, armor turning from the chaotic mix into beautiful and elegant celestial platemail. Pain's reflection flickered and was gone, a long slender blade appearing in its place. The fake angel flexed his new wings, sheathed his sword and jumped to flight. A few wingbeats later he had already left the small demiplane behind him, following the trail of the soul through the shortcuts only souls and other fully incorporeal entities are allowed to take through the Astral. The journey was very different from normal run through the Void, flashing images of bypassed planes flickering all around him in dizzying cavalcade. The Dreamer ignored them all however, and concentrated on keeping track of the thin, almost invisible thread he was following. When he breached the last planar wall, he paused to float in the air disoriented.

 

Before him opened up a vivid, deep blue sky half-full with pure white clouds, a yellow sun peeking between them. He floated above rich golden fields and dark green forests, small lakes here and there between gently rolling old hills. There were a few wooden huts, some villages but no towns or cities, and he could see no larger roads either. A rural idyl, the paradise called Cáleathia. The Dreamer frowned as he slowly floated downwards along the tether.

 

So he ended up in here, despite being torn up by demons? They usually catch all the souls they can.

 

He came to a stop above a small farm. Below him the soldier's soul was toiling away in the fields, apparently harvesting grain. The Dreamer wasn't very well versed in the art of agriculture - the only harvesting he was really familiar with was the gathering of souls with tools of war, so he couldn't tell for sure. He turned his silver eyes away from the happily toiling man and scanned the sky, shading his eyes with his hand. No angels or other celestials in sight, so far. He flexed his wings again, and manifested himself, turning visible to normal sight, and floated down.

 

The aura of light and power that was part of his disguise alerted the soldier and he turned to face the Dreamer pausing his work. There was an amount of awe and fear in the soldier's eyes, but he also frowned as if the angel was an unwanted guest on his farm, and he did not bow down his head. The only concession the soldier made to the blinding aura of light surrounding the Dreamer's angelic form was to narrow his eyes.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Greetings, soul. Ye are Jenael Graersonson Thamusson of Tlaenor, recently deceased in the Fortress of Gsiv and torn away from thy mortal body?"

 

"Yes, yes I am .. what about it, angel?"

 

"Rejoice, for ye shall be restored back to life! Thy body has already been repaired and 'tis just a matter of time for ye to be reunited with it."

 

"Eh.. what? I appriciate the offer, but I don't want to leave. I did my time in the mortal realms, fought a losing war and set free a diabolic demon that demolished my home city as one of my last acts - I was suprised to be granted the mercy of salvation with such a heavy sin weighting against it."

 

"What!?"

 

The suprise was too much for him, and he let his concentration lapse for a moment, allowing his disguise to crack and falter. He looked like a statue of a majestetic angel breaking apart, the monochrome silvery projection of the planewalker shining through. A stricken look appeared on the soldiers face and he screamed in anguish, throwing away his tools and running away in blind panic.

 

"Noooo!! He is here! He has come to take me away!"

 

The illusion around the Dreamer wavered and returned to its former glory, but the damage was already done. Feeling quite foolish, the planewalker remained where he was, staring after the escaping soldier with a mixture of incomprehension and annoyance on his face.

 

Well, that could've gone better.

 

At that very moment he felt a terrible pain lancing through his left arm and the disguise of an angel shattered again, this time shattering irrevocably. The remaining projection of the planewalker swayed in the air, flickering in and out of focus, a huge hole appearing out of nowhere through its left shoulder. He had time to twist his face into a look of unexpected pain before he felt himself vanishing, awarness transfering back to his corporeal body in trance.

 

What theeeeaaa aaahh in niineeh hells.... !?

[Zadown]

As he opened his real, corporeal eyes the agony coursed through him again, twice as bad. The Dreamer could not help but wail aloud, a pitiful sound for such a powerful creature, and blink in confusion. His whole left arm was both numb and in debiltating pain and he could feel something nailing him to the wall, a spear or a lance of some kind. Instinctively, still not able to see clearly despite concentrating, he grabbed Pain and swung it wildly to the direction he assumed the haft of the weapon that pinned him was. The no-dachi connected with something but bounced off. Growling now the planewalker opened his orange eyes wide, determined to see what was happening.

 

First he thought he had been moved elsewhere. Last time he had looked around with these eyes he had seen a misty empty stone corridor with some ravaged angel corpses strewn around along with chaos-corrupted remains of various demons. Now he seemed to be in a gloomy organic cave, heads with reflecting eyes staring at him from every direction, ribs arching above him dripping slime and blood, various gigantic internal organs hanging from the ceiling and lying on the bone floor, shuddering and making gurgling noises. It was a bizarre view, straight out of some hallusinatory vision or darkest nightmare, and for a short moment all he could do was frown in puzzlement. Then his impaled left shoulder sent a thunderbolt of torment through him again and he gasped aloud. The edges of his view blurred threateningly, but he fought against shutting his eyes and swung Pain again, the blade humming happily in presence of such misery. This time the blow hit true and severed the stinger that had pierced him. The Dreamer gasped and gagged, realized now with a sick feeling that the stinger had tried to suck his powers away in addition to injecting some poison into him that worked even against his immortal body.

 

The whole place shuddered and rotated, jostling the planewalker. He struggled to stand, swaying from weakness, black spots dancing in his vision. Out of the dark shadows emerged an angelic torso supported by a black spine, swinging towards him with its clawed arms open to welcome him with a deadly hug. Not interested in fighting the Dreamer simply sidestepped away. The surroudings changed to the bluish, transparent hue of worlds seen from the Astral and into twisting, mishappen shapes hard to recognize. The planewalker took a step backwards and the Astral before him changed, a single step carrying him away far more than it would've done inside a plane. It didn't remove him too far from the creature that had assaulted him however: he was able to see its whole form now, as clearly as the distorting properties of the Astral allowed. It seemed to be a huge worm, similiar in size to the larger purple worms that crawled in the dark depths of Fâerun, but there the similarities ended. Out of the main body protruded various appendages, some of them ending in heads, others in clawed hands or insect-like legs. Its insides were quite like its outsides, except for the huge internal organs of varying sizes and shapes, and for the few torsos of angels and demons attached to the main body with black backbones. It had devoured the whole corridor, barely fitting its huge bulk through it and gobbling up everything that had been on its way.

 

My chaos storm created that? I must be more careful with those things in the future ... uhhn.

 

The Dreamer fell on his knees and winced in pain. His whole left arm was still numb and sending waves of fiery torment through his body. There was even more unpleasant feeling under those two - as if a thousand live maggots were crawling through the arm, chewing on it and defecating it out different, changed. He allowed himself to close his eyes, now, only to jerk them wide open as he felt danger approaching even through the mind numbing agony. The chaos worm was staring at him through the border of real and Astral, two dozen pairs of glowing, malevolent eyes all fixed on him. He could feel it trying to follow him, saw how the Astral rippled around its huge body. The planewalker turned, eyes darkening from the bright orange to dark grey, and dashed forward to get as much distance as possible between him and the gargantuan maggot. The first few steps got him out of the planar Astral and in to the Void, his stride getting longer as he reached the familiar Lost Paths. The poison that had paralyzed his left arm reached the surface as he ran, corrupting the ever-changing chaos armor over it to black, charred metal. Smoke poured from inside the armored arm smelling like burnt, rotten meat and something else, an enticing, pleasant odor, the mix of the two sickening. Satisfied with the distance to his lost fortress and worrying over his arm, the Dreamer stopped to float in the Void.

 

It injected pure chaos mixed with pure evil into me? This is .. ghh .. bad. Very bad.

 

Moving under its own volition, his smoking left arm clenched and unclenched its fist.

[Zadown]

"Injured, m'lord Wodzan?"

 

The Dreamer turned to look who had addressed him. The booming voice was familiar, but not familiar enough to conjure a face from the decaying libraries of his memory. What he saw floating nearby was a heavy-set planewalker clad in solid bright red platemail, a black symbol of Chaos painted haphazardly over his heart. He wore a full helm and carried a two-handed sword in his gauntleted hands. The Dreamer blinked, checked the defensive enchantments of the other planewalker with his second sight, that being far more accurate means of recognition than the shape or attire on the Lost Paths, and nodded slightly as to inferior.

 

"Just an inconsequential flesh wound, m'lord Owiric of Chaos. What brings ye to this quiet corner of the Void, Sir Soldier? Aren't there wars to be fought versus the spreading forces of Law?"

 

"Oh, I merely wanted to see the effects of a demon stampede I happened to incite hereabouts. Ye happened to see them nearby?"

 

Tension between the two, high to begin with, soared upwards. The Dreamer growled barely audibly and gripped the hilt of Pain with his right hand. Owiric opened the visor of his helmet and grinned at the Dreamer, gloating.

 

"Ya, I saw their corpses littering the corridors of my local fortress. I'd ask ye to clean up yer mess, but I reckon 'tis beyond yer meager powers, vassal of Chaos."

 

Owiric frowned, clearly disbelieving his plans had been foiled so totally.

 

"That's pebble calling rock grey, Wodzan Xe Chanima of Chaos. But allegiances are neither here or there; ye did impersonate me all the way to using my defensive enchantments to conduct yer foul schemes under my unsoiled flag. Let us cut the inane small talk, ye and me, and duel!"

 

The Dreamer's black left fist trembled. He stared it and tried to force it to grab the hilt of Pain, without success, and turned his eyes back to his opponent.

 

"Very well, a duel according to the lore of the planewalkers; no summons, no escape, no help - to the first scar! A moment however - I shall not waste as good a blade as Pain on such a worthless opponent as ye, Owiric the Lame."

 

He sheathed the Pain clumsily with only right hand, almost skewering himself in the process to Owiric's boundless amusement. He then reached through the Void, calling with the force of will, his right hand disappearing to seek the blade he was looking for. Some time passed and Owiric was getting impatient, the Void chilling his searching hand and pain still throbbing through his left arm. Just as the Dreamer was about to give up and use Pain one-handed, as clumsy as that'd be, he drew out of empty astral his old sword Benefical Dragon. The sight of his old jade katana cheered him up. He and it had gone through a lot, back in the years before his fight against the god of dreams, and it had never let him down.

 

"Ha, ye still use that old piece of green junk. Ready, then?"

 

"To the first scar, knave!"

 

"To the first scar, impostor!"

 

Owiric rushed towards him, his weak protective wards rotating around him as a semi-transparent globe of force. The Dreamer remained standing where he had been and looked almost relaxed, grinned to Owiric and channeled a roaring river of mana through his crude psychic skills. The lance of psychic energy pierced Owiric's wards and struck him in the head, making him stumble and lose the momentum of his charge. The Dreamer's own wards bloomed into a vibrant green sphere around him and he surged forward, leading his own charge with the point of his katana. Benefical Dragon swung through the air towards the stunned Owiric, but was deflected at the last moment by a parry from Owiric's huge two-handed blade. The parry changed into a fast and powerful swing that bounced off the Dreamer's protective enchantments, giving him time to mutter a hasty incantation that sent a crimson-black stream of hellfire through the Void. The fire was deflected by Owiric's wards, but one or two of them dissipated from the effort. Both planewalkers floated backwards to re-evaluate the fight.

 

He is good with that sharp piece of metal he has, but he lacks the power to properly slice through my wards. What a disgrace for us planewalkers...

 

The Dreamer broke the still silence with roared words of spell. Owiric charged again, dashing through the Void like a rhino in his thick plate. The Dreamer pointed at him with his green katana, ready to finish the spell, when excruciating pain pulsed through his left arm without a warning. The last words of the spells were mispronounced through gritted teeth and the powerful blast of magic dissipated into a series of weak fireworks. Owiric laughed as he ran through the colorful explosions, shouted some insult at him he could not hear through the agony. Instincts allowed him parry and then dodge as he tried to regain control of his aching body while Owiric rained blows on his katana and his wards. The green sphere of protection around him faded and flickered, almost vanished before he managed to regain full control of himself. His first action was to cast a quick spell that hurled Owiric backwards a few feet. He followed on, trying to press his advantage, and the two protective globes collided in mid-void as Owiric tried to rush the Dreamer as well.

 

It was too much for the abused magics: they both winked out, leaving nothing else except two rapidly whirring blades between the two combatants. Very soon it was obvious Owiric had the advantage with his heavier blade and two hands. The burly warrior sensed his victory was near and went into berserker frenzy, almost forgetting defense. The Dreamer smiled grimly and dodged where most sword-fighters would have blocked, dived under Owiric's blade and slashed towards his opponent's face. The blow was well aimed but weak and managed only to break the visor off, sending it careening into Void. Owiric's responsing blow slided across the Dreamer's left arm, crushing but not cutting through. The Dreamer could feel the pain as it had been distant, barely sensed thing, but his left hand that had mostly been limp during the fight suddenly tensed. He parried the next blow and pushed forward keeping the greatsword at bay with his slender katana, brought his grimacing face near the grinning face of Owiric. Owiric spat and opened his wide mouth to jeer him.

 

"'Tis the end, m'lord Sleeper. Shall we see if a good scar will wake ye up and make ye an opponent worth actually fighting for?"

 

"Do yer worst, page!"

 

Owiric pushed forward, tried to crush the Dreamer's katana away with his superior weight and strenght. The Dreamer held his position even if he did wince, then took a step back to regain a better position. What happened next suprised both of them: his left hand, charred black and covered by gauntlet, snaked forward with blinding speed fore- and middle finger held rigid and straight, hit the right side of Owiric's smooth forehead and cut a wide wound from right to left, then went limp. The Dreamer danced backwards, disengaging from the shocked Owiric easily, and laughed aloud.

 

"There's yer scar, pretty boy. And right where I wanted it, on yer face."

 

"RAH! 'Twas cheating, ye scarecrow! Ye were supposed to use yer sword!"

 

"No summons, no escape, no help - to the first scar. That's what the lore says, Sir Owiric. Now get away before I call my army, ye sore loser."

 

Owiric visibly boiled with rage, but held his tongue. He touched lightly his new wound with a gauntleted hand and grimaced, shot last venomous look at the Dreamer and vanished, running away along the paths without any last retort. When he was finally gone from sight, the Dreamer fell to his knees, letting the illusion of strenght fade.

[Zadown]

A boiling sea of colors and darkness rose up to meet his falling consciousness. To drown in that seemed alarming and the fear jolted him out of the vision. But the swirling colors did not let go that easily: even after he stood up again and blinked a few times to clear his sight, the chaotic patterns seemed to beat just out of sight, in the corners of his eyes. The Dreamer swayed, exhausted in equal measures by the fight and by the constant, irregular pain that throbbed through him. He turned to look at his left arm. It was wreathed in grey smoke again, the smoke tendrils snaking around it like seaweed swaying in gentle ocean current. The armor under the smoke had changed totally by now, the scales of plate and strips of chain of the old chaos armor all melted together to form large charred plates of thick metal, extending to cover his normally gauntletless hand. On the back of the hand was engraved a painted red symbol of chaos, eight arrows of different lenght escaping a single point. He turned the limp hand over with his right hand, noted that the palm of his left hand had an engraved red symbol as well, a pentagram with tiny text in a circle around it. The left hand lazily shook itself free from his right, twitched a few times, then locked itself in a gesture that meant the devil's horns in quite a few worlds around the multiversum as if to mock him.

 

Chaos and Evil. Great.

 

The Dreamer moved as if to sit down, then stopped and stood up straight again. He looked around, thoughtfully, eyes hovering somewhere between black and blue, and finally nodded to himself. Without pausing to actually accelerate, he dashed away. He ran without stopping, concentrating on keeping the stain contained in his left arm, too distracted by his travelling and too weak to fight it back. All that did not stop him from weaving a cloak of misdirection over him, a feat actually made easier by the left arm, its chaotic evil essence giving a new hue to his faint trail on the Lost Paths. He concentrated on that taint, strengthened the wake it left behind him at the same time he obscured his own, real trace. Finally he reached his destination, and without his customary short rest at the planar crystal he merely stepped through the border of Void and the small demiplane.

 

First thing he felt was his left arm swinging on its own violently from right to left. He heard the sound of metal against metal, blinked to clear his eyes that always seemed to lag behind a critical moment during these transitions from Void to planar space, and lunged forward with Benefical Dragon on instinct. When his vision returned, he could see his again limp left arm had struck a blade away, and his right held the perfectly sharp tip of his jade katana on the throat of a white-clad young man who stared at him with a mixture of suprise and disdain. Around him a stone garden of sorts spread out to every direction, with immaculately raked gravel making up most of its surface. Both him and the boy were on a narrow stone path that meandered around the garden according to some ancient theory of gardening. The silence was deafening. He probed gently the aura of the boy, noted him to be a half-celestial, half-mortal, and drew his katana back with an apologetic smile.

 

"Sorry 'bout that, m'lord. I acted purely on instinct."

 

He sniffed and backed down one step, his rapier ready again. All this reminded the planewalker of several similiar incidents in his history and he laughed softly, a sound that etched a deep glowering look on the boy's face.

 

"I can sense the evil miasma around you, planewalker. Who are you and what do you want here?"

 

"'Tis the very evil miasma I am looking forward of removing from me, boy. Ye may call me Lord Dreamer - I am an old acquaintance of yer master, the esteemed sage Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa."

 

The boy did not remove his eyes from the planewalker even if he did lower his guard a fraction.

 

"Master!"

 

"I'm coming, apprentice. I'm not deaf yet, you know."

 

The answer came from close by, a soft, old woman's voice with underlying currents of authority and simple cheerfulness. In a few moments Ammûrn herself appeared from behind an oddly twisted stone, clad in white robes and using an iron walking cane. She was short and wiry, her face and hands wrinkled. Only vivid color in her attire was the crimson bandage over her eyes and the few streaks of red that looked like tears of blood. When she appeared, the Dreamer bowed deeply.

 

"Greetings, honorable sage."

 

"Pshaw, always so formal, Wodzan my boy. What is it, this time? The sickle is not ready yet - as I said, it'll be ready in two hundred or so more days. You cannot hurry these things, even with your powers."

 

"It is not yer smithing skills I require, this time. Rather, it is ... this."

 

The Dreamer grabbed his left arm with his right hand and presented it towards Ammûrn. Her apprentice had backed down and sheated his rapier after the first few words, but he still looked suspicious of the Dreamer. She paid no attention to the boy however, and took a few steps forward to touch the black armor of the charred arm with her thin fingers. Everybody was silent as she carefully examined the arm from shoulder to the armored fingers, and the silence was absolute, as there was no wind, no birds and no water to create any ambient noise. As the examination went on, she seemed to grow and everything else seemed to shrunk as the unseen powers she wielded twisted the world around her. First noise to break the total silence was the murmur of the stones as the spirits she had bound in them whispered words of wisdom to the old, ageless woman. Despite the harsh white light coming from everywhere without an apparent source, Ammûrn's shadow appered and bent to examine the arm as well, moving in different rhythm as the real Ammûrn. As signs of her power grew more visible, they seemed to drain away her humanity as well, turning the cheerful grandmother into a powerful, almost demonic witch that towered over her apprentice and shone as equal in power to the Dreamer. In the end she muttered something half audible, straightened her back and changed back to small, dried-out grandmother in a blink of an eye.

 

"Mmm hmm. It is a knotty problem, indeed."

 

She turned to stare the Dreamer with her blindfolded, bleeding eyes. Moving with suprising speed, she dipped her finger in her own tear of blood and draw a rune on the shoulder of the planewalker's left arm. The arm moved as if to intercept, but it was too slow - when the rune was ready even before the left hand, curled into a fist, was anywhere near to stop Ammûrn, it shuddered and fell limp.

 

"Ha! That should keep it from doing mischief, at least. Well, let me study my books, young Wodzan, and see what I can find."

 

"Thank ye, sage."

 

"I've also studied yer .. other problem, Wodzan. All this is soon over the amount of what I owe you."

 

She glanced at the planewalker and thudded the stones of the path with her iron cane, twice. The Dreamer nodded to her.

 

"Ya, I am well aware of that. If necessary, I am ready to act on yer behalf on a minor matter, if ye so wish. These binding words I, Wodzan Xe Chanima, speak of my own free will."

 

She made a noncommittal gesture, thudded the stones again, once.

 

"Do not say so, right now. With that poison of chaos and evil coursing through you, who can say what is your free will, planewalker? But we'll discuss that later, when you come for the sickle, free of this curse."

 

"Very well, sage. Very well."

 

Ammûrn turned and started walking away.

 

"Now come, I'm sure you'll appriciate my meditation chamber while I shall wrestle the old wisdom out of my dusty tomes. I can almost see your imbalance, even without eyes, young Wodzan."

 

The Dreamer followed, smiling wanly.

[Zadown]

Void floated past him, his long stride eating away the distance between him and his destination. The Dreamer was in his angel disguise, all of him except his left arm over which he still had no control. Its dark, charred shape contrasted starkly against his illusionary white wargear of a solaris. On his belt hung Benefical Dragon in a scabbard, also without a disguise; Pain he had left behind to the home of Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa, confident it would be safe there. The two-handed sword would have been useless for the currently one-handed planewalker in any case.

 

So, I have to bathe the hand in the opposite essences to purify it. Lawful good doesn't seem much better than chaotic evil, and it'll be a pain to get to the River Meilor: first through the Pathways of the Righteous, then past the celestial hosts patrolling the skies of Châelum. All with this black arm that'll broadcast my trail to any blundering, half-blind second-rate archangel. And if there is a fight, I'm basicly a cripple to begin with. Owiric is going to pay a lot for this trip - that one scar doesn't even start his payment...

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a presence near him, coming from behind at a speed that would overtake him, even at the speed he was currently travelling. He wasn't going quite as fast as he could, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to outrun the presence getting nearer even at full speed, a troubling fact. Frowning, he slowed down to a speed more in line of a solaris and struggled not to destroy the illusion by probing the approaching creature. The Dreamer had already crossed the border of the truly neutral Void into the good-aspected parts of the multiverse, called Pathways of the Righteous, and he felt a shiver of nervousness run through him.

 

"Heiii-i, traveller!"

 

The cheerful, girlish shout ringed through the empty Void loudly and clearly despite the distance, and he could not help but turn to look at the approaching white dot.

 

"Waiiiit for me, heiii-i!"

 

The Dreamer probed the incoming planewalker softly, using powers that were on the upper edge of what a normal solaris would possess but still within believable. She was running towards him even more rapidly now, at a speed only a handful of beings the Dreamer knew would have been able to replicate. Her wards and defensive enchantments seemed powerful enough, but he did not recognize the configuration.

 

A new one, huh? Or one of Law's, I haven't been close enough to them all to commit their defensive wards to my memory.

 

He bowed his head down a fraction and waited, showing the appropriate amount of respect a solaris should have shown towards a planewalker. She slowed down gradually as she saw he wasn't going anywhere and came to a halt very near him, closer than the normal, careful etiquette of the Lost Paths would have adviced. She was wearing white from head to toe, a combination of white platemail and white leather to allow for maximum maneuverability but still offering adequate protection for her slim body of average height. Fixed to her right thigh was a small crossbow, a rare weapon for planewalkers who usually eschewed all missile weapons, and on her left side hung a longsword in a scabbard, both weapons the same snow-white as her armor, the scabbard ornamented with three large emeralds. Her lightly tanned face had an open, friendly look, teeth showing past her smile, two scars that were barely visible. The woman wore no helmet and her jet black, curly hair reached almost to her shoulders.

 

"Huh, finally caught ya. Yer pretty fast for a solaris, neh?"

 

The female planewalker flashed him a dazzling smile and leaned on her knees as if throughly winded by her feat of speed. The Dreamer bowed deep as to a superior and smiled.

 

"Yes, mistress. Ociaus they call me because of that, but still I must bow to a superior when it comes to fleetness of feet on the Lost Paths - I did not know even the planewalkers can achieve such speeds as I just witnessed."

 

She beamed at the words and straightened up, obviously delighted to hear her alacrity complimented.

 

"Ach, 'twas nothin'. But ya, actually ... I followed yer trail for some time now, and I thought 'twas the trail of a real intruder, with all the chaos 'n evil ye were leavin' behind. Was it because of that arm of yers, now?"

 

The woman frowned in a display of puzzlement and leaned forward to study the charred, black arm of the Dreamer. He made an empty gesture and took a step backwards.

 

"Please, be careful with that, mistress. My arm was poisoned by some chaos spawn, out there in the depths of the Veil, and I lack full control of it right now. I'm on my way to Meilor, hoping the waters of that holy river might restore my arm to me."

 

If she probes me a bit more than that, she'll see through my disguise easily enough, unless she is blind. And I just noticed the mark of Law on her shoulder-armor, even if it is small...

 

"Mm mm, wise ya! Meilor might do the trick."

 

She smiled again, almost touched the poisoned arm but at the last moment she straightened up and looked him at the face instead.

 

"Oh, how rude of me - Faaye Khanthius, pleased to meet ya! Now, let's get goin', we can't let my fellow tracker's get all confused by th' trail yer leavin' here, now can we? B'sides, 's not like th' Lost Paths are all that safe even for a big, powerful angel like ya, Ociaus."

 

She had turned as to leave to the direction they both had been travelling but turned back and leaned closer.

 

"Ya know, they say the infamous Dreamer's been movin' here. He'd catch ye and make a lieutenant of ye to his army, just like that, hmm? We can't have that!"

 

A grin appeared on the Dreamer's disguised face.

 

"No, mistress, we can't have that at all. Please, lead the way."

Edited June 17, 2004 by Zadown

[Zadown]

The journey through the patrolled Pathways of the Righteous proved to be remarkably uneventful, most likely due to the presence of Faaye. Patrolling angels greeted her and made way, and the few greater beings they met only nodded to her and ignored the peculiar solaris with corrupted arm. Despite the easiness of the travel, or exactly because of it, the Dreamer started to get more nervous by every passing hour. If his disguise would be revealed, running the gauntlet of countless patrols, through the areas of various good or law -aspected deities and planewalkers would be a nightmare. He had rarely travelled here even during his days of neutrality in his youth - now he was taking mental notes of the paths and crossroads, planes and traffic as fast and inconspicuously as he could, mostly to plan for the inevitable escape.

 

"Yer awfully silent, arn't ya? What ya thinkin'?"

 

Faaye's words brought him out of his reverie. He had been plotting a way to get past the narrow part of the Paths they had just been through, wholly immersed in the difficult problem. He raised his gaze a little and noted the musing, uncomfortably sharp look Faaye was giving him.

 

"My apologizies, mistress. I was worried how my superiors will react to the news of my mission failing."

 

The Dreamer carefully lowered his gaze away from the woman, but managed to catch the mischievous smile that appeared on her face.

 

"Ah ya, been there, I must admit. Hope 't goes well, ya?"

 

"Yes, I do hope they show me some mercy, despite my failings."

 

"Mmm.. that should be a giv'n, aroun' these parts. Mercy."

 

"Perhaps."

 

He lowered his gaze even more and waited for the woman to move, which she eventually, after a prolonged silence, did. After that they did not pause again, but ran through the busy Paths quietly, both in their own thoughts. The density of the travelling angels thickened, the power of the few other planar beings grew as they got nearer the heart of the area.

 

Chaos has no fortress in the Void like this, no concentration of forces anywhere as far as I know. Is this the future of the multiversum, then? Possibilities freezing to the clear, cold, emotionless structure of the Law - sure some here think this as a bastion of Good, but they are mere pawns of the greater forces, blinded by the white of bones in the flag of Law, thinking it is same as their white of angelic feathers. Perhaps it was fated for me to raise the many-arrowed flag, after all.

 

He stopped, realizing they were finally at Châelum's planar crystal barrier. They had seen guards elsewhere, but the divine host arrayed along the borders of Châelum was the most magnificient and deadly so far. With a sinking feeling the Dreamer realized he'd never gotten through here alone, spent a fleeting moment to think why exactly had the sage sent him here, before getting interrupted. He heard a soft tap-tap, almost frowned before realizing it was the polite greeting of a telepathic conversation, something he himself had never mastered. A quick, furtive glance around told him it was most likely Faaye: she was staring at him with a look of intense concentration.

 

* Um... I guess this'll be th' point where I run an' ye an' yer angelic cronies chase me all th' way to Veil?

 

* 'Perhaps', indeed. Did ya really think I'd be fool'd by that angel mask of yers?

 

* Not really, only hoped ye'd be. It'd made all this way easier, m'lady.

 

* Don't ye m'lady me, th' Dreamer. And what, precisely, would've it made easier, do tell? Fast, before this crowd of angels notices somethin' is wrong.

 

* Lady Faaye - despite my disguise, th' story about the arm was mostly true. I really do need to bathe it in the waters of Meilor to cure it, as much as I loathe to endure the painful brilliance of both Good and Law aroun' here.

 

* Ha! Well, let me think, scoundrel...

 

"Hail, Faaye Khantius and companion! What is thy destination and purpose, if I may ask?"

 

A tall dominion, shining with aura of holiness, had detached himself from the guard and flown to the pair of planewalkers locked in telepathic debate. Faaye blinked and swiveled to look at the angel, smiled her most dazzling smile.

 

"Heya Preatir! I'm escortin' Ociaus here to the river Meilor for rites of purification and healin' to heal his arm. He sustained a wound in a small skirmish against Chaos in Veil."

 

She pointed at the blackened arm and winked at the Dreamer. Her words were in deep contrast of her amiable expression, however - they were laced with steely, cold inevitability.

 

* Ye owe me a major one, Lord Dreamer. An' if ye fooled me by the story as well, an' not just with the mask, I shall personally crush ya all the way to final, permanent death, Wodzan Xe Chanima of Chaos, ye hear?

 

* I do hear, Faaye Khanthius of Law - I am ready to act on yer behalf on a major matter, then. These binding words I, Wodzan Xe Chanima, speak of my own free will. Thank ye.

 

* Don't thank me yet, Dreamer. I accept the words an' the debt.

 

The dominion, oblivious to the exchange that went on between the two, bowed.

 

"May the blessings of the Lords of Law and Good be with you both on your healing journey, then."

[Zadown]

Châelum - the heart of the realm of good, the utmost gift to those who managed to walk through the temptations of mortal life unsullied, the high home for the most shining of the angels, rallying point for the most powerful champions against evil and chaos. There was no ground in this heaven of heavens: the numerous islands swam through the air, were connected to each other with a web of elegant marble bridges. No clouds blocked the soft, pleasing light of the seven suns. Nothing cast a shadow here, not even the huge castles sailing the heights of the deep blue sky of everlasting summer-evenings and pleasants memories. Air itself was a balm to all things living, carrying the scents of refreshing spring breeze ... as long as the things enjoying it were pure and good.

 

What a time for feeling to return to the arm! It is as I was bathing it in acid, already, and this is just the air of this damned place. My own skin would most likely burn and itch as well, but luckily this pain eclipses all such minor irritations, ha!

 

Passing angels paused to watch the grimacing Dreamer, the black, acrid smoke trailing behind the arm causing comments and disturbance, very clearly out of place here. Faaye was obviously well known, and her murmured words quieted the worst of the disruptions down with impressive speed.

 

* Seems sheer luck I met ya, after all.

 

* Be silent and concentrate on keepin' yer illusion up, fool! 'Tis almost crackin', I can't understand how'd ye ever capture any angels with such a shoddy disguise.

 

* Sorry, the fact I'm meltin' distracts me somewhat.

 

* Never would've guess'd the great Dreamer's such a crybaby, bah.

 

* Shush, ye.

 

Ahead of the two planewalkers the number of the floating islands grew smaller and out in the fine mists that slightly blurred everything to softer, more soothing shapes, loomed something huge. Heavenly music seemed to drift out of the mist and the fragrences of flowers and forests grew stronger. After they had flown a few more moments, the veil of mist parted before them and revealed the central mountain of Châelum, the Mount Huyvus. The essence of good flowed strong here, sending barbed lances of pain through the Dreamer's left arm, obscured his vision and made concentrating hard. The force was not sentient, but it nevertheless saw through his weak disguise, hammering him harder every wing beat he got closer to the center of the plane. He had survived through harshers climates, though, and grit his teeth, focusing on his solaris-shape. Pain contracted his world, pain and the resistance this place gave to his every move, and finally he could only sense his own inner state and the vague shape of Faaye somewhere near. The flight turned into a never-ending travel to some mythical destination, things that mattered reduced to flying, following and keeping the angel shape up long enough to survive this nightmarish trip through the most glorious of heavens. Eternity passed, and another - eternities where his left arm was made of a thousand different varities of pain and he was almost blind, seeing only a vague shape to follow - before they landed. The Dreamer fell to his knees.

 

"Hei, ye, don't ya dare to pass out on me, here, now! There's th' river Meilor."

 

He opened his eyes and crawled forward, towards the silvery sounds of water. Upon reaching the bank he fell down again, but managed to let his left arm fall into the flowing river. The agony that shot through his arm made the preceding pain feel like no pain at all, and he convulsed, growling incoherent words, at last losing the control of his illusion for good.

 

"That's no good. Ya bastard, making me cover for ya..."

 

Above the half-comatose Dreamer and swearing Faaye, a glimmering concealing dome arose, masking both from all detection. Sweat trickled over her face as she whispered the words, straining to channel as much power to the enchantment as she could without being noticed. The dome's outside flickered, then changed to show Faaye guarding a solaris bathing his arm in the river.

 

"There, hope yer happy to have me go against my own like this. I don't want to think what they'd do if they'd find out."

 

" ... thank .. you."

 

"Hmph. As I said, don't thank me yet, ye. I'll figure out for some way for ye to pay back all of this an' some interest as well."

 

The first pulse of pain had been the worst, and as he recovered from it, he felt slightly better. The river's water seemed to flow through his left arm, purifying it with painful effeciency. The Dreamer lifted his head, now in his normal, scarred shape, and looked at Faaye while keeping his arm immersed in the river. She was scowling at the dome she had raised, hands on her hips.

 

"... so, why did ya choose to help me, then? Would've been far easier for ya to try to capture me. 's not like I could've scar ye here, with all the advantages on yer side."

 

Faaye turned to look at him and eased her scowl a fraction, let her left hand drop to the hilt of her sword. She said nothing at first, watched how the wake of corruption leaving the Dreamer's arm stained the silver waters of the river for a moment before vanishing, her expression getting slowly softer.

 

"'Twas yer arm that needed th' healing for real, then?"

 

He nodded solemnly.

 

"Ya, as I said, m'lady."

 

She sat down and looked into Dreamer's green eyes.

 

"So I hoped, but I wasn't so sure ... but I believe in givin' others one chance, an' not believin' all the rumours I hear, even about somebody as infamous as ye, Lord Dreamer, th' Scourge of Void."

 

He grinned, making the scars dance on his face - she smiled in response.

 

"Some of those rumours might be true, ya know."

 

"Mmhm, ya. I'm not as without a choice as th' locals, tho'. I can still do what I want, as long as I'll take the responsibility. 'Tis hard, sometimes, being yer own boss like this."

 

"So yer not been brainwashed by th' Law to be their programmed lackey quite yet?"

 

She tensed slightly at those words, shot a warning glance at the Dreamer, then nodded.

 

"An' yer not turned into a twisted, insane demon o' slaughter then, yet?"

 

"They tried. But I'm as twisted as they come, m'lady."

 

"Ha!"

[Zadown]

Epilogue

 

The rumble of the collapsing tower managed to make itself heard even over the constant thunder of spellfire. Through the new gap in the wall poured in a squad of archangels lead by two planewalkers: tall, scarred man in a loose robe of muted grey and a shorter, white-clad woman. They carved a quick path through the few disoriented demons rising from the rubble with a graceful ease, tall man's katana rising and falling in a counterpoint rhytm to the woman's shining broadsword.

 

Owiric watched the duo from his vantage point with growing worry, even if he didn't show it. He was certain he could take on either of the two, but two planewalkers working together ... that was very rare and very dangerous, a force that was never used to attack this kind of minor outpost as his castle. True, a planewalker and his apprentice might fight together, but neither of these two seemed to be inferior, and the little he could see of their defensive enchantments made his frown deeper. He muttered aloud a word of power that would seal the broken tower for few moments, grimaced under his full helm when he felt it to break almost instantly.

 

Fight here is lost. Law's long hand stabs again at Chaos because we lack, by definition, the grand scheme, the unified army, they have. Still, I have to face those two, even if it costs me a scar or three. They make take this inconsequential fort, but by Chaos! - They will not take my dignity!

 

He prepared to jump down, checked last time his defensive enchantments were in full readiness. He had added one to the set but he knew it would not be enough, not against two. Just as he was about to challenge the pair of planewalkers advancing over the courtyard at a leisured speed, he heard a voice call out in defiance:

 

"Halt, intruders! This is as far as you go, Dogs of Law!"

 

The view now in front of him chilled him to the marrow and made him proud at the same time. His young apprentice, clad in red scale and chain, holding a longsword and a shortsword at ready, had appeared from the shadows and opposed the two Law's planewalkers now on the open courtyard alone. She was strikingly beautiful, courage and wrath written on her tanned face in equal measures. Her long auburn ponytail swirled in the hot winds created by the constant barrages of spellfire and her green eye shone. But no matter how vibrant and defiant she seemed, he knew she wouldn't be able to hold her own against either of the two. Owiric quickly leaped down, landing nimbly despite his heavy platemail.

 

"No, Janna! Leave them to me, ye do not have all the skills for this kind of confrontation yet, my apprentice."

 

The tall planewalker in grey, hooded robes penetrated Owiric with his gaze, twisted his lips to the parody of a smile. The face seemed familiar but the configuration of the enchantments was odd, and there was something in his whole presence that seemed to be ... out of focus, as if he wasn't really there.

 

"And ye do, Sir Owiric of Chaos?"

 

The woman glanced at her partner, took a short step backwards making it clear this was between the man in grey and Owiric and had really nothing to do with her. Janna lost some of her concentrated anger, felt how the tension shifted in the courtyard making hers a minor part.

 

"Who might ye be, Dog of Law? I like to know the names of all the planewalkers I scar or kill, m'lord Greymane."

 

Deftly forged veils and wards of blurring and misguiding were released, then, even as the battle still raged around this eye of the storm. The Dreamer's disguise, woven to perfection with the powers of two different planewalkers working in unision, was released. The katana grew and faded to a ghost of a blade, changed into Pain at the same time the grey robes turned insubstantial and uncovered the scales of dark red chaos armor. Iron crown was conjured around his pale head to mark him as a ruler of the paths, the illusion over his curious shade of pink eyes vanished, mist clearing from his face revealed a deadly grin on his bloodless lips.

 

"Forgotten me already, m'lord Owiric?"

 

With that whisper the Dreamer charged forward, flanked by Faaye Khanthius. Owiric and Janna dashed forward to meet them, but they were shocked by the revelation, unsettled. Faaye's blow was the first to land, a heavy psychic maul crashing against Owiric's newest ward, cracking and dispelling it in a blink of an eye. Without breaking his stride, the Dreamer struck with his own psychic power. Owiric reeled and came to a halt, stunned but ready to defend himself from the next barrage of attacks. When his eyes and mind cleared, he saw why he had been left in peace: Janna was between the Dreamer and Faaye, her delicate wards crumbling under the assault of two veteran planewalkers.

 

"NO!"

 

Owiric rushed forward, gathering momentum for his usual charge, but he could already see he was too slow. Janna leaped forward, blocked Pain with her longsword and stabbed with her left hand, striking the Dreamer's coruscating green protective field. The ensuing bolt of thunder crushed Janna's last wards, burned a snaking scar on her beautiful armor. As she cried in sudden pain, a searing beam of light hit her on her torso as Faaye shot her with her crossbow. Janna stumbled backwards, trying to hold her swords between her and the Dreamer - who ducked down and delivered a scything blow that passed under the parry and cut cleanly through Janna's stomach.

 

"NOOOO!"

 

Janna collapsed forward vomiting blood and dreams, deathly pale despite her tan, and grinning Dreamer, pink eyes gleaming in his pale face, turned to meet Owiric. Owiric's first wild swing was lazily blocked and as he took a half-step backwards to swing again with his heavy blade, a bolt of pure light bounced off his defensive wards, markedly weakening them. Owiric focused his fury and swung, ignoring Faaye; the Dreamer stepped aside and let the blade slice through the courtyard, a mocking grin on his face. Next blow was parried with arrogant lack of effort, giving Faaye enough time to dent Owiric's wards further with another bolt. Fourth wrathful blow was struck aside. This time the Dreamer disengaged backward from the parry, stepping on the prone, still moaning figure of Janna as he did so. He paused there, one boot on the armored back of the woman, pink eyes locked on the rage boiling in Owiric's eyes, mocking grin never wavering from his face. Faaye's crossbow was loaded, Owiric was ready to charge, but none of the three planewalkers moved.

 

"Ya know, Sir Owiric, she might still survive if we stop now."

 

The Dreamer applied some force on the woman's prone form, eliciting a pained whimper from her and a growl from Owiric. Owiric's eyes narrowed to almost straight lines of fury and he trembled visibly, holding himself in place.

 

"What do ye want from me, traitor?"

 

The Dreamer paused as if to think it over, cocked his head slightly, the grin he had held on his face all this time fading to make room for more thoughtful expression. Suddenly he smiled warmly, eyes white and gold.

 

"Nothing."

 

He reversed his grip on Pain and impaled the wounded apprentice with one swift coup de gracé.

 

The End