The breeze was slight, carrying many things with it. The first was a tinge of warmth, and given the south easterly direction of its gusts, Kathranis understood completely why. There were plenty of deserts to the south, and even if there weren’t, the chilly, sunless northlands of Thay could always stand to be warmed up a hair. If the breeze wasn’t doing it for them, Kathranis imagined he would order his little troop of elves to start a fire. As it was, the breeze brought enough warmth for the elf to wrap his cloak looser around his body as he stared through the branches of the tree he was relaxing in.
It was a rare moment of calm, the kind of moment that got scarcer and scarcer with every day. War was always a nasty affair, especially when it involved humans, and doubly so when it involved dark magics. While he didn’t hate the younger race, Kathranis was smart enough to recognize the world ending problems the short-lived creatures always seemed to cause. They were far more intelligent than their orcish counterparts, but every bit as strong and fast breeding. The result was a race that could out cast the best elvish wizards, with none of the consequences that came with such a profession. If a human wizard blew himself up, they had to wait a mere two decades before another could begin fixing their work, if that. If an elf wizard died, it may be centuries before someone was brave enough to take up their mantle, with each day spend locked away in some dark, cold, lifeless tower studying away to become a new master. Kathranis shuddered at the thought. An elf’s place was out and about, among the trees. As a ranger, Kathranis had mentally promised himself that he would never be trapped by society. No stone walls, no mountains of books. He was a wanderer, he was alive!
Kathranis sighed and looked down to his small troop below. No more than fifty of his kin accompanied him in his travels, and most wouldn’t last much longer with his style of living. Warriors and spellcasters all, most were far too young to be traveling, hell, if Kathranis was being honest with himself, even he was too young, but what choice did they have? Their home had been eradicated by hordes of enemies uncountable and unnamable, such was their number, and while most of the refugees had found sanctuary in the other elven stronghold of Evermeet, some had still desired more. Besides, every moon-elf knew that the sun-elves were stuck up pricks who would never let their paler counterparts rise in their ranks. They would have been second class citizens until they were bred out in a few millennia, and that was a fate that Kathranis saw no interest in.
Kathranis closed his eyes and sighed again, leaning against the trunk of the tree at his back. He smirked lightly and gave a small prayer of thanks to Sylvanus for the continued safety of his elves. Their band had left the rest of the refugees as soon as the gates of Evermeet had come within sight, much to the disappointment of the two remaining elders. They had begged and pleaded with Kathranis for him to stay, but Kathranis had refused, and as the named Blademaster, the remaining warriors had largely followed him away. All of them were too young to have started families, so they stayed with their friends, laying the groundwork for the bonds that would eventually produce more moon elf children. Not for him though. Like he had in many ways, Kathranis had remained aloof from such things. He was too focused on the thrill of life to concern himself with a romantic relationship, though he actively encouraged his elves to grow closer to one another. If any of them found it within themselves to reproduce, he would make sure his traveling band of mercenaries made its way to their “home”. Once he had secured their safety, Kathranis would leave again. It would be healthier for them to be in a stable environment, and such a thing was simply not possible around him.
‘How uncharacteristically thoughtful of you,” Secil said in Kathranis’ mind.
The feline familiar lazed his way down the branches of the tree, flopping to a stop just before Kathranis’ outstretched legs. Kathranis smiled as he stared at the black cat, so graceful even when he didn’t put in any effort.
“Perhaps I am finally growing up,” Kathranis replied. “The elders gave me the title Blademaster because I was the best fighter, yet I can’t help but feel like there is more to the position than being able to make sound strategic calls. I have done my best to become practiced at diplomacy, but maybe there is more?”
Secil huffed and stretched his little cat legs into the air.
‘If you actually got a formal training, you would know how much of an understatement that is. Don’t you ever read?’
Kathranis rolled his eyes and looked away, scratching at his chin.
“Not books, no. I read nature Secil, you know this better than anyone. I am a ranger of Sylvanus, and while she has many rangers, I believe I excel in her service. I love nature, I love being in nature. It is the only thing I find I love more than fighting!”
Secil matched Kathranis’ eye roll.
‘You’re an elf Kathranis, you are going to be alive for a very long time. Studying up just a little wouldn’t be such a bad thing, and that’s coming from a panther. Either way, you’re right, there is more to being a Blademaster. Diplomacy is part of it, and I think Tatiana has helped you in a good way with that, but you also need to know when to stop fighting. The Blademaster is supposed to be a caretaker for his people, since it is assumed that the best warrior has the intelligence to pick his battles.’
“Hey!” Kathranis protested. “I am intelligent enough to pick my own battles! We haven’t lost an elf yet!”
Secil gave him a deadpan look.
‘Perhaps, but I was referring to this little war as a whole. Do you honestly think the Zulkirs are going to win?’
Kathranis sighed.
“I don’t know, but what else are we to do? An army of the undead will only grow in time. Once the Zulkirs lose, then who’s next? Waterdeep? Neverwinter? Gods forbid Evermeet. Even the sun-elves couldn’t stand against an endless army, mythal or no. This is a fight we have to aid in, it’s our duty.”
Secil rolled over.
‘It’s your duty as a follower of Sylvanus, but what about everyone else? Most of your elves are Selunites, with the only exceptions being Fordred and Luieustriel. While I’m sure Luieustriel would agree with your little quest, the rest may need to go back to Evermeet. They are only at risk here.’
Kathranis stared into the leaves of the tree, pondering the cat’s words. Was he being selfish by keeping his kin with him? They were an amazing fighting unit, hardened by years of battle before the fall of Myth Drannor, but was it right to keep them aloof from the rest of their people?
Kathranis turned his mind outward, focusing once more on the wind. While it was a wonderful warm breeze, it had also begun carrying the slightest tint of decay. Szass Tam. Secil perked up as his nose started twitching. The cat hissed and scooted closer to Kathranis.
‘Maybe you’re right for now Kathranis. I hate the smell of walking corpses.’
“Walking being the key word,” Kathranis said as he slipped from his perch.
With the grace of a dancer, Kathranis spun and slid down the tree, landing lightly at the base where Huron and Fordred were waiting silently. Kathranis’ older brother crossed his arms.
“Is it time to move on?” Huron asked.
Kathranis nodded, letting his normally playful demeanor vanish as his commanding voice spoke clearly.
“It is. Tam is on the march again. We need to find and warn Tatiana. Her troops were camping in the pass, and this is the only route for hundreds of miles that crosses the mountains.”
Huron nodded and began giving out orders. Kathranis couldn’t help but feel absolute love for the older elf. Despite the fact that he was elder to Kathranis by well over a decade, Huron had been the first to congratulate him once the elders had finished applying his full body protective tattoos. The effort had taken three weeks as spell after spell were woven into the thick black lines drawn over much of Kathranis’ body. Spells ranging from those of minor protection, to absolute resistance to mind magic, all of it to make Kathranis a dependable leader. Each second had been excruciatingly painful as well, and the entire time Kathranis was tortured by the notion that his older brother would resent him for his superior position. All of the worry flew out the window when the man had embraced him with tears of pride, calling for immediate celebration. Ever since, Huron had been Kathranis’ right hand elf, with the older elf taking over command of their troupe when Kathranis was away on some errand for Tatiana. Huron was strong, confident, and an exceptional fighter, second only to Kathranis. Even though it was supposed to be the opposite, Kathranis often found himself looking up to his older brother for confidence. He loved Huron more than anything, and they were inseparable.
Kathranis couldn’t help but sigh as Fordred struggled into his gear. The warrior slipped behind the fledgling wizard and began wordlessly tightening straps. Kathranis could feel shame ooze from the elf, but Kathranis wasn’t angry with him, couldn’t be angry with him. They were just so very different. Fordred was only a hundred years old, a boy by elvish standards, yet when Kathranis put out a call for fighters, he had volunteered without hesitation. It was some foolish notion that he needed to practice combat magic in actual combat, but Kathranis hadn’t said no. They needed a spellcaster, and it wasn’t like Fordred was bad at magic, he was just bad at everything else. His studies gave no time to his physical fitness, and Kathranis had to personally teach the wizard handcant. In time, Kathranis was sure that Fordred would become a masterful wizard, but he was everything Kathranis despised about magic studies. He neglected so much of living to become more powerful, and while Kathranis knew from personal experience that Fordred wasn’t by any means power mad or ambitious, Kathranis wished he would branch out more. When he broke out of his shell, Fordred was genuinely fun to be around, but so often the elf isolated himself, reading away with his tomes. It made Kathranis concerned, but that would be for later.
Fordred rolled his shoulder and sighed. Kathranis dipped around him and met the younger elf’s eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
Fordred sighed again.
“Yes Blademaster, but I’ll cope. You have always been too kind to me, I will not press you further.”
Kathranis looked the elf up and down, and his eyes locked on the bulging bag strapped to Fordred’s back.
“It’s your books, isn’t it? Tatiana gave you more, and now your weight is too much?”
Fodred sighed a third time and looked way.
“Yes Blademaster. I’m sorry, I just… I asked her to teach me a featherweight enchantment, so that I could make my bag lighter so I could keep up, but I haven’t gotten it to stick yet.”
Kathranis slid off his bag and passed it to the wizard. He only carried the bare essentials in it, a few cantrip regents, food, water, bandages. His cloak as well when it was warm, but in the cold of the mountains, Kathranis wore the thick cloth around his shoulders. His bag was substantially lighter than Fordred’s, and Kathranis could feel it as he slid the wizard’s bag on his shoulders. Still, it wasn’t an unbearable weight, and he smiled widely as he slid his bag over Fordred’s shoulders.
“There,” Kathranis said. “Carry my bag until we see Tatiana again, then ask her to enchant your bag until you learn the enchantment for yourself.”
Fordred looked ashamed, but grateful as he seemed to rock in place. Kathranis rolled his eyes, then dragged the smaller elf into a hug, which the wizard gladly returned. Pulling away, Kathranis winked at him.
“We’re almost brothers Fordred, and we’re elves. Unlike those stingy humans, physical contact isn’t outlawed. If you need comfort, simply ask, I will never say no, no matter my personal preferences on touching.”
Fordred’s face curled in a small smile and he looked away.
“Thank you Blademaster. I’ll keep that in mind in the future.”
Kathranis gave him another wink before turning around to check on the rest of the elves. It took them no time to pack up their gear, and all were waiting for him silently, their eyes watchful from beneath their hoods. To ensure they weren’t found by Tam’s undead, Kathranis used handcant, making the motions wide so that everyone could see his speech easily.
“Move quickly, but with caution. We know the undead are close, but not how close. Lauidele, Gaelin, go ahead to Tatiana’s camp, then see where the undead are in relation to it. We may need to arrive prepared for battle. Secil will follow you, and relay to me what you see.”
Kathranis’ familiar groaned loudly in his mind, but he bounded after the elves without further complaint as they disappeared into the trees.
“As for the rest of us,” Kathranis canted, “we shall make for the ridgeline above the camp. Move swiftly, but do not exhaust yourselves. Battle may yet be joined this day, and I do not wish to lose someone because they are short on breath.”
A silent chuckle went out amongst the elves as more than a few eyes locked onto Fordred. The wizard flushed red and looked away in shame, but Huron clapped him on the shoulder with a wide grin and gave him a bone crushing hug. Kathranis smiled at the sight. They weren’t a perfect group, but gods did he love each and every member of his troop.
Giving a silent salute, Kathranis took off at a fast jog. One hand drifted to his sword belt to keep his scimitars from slapping against his thighs, while the other went to his bow, ready to slip the aged wood from his shoulders should he need it. The range would be helpful if their group came upon an undead patrol. While he wasn’t the most accurate elf, he had the greatest utility with his arrows, as was the blessing of Sylvanus. Kathranis just prayed that he wouldn’t need to invoke his goddess’s name too much.
Everyone kept up with his pace easily, and Kathranis was proud to find Fordred finally doing so without overly straining himself. The weight of his bag was heavy on Kathranis’ back, but maybe the temporary arrangement would be to everyone’s benefit until the young wizard figured out his enchantment. Before he could give Fordred a compliment however, a foul stench touched Kathranis’ nose, and he held up a hand to slow the elves to a stop. Decay hung heavy in the air, and as Secil’s first mental signals reached Kathranis, he already knew what was happening. The attack had already begun.
They were near the clearing that lead to the ridgeline overlooking the army’s camp, so with one hand in the air, Kathranis conveyed his orders via handcant. Huron and half a dozen archers peeled off to Kathranis’ left, while the rest tightened in a circle around the blademaster. Once everyone was prepared, Kathranis motioned for them to move, and they did so with complete silence. Not even the fallen leaves crunched as they stepped lightly.
As they moved closer to the clearing, the sound of the breeze whistling through the branches became overpowered with the sound of battle. Steel rang against steel, and against wood. Shouts cried out above that, all mixed with a low undercurrent of groaning; both of the flesh of the dead, and the dead themselves. Kathranis told his elves to spread out across the ridgeline while he sprinted to the edge, abandoning caution. He needed information, and based on the images Secil was sending him, the cat was too far behind the undead battle line.
As his feet touched the edge of the ridge, Kathranis cursed aloud, his face twisting in a hard scowl at the scene below him. They were too late.
The bustling camp of tens of thousands of happy, living people was gone. Instead, the living and the dead fought between the rows of destroyed tents. Though he prayed that the civilian camp followers had evacuated before the dead arrived, he could tell from some of the bodies that were beginning to rise that that was not the case. The armies of the Zulkirs had been caught with their pants down, both figuratively, and literally. Some of the live humans fought with no more than their trousers and tent stakes, but fight they did. Kathranis commended their bravery as he tasked his elves with a raised hand. On the left most portion of the ridge, Huron sent a brief fire signal into the air, indicating that the army was already in a state of retreat. Kathranis had Fordred send back a reply to regroup their forces. Then he told his archers to get to work. A Selunite cleric named Zilyana began whispering prayers over the quivers of his elves, and then those arrows began descending, ending the undead to a point that they could never rise again. Another of his scouts; Kellam, directed their shots, locating parts of the field where turning the fight would matter. No matter how many arrows they fired, Kathranis knew that some of the humans just couldn’t be saved, and he did his best to avoid watching as they were ripped apart.
A wizard in red robes suddenly appeared over the battlefield, and a nasty looking spell of roiling black splashed down into a trio of armored humans. Their skin seemed to vanish, and the bones turned around, quickly setting upon a woman that had been cowering in the remains of the tent they were protecting. Kathranis’ eyes flicked to the wizard as the woman shrieked. His bow left his shoulder, and he pulled back an arrow, whispering a short prayer before he sent it flying into the air. With stunning accuracy, it embedded itself firmly in the wizard’s cackling throat, and before his hands could wave to cast a healing spell, the man burst into flames. As his levitation spell failed, Kathranis felt grim satisfaction swell in his chest at the thought that the man would never be raised. Kathranis hated few things, but necromancers made the list, and he made that known.
“Target the wizards!” Kathranis replied. “Sanctified or fire arrows only, I want them to die and stay that way!”
His elves nodded grimly, and as two more necromancers appeared in the air above the undead, they went down in a hail of death, their corpses adding nothing to the writhing forces below. Kathranis re-shouldered his bow, watching the battlefield carefully. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but Kathranis knew to watch more often than fight. When things got close, he would get his chance to strike, but until then, his eyes were his best weapon, and he crept along the ridgeline, directing Fordred’s spells to their maximum efficiency.
While he worked, Huron sprinted up with his group in tow. Kathranis gave him a slight greeting with a free hand, then gave out orders.
“Form up the warriors, take them along the edge of the battle line and thin the dead. Mostly though, get the living out, and make sure no elf gets left behind. As little risk as possible.”
Huron nodded, then canted to the rest of the elves. Most shouldered their bows and fell in beside him, drawing their swords and shields as they prepared for intimate contact. Zilyana led the group in a fast prayer, then they disappeared in a flash of purple as Fordred teleported them to where Kathranis directed. Only when a small group of zombies appeared beside him did the elf realize his mistake, and Fordred cried out in alarm as he fumbled for the dagger at his waist. Kathranis didn’t let the sudden appearance of the undead phase him, and he leaped forward, chased by two arrows from the remaining archers at his back. Both arrows arrived before he did, cutting down two of the zombies in a flash of starlit smite. The remaining undead belonged to Kathranis as his scimitars flashed free from their sheathes.
The combat skills of a century of war kicked in with ease as his enchanted swords bit deep into one zombie’s throat. It decapitated the creature with the swing, and Kathranis moved past it without fear as the dead creature dropped. The swords were enchanted, and had been in his family for millennia. For whatever magical reason, they had skipped over all fourteen of his older siblings, waiting dormant for Kathranis’ skilled hands. With his extensive combat training, decades of practice, and their enchanted edges, Kathranis was unmatched in combat prowess, and it showed as he spun about like a whirlwind.
Spinning on the ball of his foot, Kathranis swept the legs out from a zombie while cutting the arm from another. As the first zombie fell, Kathranis planted his foot on its stomach for balance and propelled himself towards another of the undead creatures. His swords plunged deep into the grey flesh of the unholy creature, and it growled at him as he yanked both blades back. One of the enchanted blades caught on the creature’s ribcage, and while the beast died, Kathranis was left unbalanced as his blade came free. Ensuring that he wouldn’t stumble, Kathranis reversed the grip on his scimitars and used his backward momentum to stab another undead soldier through its stomach. The magical light left the creatures eyes, and Kathranis let its dead weight drag him backward. He followed the drop into a backward roll, letting his blades slide easily free.
Before he could move to finish off the rest of the wretched creatures, Kathranis was forced to cover his eyes with his cloak as brilliant orange threatened to scorch his pupils. Fodred panted heavily as his fireball caused the rest of the zombies to drop, and combined with the magic of Kathranis’ swords, none of the bodies would rise again. The young elf smiled at Kathranis, who felt a flash of irritation.
“What in the Nine Hells was that?” Kathranis yelled at Fordred.
The wizard doubled over as he recovered from his magical exertions.
“T- The teleportation spell isn't perfect. If… if the space you're sending something to isn’t empty, it brings whatever’s there, back.”
Kathranis scowled at him.
“And why did you cast that spell if you knew that would happen?”
Fordred cringed under Kathranis’ glare.
“I… only just learned it. It’s more powerful than my other teleportation spell, and less risky and magic consuming! I just… forgot about that effect.”
Kathranis shook his head and sheathed one of his scimitars. He couldn’t really be mad that the young elf was trying new magic. Maybe a little bit due to the timing, but Fordred was genuinely trying to improve.
“Can you at least keep casting now?” Kathranis asked.
Fordred nodded and a timid smile creeped across his face.
“I can, I still have enough mana for a dozen or so more spells, as opposed to my usual two.”
Kathranis sighed and shook his head again.
“Then I can’t be angry with you. Just give me a warning the next time you try that, alright? Take the archers to Huron and tell him to push toward the rear. Assist him as best you can. I will follow shortly.”
Fordred nodded, and he moved closer to the remaining elves. His hands glowed as he carved a rune in the air, then with another flash of light, they were gone, leaving Kathranis alone on the ridgeline. Kathranis continued surveying the battlefield for a moment, waiting in silence as he felt Secil grow closer.
‘Once we gather enough men, we will need to withdraw to the pass, bottleneck the dead there,” Kathranis thought. ‘If we can cause enough casualties with few loses, coupled with the prayers of the priests, we should be safe enough to regroup and strike back.’
“You should know by now that nowhere is safe from me child,” an elderly voice said aloud.
Kathranis whirled on his heel, drawing an arrow taut on his bow string as he aimed at the lich. The arrow flew, straight and true, but vanished as it impacted some unseen shield around Szass Tam. The gray-haired lich smiled broadly. Kathranis sent an order to Secil to direct the scouts back to the main group of elves for retreat. He wouldn’t let them be captured on his account. Tam cocked his head and smiled a toothy grin.
“A shame, I am more than willing to offer your little band an option for surrender.” He shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back. “But perhaps you wish for a different method of joining my army. Let us talk about that however, Kathranis Shadowsong.”
Kathranis had seen the trick before, knew that even the runes carved into his skin weren’t powerful enough to prevent the lich from seeing his surface thoughts. Tam couldn’t affect his mental state in any way, but see the little things? Sure, especially with Kathranis’ connection to Secil. Tam seemed to not care overly much about that however, and he instead smiled warmly, spreading his pale, skinny arms wide.
“Come now Master Shadowsong, there is no need for such hate and anger toward me, we want for the same thing after all! Balance! A restoration to the world’s natural state! You’ve been a pain in my side these past months, but I believe that is only because you are so young by elvish standards. Your few years have not yet wizened you to the ways of the world, but that is why you are here yes? To learn? To explore?”
Kathranis slipped his bow back over his shoulders, and slowly drew his scimitars.
“I am here to kill you, and all like you. Undeath is a plague on this earth, and I would sooner be a slave in each of the nine hells before I joined with a creature like you.”
Tam clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“My boy, that won’t do at all! I am being more than generous; I am forgiving your sins against me after all! Consider my offer; your elves join my forces, and they shall each live like kings! There every want will be cared for, and once we have eradicated the Zulkirs, I shall restore Thay to its natural order. No more will the forests be cut away to feed the needs of a living civilization, no more will the soil be poisoned by the blood and flesh of the dying and the sickly. War will not be an issue in my kingdom, all will live in peace!”
“All will be thralls!” Kathranis spat back as he circled the lich. “Do you think I have not noticed the work of your wizards? The sky is perpetually gray, the air is always cold, yet neither rain, nor snow falls. The greenery of Thay is dying, just like its people! While they are disrespectful of the earth in their own right, at least the living Thayans see a need for the trees, see value in the grass, and the plants. Poison the soil with blood? Better a hundred wars be fought with blood, than be polluted with your foul magics! You think I have not noticed your citadels? Do you think that unholy project of yours will be a secret for much longer? What will the Lords of Waterdeep think of your attempt to end the world?”
Tam sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Ah, so my reports about spies were correct then. It just goes to show that the living are far too easily corruptible. My undead however, the perfect soldiers! Loyal to a fault, and never ending in their task.”
Tam shrugged.
“It matters not, you will understand soon enough elf. Be still, that I may resurrect you cleanly. I would not wish to waist that mind, or those stunning swords of yours on some simple creature, like a zombie, or skeleton.”
Kathranis lurched forward in reply, closing the last few feet between them with long strides. Crossing his swords in an ‘X’, Kathranis sliced at the lich’s throat. From thin air, an onyx colored staff capped with a skull appeared in Tam’s hands, blocking the blades easily. The lich rolled his bright blue eyes at Kathranis, and he smiled broadly.
“You are making a mistake elf, but I am a merciful god. Bow, and I’ll spare your troop. You will be a lich, like me! My second in all things, immortal for all time. Think of all the good you can do for nature when you have eternal life and unlimited magic!”
Kathranis drilled his forehead into the lich’s. It wasn’t his best attack, nor an effective one, as the undead creature took it without issue.
“I’ll die fighting first monster. Do us both a favor and stay down when I kill you,” Kathranis spat.
Tam shrugged.
“So be it.”
Faster than Kathranis could follow, the staff pushed his swords back and swung its skullcap back down toward Kathranis’ head. Ducking, Kathranis tried to stab his swords upwards through the lich’s stomach, only to have the staff again knock them out of line. Kathranis cried out in pain when the staff cracked into his hand, causing him to drop a sword. He hopped back lightly to gain breathing room, and flexed his hand, which thankfully, was not broken. Kathranis growled and waded back in with his scimitar flashing, waiting patiently for the staff. As it came around to hit him again, Kathranis caught it in his open palm and used it to yank Tam forward. Kathranis cocked his head back, and with all of his strength, slammed it down onto the lich’s nose with a satisfying crunch.
Disoriented by the force of the hit, Kathranis stumbled backwards, catching himself long enough to pick up his fallen sword. He then did his best to stop his vision from swimming as his eyes locked onto the lich.
‘He’s got a hard head,’ Kathranis thought with a smirk.
The lich was clutching at his face, or rather something on it. For a moment, Kathranis felt simple satisfaction for causing damage to the damned creature, then he had to avoid gagging as he realized that Tam’s face was sloughing off. The lich glared at him with hateful eyes as he dispelled the illusion. A powerful stench of decay hit Kathranis like a wave, threating to send him retching to his knees as he beheld the true unholy glory of an ages old lich.
Without his disguise, Szass Tam was little more than a skeleton. A few short, stringy hairs hung of his bald, white plate. His blue eyes had become mere burning pinpricks in large, black sockets. The red robe that had seemed to fit him perfectly now hung loose off his gaunt frame like a moldy set of drapes. His skin, where it existed, was pulled taut, and was bleached as white as his bones. The entire sight left nothing to the imagination for what was underneath.
Swallowing roughly, Kathranis twirled his scimitars and bit down on the rising bile in his gut. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could kill a lich. He hoped.
Tam pointed his staff at Kathranis and shouted.
“You dare challenge me elf? When I’m through with you, your fetid, blasted corpse won’t even be fit for use! I am Szass Tam! Conquer of worlds! I have leveled cities with a single hand and enslaved the lords of hell with the other! You, some lowly elf, would dare stand against me?”
Kathranis saw Secil creeping up behind the lich from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t look that way, instead, he circled around the other side of Tam.
“I would,” the elf replied, keeping as calm as possible, “because if not me, then someone else would. A human likely, they do so love trouble. If you’re asking me, I think someone more common than an elvish blademaster deserves to ruin you. Maybe a bard, now that would be funny.”
Tam growled at Kathranis, and the staff twirled in his grip. Why he wasn’t casting spells, Kathranis didn’t know, but he didn’t see a reason to give the lich a fighting chance. Secil, grown to his full size, waited in complete stillness for Kathranis’ order. Kathranis took a deep breath as he stood off against the lich, then without thought, he attacked again, once more lurching forward to close the distance between them. This time things went differently however, as Secil pounced on the lich with a mighty howl.
Tam clawed at the panther on his back as the immense black cat carved great furrows in the lich’s red robes. Kathranis dipped around the lich as he spun in his attempts to dislodge the great cat. Kathranis did little more than irritate the magic user, stabbing lightly with his scimitars, poking small holes in his frail flesh. He didn’t know if he was hurting the lich or not, but Tam seemed to grow angrier as his bony hands latched firmly into Secils’ coat, wrenching the cat off his back with unnatural strength, before summarily slamming him into Kathranis.
The elf took the hit with as much grace as he could manage, but even then, he only barely managed to stay on his feet as he struggled not to impale his familiar on his scimitars. Secil gave him a thankful mew before hopping back to his paws, and growling at Tam, who grinned like a demon at the pair.
“A cute trick elf, but I am a god compared to you. Do you think such trivialities concern me? Foolish welp, I’m not even here! You fight a mere double, yet you cannot best me!”
Kathranis scowled at that, but he didn’t let it shake him. If the lich was telling the truth, he was fairly sure he could win the fight, then help his brethren escape. If he was lying, then the lich was probably bluffing, and Secil had done some damage. Either way, Kathranis intended to do his best to kill the nasty creature before him. In his left ear, Kathranis heard a strange cry rise above the battlefield, and his left eye caught odd blue flashes, but he paid them no mind. He needed to kill the lich, and doing so would require all of his focus.
Secil began moving away from Kathranis, only to whine and freeze in place as Tam’s staff began glowing. Kathranis tried to move forward to help his familiar, only to feel lightning bolts of pain race up his legs. Tam cackled madly as the glow, and so the pain, intensified.
“Stupid child, you will be nothing more than another dust speck on my shoulder.”
His rotted face twisted unnaturally to the side, and his smile seemed to get wider.
“Now do us both a favor, and die!”
The staff twirled in his grasp, and a deep purple glow emanated from the eye sockets of the skullcap. The cries from the battlefield reached an ungodly pitch, and Kathranis moved his eyes that way, spotting in horror a massive wall of blue, wild magic. Tam didn’t notice as he completed his spell, didn’t notice the wild magic that was upon them in less than a heartbeat.
“DIE!” Tam shouted with glee.
As the twisting bolt of dark purple energy spiraled toward Kathranis, the blue magic seemed to slow time, and Kathranis swore he could count each second that passed as the magic raced for his chest. Secil shouted in blind panic in his mind, and Kathranis couldn’t help but share the sentiment as both magics arrived at his chest at the same time. They mingled in a blistering display of color, and as pain lanced up his spine, Kathranis felt his vision swim into a pool of black.