The Death of Q'wellen A'thori [aka, What a Night! Part Five]

Myra pushed through the gate, and through the snowdrift that lay on the other end. A small tower loomed over them to the south of the gate. She waited for the others to come through and motioned to the tower. "This is... Andrew's home."

Q'wellen stepped up beside her, his expression grim. Quietly, "I will face him alone."

They rounded the side of the building to be greeted by a sentry at the door. Myra looked at him quizzically. "Hail..." she greeted the guard in the common tongue.

He nodded to her in greeting, "Be you a follower of Khellenduras....?"

Myra eyed the mace in his hands, then looked up at the tower, frowning slightly. She looked back to Q'wellen. He didn't even acknowledge the sentry, he just stared at the tower with his normal scimitar in his hand, gripping and regripping the hilt.

"Yes, yes we are..."

"Welcome then. Feel free to seek refuge from the cold here, in the house of Our God."

Those words sent shivers up Myra's spine. The guard opened the door, allowing Q'wellen to pass. Ainuyr touched Myra's arm, "Should we wait?"

Myra looked into the tower entryway. Q'wellen was calling out, "KHELLENDURAS!!!"

"Come in... please," she said quietly to the others. She did not want Q'wellen to be alone in there, but she didn't want to be the only one with him either, should the lich actually be here.

Q'wellen climbed the stairs into the second room, his eyes searching for any sign of Khellenduras. Myra motioned the others after her. Standing to the side of the room was another man, staring at a large painting on the wall. A painting of Khellenduras...

Myra greeted him, drawing his attention away from the painting. The sage took his eyes from the painting, nodding politely to Myra. "Welcome to the Temple, friend."

Myra gestured to the painting. It was a likeness of Khellenduras, crushing someone's skull with his antiqued war mace. "What is that painting of...?" she asked quietly, while the others look around the room.

"Beautiful, isn't it? It depicts the god Khellenduras smithing an infidel...one of the heathen elves."

"Elves?!" the words sprung to Myra's tired lips before she thought about them.

The sage didn't seem to notice that a handful of the new visitors were of that race; he seemed entranced with the painting. "A fell race... I've heard rumors the Legion is forming an offensive against them."

Myra nodded her thanks to the man and quickly moved away from him. She turned her attention back to the group in the room. Q'wellen was speaking, the blood now had soaked his entire tunic.

"You must all leave."

Ainuyr protested with logic, "And let you alone, in your condition?" The pool of blood about Q'wellen's feet was slowly growing.

"Tonight it ends between us..." Q'wellen turned his gaze to Mike, as Myra stepped back into a corner near Q'wellen, blending in with the shadows there. "You must tell the guild... I'm not sure I can stop him... You all must leave..."

Mike nodded his consent and acceptance of Q'wellen's wishes. "I will tell them Q'wellen." Mike offered Q'wellen a calm smile.

Q'wellen put a hand on Mike's sholder. "Diola lle, mellon'amin." Mike rested his hand on Q'wellen's, reassuringly.

"I feel him coming." Q'wellen looked around the room. "Get outta here."

Myra did not try to cloak herself in the shadows now, but merely stood there, her eyes staring sadly at the floor.

Ainuyr shook his head. "It doesn't seem right..." He moved reluctantly to the stairs.

"It is alright, guild'friend. Pass word to the guild, I do this for them."

Just as the last of them travelled down the stairs, Myra moved to the top of the stairwell.

A shiver passed over her as the shadows pulled away from even the corner she stood in. The dark particles formed together, and from them stepped the form of Khellenduras. He spoke two words in Myra's direction. Leave him.

Myra stood in place, watching the horrific scene unfolding before her eyes.

Khellenduras stepped forward, smirking at Q'wellen.

"...Q'wellen..." Myra's eyes were rivetted on what was happening, and she felt as if she were watching in a dream. Her arms were heavy and her feet felt weighted to the spot. She was close enough, that if she could lift her arm, she could touch Q'wellen.

Let him die if he wishes.

Q'wellen did not look her way, but must have felt her anguish in being unable to act. "Goodbye, Mela."
were his final words as he rushed toward Khellenduras, blade held high.

Khellenduras lifted a hand and Q'wellen flew back against the wall. It took but a moment for Q'wellen to regain his feet, ignoring any injury that may have been done to him, and charge at the lich again. Khellenduras' face twisted into a horrid mockery of amusement as he again lifted his hand and flung the elven bladesinger back. Struggling to his feet again, Q'wellen gripped his sword firmly with both hands.

Myra could feel the energy in the air, and finally took note of the lantern in Khellenduras' hands. He could end this quickly, but he wanted to toy with Q'wellen. She could hear shouts from downstairs and, for just a moment, turned her gaze out the window.

Snow was drifting softly to the ground, a stark contrast to the energy and rage in the room in which she stood. On the horizon she could see banners... and forms marching. Soon she discerned they were orcs, bearing the banner of... The Raven! Khellenduras!

Her eyes snapped back to the scene in the room. Q'wellen's sword was whirling through the air in front of him, and his eyes were locked on the form of Khellenduras across the room from him. Myra recognized one of the techniques of the Megilindir, the Bladesinger.

Downstairs, cries erupted as the soldiers of Khellenduras attacked the rest of the group. Khellenduras smiled, a cold, emotionless smile, as part of his Legion heeded his call. All the while, Q'wellen was relying on his Bladesinger training, he began to hum softly, advancing on Khellenduras.

At the moment that Khellenduras turned his attention to acknowledging the arrival of the orcish band, Q'wellen made his move. He stepped in, sweeping his curved blade in an arch. The blade slipped between Khellenduras' breast plate and paldron (shoulder covering) and sliced deep into the lich's flesh. Just as smoothly as it made the cut, Q'wellen was back at the ready.

In response, Khellenduras' eyes flared with unholy red light, and he lifted the lantern, opening its shutter. As Q'wellen grew weaker he whispered his last words to her, "For... love... Myra." The black flame flared, and Q'wellen fell to the floor. The lantern glowed more brightly, but Khellenduras snapped the shutter closed.

Myra could see that Q'wellen was still breathing... all she had to do was... grab him and run. She could take him from here, save him from Khellenduras. But her feet would not respond, and her voice would not come.

Khellenduras lowered the lantern and walked over to Q'wellen's limp form. With one hand he lifted the unconscious elf from the floor. Myra could only glare at Khellenduras, fighting back the tears in her eyes, as she watched him move in for the kill.

"Myra! You should go now!" Mike called from downstairs, where the orcs were successfully being held off. She could only lift a hand to signal for none of them downstairs to come up. He would kill them too, for certain.

Khellenduras lifted Q'wellen's body high into the air, waves of electricity passing from the lich's grasp through the body of the elf. Myra finally managed to force the words out, "...you will pay for this..."

Voices came from downstairs. "Get her down from there." "Pull her down." Crimson... And Galahad, "Come, Myra..." "Too much has happened tonight." But she could hardly hear them over the roar in her ears. One voice cut through the anguish in her mind, as easily as cold steel...

My legions are on their way. This is only one battalion. Run while you can.

"Galahad, grab her! Pull her down!" Crimson was imploring him. She knew Galahad was only a few steps down from her. But she stared at the lifeless body of Q'wellen A'thori, not caring. "Leave me be."

Her eyes moved to glare at Khellenduras.

You entered my temple...

The urgent pleas from below grew. Mike insisted, "Get her! NOW!" Galahad called to her, "Myra, now!" and he grabbed for her arm. But at that moment, Khellenduras lifted a hand and Myra was lifted into the air. Shadows coalesced about her and she fell into a snow drift.

She sat there, staring at the white expanse, stained with blood before her. Remnants of Q'wellen's blood on her own armor, from when he had pulled her near in an embrace. She looked down at her hands.

Q'wellen A'thori's blood was on her hands.

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> Myra pushed through the gate, and through the snowdrift that lay on the other end. A small tower loomed over them to the south of the gate. She waited for the others to come through and motioned to the tower. "This is... Andrew's home." > Q'wellen stepped up beside her, his expression grim. Quietly, "I will face him alone." > They rounded the side of the building to be greeted by a sentry at the door. Myra looked at him quizzically. "Hail..." she greeted the guard in the common tongue. > He nodded to her in greeting, "Be you a follower of Khellenduras....?" > Myra eyed the mace in his hands, then looked up at the tower, frowning slightly. She looked back to Q'wellen. He didn't even acknowledge the sentry, he just stared at the tower with his normal scimitar in his hand, gripping and regripping the hilt. > "Yes, yes we are..." > "Welcome then. Feel free to seek refuge from the cold here, in the house of Our God." > Those words sent shivers up Myra's spine. The guard opened the door, allowing Q'wellen to pass. Ainuyr touched Myra's arm, "Should we wait?" > Myra looked into the tower entryway. Q'wellen was calling out, "KHELLENDURAS!!!" > "Come in... please," she said quietly to the others. She did not want Q'wellen to be alone in there, but she didn't want to be the only one with him either, should the lich actually be here. > Q'wellen climbed the stairs into the second room, his eyes searching for any sign of Khellenduras. Myra motioned the others after her. Standing to the side of the room was another man, staring at a large painting on the wall. A painting of Khellenduras... > Myra greeted him, drawing his attention away from the painting. The sage took his eyes from the painting, nodding politely to Myra. "Welcome to the Temple, friend." > Myra gestured to the painting. It was a likeness of Khellenduras, crushing someone's skull with his antiqued war mace. "What is that painting of...?" she asked quietly, while the others look around the room. > "Beautiful, isn't it? It depicts the god Khellenduras smithing an infidel...one of the heathen elves." > "Elves?!" the words sprung to Myra's tired lips before she thought about them. > The sage didn't seem to notice that a handful of the new visitors were of that race; he seemed entranced with the painting. "A fell race... I've heard rumors the Legion is forming an offensive against them." > Myra nodded her thanks to the man and quickly moved away from him. She turned her attention back to the group in the room. Q'wellen was speaking, the blood now had soaked his entire tunic. > "You must all leave." > Ainuyr protested with logic, "And let you alone, in your condition?" The pool of blood about Q'wellen's feet was slowly growing. > "Tonight it ends between us..." Q'wellen turned his gaze to Mike, as Myra stepped back into a corner near Q'wellen, blending in with the shadows there. "You must tell the guild... I'm not sure I can stop him... You all must leave..." > Mike nodded his consent and acceptance of Q'wellen's wishes. "I will tell them Q'wellen." Mike offered Q'wellen a calm smile. > Q'wellen put a hand on Mike's sholder. "Diola lle, mellon'amin." Mike rested his hand on Q'wellen's, reassuringly. > "I feel him coming." Q'wellen looked around the room. "Get outta here." > Myra did not try to cloak herself in the shadows now, but merely stood there, her eyes staring sadly at the floor. > Ainuyr shook his head. "It doesn't seem right..." He moved reluctantly to the stairs. > "It is alright, guild'friend. Pass word to the guild, I do this for them." > Just as the last of them travelled down the stairs, Myra moved to the top of the stairwell. > A shiver passed over her as the shadows pulled away from even the corner she stood in. The dark particles formed together, and from them stepped the form of Khellenduras. He spoke two words in Myra's direction. <i> Leave him.</i> > Myra stood in place, watching the horrific scene unfolding before her eyes. > Khellenduras stepped forward, smirking at Q'wellen. > "...Q'wellen..." Myra's eyes were rivetted on what was happening, and she felt as if she were watching in a dream. Her arms were heavy and her feet felt weighted to the spot. She was close enough, that if she could lift her arm, she could touch Q'wellen. > <i>Let him die if he wishes.</i> > Q'wellen did not look her way, but must have felt her anguish in being unable to act. "Goodbye, Mela." > were his final words as he rushed toward Khellenduras, blade held high. > Khellenduras lifted a hand and Q'wellen flew back against the wall. It took but a moment for Q'wellen to regain his feet, ignoring any injury that may have been done to him, and charge at the lich again. Khellenduras' face twisted into a horrid mockery of amusement as he again lifted his hand and flung the elven bladesinger back. Struggling to his feet again, Q'wellen gripped his sword firmly with both hands. > Myra could feel the energy in the air, and finally took note of the lantern in Khellenduras' hands. He could end this quickly, but he wanted to toy with Q'wellen. She could hear shouts from downstairs and, for just a moment, turned her gaze out the window. > Snow was drifting softly to the ground, a stark contrast to the energy and rage in the room in which she stood. On the horizon she could see banners... and forms marching. Soon she discerned they were orcs, bearing the banner of... The Raven! Khellenduras! > Her eyes snapped back to the scene in the room. Q'wellen's sword was whirling through the air in front of him, and his eyes were locked on the form of Khellenduras across the room from him. Myra recognized one of the techniques of the Megilindir, the Bladesinger. > Downstairs, cries erupted as the soldiers of Khellenduras attacked the rest of the group. Khellenduras smiled, a cold, emotionless smile, as part of his Legion heeded his call. All the while, Q'wellen was relying on his Bladesinger training, he began to hum softly, advancing on Khellenduras. > At the moment that Khellenduras turned his attention to acknowledging the arrival of the orcish band, Q'wellen made his move. He stepped in, sweeping his curved blade in an arch. The blade slipped between Khellenduras' breast plate and paldron (shoulder covering) and sliced deep into the lich's flesh. Just as smoothly as it made the cut, Q'wellen was back at the ready. > In response, Khellenduras' eyes flared with unholy red light, and he lifted the lantern, opening its shutter. As Q'wellen grew weaker he whispered his last words to her, "For... love... Myra." The black flame flared, and Q'wellen fell to the floor. The lantern glowed more brightly, but Khellenduras snapped the shutter closed. > Myra could see that Q'wellen was still breathing... all she had to do was... grab him and run. She could take him from here, save him from Khellenduras. But her feet would not respond, and her voice would not come. > Khellenduras lowered the lantern and walked over to Q'wellen's limp form. With one hand he lifted the unconscious elf from the floor. Myra could only glare at Khellenduras, fighting back the tears in her eyes, as she watched him move in for the kill. > "Myra! You should go now!" Mike called from downstairs, where the orcs were successfully being held off. She could only lift a hand to signal for none of them downstairs to come up. He would kill them too, for certain. > Khellenduras lifted Q'wellen's body high into the air, waves of electricity passing from the lich's grasp through the body of the elf. Myra finally managed to force the words out, "...you will pay for this..." > Voices came from downstairs. "Get her down from there." "Pull her down." Crimson... And Galahad, "Come, Myra..." "Too much has happened tonight." But she could hardly hear them over the roar in her ears. One voice cut through the anguish in her mind, as easily as cold steel... > <i> My legions are on their way. This is only one battalion. Run while you can.</i> > "Galahad, grab her! Pull her down!" Crimson was imploring him. She knew Galahad was only a few steps down from her. But she stared at the lifeless body of Q'wellen A'thori, not caring. "Leave me be." > Her eyes moved to glare at Khellenduras. > <i> You entered my temple...</i> > The urgent pleas from below grew. Mike insisted, "Get her! NOW!" Galahad called to her, "Myra, now!" and he grabbed for her arm. But at that moment, Khellenduras lifted a hand and Myra was lifted into the air. Shadows coalesced about her and she fell into a snow drift. > She sat there, staring at the white expanse, stained with blood before her. Remnants of Q'wellen's blood on her own armor, from when he had pulled her near in an embrace. She looked down at her hands. > Q'wellen A'thori's blood was on her hands.
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