Blood Boulder Keep, In and around the Yellowhaze capital

[Zomby]

In a world that is a constant struggle for survival you would be surprised to find a government as orderly as the Yellowhaze Council. You would also be surprised to find that one of the most powerful nations of this world was intent on the capture or destruction of such a place. But then again, people like you would be surprised that a team of wizards and warriors have gathered together to attempt to steal a corpse from a raving lunatic. Or that in another end of the world that a pair of likely insane mages have released perhaps the deadliest disease in all of the worlds, on an inn full of simpletons. Or that somewhere on the edge of the worlds, a man in dressed in bloody-red was laughing hysterically, slobbering over his snow white beard, as he watched a solid black ball.

But now lets focus not on the other happenings of this tortured world, but on those right in front of us. As we soar hundreds of feet above the hardpan of the Mohaine Desert, let us gaze down. Like Indian tribes small fires burn in equally small encampments. Long dead fires seem to leave a trail, showing how these clans of the Mohaine have moved. All of the blackened trails lead toward the same place, Blood Boulder Keep.

Let us soar even higher and look down upon the city, for it is a city even if it is inhabited by people you would think of as cavemen. It's walls are grand. But the buildings are grander, in the center of the circular city, is a large garden of vast size. It is the only green that can be seen from our point, with the exception of the witch-grass that is crawling over the foothills of the North Quadrant's mountains. Surrounding this oasis are structures of the purest white, they look nearly elven. While we can see the sounds we would hear in the other parts of the city (which is like any other city; the sound of bustling), we cannot in these gardens. They seem serene, peaceful. And would it surprise you if they were?

Let us sink lower with the sun, take a better look at these gardens. What do we see? Catails that wave in the sun. Blossoming flowers, that look like the belong more in a jungle than any desert. On the outskirts, tortured looking grace that is struggling it's way out of the cross between real soil and desert hardpan.

But the important thing to see here is the fountain. One would expect it to be the vulture, the sign of the Yellowhaze. Some would expect The Black Raven, the symbol of both Vaughn Eisenhart and the Order of the Anti-Mage, both of which have long since disappeared from this world. But few would expect what it is. Standing in the middle of the small oasis is a statue of a rose. Water drizzles down it's many petals and it's thorned stem. Would you be surprised if I told you this statue has a twinner? A brother in another world?

Let us step across the todash blackness for just a moment to look at something equally important. Let us step into the Path of Maturin. Let us step into Keystone World New York. Welcome to our world. Welcome to the kingdom of Nozz-A-La and the Takoma Spirit. Welcome to the World of the Writer.

Like Blood Boulder Keep this city is busy, but that doesn't quite fit the chaos. If Blood Boulder Keep was a bee's buzzing this city is a jet engine. Smoke fills the sky, car engines roar, and the buildings scrape the sky.

But just like Blood Boulder Keep has an oasis, so does this world's Blood Boulder Keep. Where we now float is a small vacant lot, that is still owned by a man who calls himself Calvin Tower. But this man is uninteresting, as is his lot. If not for one reason.

Standing amongst the bricks and smashed windows is a single rose. The rose seems to hum to us, to beg us, to draw us in. But we must resist such urges, while the rose has been known to cure such problems as acne and arthritis, it has also been known to draw people with it's beauty. As soon Jake Chambers will learn. All we've done is come to take one look at what in another world is a rose statue. Now it is time to return to the other world.

Welcome once again, to Shardik's side of the Beam. We're losing daylight, so it is best we no longer investigate this world we are visiting, but the people passing through and those who plan to stay. Let us first head for the foothills we saw before, let us see just who is up there.

As we soar above the heads of the desert dwellers we slowly come to where a man from In-World and a boy from New York are speaking. Just hours from now, Jake Chambers, of the Ka-Tet of Nineteen and Ninety-Nine, will be drawn in by the oracle. And in several days time, meet his death within the mountains that border Mid- and End-World.

As Cort, Roland's once mentor, told him, You'll wear out a hundred pairs of boots before you stop. Cort couldn't be closer to the truth. By the time Roland wears out his last pair, the faces we know will all be gone, as will we. We do not have any more time to watch this two enigmatic characters, there are others to see before the sun goes down.

Let us fly to the other end of the North Quadrant. Where the mesas meet the plains of In-World. Where three times the Dahlians of In-World have passed in an attempt to conquer all of the Mohaine. Here we find a man, a desert knight, sitting in speculation. He does not move, so let us instead follow him in his thoughts.

Standing atop the same mesa, a five year younger desert knight stares off towards in world. In his arms sleeps a bah. On his waistbelt a short, rusting scimitar. They call him Aezon the Swift, partly as a joke, partly as a truth. Aezon is fast and agile, but he'll never be looked upon as exceptionally bright. But his heroic acts in the Second War will never be forgotten. Of course they won't, he's one of the members of the Grand Council, right?

Aezon quirks his head at an odd angle, as if a dog listening for an approaching animal. We can only hear what he hears for we are for the time being [i]him. Had we been listening with our own ears we would've heard nothing.

For several minutes he holds his position, until he hears the distinct voice of the undead archmage, Nkormaoh. Slowly several caped figures come into view, marching in lines.

Aezon lifts his bah with his grimy hands. He points it skyward with his grimy hands and then carefully pulls out a sulfur match. With a single flick of his thumb the match head bursts into yellow flames and in another moment the bah bolt bursts into flames. Then the bah fires and the bolt soars overhead, giving the message to the nearest clans; "[/i]The Dahlians are coming! The Dahlians are coming!"

Aezon turns and flees, before he is captured by the magi-knights who have been sent to investigate.

Aezon lifts himself from where he sat five years ago. He also lifts himself from his meditation and we are forced from his thoughts for the time being. He sets off in a quick stride, north towards Blood Boulder Keep of course.

While we can't look at him mentally we can take this oppurtunity to look at him physically. Aezon is an unfascinating man. He, like any smart desert-dweller, is dressed in the loose-fitting, light clothing. His face is grave and serious despite his age. A scar corkscrews across his face.

We walk for an hour with Aezon, before we can once again invade the memories he is reliving. Time is running short and we still need to see others, so let us make haste...

Three dozen men on horses are charging down on Aezon. In the front is the familiar decomposed face of Nkormaoh Tyordano, just behind him we can see Dolormirr and a much younger Lt. Finn. Behind those all we can see are pink faces and orange cloaks.

Bolts of lightning, flashes of flames, and shards of ice are projected from the hands of these thiry-six or so craze mages. Their targets barely get a moment to scream before crumpling to the ground. In short, the mages are cutting through the Yellowhaze lines like a hot knife through butter.

A boulder hoves before Nkormaoh's arm and for a moment we see him make eye contact with Aezon. Nkormaoh pulls back his arm as if to throw, but stops suddenly as the boulder explodes into his unarmored face. Suddenly all of the spells that were tearing their way throug the warriors of the Mohaine stop dead and disappate

Most of the magi-knights look around them. They are puzzled, Nkormaoh is not. He is staring just behind Aezon, already knowing what to expect. With a grunt Aezon the Swift is pushed out of the way and we see a lightly armored figure in all black step into the battlefield.

In either hand this man holds a long, gray sword. In the world we visited earlier this might pass off for a katana. In this world though it is called an arkjild, the weapon used only by the anti-mages of In-World. The only thing more fear-inspiring than the blades are the marks on them, on each is the sign of the Black Raven. We are staring at an anti-mage, and more specifically Yellowhaze's champion, Vaughn Eisenhart.

"Ha! Ha! Get out of the way anti-mage, let us kill these barbarians! Why do you defend them?" asked the archmage, breaking the eerie silence on the battlefield.

"Why did Lord Parsons attempt to foil the Dahlian League?" replied Vaughn Eisenhart cleverly. Nkormaoh seemed to grow rageful at the mention of the creator of both anti-magic and the Order of the Anti-Mage.

A large wave of fire exploded from the undead archmage's hands, at the first sign of movement a black wall ripped its way into existence. Vaughn is clearly the source of this, protecting both himself and the other warriors with the anti-magic shield.

The flames falter for a moment at the edge of the wall, and then force their way out. Eisenhart is tossed aside on to his back. We watch for just a moment as the flames explode towards Aezon, and then the memory ends.

One down two to go. Lets return to Blood Boulder Keep, towards the "elven palace," where we shall find a young telepath by the name of Kai Liao. He has just spoken to the third we shall visited, and for reasons we shall leave to him, is confused and angry. He has retreated to his small apartment like home in one of the towers of the Grand Chambers. Let us soar through his open window and steal a glance at what he is doing and invade his mind as we have already done to Aezon. Come now.

Like Aezon, Kai is dressed in desert knight attire. Although Kai is unequipped he wields a powerful weapon. Had we been standing in front of him in person he would've known what we were thinking. Admiring his handsome face or extravagant apartment.

Without a moment's notice, Kai's arm shoots out and a closet door on the opposite side of the room whips open. A sheathed blade seems to glide toward the telepath. After a few moments of surely remeniscent staring Kai unsheaths the blade. Recognition should scream in your head. Sitting in the hands of the young telepath is a sword we saw in the mind of our last host. This is clearly the arkjild of Vaugh Eisenhart. Although, the mark of the Black Raven has disappeared. But let us not worry of that now, it is time to watch the memories of the young Liao boy.

The first thing we notice is that we are inside Blood Boulder Keep. The city seems ravaged, torn, plagued. Screaming and howling can be heard. Laughing and taunting can be heard. But we are not approaching those noises, we are approaching the quiet murmur of a cluster of cloaked men.

We once again see Vaughn Eisenhart, although this time it's less obvious. The man's spectacles have been left behind, his twin blades have been replaced by a sheath of a long sword, but inside that we cannot doubt is one of Vaughn's arkjilds. The black robes and light armor have been replaced with a simple desert knight uniform which has been ornamented with chainmail, which won't hold against any magic.

To our right is a man we shall meet later. His beard is mostly white, but there are still signs of the original black in it. His hands are old and gnarled. He wears a long white cloak that gives him an extremely peaceful look.

One of the men in the cluster of mages turns to us. He is difficult to indentify, but it is clearly the face of Nkormaoh Tyordano, pre-death. Although he is skinny and weak, he is much more lively than he will be when he is resurrected by a Dahlian necromancer. Nkormaoh sports the same purple robes of the archmagi and around his neck is the talisman he will use to burn the face of Nogus fifteen years later. "Ahh my dear, Rodez Roderick. I wonder what a pair of old men and a boy would be doing coming up to us," Nkormaoh chuckles motioning towards the half dozen magi-knights amongst him.

"We've come to kill you and end your attacks if you must know Nkormaoh," said Rodez, in a comical fashion, although he was not as much as smiling, "I bring you the champion of the Yellowhaze Alliance, will you not send forth your greatest mage and meet my challenge."

"Ha! Ha! This fool isn't worth anyone's time," muttered Nkormaoh, getting a few chuckles from the pack of magi-knights, "How long do you think a weakling like him will last against Dahlia's new void magicks?"

Nkormaoh didn't wait for an answer and continued, "Alright, c'mere boy. Take off your cloak if it's going to interfere with you and come meet your death." Nkormaoh dropped his own cloak revealing his cloth garments. On his belt a long twisting wand and a short fancy blade waited.

Vaughn drops his own cloak, further revealing his desert knight uniform, chainmail, and of course the sheath that holds the arkjild. The anti-mage smiles at the archmage and then mutters, "Well, let the games begin."

An unearthly sound is heard as a void rapes it's way in front of Vaughn. Taken back for a moment, and of course not expecting anything like that, Vaugh is pulled towards the void which is small and primitive. Then just as quickly as the void is brought into the world it disappears. There is no question as to who is responsible for this.

"What the-? Hm, must've messed something up. No matter, there's always time for the conventional," Nkormaoh says, but there's a shadow of a doubt in his eyes. He's become suspicious already.

Nkormaoh extends his index finger towards the anti-mage. A bolt of lightning starts, and then abruptly ends. Nkormaoh looks at Vaughn questioningly, but the only answer he gets is a smile. Another of bolt of lightning from the same finger. Then a large one from his hand. Then ten from each finger. All of the lightning ends before arcing more than a foot towards Vaughn.

With a roar Nkormaoh begins hurling fireballs. What he had expected all along happens, the flames circle around the anti-mage and then fly back at him. A small wall of stone is summoned in front of Nkormaoh, which is quickly destroyed by the his own fireballs.

Through the dust and rubble of the wall, Vaughn is now approaching the archmage. His arkjild has been drawn and the same markings are on it. The markings we saw ten years later in Aezon's memory. Eisenhart swings the blade down at the archmage, who in turn attempts to deflect it with a combination of his own arcane sword and wand. Upon contact, both wand and sword explode. Nkormaoh has been left unnarmed and defenseless. But this does not stop Vaughn.

The anti-mage approaches through the dark smoke of the combusted mana toward the archmage. With a single stroke the anti-mage cuts through the archmages clothing and into his skin. The skin rips at first, but then it bubbles and seems to make small explosions. Blood spatters across the small battlefield and on to both the magi-knights and Eisenhart. Nkormaoh crumbles to the ground, dead.

When we are removed from Kai's thoughts, we see that he has fallen asleep on the hard floor of his apartment. No more to see here, folks. It's time to visit our last host, if we hurry we may finish before the sun has fully set. Now let us hurry to the gardens we were in when the sun was still high in the sky.

Let us look at the elderly man who sits beside the great rose statue. He is the man we saw earlier, in Kai's memories. The man who was called Rodez Roderick, the man who brough Vaughn Eisenhart to kill one of the strongest archmagi of the time. Roderick is ancient. He will take us where few other memories can take us, to In-World before it was conquered by the Dahlians. But this memory will also be the shortest, for there is only one thing we must see here.

Four men stand on a small hill. To the north Jericho Hill is visible. Unknown to any of the men, in two months time Gilead will meet it's demise on this hill. The gunslingers of Gilead will fail themselves and the world when they fall to the wizards of Dahlia. But for now that has yet to happen.

The first man we see is of course Rodez Roderick. His beard shows no signs of the white that will later take it over. He looks young and strong, he's also dressed in the uniform of a desert knight, scimitar and all.

We also see the obviousness of a gunslinger. A wide-brimmed hat, beat-up jeans, a simple cloth shirt, and of course his gunbelts and hard calibers. The man is young, and will be one of the few surivors of Jericho Hill. This man is Zygro diPrinzio.

In the third man we can see (if we look hard enough) Vaughn Eisenhart. He is young and handsome. His arkjild has yet to rest on his hip, but it will soon. He wears the same all black uniform that he did in Aezon's memory.

The fourth man wears a similar uniform to Vaughn, although his is far more extravagant. Lined with silver, the man's cloak waves with the wind. The man looks fifty, on his forehead is an 'X,' the sign of a betrayer. This man has a twinner, much like the roses, but his is far younger. Two arkjild's rest on opposite sides of his hips, the scabbards are also lined in silver and both have the symbol of the Black Raven on them. This is Lord Parsons. In his arms is a baby, Kai Liao to be exact.

"The child will return with you to the Mohaine, Rodez?" asked the elderly anti-mage Lord Parsons.

"Yes. What about the Order, are you going to remain in In-World? And Zygro, what about the gunslingers?" questioned Rodez.

With a chuckle a young Zygro diPrinzio muttered, "Oho! It'll be along time b'fore the gunslingers o' Gilead fall. But some o' the top gunslingers are sending their kiddies off to other parts of the world. Like Stephen Deschain, sent good 'ole Roland to the South Quadrant. 'Tis a shame too, Roland's one o' the best shots I've ever seen."

Lord Parsons looked at Zygro for a second as if to say something, then decided not to but instead answered Roderick's question, "I'm taking the Order into the southern quadrant. I believe that's where we will make the largest difference."

"Uhm," started Vaughn Eisenhart, "I was going to head towards the North Quadrant with Rodez. I reckon if we're more spread out there's more potential for a defense in Mid-World..."

"I know m'boy. That's why I'm carrying two of these things," Lord Parsons said with a grin and quickly unstrapped one of the arkjild's and passed it towards a surprised looking Vaughn Eisenhart.

[Zomby]

"Forward! For the clans! For the desert knights! For Mid-World!"

"Let none survive! Cleanse this land in the name of Dahlia!"

As both of the warcries ended, the opposing sides charged. In the direction that should be south, the mesas look like little more than hills. Towards the north the sun sets behind Blood Boulder Keep that lies roughly thirty miles from first scirmish of the Dahlians latest invasion.

The desert knights are armed to the teeth, most quite literally. Most carry scimitars and bahs, although nearly each one also carries anything they could get their hands on. Some carry short blades from the easternmost quadrant, some carry well-rounded stones that seem perfect for throwing, one can be seen with an ancient-looking flail that he tosses around ungracefully, and nearly everyone can be seen with as many as twelve daggers.

The opposing side seems unarmed, as though they were expecting little more than a fist-fight. But neither the desert knights nor ourselves are that foolish. These are the Dahlians, and even unarmed they are more dangerous than anyone could ever dream. As the desert knights draw closer lightning seems to rip through the dry air, flickering between the unmoving Dahlians. As the desert knights close in their own magical potentional grows.

It seems like hours since the warcries broke the eerie silence of the Mohaine Desert, but it has been only seconds. Bah bolts soar through the sky, most of them falling just short of the front line of Dahlian seekers. The first scattered rows of desert dwellers reach striking range of the magi, but their weapons never draw blood. An incomprehensible and cacophonic myriad of noises tear their way into the eardrums of any close enough to hear. Some sound like fingernails on a chalk board, others ten thousand sheets of paper being torn apart, and some like inhuman hellish screams of mythological beasts.

As our ears fill with the ringing of deafness our eyes to seem to lose their vision also. Light fills the battlefield. Pure untainted magical energy sears it's way forward, flames jet from the open hands of seekers, lightning cracks from the group of Dahlians, ice seems to grow from the dry air freezing some of the charging knights to the hardpan.







The war has begun.

[Idyllwyld]

Blood Boulder Keep, a fortress rising out like a majestic tower among the sandy wastes. What was not so majestic was the hell occurring right outside its thick walls.

The valiant Desert Knights raced across the arid landscape towards what should be certain doom. The Dahlian spellcasters ripped the air apart with their spells, in many cases literally. Columns of arcane energy blazed across the dunes, sending countless knights soaring through the sky. Not all of them were in one piece.

But the desert warriors charged on, racing through the apocalyptic rains being flung at them, until they rammed their swords straight through the Dahlians' robed chests. Thanks to their mastery, their lifetime of training, everywhere they swung their weapons they found their mark. But the wizards only took this opportunity to only launch more spells at the now convenient point-blank range.

Men cried. Men died. Blades fell. Magic rained.


On a dune overlooking the battlefield stood two individuals. Though there were shouts of brazen war-cries and the aching moans of death-throes, there was a small cracking sound. Minute, compared to the roar around them, but a crack nonetheless. It was the sound of one of the two individuals cracking his knuckles. The air was so thick with magic even a non-caster could feel it. The first, then the second of the two men laughed.

Merrick and Edward had finally arrived.

[Zomby]

"Kai?"

The telepath we earlier followed lowers the brass looking glass he held to his right eye moments ago.

"Kai?"

"There's no sign of Nkormaoh," murmured Kai Liao in a worried voice, "It looks like a magi-knight is leading the assualt, of course Nkormaoh could be taking care of business anywhere else in the desert. Maybe he's attempting to get the assistance of the Black Dusts."

"Sounds likely to me," whispered Rodez Roderick, watching as the desert knights pulled back from battle. Nearly a week had passed from the Dahlians original sighting, which was excellent. The Outer Gates had been reinforced with bricks and what lumber they could pull together, The Middle District had been filled with barricades and ambushes, and the weaponsmiths were pumping out bah-bolts and short scimitars like there was no tomorrow, for there was a good chance there wouldn't be.

"You see those three over there," spoke Rodez, his voice growing, "Over there by the sand dune... They're not desert knights, but they don't seem to be in the battle either, check them with the spy glass, mayhap it's Nkormaoh and his lieutenants..."

Kai raised the telescope to his right eye once again and looked at the small black shape that stood on top of the dune. There were a few moments in which he had to focus the telescope, during which Rodez breathed crazily down his back. Then, analyzing what he saw as he muttered it, "There's only two--not three--one of 'em looks like a mage... The other is two hard to make out, could be Dahlian--or even a Black Dust... Wo! They're doing something with their heads..."

"What!?"

"Well... it looks like, um, it looks like, er, they're laughing..."





* * *





"Mi'lord!"

"Mi'lord!!"

This time the other desert knight acknowledges the other man. "What is it Jacob? Can't you seem I'm a little busy back 'ere?"

"Mi'lord! Our chargers are depleted as is our defensive line, we need to pull back to the Keep."

Aezon gives his lieutenant a single, hard look, and then roars, "Pull back! Archers, prepare your fire arrows! If there's a necromancer among this group of bastards I don't want to leave anything fo' him to play with!"

Every man on the battlefield without a bah turned, and almost reluctantly darted off towards the Yellowhaze capital. The archers on the other hand fired their loaded bolts and then loaded one of the specially made ones, developed by one of the engineers of the Mohaine.

"Fire!" roared Aezon, in a louder, powerful voice.

The arrows took off. As they passed the end of the bahs they first sparked then caught up into flames. Steel bolts, flint bah-tips, and smothered in a slow but hot burning fuel, the bolts soared into the sky like comets and then came down upon both the Dahlians and their fallen brethren.

Then the final command came from the desert knight, "Pull back!" With no hesitation at all the last line of desert knights turned and sprinted back within the safety of Blood Boulder Keep.




* * *




"Ha! Cowards! Weaklings! They're pulling back already!" roared Dolormirr triumphantly. He already had a victory under his belt, maybe that would help the Grand Council reconsider pulling the Dahlians out of the Mohaine. Nkormaoh's death had shaken even the other two Grand Archmagi, Ghara had been sent south with the corpse. Maybe it could even be brought back, although Nkormaoh had been in miserable shape when they came across him.

Dolormirr's dreams of promotion to archmage and legendary statis in the Dahlian League was quickly cut off as one of the flaming bolts struck down upon him. A single bah-bolt stood out of Dolormirr's left gauntled hand like a tree out of a hill. Smoke and the smell of charred flesh rose from it. Another six dozen bolts followed the first that had struck the magi-knights. Several hit the Dahlians, one being gripped by the eye of an unfortunate shaman, others simply smouldered on the hardpan, and most struck corpses that littered the battlefield, burning deep holes.

The magi-knight, and now leader of this army, raises his head from his charred hand towards the retreating archers. His uninjured hand rises slowly from his side until it points to one of the many bah-armed desert knights. "Well Aezon, lets see just how swift you are..." As the last word leaves the enraged Dahlian, a hissing ball of magma seems to conjure in front of his hand and zooms towards the retreating desert knight.

[Idyllwyld]

Merrick stopped to catch his breath, doubled over and supporting himself with his hands against his knee-caps. Beside him, "the Boss," returned in a flurry of todash darkness over Edward's face. A gruff voice drawled from the shapeshifter, saying "Well, let's attend to the business at hand." He produced a rope.

"Wait, take these. When you turn me over, pass them around to the Dahlians."

The anti-mage dropped the gems into Edward's hands, about a couple dozen of the luminescent pebbles.

"I thought these were your favorites," said the Lud, stashing the jewels into some pockets and proceeding to tie the anti-mage up.

"Oh, everything has a purpose. Now just seems to be one of those times," grinned Merrick, holding out his arms so they could be bound.

The facade set, the pair traveled down the sand dune towards the battlefield below. The Desert Knights were suffering heavy losses, and divisions of them were already fleeing back to the relative safety of the Keep. The wizard-army advanced triumphantly, throwing more arcane chaos at anything that moved.

The last line of knights halted in their tracks. They were archers, and they pointed their bows high into the sky. At a loud shout from one of the knights, dozens and dozens of arrows flew into the sky, their alighted tips leaving smoke in their trails. The shafts rocketed upwards, and after crossing the apex, swooped back down. Judging from the majority of the struck targets the knights were burning their fallen brethren. However, there were still a sufficient amount of fire raining down on the Dahlians, much to Merrick's delight as he and Edward descended towards their forces.

One magi-knight stepped forward from the onslaught, already terrible injured, managed to summon one last magma bolt at the Desert Knights in the distance. It raced over the sands, heading towards one of the brave defenders in particular.

"Edward, stand in front of me."

"What?"

"Quickly now!"

"Alright..."

The smoldering globe sizzled through the air, like a jaguar after its prey. It was nearly three-fourths of the way there, the final destination being that one Desert Knight's head, when a sheet of blackness flitted by for an instant, so quick that anyone who blinked missed it. What could not be denied, though, was the parted sand, as if something stood atop it. The ball of lava's trajectory plowed right into it. But rather that dissipate, or bounce back, which would have been the most preferable; the magma stampede arched just ever so slightly upwards, its velocity carrying high over the running knights, now on a collision course with the Keep's walls.

"That was rather...uncharacteristic of you."

"I can't be flaunting my hand just yet now, can I? Though, I hate spellbreaking. It's so...low." Merrick's eyes shifted to and fro. "Did they see it?"

"No I don't think so."

"Good! Well, let's tally on, then," chortled the anti-mage as he slipped his hand back into the rope's knotted loop.

[Zomby]

Dolormirr watched as the spell first hurtled toward the troublesome desert knight and then flew several feet above the target's head. The lava spike continued it's course colliding with one of the enormous stone walls, first dripping and then solidifying. "How is it possible that I could be that off...?" murmured the magi-knight, hoping none of the other Dahlians had seen his humiliating miss.

"Dolormirr?"

"Dolormirr!"

"Huh? Wha?" The magi-knight spun about on Bronadoh who was wating patiently for Dolormirr to ask his question. Unsurprisingly the magi-knight did almost immediately, "What is it, Bronadoh?"

"I'm not sure. There's a pair of men coming down this way. I sent a couple of druids up to meet them," whispered the void mage.

"Are they Dahlians?"

"No. At least I don't think so. Neither of them is wearing Dahlian robes. Personally I think it's a drunkard from outside the desert and a madman, but we'll see soon enough-"

Bronadoh's spoken thoughts were cut off as the two figures, earlier spotted by Kai Liao and Rodez Roderick, were brought before Bronadoh and Dolormirr. An escort of seekers and druids standing by the so-called-drunkard and so-called-madman.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" questioned Dolormirr, before a single sound could escape the open mouth of the so-called-drunkard.

[King Darkmoor]

The drunkard turned towards Dolormirr. As he opened his mouth to speak, a the wind carried over his breath, which was stinking of spirits.

“Ahm heer to colk—to collek—to GET the bounty on thish dangerish wishard.” Heh heh heh. I’ve outdone myself with this one. I’ll have to keep this form in mind for future use. He’s a little easier to understand than the old man.

The injured wizard stared blankly at “The Boss”, trying to piece together the slurred jumble. This moment of silence was shattered by a loud belch, quickly claimed by the drunkard. Several of Dolomirr’s mages stepped back to avoid the noxious fumes.

The Boss smiled, revealing teeth yellowed from bad treatment. “Whould one of yoo be sho khind ash to get me shome ale?”

This Dolormirr understood immediately, and would have none of it. Gritting his teeth from the pain of his hand and the new one developing in his head from talking to this fool, he snapped, “I think you’ve had enough! If you’re thirsty water will suffice, do ya ken?”

“You drink water? I haven’t had any of ssshat in yearsh.”

Dolormirr sighed, and hoped that this conversation would end soon. “Who is it exactly that you have brought me?”

At this point his companion, silent to this point, burst into a fit of insane laughter. “I am Merrick the Mad!”

I belive it! “I don’t have time to deal with…wait a minute, wasn’t he the—“

The Boss cut in, “antifreesh?”

“No you idiot! Antimage!”

“Oh. Ah cry par—I cry pard—I’m shorry!”

Dolomirr glared and waved the fool away, forgetting the wound in his hand. “Ouch damnit! Get this moron out of here!”

“Whait! Wut about tha reward money?”

“I’m sure he was carrying at least something of value that you could trade for a drink.”

“Ah already tried, but tha barkEEp (the drunk hiccupped at that point) wouldn’t take theesh!”

The drunk then fumbled in his clothing and managed to pull out some of the gems Merrick handed him earlier. “He didn’t think they were reel.”

Dolomirr hastily grabbed the gems (this time remembering to use his good hand). He could immediately sense the magic flowing through them. “By the Prim! Distribute these so that we can determine their powers.” The other mages nodded eagerly and rushed to complete the order. In this moment of chaos they all missed the drunk’s sober grin and Merrick’s barley-contained cackle.

[Idyllwyld]

His hands bound securely, at least as far as anyone asked, Merrick stood within the make-shift prisoner's tent. The Dahlian League's men had practically pounced over the pair of gems Edward presented, and he found himself conveniently whisked away for safe-keeping. At least, they thought so. Two Dahlian mages, two very angry, very wary mages, stood at either end of the flap leading outside. Beyond the petty canvas were another two sentries, these however less irritable seeing as they at least could feel a refreshing breeze every so often.

The ones inside, though, were not so lucky. Glaring so sternly at the anti-mage, in his thick, nearly enveloping coat was a concept so outlandish in this climate they started to feel hotter just looking at him.

"Stop smiling," the guard on the left snapped.

"I can't."

"And just why not?" the mage snarled.

"Because I was born this way."

"Born smiling?"

"No, born with a face."

The magi-guard on the right guffawed. His companion did not share in the dole humor, his vexing only causing more beads of sweat to collect on a deeply tanned brow.

"Can I take my coat off?"

The guards blinked. "What?"

"Mercy me, it's so hot. May I take my coat off? I'd normally wouldn't ask, but politeness is a virtue. And seeing as my hands are tied, I can't take it off myself."

The left-hand guard raised a blade, distinctly free of any magical runes for this very situation, at Merrick. "Nice try, but we are not going to fall for your tricks!"

"No, it's quite simple. Just come here, and tug at the sleeves--"

"Silence!"

The roar of the disgruntled Dahlian clapped Merrick's mouth shut and even startled the other magi-guard. No one spoke. As the man wished, dead, complete voided noise filled the interior of the tent. All that could be heard were the muffled orders and troop movements outside, and the trio's own breathing. But then, even the anti-mage's inhalations quieted down to nothing, as if his lungs just decided to pause for a moment.

But the moment dragged on. After about a few minutes of this, and not even a twitch of hair, the right guard noticed the eyes on their prisoner begin to glaze over. The usually subtle flow of the anti-mage's garments ceased, as if he had become frozen in time. Dark thoughts started to creep through the Dahlian's mind.

What if he's dead? Has he suffocated? Was he not kidding about the heat? I mean, those clothes are possibly the worst thing to wear in such a desert. He's not even breathing!

The right-man stepped forward.

"Nooo!" cried the other, rushing forward with outstretched hands to knock his moronic fool of a fellow guard aside before he could get within the anti-mage's lethal range.

"May I take my coat off?" suddenly spouted from Merrick's lips.

Both Dahlians recoiled back. Merrick pouted.

"....I'll fetch one of the officers," the east-most guard rasped with wide eyes and breath still trying to catch up to him. He turned and raised the flap and exited outside.

"I promise you'll like what you see," Merrick beamed.

The other guard's face blanched and he stepped outside too.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The twin sentries outside saluted the two interior sentries as they and one of Dolormirr's lieutenants approached the tent. Nobody looked happy. Unless you counted that one magi-knight in the other company, but that was only because he in fact had been born with his face in a smile.

"--the bastard nearly died, we thought. And he keeps complaining--"

The officer grunted, cutting them off, and flung aside the flap. He stepped inside, fed up as the two guards still stammered on their explanation for disturbing his evening meal. The two fellows followed in a foot behind.

"Hello," waved Merrick, at least as best anyone could wave with both hands caught between a plank of wood keeping the palms safely far apart and unable to grasp anything. He let his non-covered arms fall back to his side.

What was supposed to cover his arms, the trench-coat to be precise, now lay at his feet. Buckled open and strewn across the floor. Meanwhile the guard who had originally been on the left side of the inner flap couldn't help his eyes as they bulged outwards as he stared bleakly at Merrick.

"How did you---!?"

The officer however was far too otherwise occupied to notice that their prisoner, who was supposed to be tied up, had somehow taken off his own coat. In fact, what his own eyes were bulging out at was even better than the dinner ration. It was the inner lining of the anti-mage's coat.

That included his collection of arcane gems.

The lieutenant was too flabbergasted to speak as he witnessed his garbled reflection in the mirror of glowing stones. He fell to his knees, and snatched out at a couple of the concentrated magic orbs. The surge of power felt like a blessing from the heavens, as if he alone could take on the world.

"Take.....take this," he wheezed at the non-dumbstruck guard who wasn't already distracted by Merrick's inexplicably Houdini, "all of these," he gagged, "to Master Dolormirr....at once!"

[Zomby]

"My god..."

"How many of these did you say there were?" questioned Dolormirr, his eyes attempting to stare at each of the magical artifacts at once.

"There were more, sir. Liuetant Finn still has a couple dozen in the prison tent and I believe another guard was ordered to bring the cloak by," reported the scrawny-looking guard who had been told by Finn minutes earlier to bring as many of the artifacts to Dolormirr as possible.

Mouth agape Bronadoh murmured, "Dolormirr, look at this one." Upon seeing it, Dolormirr's open mouth seemed to drop several more inches toward the ground. Holding the minute triangular pendant the void mage attempted to continue, "I-it's th-th-the puh-puh-Pendant o-of Muh-muh-muh..."

"Marten," the guard finished for him.

"But this hasn't been seen for at least twenty years," muttered Dolormirr in a low voice of excitement and fright. "Jordan Bladehunter was the last to watch over it, he was struck down near Screaming Bay. I had gone myself to investigate his death, he was covered in magic induced wounds; we thought it was just a band of rogue magi in the area... Bronadoh, let me see it."

As the small pendant passed from the hands of the void mage, Bronadoh, to the scarred hand of Dolormirr it changed from a swirling, dark purple to a wildly-moving deep orange dotted occasionally by what looked like small forks of lightning. Without hesitation Dolormirr hung the pendant around his own neck. As the silver chain rested against the magi-knight's tanned neck it seemed to him as if every cell in his body was expanding and growing in every direction. The power he felt in himself seemed unstoppable!

A smile spread across the face of the magi-knight as we whispered, "Guard, tell Finn to c'mere with Bronadoh and look through the rest of these. I'm sure we can unbury some equally worthwhile artifacts in both the cloak and the pile we have here."

As the guard turns to fulfill his orders Dolomirr murmurs one more command, "Also, bring the bounty hunter to me, maybe he has earned himself a drink after all."

[King Darkmoor]

Dolomir watched as the bounty hunter slowly walked towards him. In the hours the mages had kept him captive he had sobered up, and now seemed to be suffering from a nasty hangover.

When they arrived, the mage escorting him, a young apprentice by the name of Ruza, curtly saluted and called out, “The prisoner is here as you re—“ His voice was cut out as the bounty hunter, grimacing in pain, socked him solidly in the jaw.

As Ruza tried to recover from the blow that sent him sprawling on the ground, several mages leaped up and pointed their hands at him menacingly.

“Why in Gan’s name would you do a thing like that!” asked Dolamir with surprise and anger.

“I’ve got a hangover that could kill a Gunslinger and that [Explicative Deleted] is [Explicative Deleted] screaming like a [Explicative Deleted] [Explicative Deleted] [Explicative Deleted] [Explicative Deleted]!”

Dolomir smiled at this. He found this pathetic little drunkard amusing. Besides, he had brought them the anti-mage, who brought them the artifact he was now wearing. “All of you, drop your spells. The bounty hunter had good reason.” All this had to be said in an elevated voice so he could be sure that all heard, and the bounty hunter clamped his hands over his ears and groaned.

“What do you want? Are you [Explicative Deleted] going to release me now?”

“First of all, stop swearing. Your little hangover is nothing compared to the pain I can cause you.”

The bounty hunter was about to give a sharp reply when he seemed to think better of it and clamped his mouth shut.

“I brought you here to thank you. That anti-mage has enough stolen artifacts to feed an army. Literally! We’ve already begun to distribute them.”

Just then Bronadoh arrived. “Sir, I really think we should reconsider passing out all those items before our seekers have a chance to analyze them all.”

Dolomir waved him off with his now-bandaged hand. “There are so many that we would have broken Blood Boulder before they are done. I decided that each mage would be individually responsible for cataloging the artifact assigned to them.” Branadoh still had doubts, but he knew his place and bowed before leaving.

Following the interaction Dolomir saw the bounty hunter looking at him strangely. “Just how are you planning on thanking me?”

Dolomir smiled and handed him a sack. Inside were several non-magical gems. “There is the reward money for the anti mage along with some extra for all the artifacts he carried.”

The bounty hunter seemed pleased beyond words, almost giggling at the sight of the valuable gems. “There is enough here for a year’s supply of spirits!”

Yes, and you’ll somehow manage to go through it all in a month. “You may go now. I recommend going back the way you came, this region will be…chaotic for quite some time.”

The bounty hunter nodded, and departed, heading in the direction of Screaming Bay.

Once he felt it was safe enough to do so, Edward morphed back into his “normal” form. Carefully putting the small sack in one of his inner pockets, he chuckled. Real money…it has been quite some time since I’ve had any!

Edward then morphed into a small bird, and flew back toward Merrick’s tent.

[Zomby]

OOC: First let me say, that between school, marching band, and absurd amounts of homework my posting will slow down during the week. Trok will only be able to pop in and out of the growing plot in DivRes now and SLG will most likely slow down also. I'm sorry ahead of time if this conflicts with anything you have planned now or in the future. Lithium, I'll get back to Algul Siento as soon as I have something to say and enough time to type it



Just moments after the bounty hunter was released from the Dahlians custody, Dolormirr turned and headed back towards the command tent with Bronadoh in tow. A brief and rare gust of cool wind blew silently across the Dahlian camp, and for a moment Dolormirr's crimson armor was exposed, among the two magical blades he had earlier fought Nogus with was a third. The third blade was simple and plain, although not curved like the traditional desert knight blade it was one of Blood Boulder Keep's fallen heroes tool of death nonetheless.

"Have you taken a look at those things that were given to you Bronadoh?" Dolormirr muttered, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper lost in the wind.

"Yes. But Dolormirr, I'm not impressed; I'm frightened. You see this," continued Bronadoh, lifting a small golden ring with an obsidian black gem in the center, "This is a Soulstone. They were created after the Tome of Chaos was discovered and researched. It tears a recently-killed soul from the todash darkness and imprisons it within this... thing... for the single purpose of boosting a chaos mage's ability to open voids or shapeshift."

"What's so bad about that--?"

"What's so bad! What's so bad!?" Bronadoh yelped, his voice carrying over the entire camp. "Imprisoning souls is not a good way to go, Dolormirr. I believe they can seek vengance even within their prisons, the two dozen or so magi who used soulstones in the early days of Dahlia, all died early and odd deaths. Gentarron Heldro, an early void mage, was mashed by half a dozen church bells in Sonouth's largest cathedral. Ariel deLodomir, an elderly and masterful void mage and shapeshifter, was found in a public bath with her hair torn out, her eyes and tongue were torn out, and the wierdest part was, there wasn't a drop of blood around her or in her body. Out of the tweny some earlier chaos mages who were awarded these Soulstones, all of them died deaths like Mistress Ariel and Master Heldro, except Lord Parsons, who was wise enough to destroy his after the death of Gentarron."

"I'm disappointed," stated Dolormirr, chin raised high, "With the loss of Nogus and his chaos knights you're the only one capable of using that. It's a shame it must go to waste..."

"Dolormirr..."

"Yes?"

"Cut it out."



---



Leon's eyes flashed from the anti-mage, to the tent entrance, to the second guard, Wendell. He had been put on guard duty roughly an hour ago, when Lt. Finn had relieved the other guards while he set-off to speak to General Dolormirr and the void mage, Bronadoh. The matters they would discuss were predictable, what they would do with the anti-mage, the distribution and use of the artifacts, and of course the ever popular "what-to-do-with-Blood-Boulder-Keep."

The dirty flaps to the tent flew open and a man in an orange cloak strode in. If the armor and cloak wasn't enough to tell you he was a magi-knight then the way he strode, like he was on top of the world, was. Leon had never spoken with this specific magi-knight, but apparently Wendell had, "G'day Capt'n. Enny wuhd from Doluhmor?"

The Captain gave one disgusted look to the foul-smelling seeker and then turned his attention to the captured anti-mage. "General Dolormirr has ordered your immediate execution. We'll be removing your head from your shoulders in five minutes or so--Why are you smiling!?"

The anti-mage stared eye to eye with the Captain who loomed above the hog-tied anti-mage. He attempted to stifle a giggle, but was unsuccessful. He did manage to say, "Well, ya see Captain, I've just never expierenced death! I thought it t'would be interesting is all."

Outside the tent a bird sang. None heard it except the singer and the prisoner.

[Idyllwyld]

"Really? Oh, that's splendid," gleamed Merrick.

"Hey, shut up in there!" one of the sentries shouted from outside.

"Sorry! A little birdie was telling me something. But, I would appreciate it if you'd be quiet. It's hard to hear it over such a racket."

Another warble penetrated the air of the tent. The anti-mage cocked his head to one side, eyes glancing at the empty space before him.

"Mmm hmm. Oh? Soulstone? My oh my, they're clever ones, aren't they?"

"I said, shut up!" barked the guard.

"Well excuse me!" snapped Merrick, only for the scowl to turn into a curious smile as more chirping came. "What? Right now? No, no, no. Mustn't spoil the climax!"

"That's it, I'm coming in there!" Outside, the shadowed outline of one of the Dahlians trudged around to the entrance flap of the tent. The sharp point of a spear burst inside first, quickly followed by the rest of the sentry.

"Who in the hell are you talking to!?"

"Well, at the moment, you."

"No! I meant just a minute ago!"

"Well, if I could go back to a minute ago, I'd be a Time mage. But sadly my last name isn't Acalandavaso. It's Asgard. No relation."

The guard just glared at Merrick, his mouth warped into itself as he spouted silent profanities. Seeing as how this form of venting wasn't efficient, the man just sighed and stepped back out of the tent.

The bird sang another lovely song.

"No, I don't think they noticed," replied Merrick who was snug and warm in his coat, "I left the sleeves off, better to work that way. I guess they care about my well-being, not wanting me to catch a cold during the night and spoil their pomp-and-circumstance execution. Why else would they not mind?"

The pile of fabric at the anti-mage's feet was considerably lessened since the lieutenant had visited. About a whole coat's worth less. Not counting the sleeves, of course.

How it got back from there, well, if you can answer that, then you know how the coat got to the floor in the first place.

[King Darkmoor]

The bird took flight from the tent and hastily flew towards Blood Boulder keep. The trip was a short one as the pillars of heat radiating from the hot sand quickly lifted the bird high up into the air with minimal effort on its part.

About damn time this heat was put to good use. Thought Edward as he banked over the fortress and approached the central tower. The bars lining the windows were designed to keep invaders from climbing into the tower, but not the small songbird that was Edward.

Landing inside a chamber he realized was a bedroom, the shape shifter briefly checked for any other occupants in the room and transformed into his “normal” form. He had just finished when a powerful force suddenly invaded his mind, a force stronger than he had felt since…well he preferred not to remember that time in his life, so he buried the memory, sticking to the present.

Who are you! demanded the force, and it took all of Edward’s will not to collapse then and there under the terrible mental onslaught. With all his might he tried to push the force outside of his mind, but was unable to completely shut the door. The one responsible had placed his foot in the doorway, and no amount of pushing on his part would be able to close the portal all the way. Accepting a stalemate, Edward attempted to locate the psychic responsible for this.

It was then that he noticed the closet in the far side of the room, where a young man stood holding an ancient sword. Using his physical voice now, Kai Liao repeated his question. “Who are you?”

[Idyllwyld]

A few minutes later the Magi-knights barged into the tent. Their stoic and cold expressions leered out from beneath ornately crafted helms while their hands rested lightly on the pommel of their swords. The soldiers were soon followed by an officer, who bowed his head as he stepped beneath the opening flap into the dank make-shift prison.

"Merrick Asgard," he spoke in a monotonous tone, "It is time for your execution, for crimes against the Dahlian League."

"So, you really adore the gems you stole then, eh?" the anti-mage grinned conspicuously.

"Silence!" the lieutenant smacked him across the face. "Take him away," he motioned to Merrick. The guards carefully unshackled the chains around the Mad one's legs and forearms, leaving only the wrist-binder. With a sharp prod with the back of his sword, the sentry urged Merrick forward.

The lieutenant and his attendants, followed by half a dozen Magi-Knights all surrounding the anti-mage, strode up a sandy hill outside the encampment. Strewn about the ground were the headless bodies of captured Desert Knights, their purpose long ago outlived. Two of the guards grabbed Merrick by the arm and shoved him over to a spot on the sand, notably caked over with dried blood. The Lieutenant nodded to another Dahlian, a considerably beefier trimmed one, who proceeded to draw a very long, very sharp claymore.

"Don't I get any last words? Perhaps some historical phrase that people will remember me by?" implored the coated, sans sleeves, anti-mage.

"No."

"Well I never!" squealed Merrick, "How positively ru---ACHOO!"

A piece of wood, actually two pieces of wood connected by a hinge, with two holes cut a little bit apart from each other, fell to the sand.

"Oh, excuse me," the anti-mage said embarrassingly. He wiped at his nose with the back of one hand. "I must have caught a cold---" he suddenly shot forward, grabbing his executioner by the face.

"How did his binders..." the lieutenant stammered. He quickly regained his compsure, and pointed at the chuckling Merrick. "Kill him now!"

The other guards brought out their own blades and rushed towards the former-prisoner. Merrick laughed, that sinister playfulness now pulsing full-blast in his eyes. Meanwhile the broad-shouldered executioner had dropped his large war-blade and was desperately trying to unlatch himself from the iron-grip that clutched his face.

The Magi-knights fell upon the duo, their specially-assigned non-magical blades still clamoring for spilled blood. Merrick threw the man in his grasp into the deadly points, then with a swift kick to the chest sent the lifeless, holed body crashing over the guards. The remaining men who rushed Merrick from behind thrust forward, but the anti-mage cocked his head to the side, losing only his fedora as it flittered away. He reached out; arms crossed over each other, and grabbed two of the outstretched wrists. He pulled them close, and then tightened his hold to the point of bone audible breaking. The two Magi-Knights cried out in pain, dropping their blades. Merrick then spun them around, letting their backs take the oncoming slashes of the others' swords.

The madman tossed aside his expended human shields. The Dahlians' eyes went wide as their butchered brethren came at them, but gruffly knocked them away and rushed forward again at their retreating quarry.

Merrick flapped his arms about, and slits of the todash darkness cracked open into the world, charging his energies. The resulting winds sent clouds of sand into the air, dust storms which he directed at his pursuers. The wizards threw their arms in front of their eyes, trying to stave off the roaring sands. Asgard only fueled the flitting sandstorm by delving into more anti-magic. One of the Magi-knight screamed beneath the tearing winds, reflexively recanting some words that parted the dust away from his body. It was what Merrick was waiting for, a spell!

The crackling anti-magic in his palms, the anti-mage pointed at the novice-level mana shield and looped its magicks into itself, detonating it. Of the poor soul who cast the spell and thus was in its epicenter, nothing could be seen. Meanwhile, the brief explosion scattered the other guards, leaving Merrick to race unabated back to the encampment.

"Fwa ha ha ha ha!" he whooped, eyes wide with such glee that hadn't emerged since fateful that day in Screaming Bay.

[Zomby]

The first telepathic thought had stunned Edward for a moment, by he quickly recovered. Instantly he attempted to defend the thoughts which the telepath could meddle with. He hid them, as if tossing shadows over them. But the telepath's own power cut through the metaphorical shadows like a spotlight. Edward could feel as his every thought, emotion, and memory was turned over in the mind of the man standing opposite of him. As soon as it began it stopped, Kai Liao had searched the shapeshifter's mind only for the things that concerned him: his allegiance.

"Edward of Lud, it's nice to meet a powerful friend," muttered the telepath apocalyptically. His left arm extended, his clenched fist opened, and slowly the long, baggy white sleeve fell down toward his elbow. Then with a smile he continued, "I like to give comrades a little privacy, what are you doing here?"


---


"Ugh!"

Flames slid off the steel shield of Captain Reynolds. Sand kicked up around the center of the Dahlian Encampment and random spells were being tossed about everywhere. After the first casting of a spell all hell had broken loose. Now only the most disciplined warriors were resisting the casting of spells.

Reynolds pulled the shield up over his chest again and continued to push his way to the center of the madness. The epicenter of which, was the crazed anti-mage they had captured earlier.



---



The white lightning danced around the orange gem around the neck of Dolormirr. At a swift pace he was heading towards the Black Dust command tent. On his right Lt. Finn marched in time with him and on his left Bronadoh sloppily jogged alongside the other two.

Had the tent not been staked down it was clear it would've been sucked into the vortex surrounding the anti-mage. Khan Darkwolf stood outside the entrance of the tent, his axes by his feet and his clay anti-magical amulent attempting to dart off towards the sandstorm. The massive man grimaced and yelled, "Wha' tha' bl'idee f'ck is goig ahn?"

Dolormirr ignored the khan and continued on into the tent, Bronadoh and Lt. Finn stopped and looked up at the gigantic man. "The anti-mage is causing havoc, I have no idea what Dolormirr is doing though..." Bronadoh said.

Before he could finish Dolormirr and Kroman emerged from the tent, Kroman worried and pale, Dolormirr smiling and brandishing Kroman's rifle.