Although Glanhelmion himself personally held a distaste for the human creation of combustion weapons, he was instructed in their use, and was required to carry more than one of said weapons. Personally he liked pistols, but on certain occasions he carried a small sawed" off shotgun; and, the weapon itself looked the epitome of its name, being only slightly larger than the other two pistols that were concealed on his form. A double barrel, of the most common variety, simple, well maintained, loaded with buckshot.
Tonight he was glad to have brought along that lump of steel. Red flecks making a rotation in the pools of silver as the six-foot-six frame emerged from the cave entrance. Cool night air lashing over his face the Trueblood ceased his moments. Displaced energies greeted him, and he could feel it, picking up the traces of magic on the air; what was more alarming was, his sighting the various auras that began filling in the tree-lines he figured that his presence was no longer unknown.
Or maybe it was the weapon he had come to receive; the assassin was most unsure, all he understood was that he had to get word below. Calling to memory the Dwarven Lord Holder, he envision the man's face, and the message was rushed but believed to be adequate.
"Danger has found me, seal the tunnels for the moment Lord Dwarf!"
His hopes were that the warning would have the desired affect, and that the Dwarves would make it through whatever wouldn't follow his lead. The teleport was far to slow, three cloaked figures had made it through the picket guards, and a crossbow quarrel had found the Ancient's collarbone. Making the shift bumpy, and he appeared flat on his back, the stone greeting his armor clad form with a distinct thud!
Rolling to his feet, sure that those who had come seeking him or the weapon were already tracing his path, energies, the type of teleportation used, and where he popped too. So preparation had to be made quickly, in anticipation of his arrivals Glanhelmion surveyed the place he had chosen to make his stand in a glance.
Decidedly it was underground, the library of a fallen keep on one of the Border crossings, the place had dilapidated far beyond repair. Making reconstructing the once formidable structure a pointless, futile, or too costly undertaking; long ago at its fall Glan had turned the place into a small cache of various tools, and resources. But this eve, he would turn it into a trap.
Moving quickly, he pulled a garrote from the folded collar of his Elvin silk shirt, and another from under one of his matte black leather bracers. Stringing the two pieces of wire together he looped them over the trigger of his sawed" off, then the guard, running the remaining wire across the one exit the room offered.
The stone work of the room itself was granite, and worn, dust from weathering, and lack of use coated every surface, every tome, as well as the four spindly wooden tables and sixteen chairs. Book cases lined every wall; in the room and in the hallway that led to the fifteen by fifteen meter space.
Pulling a thick heave tome from the shelf nearest the entryway to the chamber he had just drifted through, Glan placed the shotgun in its place; then, he turned lifting a book directly opposite his trap, he made another placing one of his newer toys, a hand grenade, under the book he had placed. Pulling the wire just so that the shotgun was a hair length from firing, he looped the other end around the safety pin of the grenade, using the book that said fragmentation explosive device had replaced on the crumbling shelf as a weight to ensure that both countermeasures reacted according his plans.
Silently he padded down the hall, energies being placed and woven, drawing on all ambient mana, channeling it, thickening the darkness, to the point where it seemed as though the chamber beyond the hall was nothingness, pure and simple, swirling and writhing like an un-natural mist, soon it began spreading into the hall, creeping with the appearance akin to many hands clawing themselves forward, from a grave towards fresher air. Filling the air with an icy pressure as he lowered the level of restraint he placed on his power usage.
He was still careful, considering that pumping out to much energy would not only weaken him, but give away his location to other parties who yet may wish to seek him out. Although there was more to this picture, and he wasn't sure what that would be, or could be....
Only pondering for a second the implications of this strike, he more considered the "Who' was behind it part. Though the Trueblood had his suspicions, he refused to take into account that before his banishment from the true Elf-lands had been lifted, he had quite the enemies. Although most of the political ones now stood to be potential allies, there were still those who occupied powerful enough stations to cause him considerable hindrances in his future ventures in this plane.
Which he could not have"
The assassin's hands were far from idle, he assumed that if the team that was sent for him was worth whatever whoever had paid to have them dispatch him, that he would need further preparations made to meet a serviceable, non-revealing end result.
Finding the two remaining exits was a simple thing, considering the keep was more like a small outpost, far enough down the Ironwind mountain range to be deep within the overgrown wilds, so near the waste that it was a blended desert/forest, that seemed to spawn life of its own. Without the proper survival training one would find even treading the land above a treacherous feat, wild mana storms could rip someone apart, then put them back together; hell, on some occasions there were those put back together not so anatomically correct to the original design of their um' physique.
So picking the large and long empty main chamber as his fallback/last-stand option was moot. Sneering he thought of the reactions he might get from those choosing one of the exterior entryways"
Both were broad hallways, with a large arch, simple to spell, first was the door, he knew that if he placed a seal on the portal that when opened the charge that he linked to the seal would be set off. Selecting something of a more subtle nature he wove energies into the equidistant line, where the two large pieces of aged wood met. Glowing faintly before his altered vision, he watched as energies transferred producing a blue glow, which spread outwards to the walls and floor of the room. Sneering now, he turned on a heel, and headed towards the other entrance, his movements remain silent, as this room too began to fill with the thickening darkness, and presence.
Onto the last point of entry, this one he would keep simple for effect. A firm grip remaining on the steel box, it's own seal still preventing the weapon from release, the Trueblood knew that the seal would only break when the blade had found it's identity, and was decided that it wanted to know it's wielder. Rune-work still pulsing, the etchings glowing with faint silver light, slow like that of a heartbeat, matching his pulse, pulling on the strings of his power.
The bond had already been made to the weapon, this was new; predetermining the possession of a great weapon, the others had all picked their wielders on their own, this one was birthed for the soul purpose of aiding, and preserving the Ancient. A weapon that could already be felt, a presence that was already budding into creation, and sentience"
Biting the inside of his lower lip he reflected on the power that was so nearly in his grasp as he focused on the where the plane of where aperture split. Again he wove his energies subtly into work, the charge this time setting of a soft crimson glow, that soon died.
At this point simultaneous explosion wracked the structure, and there was only a smile to be viewed as the only remaining entryway was breached.
The figures had not so much stormed the room as drifted in, in formation of course, but the cloaks that covered shrouded their appearance made it seem as though they were floating. Not even their faces were visible from under their cowls, only eyes, intense yellow, piercing; offhand, the Trueblood had never seen anything like this in his travels.
Yellow gaze's pierced through the subtle magic's, but not the subtle trap.
They seemed to glow, and track the assassin's movements, as the cloaked figures encircled him. He forced more energies to the crossbow quarrel that remained dug in between his clavicle and shoulder blade, he dare not pull it out until he further understood the extend of his wounds.
Although he also understood the limitations of holding to his shell; meaning, his left arm had become useless"
"Death shall not meet you." The voice was calm, the vision that was associated with the sound inside the Ancient's mind was of a pool, still, quiet, and serene. Calm. Impossible calm"
Just then it hit him, his mind awash in the immersion of another, almost like integrating a part of himself that always existed, but remained it's own auxiliary autonomous self. This was feeling was emanating from the contents of the box. The rune-workings in the metal that sealed the case were no longer pulsing. Dropping the heavy metal box to the ground Glanhelmion considered the implications of this, and considered it carefully. He could reveal his new strength to the world, or he could differ to one that was equally as strong, utilizing the new presence inside his mind to aid him through battle.
But first to better identify his enemy. He was backlogging all of these realizations, as the cloaked figures fanned out in the hallway, he couldn't help but smile, he knew he was visible as daylight; and he watched their attentions shift. Slowly the focus of those animalistic eyes found the box that landed at the Trueblood's feet; alone, it gave them pause, almost as though frozen, shaken with a sudden impulse, a feeling, as though the contents were more deadly than anything ever witnessed or experienced in the deep dark hole that they crawled out of.
Successful in his fast draw seizing the moment and pulling one of his two remaining pistols; meanwhile, the charge he had placed to entrap the entryway had erupted into sparks, which thrived on the more oxygenated air, sending a jagged streak of violent plasma arcing through three of the eight that had begun the challenge. Dropping, instantaneously limp, the three bodies were sizzling and wrecked, the cloaks had fused to the remaining flesh, and charred. The fresh smell of the wilds was replaced with the stench, that this had created.
Squeezing off two rounds into one, then another, Glan managed to drop into a crouch, leveling his sights on a third, realizing he had ten rounds left in the magazine. The resounding percussion from firing the weapon had his ears ringing" another drawback from retaining his shell. But he appreciated the experience, and made a mental note into research on dampening firearms.
He usually only used the things if it was the last choice, and he had to get loud and mean, and he had to do it fast. Otherwise, he generally would have cut them down. The two he hit, with the reasonably large handgun had fallen; but they seemed to be drawing themselves back to their feet.
The entire groups of entities had regained their nerve entirely and were advancing. Firing off the next two rounds, he took pause, glancing down and taking a mental picture of the box.
In the second this took he had calculated the energy required, and designated it to the task of opening the connection to the sword within; then, he set it as yet another sub-task, compartmentalized the usage, focus, and thought processes required to a part of his mind.
"Hungry, I am so hungry?"
Feeling a chill now, the Trueblood hesitated, considering the implications of opening the box and seizing the weapon. Everything in his body urged him to do it, just to be in direct contact with it, but he also feared the feeding of it. It meant that he would have to hunt souls again, directly. Not as a past time, or as just a job requirement.
At the moment, he was now feeling the pain from the wound. His focus wasn't the greatest, as his expertise with magic's or their usage could get anywhere near the levels of his progenitors", or of his masters.
Now the battle and stealth magic's he understood. He could grasp the concepts, and applications of these, but the things such as healing, and regeneration were far beyond him. Even with a high pain threshold the task of holding a gun properly with his injury was becoming quite the difficult task, along with dampening the recoil, so that his aim was not skewed with his shots.
Flinging their cloaks aside the four (due to shooting them didn't much work, so only the last one hit was still down) revealing a sharp, wicked looking exoskeletal frame, that if flesh would have been grotesquely muscled. The carapace like surface of their outer shells had the appearance of black ice. Extremely elongated hands displayed wicked talons which seemed semi-retractable. The edges of which were serrated, almost like a cross between a saw-blade and five small scythe blades. Their faces appeared to be a cross between a large cat, some form of large insect, and a humanoid reptile. Seemed to be a sick experiment by some high caliber mage, but the simplest answer is never always the case.
Glanhelmion had enough at this point, calculating was no longer an option. The light that was now filtering in from the sunrise out on the wastes outside the forgotten keep, revealing the his enemies exterior was indeed as he had observed an exoskeleton, as the light was now partially shining through the black tinted carapace.
He now understood that the ones he had shot were dead in the long run, but that did nothing to help the here in now. Left hand had now succumb and fell limply to the metal case, and began the simple task of unclasping the hitch; while, his right hand holstered the pistol in its properly concealed place.
Flipping the cover of the case away and across the stone the entire room seemed to hold its breath (or whatever the things trying to kill him would do). The weapon was only a foot shorter than Glanhelmion himself, the sheath only held the top portion of the blade, more like a sling than a sheath; but, it was made of a compound of metals and other minerals, which was only revealed in accents that were not covered in a deceptively soft looking flat black leather. Meant to be worn on his hip, the blade looked almost as though it were made of stone, black with streaks of blue, which devoured the light cast upon it. The shape of the blade was of a typical great-sword, one-and-a-half hand widths apart from the finger-guard; though, this sword was different, in that instead of tapering to a point it remained broad, with what looked almost like a crescent shaped piece of metal was bitten or shattered off the end, leaving a vicious, primordial point to the weapon.
In one fluent motion the weapon was secured to his hip, a cloak of his own billowing out of his armors; a simple bit of magic having places to conceal such things. The grey fabric swirled as the weapon was drawn, and the nearest creatures began their lunge.
Held in both hands the weapon guided itself in it's masters grip, the edge of the blade sliding easily through the midsection of the first, carrying it into the injured one that was next in line, a good enough portion of the point of the sword digging across its carapace.
Both fell screaming silent screams in their tongues, the souls, if they possessed them were now in the blade, being devoured by the presence within.
Claws found his side, scoring across exposed ribs, but only successful for the moment. Not only did the armor he wore absorb most of the blow, what did sink home wasn't enough to kill the assassin yet.
Pivoting, then dropping low, Glanhelmion swept the leg from another, as a single claw from on of it's hands raked down one of his cheeks, the wound sizzled a moment. One of the Ancient's charms glowed intensely a moment, the device purged the poison from his bloodstream, and added a stimulant to his system to ensure the healing of the wound.
Falling to the floor, the creature was dead as soon as the blade cut the skin, the decapitation was only to drive home the point, as the Elvin assassin whirled on the remaining two, who had ceased in their attacks.
His heavy cloak had prevented the flurry that had ensued on his back were unsuccessful, although it was intensely spelled, it was probably still ruined. Still it saved his ass, and at the moment that's what he needed; he may be limited by his shell, but he likes having it, it makes him physical. Grounded"
The creatures now considered this, and looking to each other decided it wise to engage the Trueblood in speech.
"Old one, what is it you are trying to do here?"
Rational" Maybe? Glanhelmion considered this before speaking, and he did so carefully, considering he did not know the creatures, and could not tell their customs or traits.
"I am here to claim what is rightfully mine as Tasaritr, lord of the Elvin clan of Darkness, first high order of Assassins, I am the last Lord Dark-Treader, able to go between. My goals are aligned against The Dominator, and his rise from banishment, if you stand against me in that goal, then you will die" I have nothing more to say on this matter, to the likes of you."
Yes, a Trueblood, in essence will still hold to arrogance even staring down rough odds, considering he didn't know what waited within the keep, and considering his situation he could use the cache of things he had left here; or, at least what time had not taken.
Again the beings conversed, their language that of a different frequency, consisting of vibrations that the Ancient was not privy to, and considering his progeny he had no taste to become acquainted with it's sounds.
Glan considered the thought that if and when they offered up their information he'd still slaughter them just for being inferior to him and challenging his right to existence. He also wondered where the cross-bow shooter was, and then he remembers the rooms that may have possibly collapsed, and figured that whomever had been the head of this operation, namely the person who was using the heavy magic's was dead.
The only reason he knew this is because the only aura he could detect was the intense one of the feeding blade that was now resting at ease in his right hand, naked, the blade had taken on the shimmer of snakeskin, but still maintained the smoothness of steel. Each smooth scale was outlined by that dull blue tint, that swallowed any source of light, almost like a negative. The aura was bright, but different, almost as thought you were staring out the outline of a black-hole; or a link to nothingness, whatever hope of eternal life beyond taken, with just a scratch.
"Unless you are my true wielder, my true wielder shall never be let to fall in battle as long as I am at his side?"
Glan would have to get used to that, he always disliked psionics, they were comparable to text messages that some of the lesser more degenerate life forms practices. But so much more personal, and so little privacy, intimate feelings can be felt and distinguished when communicating with the mind.
Yet it is often noted that with a little skill and practice after the initial handshake of taking the call, or getting the message Glan understood how to wipe the emphasis his current situation, or current emotional coloring didn't affect mental tones or responses.
He calculated the question he wished to ask the sword, while his red flecked gaze focused on the chatting homegrown minions. Damn mages, think just cause they learn some thieves tricks that they can start taking contracts, and going after people. Not how the world works, spawn a few things and roll up and hit somebody. Sloppy work, but then again it may not be what it seems, it may be a testing of the water from others.
It could even be one of the groups the Dominator already possessed" Glan knew no other way to describe his supposed Night Father" or the more or less possessed form that the Spawn of Darkness chose to assume.
"What name do you go buy Friend?"
A feeling of thought swept him, almost as calculating as one of his own. He pondered if the weapon would pick up personality traits.
"I go by the name Blackthorn, birthed to tie to the Holder of Lordship to Darkness?"
Glanhelmion considered this thoughtfully, as the two abominations now turned to regard the assassin now.
"Our master was employed to terminate you, it was considered that you were un-allowed back over the Border, and the assumption was that this was a simple task."
The strange monotone offered no possible detection, so slipping out feelers, and checking the creatures yellowed gaze he found the feelings of what he felt to be associated with truths. Nodding slowly, he began.
"So your saying you think that your master whomever that is was hired to kill me, because of banishment, I am in good standing once more with the Courts, allowing me to go where I please, when I please. So if you dare consider lying to me?"
A smile curling in those now cruel lips of his the Trueblood gave consideration to the reactions this would create, and it took immediate affect, as the Blackthorn was now poised ready in his right hand, pointing directly at the closest mage-spawn.
"We do not lie, we form consensus, then decide what course of action is best, and at this moment we believe that finding death at your hands would be undesirable, to ours and our master's plans. He wishes audience with you, for your efforts have caught his attentions?"
Turning the creatures began a surprisingly fluid gait towards the empty great chamber of the Keeps underground holds. Following in silence Glan found himself running his left hand over his cuirass, casually brushing dust from the flat black leathers, then he moved to his right bracer, even licking his gloved thumb and polishing off a smattering of blood.
It was his usual reaction before entering potentially life threatening situations to check his hardware in a casual nature. It ensured that he knew the most readily and situation serving devices were concealed about his form; and, all things considered a mage who could manage to spawn creation was a little bit further than his comfort zone. Considering he wasn't the most skilled magic user, even though he had the power to be, he would rather avoid going toe to toe, spell to spell with the man.
So he made sure that if he had to end the coming encounter abruptly he could.
Crossing the threshold to the vast, empty, dimly lit, and dingy great chamber, a man stood in a patch of sunlight, that shone through a collapse in the outer structure of the Ancient fort. He was dressed in a short cloak, the color grey, hood pulled over his head, shrouding his face in deep shadows.
This countermeasure did not keep Glan from picking out facial features however, as those violent red flecks danced in silver, peeling away the illusory magic's the man had woven over himself.
He was at-least some part Elvin, his eyes a bright blue, with a hint of silver in their depths. His thin face was accented by a strong human lined jaw, but the man had power, lots of it. It was hinted in the fact that his eyes possessed a level of radiance, a true glow, like the backlight of a high-tech display screen.
The man was well muscled, athletic, not shaped to break down walls, or do heavy construction. More like well trained and honed muscles.
All of this making Glan wonder how he must appear to the man, considering that using his own magic's the assassin had managed to see through the man's disguises. Revealing some form of truth"
Blackthorn rested easily in its wielders right hand, content with projecting his masters murderous intent, causing the nearby entourage of creatures shift uncomfortably, and occasionally glance at the Great-sword, with uneasy glances as they struggled to continue to draw breath in the draining presence of the weapon.
Finding his way past the rabble, and to the head of the snake Glan considered this, and considered also that the head is usually where the fangs are kept. His stride was easy, as he felt reassurance from the weapon in his grasp, and he could feel it feeding his and its own energies from the mana possessed in those present.
Stopping just outside of striking distance, Glan spoke first, quick and to the point, grabbing the situation firmly by the balls.
"So who the fuck do you work for. And why the fuck do you think you can kill me?"
The man looked up now, causing the cowl of his cloak to fall down to his shoulders, revealing the slightly pointed ears of a Halfie, the Trueblood scowled at this, allowing his further distaste at the mixing of human and Elvin races show.
"I am Nemek Elwar, high mage of the Shadow Court, and have been sent to kill you by my Lord. He expresses that you usurped him, and wishes to be replaced on this plane as Lord Darkness" he wishes to be returned to his proper holding and station. But he feels you would impede his will. So you must die?"
So the man had clearly gotten something from the Dominator, or had simply succumb to his will"
"It's what Darth Vader would have done Luke?"
Great Glanhelmion thought, the sword just quoted Star Wars, this would be interesting having a different room-mate in his head. His previous ones, well they weren't so easy to get along with, and weren't always so helpful though. So he was partially optimistic.
"So you seriously think you have a chance in hell, well your sadly mistaken."
Shaking his head, the boy smiled, a smile that matched the viciousness that Glan could project, and this gave the Trueblood pause, maybe he hadn't considered everything. Red flecked silvers sweeping the shadowed room, and it hit him.
There were two groups of four, grey cloak clad, spread in a semi-circle around him and Nemek.
"We only wish to prevent you from getting safely from this Realm with that weapon, that's all the Lord wants, and he shall see it that you are unable to make the trip back to Rhy"Din" oh yes he knows, and he knows who houses you? although you are his main concern" he has many ideas."
Again the reference to we, okay, he was fighting the Legion indeed, and he understood this. That meant, anyone or anything could be direct agents to the Dominator at this point. He considered the abominations again, and their curious staring yellow gazes, half of the time they were focused on the Wielder, the other was spent gazing at the naked blade of Blackthorn.
Shaking his head slowly, Glan had decided this discussion was over, and this had tried his patience enough for one night, he was hurting, and he wanted to go home, get healed, and then take time to sort through his business.
In one sweep, he was upon the man, right arm sending Blackthorn in a vicious arc, a black smear-like after image of the blade followed in the wake as the man's head was swept from his shoulders. Rolling across the ground to the foot of the closest cloaked figure, those red flecked silvers slid in their respective sockets to his next choice.
That gaze lingering only long enough for him to pivot around the sweep of a rather large axe. The cloaks billowing as all of the figures descended like a pack of wolves, attempting to devour a smaller wounded creature.
Pain lanced in Glan's gut, and in his back between ribs, but his twist had prevented the worst of it. His sword cutting an arm and a portion of the midsection from one man, the swing had followed through disemboweled another.
Whirling low now, he swept a piece of lower leg from a man at the knee, before rising in the spin, cutting the stomach of another open. Sending him spilling in a silent scream to the floor; a smile forming on the Trueblood's lips, as he spun to face the remaining four, red flecked gaze finding each cloaked figure. He could hear the quivering of their hands upon their weapons, and taste the fear. He knew that they could feel the surge of pressure the blade in his grasp was now giving off.
His pace was slow and smooth as he angled closer to the remaining four, "You are all dead now?" The red flecks swallowed the silver, leaving only an outline of those pools of the rational part of him. This was the bloodlust they faced now, the animal, the primordial, the Ancient part of him"
