"...were considered more of a nuisance than anything, but this latest skirmish seemed considerably more bent on violence than any previous engagement the militia has had with the Sharptooths."

Jereketh the Pious spoke in quiet, soft tones. His voice was warm, and he appeared almost grandfatherly. What little hair he had on his head was almost entirely white, as was the thick mustache atop his lip. Indeed, if it weren't for the hilt of the longsword extended from the gleaming, polished sheath, he could pass for anyone's grandfather.

So long as their grandfathers wore polished steel cuirasses, vambraces, greaves, and wore a snow-white flowing cloak embroidered on the back with the hand and eye of The Prime Healer. In the sunlight, he was positivly painful to look at.

As was proper, of course, for one of The Guardians. The Guardians struck divine fear into the hearts of the wicked -- second only to the Knights of Truth -- and the great city was, indeed, the greatest in all the lands. Oh, Rhy'Din City to the west was larger, of course, but it still had crime, and thieves, and murders. When compared, Rhy'Din City was a hellhole at the best of times.

Jodiah Ayreg stood with his arms at his side. Garen Corlagon, and Adrianna De`Seis stood nearby waiting just as patiently. The three paladins were young, though not unblooded. All of them powerful in their own right naturally, though they paled as a candle next to a witch's pyre in the presence of Jereketh the Pious.

"Furthermore, the Sharptooth Clan has seemed to develop a far greater skill in tactics and strategy. Note their posture, and be swift in dispatching them. We are currently looking at the possibilities that a greater force of evil has taken reigns over the gnoll clans, or at least the Sharptooth. We have scouts out to observe, and should be hearing from them soon."

Jodiah Ayreg was silent, but his feet shifted once. Gnolls were terrible creatures of the lowest sort. While the militia looked forward to engaging battle against them, the Guardians took a more morose look at what needed to be done. If they had to kill them, they did -- not all followers of the Prime Healer believed that love conquered all, and violence was never the way -- but they went about it with cold precision. The Givers were the apothecaries who'se poultices and bandages cured wounds and injuries. The Guardians were the surgeons who cut out diseases, and rot.

Jereketh the Pious nodded his head once. "Any questions?"

The three paladins remained silent. They knew their duty, and knew the dangers. This was their call, however; if their lives were ended in defense of the Givers while working for the glory of the Prime Healer, then that is all that need be said for their eulogy.

"Defend the Givers, and may the Prime Healer watch over you." Jereketh the Pious bowed his head, a single hand pressed to his heart. The motion was mimiced by the three paladins. The four of them turned and left, heading out to the stables around the side of the Temple of Life to sign out some mounts for the upcoming mission.

The Guardians and the Givers did not travel far to reach the sight of the skirmish, and dismounted. Only a few militiamen were left of this patrol, and the rest laid out in the field bleeding, dead or dying. A pack of gnolls was feasting on the fallen militia, while the rest were being herded up and attacked. One lifted its head, spotting the approaching party from the great city, and raised his head to howl.

It got the attention of the others.

The gnolls were fast, and they reached the group of Guardians in a flash, and Adrianna De`Seis was the closest one to them. Corlagon broke into a run, sprinting to shield the Guardian from the bestial onslaught. Bringing his sword up in a powerful arc, the paladin caught the first gnoll marauder in the breastplate, knocking it backward and leaving a huge gash in its chest.

Corlagon stepped in front of De`Seis and into the gap left by the falling gnoll, reversing his blade and slashing the other way. He struck steel, connecting with another gnoll blade meant for his head. He cried out as he bashed the attack aside. Running the length of his sword up the gnoll's axe, he thrust the tip of his blade beween the seams of the creature's armor, puncturing fur and flesh and jabbing through to where -- at least on a human -- there should be a lung. The beast howled and squirmed as it struggled to free itself from Corlagon's sword.

Another marauder charged into view, coming up behind Corlagon. The paladin struggled to pull his blade free of his victim, but the creature convulsed and slumped toward the wound, closing its flesh down tight around the stuck weapon. The new attacker raised its axe, and Corlagon spun away, leaving only one hand on his sword.

Despite the quick move, the creature's axe came down on his arm. Corlagon hissed and braced for the impact. His skin flushed with the blue-white glow of divine magic, and the gnoll's weapon seemed to bounce off his flesh. From aside, the older, more experienced Giver had her mace in hand, and began to swing it again once her protection spell expired.

"Nice catch, Giver," said Corlagon through gritted teeth.

Another marauder came barreling forward, but De`Seis stepped forward into its path. A pivoting swing of her scimitar knocked the gnoll back, and a follow-up thrust pinned the furious creature to the tree it appeared from behind.

Clear of immediate threats, Corlagon lifted his boot and placed it on the wounded gnoll still attached to his blade. "Get... off!" he shouted as he kicked with all of his might. His sword came free with a sickening rip, and he whipped it to one side, clearing the steel of the gnoll's black blood.

Another of the yapping, dog-like beasts made the dash, squeezing between Corlagon and De`Seis. The beast eyed each of the Guardians, grunted once, then turned toward one of the Givers. With a bounding leap that just narrowly avoided a slash from De`Seis, it jumped on the weak, unarmored boy in the robe.

The Giver screamed as the gnoll dug into his flesh.

"No!" Ayreg closed on the beast, slashing down on it from behind. His blade hit the creature in the neck, severing the monster's head from its shoulders with just a single blow, and it slumped to the ground. Ayreg crouched and pushed the creature's carcass from on top of the Giver's body.

The boy was barely conscious.

He had been badly mauled by the gnoll; his face was slashed, and he coughed blood. Ayreg grounded his polished steel sword into the earth, and laid his hands on the Giver's wounds. With a quick word, a flood of blue-white energy crossed over from the paladin to the wounded man, as Jodiah Ayreg used the innate power of all paladins -- the ability to Lay on Hands.

He got to him in time. The boy slumped back to the ground, no doubt suffering from shock, from the injuries were healed and he was making strong, steady breaths. Spinning his blade about as he turned, Ayreg stalked toward his comrades-in-arms. "Well?"

"Bad news?" Corlagon started, adjusting the straps of his light-plated bracer on his right wrist, "most of the militia here are dead, save those two over there. The dying ones have a small hope if the Givers can get to them in time to give the proper prayers, but most we are simply going to have to bury."

Jodiah Ayreg's features darkened. They had not gotten here fast enough. The Guardians always felt a very keen sense of loss when they failed in their mission goals, but even that was nothing like what they felt if a Giver dies under their protection.

"And... the good news?"

"The gnolls have retreated, strangely enough. Yes, I know, don't give me that look Ayreg -- gnolls fight to the death, I know, but this time they did not. The rest of the warpack fled north, and not too casually."

Ayreg, and the others, turned their heads as one toward Jereketh the Pious. He had been cleaning some black blood from his gleaming longsword, and helping the Givers tend to the wounded. He nodded, once, to the paladins in his command. "The militia -- what few men remain here -- can guard the Givers once they have their strength back. The primary focus of the mission is over." he said.

But he was not finished, yet. "So long as those gnolls are free to maraud across the county, the great city will not be safe. Nor will passing traders and merchants, nor will patrols of militia, nor will the Guardians. We have them in flight, now, and horses move faster than frightened gnoll."

"I understand it is dangerous, and it is something I would not ask of you. I feel we can succeed."

"Then that is all we need know." said Corlagon, sharply. His chin was raised, his jaw thrust forward. It was the rugged look he had become so well known for.

"I'm game." De`Seis said with a shrug, and something of a grin.

"I go where you command, Prime." Ayreg replied, bowing his head respectfully.

Jereketh the Pious nodded. "Then you have my blessing." He turned then, snowy white cloak billowing in the wind, and mounted his white stallion in one fluid motion. He looked to each of the paladins, and nodded to them in turn. Then, with a swift kick to his horses flanks, "Come! Let us hunt the shadow!" and sped away at a gallop toward the north.

"`Bout time," said De`Seis, her grin still splitting her face. "Come on, let's go." The three paladins took to their steeds, and galloped on after Jereketh the Pious.

Toward the north, a dark cloud hung over the mountains in the distance.

Corlagon cried out as the length of a long, black-enameled sword pierced through his chest from the rear. Punching outward through two layers of mail took some strength, though none seemed loss in the process -- a veritable cloud of red gore exploded outward from his chest, and his scream continued.

De`Seis and Ayreg turned at the sudden outburst from their brother-in-arms, and saw a face over Corlagon's shoulder. An evil grin creased the man's face, though Ayreg did not think he looked familiar. As Corlagon dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, the man came into full view.

"Frostfel.." De`Seis whispered softly, her voice equal measures contempt and fear.

Wrapped in blackened armor, trimmed in red with a flowing blood red cloak, he stood in the shadows of the roiling clouds. A booted foot was set onto Corlagon's back, and with the soft grunt of effort the man kicked the dying paladin from the length of his monstrous greatsword. He stepped forward, long black hair falling in waves down the back of his head, and gave a terrible grin.

"Come, rats..." he intoned, his voice had the feel of a rotten cadaver, "...and meet your reaper."

Greatsword was raised again -- like a claymore, though with a less balanced pommel. Great for building leverage for powerful, arcing slashes -- and De`Seis leapt forward. She cried out as her scimitar cut through the air to meet the terrible black blade of the greatsword, and the two began a terrible dance that could end only in death.

Ayreg crouched at Corlagon's side, holding his brother paladin as life crept away from him.

"So.. so much hate.." Corlagon whispered softly, "I could feel it, as he... as he..." eyes rolled back into his head, and the paladin Garen Corlagon was dead.

Jodiah dipped his head in a silent prayer, remorseful that he used his laying of hands upon the Giver earlier. Perhaps he should not have, but he felt it nontheless. Pressing his hand to the ruined, gaping hole on Corlagon's chest, he promised his brother vengeance, and justice.

Gripping his sword hilt tightly, the shining paladin rose to his feet and turned, righteous anger burning in his soul.

Only to meet the downward slash of the black greatsword from the dark knight. The blade cut strait down through the Guardian's Guard on his shoulder, the pauldron ripping like it was made of tissue paper. Ayreg's sword dropped from his hand, his shoulder ruined and very nearly hacked off. He dropped to his knees, and behind the towering image of Baron Frostfel he could see the figure of Adrianna De`Seis, cold eyes full of death, laying on the ground with a caved-in temple and a horrible slash across her throat.

Ayreg fell back as the black sword was wrenched from his body, groaning in time with the disgusting sound of ripped flesh being pulled apart by withdrawing steel.

Jereketh the Pious erupted from the edge of his vision, shining sword striking at Baron Frostfel, and the two whirled about like a dervish. It was almost a dance, and the face of Jereketh seemed utterly focused on putting the death knight down.

"You are a pox on our lands, knave!" Jereketh cried out, "And I am the cure!"

The death knight smirked, though sweat began to bead down his brow from the effort of blocking away the experienced paladin's blows, "Is that the best you have, old man?" responded Frostfel, blackened greatsword moving far faster in circular parries and counterattacks than one would normally attribute a blade of its size as capable of.

Jodiah Ayreg fell limply, staring ahead toward the embattled titans. Shadows pressed in along the outside of his vision, growing deeper as everything dimmed.

The three paladins were dead.

The next time Ayreg was aware of light, he seemed to be encased in some kind of prison cell. The walls were the same organic-looking substance, though this appeared to be a more translucent membrane than flesh. Dark striations spiderwebbed out across the surface of the sinew encasing him, and dark black splotches appeared here and there in what might have been some kind of pore.

He groaned, rising to his knees. Without his clothes and armor, the deep gash down the front of his chest looked even worse than it did before, though it still did not hurt. Red muscle, crusted blood, and pale bone shone through the deep crevice cut into his flesh. He had another wound as well, a ravine of a wound made by the downward arc of the greatsword wielded by that madman Frostfel. His left arm hung limply at his side; looking at it without the armor to get in his way, it looked like it was, indeed, almost hacked entirely off.

He started to come to his feet, and he heard a sound. It was at one time a whisper, and at the same a blood-curdling scream. A voice; a dozen voices; a hundred all speaking at once in his head. It was like a thousand needles piercing his heart.

There was a faint glow, a sickly green, and when he looked down it seemed to be coming from himself. His teeth grit as the voices got louder, and the rhythmic pulses of light got more intense. He groaned as he attempted to maintain his composure, but the pain was great. A hundred spears stuck at once into his body; dipped head-first into boiling oil.

His skin felt like it was being torn from his bones.

The torment did not cease. It continued on, and on, and Jodiah's mortal mind started to become overwhelmed by the pure agony that felt like it should be ripping him to pieces. He wanted to die. He begged for death. He prayed for death. What would it take to make it all end? Why had the Prime Healer forsaken him to these monsters?

But death did not come.

As the pain continued, Jodiah Ayreg felt a certain change coming over him. It was no physical one, but he felt it nontheless. His features started to become.. darker. He had grown accustomed to being able to feel evil during his time as a Guardian with the Temple of Life, though the evil seemed to be coming from him.

Honesty became deceit.

Honor became treachery.

Love became hate.

Charity became selfishness.

Piety became depravity.

Joy became sorrow.

Chastity became lust.

Good became evil.

Jodiah Ayreg released a bone-chilling scream within the confines of his caul, his fingers gripping and yanking at his hair and face. All that was green and good in his character became twisted, and black, and evil.

After what seemed like an eternity upon an eternity, the pain ended. By this time, Jodiah Ayreg was a worthless lump of man body laying naked on the fleshy floor in his little prison of pain groaning and mumbling nonsense. The sound ceased, the voices quieted, and the light faded. He was left as he arrived: in darkness.

His soul.. had become inverted.

Corlagon was run through. He was as great a warrior as Jereketh had ever seen before in his life, and he had just been run through without seeing the man in the red cloak behind him. He wheeled his white stallion about, abandoning the retreating single gnoll and galloping back toward his three wards.

Before he got there, Adrianna De`Seis was also cut down. The dark man seemed to slam the huge pommel of his sword into her head, and end it with a quick lateral slash across the throat. If he got closer, he was sure he could make out just how caved in her skull was.

Jodiah Ayreg had just stood from Corlagon's side and turned, and Jereketh's teeth grit in seeing the dishonor of this dark one in striking the last of his wards from behind. The fact that he turned around into it was irrelevant, of course. The single blow sent Jodiah Ayreg to his knees, and Jereketh leapt from his stallion when he drew close. Another arcing hack at Ayreg and the man had fallen to the ground.

The three paladins were dead.

Jereketh the Pious sprang forward, shining sword striking at Baron Frostfel, and the two whirled about like a dervish. It was almost a dance, and the face of Jereketh seemed utterly focused on putting the death knight down.

"You are a pox on our lands, knave!" Jereketh cried out, "And I am the cure!"

The death knight smirked, though sweat began to bead down his brow from the effort of blocking away the experienced paladin's blows, "Is that the best you have, old man?" responded Frostfel, blackened greatsword moving far faster in circular parries and counterattacks than one would normally attribute a blade of its size as capable of.

The dark pall that had coated the land only moments before began to grow worse, darkening the sky with thunder, and lightning. As the two men battled it out, though, Jereketh the Pious began to win an edge over Baron Frostfel, and with one mighty swing of his shining longsword, the black-bladed greatsword was shattered in twain.

Frostfel fell back, unsheathing a wickedly curved dagger to compliment his now-broken blade. The grin of madness spread over his face, and he actually looked... entertained. Jereketh noted the sweat dripping down Frostfel's face, though, and he knew he had some on his own as well. This was tiring business.

The two began their deverish-like dance again, the sound of steel on steel echoing across the fields.

It might have seemed like an eternity, but with a spinning move and a quick turn of his blade, Jereketh the Pious scored a hit onto the wrist of the man's sword-arm. The lowered half of the shattered greatsword flew off to his flank, and Jereketh extended a hand outward to the death knight. A ripple of air, followed by the flash of blue-white energy, and Baron Frostfel was falling backward, stumbling, and ultimatly going to the ground as he was stunned by divine power.

Jereketh the Pious was on him in an instant, the blade of his shining longsword pressed to the man's throat. He was kneeling over him, pulling the dark knight up with his free hand. "Vengeance is not the way of the Temple of Life, Frostfel. Much as I would like to remove your offensive head here, I will take you back to the great city. You will be charged with heresy, the commitment of evil acts, the worshipping of evil gods, and the murder of three Guardians. You will be hanged, Frostfel!"

Frostfel merely grinned.

Jereketh turned his head as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Peering through strands of white hair, he looked back and saw Jodiah Ayreg, Adrianna De`Seis, and Garen Corlagon.. but they were all alive! Corlagon was standing just behind him with his hand on his shoulder. "Prime Healer, what is this?" the older paladin started.

"The future" De`Seis said, harshly, as Corlagon's other hand wrapped around Jereketh's shoulder, gripped his chin, and jerked it back.

With the sickening crunch of bone from his snapping neck, Jereketh the Pious was dropped to the ground. The mighty paladin did not die, however. He gasped for breath, trying in vain to suck air down his ruined windpipe. Arms and legs lay limply, and only the muscles in his face seem to function anymore. It was a horrible death, unworthy for even the foulest of demons from hell; to die by suffocation in the open air of a field. Thus passed Jereketh the Pious.

Ayreg and De`Seis stepped forward beside Corlagon, and looked down at Frostfel. The wounds she had taken earlier seemed to have mended themselves on her, and on Jodiah Ayreg as well. Corlagon was harder to tell, since his wound was contained within the heavy curiass he wore.

"Good work, children." he started as he began rising to his feet. Adrianan De`Sies planted a booted foot to the man's chest. She pushed Frostfel back to the ground, and the man growled. "What is the meaning of this!?" he demanded.

The three spoke in unison, as if possessed by a singular being. Frostfel could see the dancing Saa move across their eyes, and he knew exactly what that meant.

"We bring a message from the Nihil, Frostfel." the three said.

Baron Frostfel's head jerked back and forth as the three spoke in unison and he swallowed nervously.

The Saa no longer turned in their eyes, and they felt more like themselves again. Ayreg felt his shoulder, and his chest through the ruined ringmail. The slightest relief was felt to find the flesh was mended wholly, save only the wet of blood drying in the sun that escaped before his rebirth.

As the former paladins raised from their kill, they became aware of another presence. Corlagon turned first, his blade raised and ready.

Behind them stood a figure in what appeared to be black scale armor, but the armor was unlike any Jodiah had seen before in his life. This armor made its wearer have the appearance of a snake, and it seemed to be lacking any kind of jointing, though Ayreg suspected it had some kind of secret in its construction. He had seen sliding plates before, but only on the finest of crafted armor from the most talented of dwarven and gnomish smiths. This armor bore the traditional look of neither.

A black cloak rolled down the figure's form, ending a few inches above the ground. Hood was drawn up to fully hide half his head, but Jodiah was willing to bet every crown he had to his name that the man would have solid black eyes as well. He knew this figure, though he didn't recall him wearing armor before. Nor of him wearing a cloak that didn't move at all, despite the fact that Ayreg's own was billowing wildly in the wind off to one side.

"Know that the slothful Frostfel is being dealt with as I speak," the man began, his voice emanating from nowhere even though his mouth didn't actually move. "Know that you have further directives from the Nihil."

"Command me, Mistress of Torment." De`Seis said quietly, bowing her head in reverence.

"Command me, Prince of Hate." Corlagon replied, also bowing his head.

"Command me, Plaguebringer." Jodiah was shocked to hear himself speak, and to feel his head bow in sacrament to this man. It was almost like he had no control, and it merely flowed out of his mouth like vomit would; an automatic reflex to the presence of this puppet.

The hooded head of the man turned toward De`Seis. Jodiah could hear nothing, but she appeared transfixed as a child would look upon a cobra before it strikes. It was then that he noticed that all sound had vanished. Jodiah shifted uneasily, and saw Corlagon doing the same.

De`Seis was not shifting. Her eyes were wide, half frightened and half ecstatic, and she nodded eagerly. Sometimes she appeared to give a reply, but Ayreg heard not a word. Suddenly she arched backwards, trembling and rising on her toes. He could not see why she did not fall, unless something unseen held her. Then, just as abruptly, she settled back on her feet and nodded again, bowing, shivering. Even as she straitened, Corlagon gave a start and began nodding. His stance bespoke confusion even while he acquiesced, and in the end he stiffened with reluctance but nodded.

"So, each of us hears their own instructions, and none hears another's" Jodiah mused to himself, wondering how he could have turned their orders about to his advantage anyway.

"Jodiah."

Ayreg jerked with surprise, the voice booming in his ears. It was the same voice that man had before -- flat, and uninteresting -- but it had the undertones of the growling and groaning that the Malfean who called itself The Plaguebringer had.

"Listen well, Jodiah Ayreg. Know that you have been selected for a special task. Within the Temple of Life is the High Truthseeker. Do you know who this is, Jodiah?"

"Yes.." he found himself nodding eagerly, "he is the head of the Knights of Truth. He leads them like the First Prime leads the Guardians of the Temple of Life. He--"

"Be silent, Jodiah. He is to be dead before this day ends."

"He will be well-protected.." Ayreg started.

"The Nihil does not accept excuses, Jodiah. Frostfel is learning that lesson now. It is one that is most painful. Do you need a refreshment on it, as well?"

Jodiah shook his head vigorously. He had no desire to return to Malfeas again. He did not exactly remember what happened.. only that it was very, very painful. "I will obey, master."

As he finished speaking, the man's cloaked form began to decay in front of them. Within seconds, the only thing left of the man was a few ashes spread in the grass where his booted feet were. Sound returned to his hears, and Jodiah Ayreg could hear the chirping of birds and the rustle of the wind through the grass again. He nodded to the others, and mounted his horse in one smooth gesture.

"To the great city!" Corlagon cried, wheeling his horse around and kicking his mount hard in the flanks.

The three galloped toward the walls of the great city in the distance.

The First Prime of the Temple of Life, Broemere Du'Leran, was a venerable man with a beard as white as snow, and the wispy strands of hair to match. He was as old as Jereketh the Pious, though not near as martial as the First Truthseeker sitting across from him at the great table, Tarowyn Gorgaron.

He also considered himself as having a far cooler head, when one needed to prevail. "You don't understand, Broemere. The Knights of Truth have spoken to these lads a hundred times, and they detect no lies. These rumors are more fact than you're willing to listen to, man!" Tarowyn Gorgaron said, almost sounding as if he were in a rage. Broemere Du'Leran watched the High Truthseeker stand, and rub the bridge of his nose. The First Prime's lips twitched as he suppressed a smile. The Knights of Truth, no matter their rank, were an impatient lot. They made fine soldiers, to be true, and their zeal was unmatched.. but they were often arrogant, and quick to pass judgement.

"The Prime Healer would not allow a plague to erupt in his own lands, Tarowyn. Surely you must know that? The rumors are either just rumors, or foul whisperings from another land to create instability. Our scouts on the frontier report disturbances, and several have never come back alive. Do you not see, old friend, what is happening? The Great City is under an attack from the shadows! It is no plague, Tarowyn, but only the machinations of evil men." Broemere Du'Leran said, quietly.

Tarowyn Gorgaron appeared to be trying to restrain himself, a single hand dropping to rest on the pommel of his mighty broadsword at his waist. "Understand, Broemere, I wish the rumors were simple falsehoods myself; trumped-up stories passed between drunken fishermen and farmers. That's not the case, though! You know as well as I that any Knight of Truth can instantly detect a lie -- even if the one doing the telling doesn't know it's a lie!"

As the High Truthseeker began to pace, Broemere Du'Leran smiled softly, and took a sip of his chilled wine. He would turn the firery Tarowyn Gorgaron around to his way of thinking soon enough. The Great City must be protected from all enemies, foreign and domestic, and while an opposing nation has not stood up in battle against the Great City for almost three generations... well, Broemere Du'Leran didn't plan on being at the helm of one of the strongest martial factions -- The Guardians -- in all of the city when the city came under siege. No, he would rally the populace, he would form ranks out of the Guardians and the Knights of Truth, and he would march his banners out into the field, away from the women and the children.

The sound of a door opening turned his attention, and that of the High Truthseeker's as well. There were two doors in this room -- one was heavy, thick, and reached over by iron straps. The other was a normal door, reserved for the use of servants bringing refreshments from the kitchen.

Broemere Du'Leran seemed upset, at first, when the two walked into the room. They looked haggard, which was never proper for a Guardian of the Temple of Life. Secondly, he had given specific instructions for nobody to be allowed inside during this meeting. However, given the two's particular mission just now with Jereketh, he decided against upbraiding them in front of the First Truthseeker.

He smiled, briefly, before rising to wave them in. "Ayreg, Corlagon! I didn't wish to be disturbed in these proceedings, but while you're here you can give us information pertinent to our meeting. I trust you're prepared to give your report from your earlier assignment with Jereketh the Pious?"

Garen Corlagon moved with the steady determination of a man on a specific mission. At his side, Jodiah Ayreg stalked along as well. The two seperated from Adrianna De`Seis shortly after arriving in the Temple of Life, but they were all going to the same place.

They passed several Guardians and Givers along the way, those moving about their daily business. All that was left of Jodiah's former life implored him to stay this madness, and to go to the Chamber of Halting and to beg forgiveness from the Prime Healer, and to seek help in the restoration of his spirit. It implored Jodiah to stop Corlagon and De`Seis before too much damage could truly be done.

But that voice was just a whisper now. Much louder was the sound of The Plagebringer's words, booming around in his head as if he was still standing in the god-forsaken Malfeas.

"You belong to me, now."

A last corner was made, and before them stood two men guarding the iron-strapped door that was their destination. Two men in burnished plate-and-mail, one with a white tabard embroidered with the hand-and-eye, the other with a red tabard embroidered with a hand-and-heart. A Guardian, and a Knight of Truth.

Their prey was inside.

Corlagon and Ayreg marched side-by-side to the door, and the Guardian lifted his hand to halt them.

Davion had been a Guardian for several years longer than Jodiah Ayreg, though not as long as Garen Corlagon. He was married, with three children. A wife with auburn hair, usually pulled back into a heavy braid, living in the southern quarter of the city. He was proud of his family, and he was proud of his service to the Temple of Life. He considered himself a fair swordsman, though all Guardians were expected to be that. He had sat down at Ayreg's table many times in the mess hall, sharing tales of high adventure and their own exploits against the forces of evil. Ayreg would account Davion as one of his friends in the Temple.

"Pardon, my brothers, but th' First Prime is not to be disturbed. He be meetin' with the High Truthseeker, this hour. Prolly next hour, too." Davion the Guardian gave a slight twist of his lips, as if to say he knew exactly how their meeting would go.

A wordless exchange took place then between Ayreg and Corlagon. The faintest of nods given, they turned back to the two guards.

Ayreg's fingers snaked around Davion's upturned hand like fluid lightning and jerked him forward. Davion stumbled forward, too, right until the heavy iron-bound fist smashed into his temple, putting him into a daze. Arm snaking around his throat, a quick jerk and the vile deed was done. Davion shambled to the ground with a broken neck, the life oozing out of his body in seconds.

When Jodiah looked up, the Knight of Truth that had been standing guard as well was on the floor, a thin-bladed throwing dagger blossomed out of his throat. Corlagon looked smug. "Throw them into the supply room. We require to not be noticed yet."

Jodiah and Corlagon dragged the Guardian and the Knight of Truth into the hallway, checking to ensure it was clear first, before depositing them into a supply closest in the ajoining corridor. With luck, nobody would be going in there for some time. Time enough to get the knifework done that needs doing, in any case.

Outside the heavy, iron-strapped doors once again, Jodiah Ayreg gives a faint nod to Garen Corlagon, and the two push open the iron-strapped double-doors and walked inside. Hopefully neither the First Prime nor the High Truthseeker would notice their guards are not outside. Jodiah Ayreg stood at attention, as was befitting when one stood in the presence of the First Prime. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow, and his breathing was more intense than it normally would be. He was nervous. Corlagon himself seemed far more relaxed, his shoulders slouched and a single leg advanced further than the other. He might as well have been waiting for a dancing partner at Sunday.

The two older men inside, each elder than Jodiah by at least forty years, were staring at them as they pushed the door open. Ayreg knew better than to think their age meant them to be crippled old men. The First Prime was the most devout man in the history of those who worshiped the Prime Healer, and the High Truthseeker was a blademaster. They never got slow, nor careless.

Broemere Du'Leran, First Prime of the Guardians of the Temple of Life, waved the two inside. "Ayreg, Corlagon! I didn't wish to be disturbed in these proceedings, but while you're here you can give us information pertinent to our meeting. I trust you're prepared to give your report from your earlier assignment with Jereketh the Pious?"

(( And now, the conclusion.. ))

The three left the meeting hall, turning corridors until they arrived at a four-way junction. Corlagon stopped, turning to the other two fallen. His skin had started to take a decidedly sallow tint, eyes sunken into his head and surrounded by black, discolored flesh. His hair seemed pale, as well.

"You look dead." Ayreg stated, calmly.

It was answered only with a deep grin from Corlagon, and he lifted his longsword to point down the corridor streaming off to the left. "You'll go that way. I'll go the other. De`Seis, you're going strait. Let no Guardian nor Giver escape these hallowed halls with their life. Their's will be a mighty sacrifice for The Nihil."

De`Seis released a kind of sinister laugh, and Jodiah simply nodded. Lifting his blade, Corlagon's and his touched briefly with the brief clang steel makes on steel. It was an old way for sword-brothers to say `fare well, and good luck.` Turning on his heel, Ayreg stalked down the hallway Corlagon directed him to. Garen Corlagon turned then, snaking down his own hallway, and De`Seis moved forward with the slow, direct movements similiar to those a courtesan makes plying her trade.
______

Corlagon moved into the barracks, his sunken eyes cutting left and right as he scanned for any movement. Ahead of him, a Giver was exiting her room, sighing softly. He did not know her; perhaps she was new, but Corlagon couldn't place a name to her face. She turned when she heard him approach, and she smiled -- until she saw the blood drying on his face, and his sallow features. Her lips opened wide as if to scream, but no words were able to come out. Instead, her hands shook impotently in front of her mouth.

No, Corlagon could not put a name to her face, so he took her face instead. The mauled body of the Giver was left behind him in the floor of the corridor, and he tucked the flesh he ripped from her face into a pouch dangling from his belt. He stopped at the next door, knocking once with a single pound of his fist before he tucked his head inside. Two Guardians sat on their bunks. One was reading from the Script of Life, the holy writings attributed to the Prime Healer. The other had needle and thread, and appeared to be stitching a tear in the leather undercoat of his ringmail.

"Up swords, there is a rebellion in the Temple!" Corlagon cried as soon as his head poked into the room. The two Guardians looked shocked, rising to their feet and looking at him. A look of irritation passed his face when they didn't leap at his words. "Come along, you dogs, the Prime Healer is slain!"

That got their attention. Picking up their blades, and running out into the corridor. The mutilated corpse of the Giver down the hall sent a look of rage into their features, and they looked to Corlagon. One of them spoke, "Who has done this, Sir Corlagon?"

"I have."

Another look of shock. It was almost too easy. Longsword was thrust forward, sinking into the unarmored man's chest and shattering ribs, and quite possibly a lung as well. Corlagon lifted his foot, kicking the dying man off his steel before turning to the other Guardian. This one was actually attacking instead of standing like a lump.

Even so, he didn't survive long against the raging fallen paladin. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the alarm being raised. Corlagon smirked, assuming that someone discovered the shattered bodies of the High Truthseeker and the First Prime. He moved on toward the next door in the barracks.
______

De`Seis moved like liquid silver through the hallways, humming softly to herself. She recognized where she was from, of course -- she had entered the training wing. Already she had left two Guardians lying dead with their own dagger pierced through their heart, and one giver who took De`Seis' own belt knife into his eye. The training hall was mostly empty, much to her disappointment. Several moments before the alarm was sounded in the hallways, and she could only surmise that someone had finally discovered the bloody little soiree they had with the High Truthseeker and the First Prime.

"Dame De`Seis?"

Her head snapped as her name was spoken, glaring in the direction of the voice. She softened instantly, a faint smile painted across her lips. The Temple of Life trained Guardians and Givers their whole lives -- she herself had been given to the Temple by her parents when she was perhaps three weeks out of the womb. It was not a sad moment, but one of joy: The Prime Healer kept a close watch on those such sacrificed for the greater good, and a close watch on their families. The Temple of Life cared for and kept safe the families for as long as the one so given remains in service to the Temple, and service was not compulsory. Anyone could leave when they wished to.

This room was reserved for training. It was reserved for training those still in their first few years of life. Those too young to be allowed outside the walls of the Temple without an escort of at least one Guardian, or two Givers. From the time they could walk and speak, they were trained in the ways of the Prime Healer, and the Temple of Life. At their fourteenth year, they made the choice of becoming a Giver, or a Guardian.

"What's going on, Dame De`Seis? Sir Paragir left us when the alarm was raised, and told us to stay here." one child said.

"We're scared, Dame De`Seis." said another.

"Please help us, Dame De`Seis." pleaded yet another.

De`Seis turned her head, gazing up and down the corridor but seeing no one. She turned back to the young ones, her lips curling into a sadistic, sick, twisted grin. "Do not be afraid. I will help you, children."

Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her.
______

Jodiah Ayreg stalked along the corridors. Before him was the worship hall in the Temple of Life; where the populace came to give praise to the Prime Healer, to offer donations and tithes to the Temple, and where the Givers attended the spiritual and physical needs of the public. By far, it was the most populated at any given time. The sanctuary was filling with Guardians and Givers, as was proper when the alarm was raised. Guardians with wary eyes and ready hands on sword hilts ushered the civilians out of the front entrance, awaiting the First Prime or Council of Primes to direct their actions, and to explain the alarm.

Jodiah Ayreg stepped into the room, and an immediate upward arc of his broadsword cleaved into the underside of a man's face as he stood by the door. Jerking it out of his flesh, he moved with a spin to attack the Guardian on the other side of the same door. With a slash across his midsection, the man's bowels spilled out onto the floor of the sanctuary, and he cried out in what was more a groan than a scream.

The screams began in a very few seconds after that, however. Civilians cried out and began to stampede the front entrance, crushing themselves as they tried to squeeze out of the door. Givers and Guardians alike attempted to restore order to shepard them out, but the mob was already afire. Another Guardian near Ayreg drew steel, and launced himself toward the fallen paladin.

He made such a delightfully squishy thump when he finally fell to the floor, as well as a kind of gibbering garble of throaty noises from his ruined throat. Was the Temple of Life always this weak? Could any invaders or well-organized criminal element have butchered their way through the police force of the Guardians and the Knights of Truth so easily?

With his blade held near face level, Jodiah Ayreg stalked forward into the tangled crowd of Givers, Guardians, and civilians, using the utter confusion and panic to the best possible advantage. Dark magics rose out of him like some kind of arcane whorl, turning some in his way into little more than a fleshless pile of rags. For the others, a length of cold steel awaited in their fate.
_____

The Temple of Life burned. The screams and clashes of steel long having left its sacred halls, the great effigy of the Prime Healer cast down and abandoned for the flames. From the front entrance, rising out of the smoke and debris of the now-dying religion's place of worship strode three blood-smattered, flame-charred figures. Their faces were like thunderbolts; their movements, like death incarnate.

The three cut their way free of the walls of the city, and befell a parting of ways out into the wilderness. De`Seis turned north, toward the halls of the great guilds. Corlagon turned west, to the quickly-growing city of Rhy'Din to spread chaos and hatred there. Jodiah Ayreg took the will of The Nihil south, into the great desert, following rumors of an abandoned construct of black stone, and a mountain of bones, to find his own throne of blood.

The Great City itself burned that night, and for four days afterward, until there was nothing more for the flames to devour. The fire spread from the Temple of Life, driven by some kind of evil, divine hand. Buildings were cast down, and the invincible city was gutted from within. The streets were littered with the corpses of those who could not, or would not, escape the wrath of the flames. What was left of the shattered and shocked populace never returned to the Great City. Those that followed in their lines were raised in the ever-growing city of Rhy'Din, many leagues to the west.

In time, history became legend, as it always does. The earth swallowed the ruins of the great city, save only the spires of the tallest towers that still pierced skyward from the ground like some monument to evil.

The broken city was buried atop the rotting skulls of those who perished to the unspeakable carnage. Their hollow sockets bore mute witness to the inhumanity of the human creature.