The Prophecy

[Asmodeus]

Four hours earlier...

The maiden's hands cupped, lifting the water of the Gladwallow Brook and letting it fall across her head and shoulders. Her hair was golden, slicked back from elven features and long enough to splay halo-like around her body. And like this she listened to the stream's rushing melody, eyes closed as slender legs kicked gently to keep her afloat. The pool was fed by water from a hundred smaller creaks trickling through the verdant forest, and in the distance the great waterfalls crashed towards the ruins of Rivermar. The sun was high this morning, silvering the water and catching gold upon her curves.

But when at last she turned, her clothes had vanished from the riverbank.

Her green eyes drifted upwards, taking in the long boot, the leg, the body and then the face of the man who watched her. "Crayden. You have been gone much time."

The ranger's mouth curled in a half smile. "Oh, but I didn't forget you, precious."

Only her shoulders were above the water, yet still she felt his eyes move over her. "Where are my clothes?"

"Spirited 'em away," The man was gnawing on a chunk of bread, crumbs falling into the water between them as he grinned, "Ranger spell. Only way to break it is to tell me yer name."

For two years she had bathed in this stream. For two years Crayden had stalked her. And for two years she had given him nothing. Now, as before, she moved her limbs in slow rhythm and held his gaze. "And what would you do with my name, Crayden the Quick?"

The ranger chuckled and his other hand came to rest on the hilt of his longsword. "Well precious, it's only fair I can scream your name while you're screaming mine."

She didn't flinch. Her eyes were sharp and her skin unflushed. "You forget yourself. A ranger should not become the beasts he walks with. His part is to..."

He cut her off as he tore the bread in his hands. "I dreamed about you last night. You finally got tired of bathing out here alone. You needed my talents... for that spot you couldn't reach." He slowly slipped out his tongue and laughed at her again, savouring the moment. "You dream about me, beautiful?"

Her eyes flitted, her face dropping slightly, and it only broadened his smile. She went to speak then hesitated, then all at once waded up the riverbank to push past him. Water drained in silver rivulets down her body as she moved. "Give me my clothes."

"That's a yes, ain't it?" He moved in front of her. "You dreamed about me."

"Crayden, just pl--"

"What did you dream?"

She tried to get past him but his hand shot forward, seizing her wrist and twisting it. Her soaking body came against him and she gasped in pain, held there as he smiled down at her distress. "What did you dream? Huh?"

He twisted again, making her back arch and her mouth gasp wider. "Huh?"

"HUH?"

"YOU'LL DIE!"

The shout caught between the trees, echoing louder than the crashing stream, and with its suddenness his hand released. Crayden's smile was gone, his eyes changing their shape and growing darker. They watched each other with their anguish mirrored. The maiden was almost crying. "On this quest..." she whispered, "...you will give your life..."

There was wildness in the ranger's stare... the eyes of a cornered beast... of an animal far from home and stricken in the hunt. Still he watched her, but his gaze no longer roving amidst her flesh. It was fixed solely upon her eyes, seeking the truth of what she had spoken. Then he saw the tear that cut down her cheek... the words that hung upon her lips. "Crayden..."

The ranger turned sharply and strode away, heading down the riverside towards the ruins. He spoke no further. He did not look back.

And the maiden, naked and shivering, watched him go and felt the pain that now moved with him.

 

[Sir Basil]

The Northern knight's whole frame tightened at the mention of leadership. He couldn't lead this group, this bunch of Southerners, though to some degree he believed he should - as if his cause was more important than theirs. It wasn't, of course - his cause was one of revenge and was a poor motivator for a holy knight. He shouldn't think that his vengeance and destruction were anymore critical than if they were going to destroy Kazai simply because of the land he had destroyed. Ronan shifted uncomfortably. The thousands upon thousands of lives Kazai had taken were more important than the life of one priest from the North, from a religion that no Southerner seemed able to comprehend. He tugged on a piece of his blonde hair. The woman did have a good point, though. They needed a commander, somebody who could lead them without qualm or fear. Paladins didn't know either qualm or fear, but he wouldn't lead them. He couldn't.

This might have something to do with the fact that the last time he was in any sort of command, his people were most wiped out, and his most stalwart companion corrupted and twisted beyond recognition. Such things didn't exactly inspire competence or confidence. Ronan bowed his head, but then looked up, glancing towards the large, wolf like humanoid, and then, back at the girl, "I don't want to divide our small alliance by choosing a leader who is not liked or is impossible to agree with," He said slowly, in his strange accented voice, "I believe that I am out of the running, for various reasons," He glanced at the ranger from the corner of his eye, and gestured to the monstrous humanoid again, "I suggest Vishal lead us - at least, for the time being."