...The pain was too much, the wound too deep.
Kaiell fought alongside the various united warriors as they sought to reclaim the island upon Nen Harn, the home of Draugmir. Having been one of the archers in the back along with Fulton when the fight finally began full-force, he was able to keep out of the thick of things for the most part. Still, he ended up a little beaten by the time they reached the door, which was broken through with the combined skill/brilliance from the Third Commander, and strength from a Beorning. The latter being quite the sight for Kaiell (though he had met one before), and not to mention one of the biggest advantages the offensive team had.
Nevertheless, as fast and strong as they were against those under Alestair, it cost Duindos’ side no small amount of loss as well. Only a somewhat poultry fraction of their original numbers was left, including all the wounded. Of those left, fewer still first entered into the walls of Draugmir. An emptiness — yet filled with darkness — awaited them. There were no more thugs to guard the hallways and stairs as far as anyone could tell. Nothing to halt or stop them except for the whisperings and faint figures winding about like harmless, haunting toys of the Gamesmaster — as if for his amusement. Indeed, there stood only him, Alestair Wolf, in the highest room, cloaked and shrouded in blackness. A strange, consuming blackness Kaiell could have fittingly described as death.
Everyone prepared themselves, strong and accomplished warriors of the land, gathered together under the bright banner of Duindos the guardian.
Or the dark grey banner of Duindos the poisoned.
It was all for naught. With a blur of confusion, Kaiell stepped back and stood still as his suddenly numb mind trailed behind the reality around him...
Duindos — on the floor behind them, patches of fire about him.
Archers — collapsed and motionless, their arrows shot in vain.
The Third Commander — reaching for a fiery object, to eventually die all the same, cursing the enemy.
Fulton — impaled not long after it begun, his speed and might ultimately not enough.
Nelledal — slashed by the enemies’ blade, blood rushing out.
Mortanas — cut and wounded after each charge, finally defeated and tossed aside with no strength left, failing to avenge the valiant Third Commander.
The figure himself — drenched in blood... some belonging to the others, but some his own. Yet, he was still standing nonetheless, like every landing hit against him only fueled his power.
And that left only him. He could have joined the fight, but as soon as even Kaiell had recovered from the unexpected shock and dread of the darkness, he knew there was no point in challenging it, as cowardly as running and doing nothing would be. And doing just that would also have been against his agreement as a sellsword... but it wasn’t like he was going to get all his coin at this point regardless. This was far from any ordinary fight for a sellsword.
And as Kaiell started slowly towards the first bit of stairs behind him, he again briefly wondered how he came to be here, amid such a scene. But nearly as soon as they began, Kaiell’s movements and thoughts of escape halted as the dark figure now turned to him, deeming himself finished with the others. And as the figure stepped closer into the grey light, Kaiell found himself peering at a familiar face, more clearly than before. Though somewhat damaged and altogether different, he remembered the face as Alestair, the man who had once set him free, with a chance to save his brother...
How did this seemingly good man turn to this darkness, now the enemy of his once-supposed allies of this island? Kaiell stood there silently, still half-dazed and unsure of what to do as the Wolf slowly came closer, his twin swords at his side. He then began to speak...
“Oh, Kaiell.... How is your brother? I wonder if he is happy now...? My blade took him too. But, I can... reunite you both.”
Then, like another game of toys, an image like before appeared through Alestair’s power and deception. But this trick was different. What Kaiell saw was the figure of a hooded man, clad in black, walking towards him at his right. His brother Jon, ghostly and faint, but visible enough. Kaiell had freed and saved him in a way, but not from death. Yet, according to Alestair, here he was...
Disturbed and half-horrified, Kaiell stepped back again, partly running into the end of a small, decorative stone wall next to the stairs. And a moment later the image vanished with Jon seemingly calling out to him. But after a slight pause to gather himself a little and think, Kaiell knew it to be likely false... an empty image to fit his lying words of “reuniting.” Indeed, it could only be some dark trick of the mind, Kaiell thought - something akin to the evil he remembered all too well from Angmar.
And likewise, how could he have finished off Jon when he was at the island both when Kaiell had arrived imprisoned, and when he’d left with Brinira? Besides, the wounds dealt by that elf and everything else had already likely been enough to be considered fatal, at least without immediate help. Though, Jon hadn’t been the most regular man at that point either. “You’re only messing with me,” Kaiell muttered at last. “And, you weren’t even there. You weren’t—you were on this island...”
The Wolf only answered by acknowledging that the servant of Angmar fell from the cliff, wounded and weak from loss of blood, and that he gave him mercy... by quickening his death.
Kaiell stared at Alestair as he tried hard to think and consider everything. Then again, if the Wolf was somehow speaking truth, with this kind of dark trickery many things could be possible. Though, Kaiell knew not at what point this man was first capable of all of this... a long time ago Kaiell guessed—
All the while, Alestair spoke a little further about the power of the “Shadow,” and “saving them before death,” but Kaiell only half heard them now in his eerie stupor. Though, now as he replayed the words over in his head and listened again fully, Alestair, in conclusion, offered a chance to be saved from his fury, if he would fight for him instead. Kaiell, caught between darkness and likely certain death, took another step back, once more without an immediate answer. Either running or fighting back would mean death, there was no question about that. That only left the option of joining him... if one could be insane enough to actually do so. Of course, he could pretend to do so, which could potentially open up chances of escape later on... but it wasn’t that simple, especially when dealing with this Alestair.
Was death really all that bad, though? Kaiell was a sellsword, but even far before being one he had prepared himself for death, whether swift or more painful. Yet, somehow, everyone around him always slowly died it seemed, one by one, but never him — yet. And it’s not like he had much for him these days to hold on to... well, maybe there was.
But now he’d spent too long pondering. Alestair was now far closer, peering down at Kaiell as he waited for an answer. But perhaps he could get it himself to a degree...
The Wolf studied him, searching deep for his true intentions, soon finding a darkness, only for it to have been rejected long ago, or else buried deep...
“I see,” Alestair said. “Very well then.”
And before Kaiell could do anything in defiance, a dagger was suddenly dug deep underneath his left arm and shoulder, where protection was thinner. He started backwards in shock and pain, only to miss-step on the stairs behind him and nearly fall to the bottom. Alestair only stood still at the top, deciding not to finish him off, at least not immediately. But time was not to be taken slowly yet, for the battle was not over. From the first room below came the sound of several steps upon the first set of stairs leading down. What emerged was a cloaked warrior, along with a monstrous orc and several other servants, all clad in the colors of Angmar...
