Fantasy Fading Flame (In Character)

[Archon]

The gentle lap of natures trials softened the air in a blaze of bird song and gentle wind's caress, the radiance of day washed over the rolling tracts of green casting away the dark creeping shadows of the accursed dark. Okgar raised knelt down, his hand gliding through a rough-pile of soaked leaves, long-dead thanks to the unnatural amnesties that haunted the lands. These fields and forests were yet untouched--unlike his Uradoan--unlike home, where the dark had blackened and malformed the land in a twisted reflection of it's natural state, the sky black as night and the land both dead and yet living, the very soil possessed of a dark mind towards slaughter and turmoil. His people exiles in their own territory, resisting the encroaching hordes of certain doom with ferocity only an orc could possess--yet doom was an abstract, endless and eternal. They could not beat this threat through force of arms. Which is why Okgar stood here, away from his forlorn people, curled in the muds of a glistening forest with the bird song and wind lapping at his ears.

He'd searched in vein for two painstaking years, the frightened villages and superstitious monks of the outskirts would not treat with an Orc. Those he sought, the hedge wizards, turned him away with boundless accusations of darkborne and cursed, but they're cries of terror had foundation in truth. For what is more dark, than the absorption of the soul and disassembly of matter itself? There was nothing inspirational or heroic about Okgar's affliction, he was a walking beacon of death. Truth be told, even he had little idea of how a supposed hedge wizard could tutor the circumstances of his power. Motivation made way to desperation, Okgar was brought here--further inland than he had any right to be--in search of the very men and women who would be his executioner. To those in the mainland, orcs were but a myth, and one such as he would be condemned a darkborne, yet the proud orc had little else to lose, better to die with a purpose than to slink back in shame--if the denizens of the dark didn't rend him apart with their evil maws, first.

Then he heard it; loud and piercing yet beautiful, blanketing the serenity of the trees with the soft sound of song like none Okgar had heard before, an instrument, it's magic crescented only by the sounds of faint but assertive marching. Okgar steadied his breath, his eyes shut tightly and he whispered a prayer to the ancestors, he walked to what he surmised to be his doom--towards the sound of music--of beauty and magic.

It didn't take the orc long to find the scene, a great expedition laden with wagons, a small grizzled army traversed the road in tact formations, the music dancing gently from within. The muscled orc moved forward slowly, his hands stretched out to the sides, absent of weaponry or danger. His long grey-cloak that hooded his features cast off to avert suspicion. Each step was a cautious breath, the sentries noticed the large figure--cries of alert were shouted throughout. A darkborne attack, an assassin, some twisted dark guardian come to exact furious vengeance? He expected a volley of arrows to cut his efforts short soon enough, but trying was all he had left.

"I mean no harm." The orc started slowly in the common tongue, "I journey from Uradoan--home of the orcs--to offer aid." He spoke slowly to the foremost sentry, the man's face was blanched in terror and disgust, white-fingers tense around his bow, yet no arrow was loosed. Okgar stood motionless, idle and non-threatening, so that his life may continue and his mission may see success.​

 

[Midrick]

Pat's face darkened at the nobles reply and he took two steps closer, bringing the two men within inches, he had done things to people who refused to pay up while in the reapers, things he would prefer to keep quiet, but this wasn't just some regular noble, he held a position in an army and Pat doubted if they would appreciate a commanding officer with a few less fingers or a flayed hand. "Your Lucky that I'm feeling generous today, noble." he growled he looked towards the four men who were guarding the room tensing and shifting in their position. His quarrel was with the viscount, not the guards who weren't that much different than him. He turned to leave and saw a knife from a previous meal the overconfident noble had eaten. With lightning speed he grabbed the knife, turned, and slammed it in the space between the mans middle finger and ring finger on his right hand, which was planted on the table. After he left the knife buried in the wood he met the viscounts eyes with an unhinged gaze. "If I had been in a less agreeable mood, those would have been fingers." he whispered vehemently to the man, and the guards had made their move. One had grabbed Pat's shoulder. The mercenary shrugged it off and walked out of the tower without a second look.

The march towards the next destination was boring and uneventful, something for once, Pat invited. No giant fucking monsters, no horde of dark creatures hellbent on seeing what your insides looked like, nothing. The walking skeleton had returned from nowhere, but after running with this group and seeing what they could do, this honestly didn't suprise him. he walked in the middle with the normal troops, if he could even be called that anymore was a toss up. Guardsmen looked at him differently now after his little stunt with Aymeline, they were calling him the mad dog of the outpost. It had a nice ring to it, but people in the convoy looked at him like he was a warbeast in a cage rather than a man. Some things never change. he thought to himself, he was on his way to meet up with the big bossman when he heard the music playing, it was nice for a change. Most of the songs he remembered on March were about either whiskey, women, or a combination of both.

He finally made his way up with him with the giant metal man-skeleton. He waited until the two had finished before he started speaking "Jericho!" he hailed almost as he walked, Pat remembered how short he actually was. standing almost a foot taller than the man, he reflexively looked around for anyone else and noticed the priest looking mage conversing with the commander. His features hardened, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he didn't like the man, something felt... off about him. He decided to play it cool for now, after all it could have just been the natural distrust of his cutthroat nature. He nodded to the man who was on more or less equal height to his own, he then turned to Jericho, it still stunned him that a man his size fought like he did. "So, oh glorious leader, what's the plan for the journey ahead?" he asked in a semi serious tone.

Kabboom Inheritance

 

[Soviet Panda]

The Inuin felt lighter than he did earlier that day, no doubt thanks in part to that touch the giant Amyline gave in passing. Buras might not know much, but he did know that giants were the magical sort. And to make things even better, someone had shown him how to reload his shotgun/axe (something he quite frankly didn't think about when picking it out). Now he could fire more than two shots from it if he had the time to reload. But that also meant that he had to carry extra shots with him, which would throw his center of balance out and force him to adjust. And frankly he'd rather do that now than when a darkborne was bearing down on him. So on he walked, a pouch Light rounds slung over his shoulder so he could grow accustomed to the weight. Every now and again he'd shift it this way or that, trying to decide where was more comfortable and how to keep it from moving. He was not concerned about guard duty, for he was not on it currently. When someone came for him, then he would worry about it, but not a moment sooner.

 

[Kabboom]

Jericho Audaton

Time flew on the march. Pryonn's little mystery perplexed Audaton as well, with the pendant's cryptic inscriptions giving no hint to its origin or purpose, or owner. Of course, the abbreviation E.R., accompanied by the comment on the nature of time, did ring a few bells within the veteran Guardian's memory: the famed Ellienn Rosetta, for example, known for her work on battlefield encryption, and elaborate Guard Weapon, the Clocksword; or perhaps it's Eyn Reber, the Dragon Darklight, with his alternate form resembling the draconic beasts of old. Either way, perhaps a larger bounty awaits with inspection of the locket.

The pious warrior caught Audaton by surprise. "I am here because I was told to be," said Jericho. Further elaboration only accentuated his first words: he was here because the Council had gotten their asses to stop suffocating their heads for a brief moment, and actually do something worthy with their vast amount of power - perhaps someone else should be standing in his stead, but the word of the commanders are absolute, for better or worse. The mercenary Pat Faber grabbed his attention soon after, distracting his own mind from the suspicions of Lazlo.

The plan, as always, was subject to change. But for now, it stays the same: use the road to head to the ruins, set up camp there for a night, before chopping their way to the supply depot on the other side of the river. Speaking of which, the ruins are visible. With a temporary hold-up presented by the orc warrior's sudden but (thankfully) peaceful introduction, the convoy carried on unperturbed as it entered the site of a previous battle.

​

The place hasn't changed that much, surprisingly. Aside from the cracked town square, with its crumpled cathedral of smoldering ash and pain, those who had fought here the previous day noticed no other change. The hollow husks of better times long past still stood defiantly against the test of time, but for just another day. They all stood in an eternal paralytic state, barring a pair of silhouettes.

The silhouettes did not look hostile in the slightest, seeing as they did not flee or take up offensive stance when the convoy approached. The Guardsmen converged on their squad leaders and spread out through the ruins, checking each room thoroughly, while staying away from the two silhouettes who stood in the center of the square for now. It would appear, wisely, that the regular human beings with regular human armor decided to leave anomalous contact to the superpowered superhuman warriors with top-notch fantastical armor.

"Keep your heads together, now," advised Jericho, as he scanned the surroundings. "If you're gonna be the ones making contact, don't be hostile. If they aren't attacking us right now, then they're not 100% Darkborne. No offensive action unless offensive action is taken, understood?" First contact in these lands were always... inconsistent, according to the commander's experiences. Either you got a warm welcome from a Lightborne being who's happy with seeing another face in these woods, or you got stabbed in the head and looted. With the overwhelming presence of deadly arms, however, the latter is almost assured not to happen. Almost.

(brain juice ded, interact freely y'all)
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[Epiphany]

Aymeline

One of the most useful things about traveling with soldiers; they could be where you couldn't be. As far as Aymeline was concerned, that was a good thing. Because if there was one fact about the presence of those two silhouettes, it was how they forced Guardian attention. They just stood there, indistinct, shadowed by poor lighting or something darker she couldn't say. And they couldn't be ignored. Turning from them to explore the ruins invited an attack from the rear. But thanks to Jericho and his men, she could remain to face the potential danger while content knowing the perimeter could still be secured.

It was strange to be on a team again. Part of an expedition again, instead of functionally working solo in the field while using the Outpost as a hub for her operations. Aymeline looked about the ruins, once again struck by how mixed her feelings were to not be alone. Allies meant she didn't have to carry the whole mission alone. But allies also meant the risk of losing allies, and feeling that pain all over again.

Sometimes, it was better to be alone. Just not today.

Aymeline's chainmail gleamed in the dying sunset, almost as brightly as the white jade and steel warhammer she carried. Standing nearly ten feet tall, the Giant took a step towards the silhouettes and motioned in hand sign to the other Guardians (and anyone else) interested in coming with her. "On me," she said quietly, with a quick circle of her index finger. For anyone tactically trained, she essentially suggested accompanying warriors ring her, using her as the anchor of their formation.

Then she beckoned forward with one finger while asking "Point?", offering the lead spot to a willing volunteer. If there were no takers, the Giant simply shrugged and slung the White Warcry on her shoulder, projecting a not-immediately threatening profile that nonetheless could allow her to deploy the mighty enchanted warhammer at a moment's notice.

Assuming anyone rallied (or if not), Aymeline advanced on the two silhouettes. She kept her approach slow, well aware that her height could be intimidating. If they didn't respond before she was within easy speaking distance, Aymeline called out in a loud low voice, "Ho there, friends. Camping for the night as well? Care to share our fire?"

 

[Inheritance]

Lazlo Talonguard​

Lazlo's staff lit up with a dull red light as he saw the two figures. He was about ready to conjure up some sort of attack when the commander told them not to. Not 100% darkborne? So? It didn't matter if they were 1% darkborne, or .1% for that matter. They were tainted, corrupted, and they needed to be purified. No amount of talking would ever do that, and had it not been for the giantess walking over and speaking to them he might have ignored the command and attacked anyway.

He followed her, and was almost too stunned to speak when she invited them to join them for the night. What in the name of Archbishop Randal was she thinking?! She was inviting two strangers to join them, and while he personally didn't fear for his safety, her lack of concern was complete foolishness. No dark figures in ruins such as these could be good news, and he was not about to have his throat slit while he slept because our guardians wanted to be friendly.

"This better be some sort of ambush." He hissed up at her, hopefully not speaking loud enough for the other two to hear. He kept his staff close, and prepared for a shield of some sort, having a bad feeling about this whole situation. Still, if his faith was being tested by incompetence and two mysterious challengers, then the fires of his soul would cleanse the dark. It didn't matter how good they were, any amount of darkness in them was corruption, and if they were weak enough to allow that into them, they would need to be purged.

Kabboom Epiphany

 

[Kabboom]

Jericho

Taking point, Jericho swiftly moved forward of where Aymeline was, passing by the seemingly disgruntled zealot. Swift hand signs give unspoken orders to the guardsmen, and the convoy unfurls itself like a spring set free: Guardsmen hold the perimeter fore, with cavalry patrolling the convoy area, while Conquerors unsheathe their shortswords and move into the buildings nearest to the silhouettes, inspecting them with any signs or residue of Dark and exterminate with extreme prejudice.

The two silhouettes did not move an inch.

The echoing of armored footsteps drummed out the steady tune of the walk, accompanied by the oomph of the Giantess' footfalls. The clipped-wing Giant Gaheris skulked around the left side of the ruins along with the Conquerors, with his padded 'shoes' masking most of his presence, while the kilted one with the big fuck-you sword hung in the rear, protecting the valuable supply wagons. This left Aymeline as the sole big-hitter on the immediate battlefield, accompanied by the smaller-sized Guardians, and if any attack would be carried out, it would undoubtedly focus on the pink-haired big lady. Jericho mentally prepared multiple Shield Auras for every warrior standing behind him. The Guardsmen and Conqueror have adequate cover, and can fend for themselves, but with the exposed town square that he was approaching, everyone would no doubt appreciate the cover. With that to subdue the intensity of attacks, they should have ample time to-

"The nights here are cold, Giant-friend. We would appreciate a partner or two." one of the two silhouettes rang out. The voice was undoubtedly human. Jaded, gruff, and slurred with a desert-dweller accent from the South Dominion, but human nonetheless. Snapping out of his thoughts, Audaton took a closer look at the two, assuming an unassuming guard position. They donned dirty, filthy mud-grabbed gear seemingly slapped together from multiple former owners, but did not carry them with the undisciplined slouch and fidgeting of mere bandits or looters. The gears in Jericho's mind clicked. It was always funny, staring at these guys with their Imperial-drilled discipline wearing cheap dead-man's-armor.

The Darklights had met the convoy early, it seems. Two of them stood in anticipation of the convoy's arrival to the ruins, which they no doubt must've figured out from observing the convoy's direction of movement earlier in the day.

"Only for a night, friends of the Light. The Fire we seek answers calls of Darkness." the Guardian raised his voice, catching both of the Darklights' attention. Darklight code* was easy enough to ad-lib, he hoped, and with the two loosening their posture, it seemed the importance of the convoy and his expedition got across without a hitch.

"A fire to be welcomed. We are humble friends, of course, travelers of the Wheat Children. Do you care to ignite the firewood and jovially boast?" came the response from the Darklight on the left- er, Jericho's left, wearing a conical metal helm which left enough room for his artificially darkened eyes to peer out. The Wheat Children? Which Darklight 'regiment' was that one? Ah, the Kelegris 'regiment', but weren't they splintered? The Kelegris D'lights** had taken a beating for the last few years, and last that anyone heard, they were being divvied up and attached to other Darklight units. Regardless, Jericho must answer the codesign.

"Splitting winds turn dark, fire burns cold, blizzards burn hot, nothing's worth a shite in this bucket. With toast, comes beer.*** You can stand down now, boys."

And with that, the tense air of the ruins dispelled itself somewhat.

The Conquerors came out with a negative on Dark infestation, and the convoy moved itself into the ruins. From the shadows of the rearmost building, five more Darklights slowly stepped out from the shadows, approaching Jericho and the other Guardians with freedom. Lighting cigarettes, the apparent leader of the Darklights, the cone-helm chuckled. "Shit, next time just start with the fuhking codesign."

"Couldn't believe my eyes with your stupid fuckin' hat. Good to see you, Darklights." Jericho replied in kind. No fight for the party so far, or so it seems. Well, better enjoy hope while it lasts here.

Spoiler: *

*: Darklight code is an ad-hoc roundabout unofficial code language used by Darklights and frontier units to prevent Darkborne eavesdropping and espionage
**: Short nickname for Darklights, pronounced Delights
***: codesign provided to Jericho to verify the expedition's mission

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[QizPizza]

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[div class=wrapperDiv][div class=bigHeader]CHRONOLOGY SERIES[/div]

[div class=header]LUTHAX VALYZAN[/div]

[div style="font-size:9px; font-style: italic; text-align:center"]Credit to ElectricPizza[/div]​

[div class=tabWrapper][div class=tab style="border-top-left-radius: 5px;"]POST[/div][div class=tab]OTHER INFO[/div][/div][div class="tabsContent tabsPost"]
With the presence of the two silhouettes in the ruins, Luthax immediately ruled out the presence of Darkborne like all the others. Of course, there was the possibility of bandits and raiders out here. The outpost and the caravans that got there was a tempting target. Loot a couple of opportune caravans that were understaffed and cripple the fort. After a couple of missing caravans, the fort would be easy pickings. Of course, that clearly hasn't happened just yet, but it wasn't like it couldn't. If Luthax could come up with this plan, then some bandit somewhere out there must have tried it before.

The Bloodguard stepped forward, following the giantess' lead along with the cleric towards the two silhouettes. He drew his sword and let it rest on his shoulder as he flanked Aymeline on their approach. Luthax's goal was to keep the unidentified people uneasy with his faceless helmet and eccentrically decorated armor. An unsettled foe was one that was more prone to mistakes and rash decisions, which would all the more be to the Guardians' advantage should they attack. Of course, if they already planned an ambush, unsettling just two people wouldn't do much. The Bloodguard agreed with the cleric when he entertained the possibility of an ambush, but paranoia was not characteristic of Luthax. He would be ready, but not too

When they finally got close enough to get a close look at the two silhouettes, the group's leader, Jericho took the task of speaking. Better that man than Luthax or the cleric. The cleric reminded him of his brother Raaj-a fan of red clothing and giving off the impression that they were very...unstable. As for Luthax, he wanted to keep his own impression as the quiet man in the glowing armor, at least in front of unknown forces. The leader of the Guardians and one of the two men exchanged some sort of codespeak that he failed to understand.

Thankfully, it appeared that these two and the five that were hiding behind the farthest building were allies that the Guardians were supposed to rendezvous with. Why this knowledge wasn't provided to him before hand was no surprise. He was a late addition to the group, along with probably most of others, given the discrepancy between the roster he was shown, and the actual group size.

Now these people were confirmed to be friendlies, Luthax dropped the quiet demeanor he kept up for the last couple of minutes. He was slightly disappointed that there wouldn't be a fight, but that's him being eager for action. He was fairly certain that no one else was particularly interested in shedding blood and getting injured. He turned to Jericho and asked, "Who are these Darklights? I haven't heard of an Imperial group called that before. Some kind of secret legion, or is it me just being green? ...No pun intended."
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LOCATION: Ruins

PHYSICAL STATE: Fine

MENTAL STATE: Fine

INTERACTIONS: Kabboom (Jericho)

MENTIONS: Inheritance (Lazlo) Epiphany (Aymeline)
INVENTORY:
-Bulwark Paradox
-Lightshots x4
-Bloodguard Armor
-Lightshot Cartridges
-Light Cartridges

POWERS:
-Salamander Blood
-Valyzan Bloodmist

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[div style="font-size:9px; font-style: italic; text-align:right"]Code by QizPizza[/div][/div]

 

[Kabboom]

Jericho Audaton

The warrior Luthax queried him on the Darklights. Understandable, considering these dregs of the Empire aren't usually cast in a good light by the news - any light, actually. They've gone as an unknown, unspoken force that lurks somewhere over yonder in the Dark territories, dying, bleeding, and killing in the name of nothing. "They're... criminals employed forcefully to play out here in Dark territories, to put it short. They're on our side, but don't let them get behind your backs. They might stab you for it." came the courteous reply from Jericho, swiftly moving onto coordinating the rest of the convoy to dock up.

The night slowly fades, not without a bustle. As the twinkling sun descended beyond the high treetops, flickering its rays through the darkening woods, the night brought its horrors out to play. Good thing they had a few campfires.


The convoy spread out around the ruins, with Guardsmen standing sentry atop the towers. Plentiful campfires and torches were planted all over the place, illuminating the smoldering ruins. The glow looks as if the destroyed village had returned for a brief moment, as joyous chatter echoed through its square again, clattering hooves against cobblestone, and crackling of firewood reviving the ancient town once more. A large campfire 'stood' in the middle of the square, where Jericho sat with the Darklight commander.

"So, what did you find out there?"

"Oh, you know, the usual - dead cultists, dead heretics, dead trees, dead villages, dead Elves, a lot of dead things. Only Darkborne out there."

"...Anything else?"

"The fuck you mean, 'anything else'? It's called the Dark territories. Wouldn't be called that if something other than the cocking Dark lived here, would it?"

"You know what I meant."

"...Pff, alright. Aznasha the Princess is coming - some... weird fucking Darkborne-Darkmage-whatever-the-fuck. She stopped by our old depot not too long ago - killed half our men. She's roaming around there still."

"Well shit."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Jericho sat there, listening to the firewood crackling as he digested the information. A 'weird fucking Darkborne-Darkmage-whatever-the-fuck' wiping out half a Darklight detachment singlehandedly? Hmm...

Elsewhere, a seemingly boisterous Darklight approached Lazlo. Looking properly drunk, the stocky, buff-looking Darkborne gave him a look, then wiggled his empty beer canteen in his face. "What's with the gloomy face, you hooded punk? You wanna show me your pretty face, bitch?"

None of the other Darklights seem to be paying him any attention, in fact trying to evade their drunken comrade's glare as they try to 'mingle' with other guardsmen. Speaking of which, the guardsmen don't seem to be paying him any attention either. Looks like Lazlo wasn't the first and only person this drunken Darklight had tried to harass.

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[Inheritance]

Lazlo Talonguard​

Ever sense these blasphemers allowed the Darklights into the camp, Lazlo had been in a sour mood. He couldn't understand why the group wanted them near, and why they didn't listen to him in the first place. He understood that he didn't have much sway in this group, and he accepted that. It was stupid not to listen to him, perhaps even suicidal; but until it came down to life or death Lazlo was content to observe and hold his tongue.

But he still scoffed at the idea of allowing these delinquents into the band. No darklight could be trusted, and while he himself had once been one, the Red Church opened his eyes to the truth, and as he walked down the path of salvation, he was slowly but surely cured of the darkness. The fools that now polluted the camp were corrupted and completely beyond redemption. He had watched them with intensity hoping to see a spark of the light that the Red Church saw in him. But the more, he watched the more disgusted he became, watching as the darklights stumbled around drunk annoying everyone in the camp.

It was no coincidence that his hood was up as he watched the group. He had been doing it the whole time, and had become very adept at watching and listening. If he had learned one thing from his training in the church, it had been how to bide your time.

Once, when the Red Church was on top, they could do whatever they wanted to bring light to the land. The world understood the necessity of the Church, and the sacrifice that came with the salvation the church provided. But at some point the people became blind, and turned away from the holy light of the church, going as far as to attack the Church and destroy their many institutions. The Red Church was driven underground where they've sat ever since. If the Red Church knew one thing, it was that the world was corrupt and foolish, and that they needed to return. But the wise Archbishop knew well that they could not return whenever they wanted to. They needed to wait for a sign from the Light, and only then could they take back the world and purge the darkness from it.

In this way, Lazlo knew how to be patient; to gather information to use for later, and to prepare for the revolution. While taking control of this group might not be a revolution, it was certainly a step in the right direction. So when the drunk darklight stumbled over to him, he already knew his course of action, and the man's outrageous behavior made it that much easier to carry out what needed to be done.

"You drink like a sinner." He hissed, snatching the man's drink from his grasp. With a quick motion, he stood up and jabbed his staff into the side of the man's ankle, knocking him to his hands and knees. Lazlo was not the quickest of men, but with the man's drunken senses and reflexes, it was a simple task to get the man down. Lazlo jumped up, and quickly walked to the edge of the camp with the bottle. The man quickly scurried up and stumbled after him. Lazlo took slow, deft steps backwards out of the firelight as the man followed, and when the man hit the edge of the camp, Lazlo turned and bolted deeper into the woods.

He watched as the man quickly became lost, his senses dulled as the alcohol did its work. He saw as the man became panicked, and turned back towards the firelight.

"Shirak" Lazlo muttered, and a crimson light shone through the woods. The man's drunken senses made him attracted to the light like a moth to a lantern, and he chased after the scarlet glow. Running into the small clearing where Lazlo stood, the drunk man's anger returned, and he charged the strange Red Priest.

He charged, and when he got about 10 feet away, the light vanished, and terror swept over him as he was left in blackness. Flashbacks from his months at war with the darkness filled his mind, and with a scream he fell to his hands and knees. "No...no...no..." he whimpered, seeing again his friends dying next to him while the horrors of the wood filled his senses.

"Repent, Darklight, and perhaps you can see the light again..." A voice broke through his visions, and he instantly recognized it as the Priest from before. He growled, and swung wildly in the direction of the voice, which seemed to come from everywhere. He wildly swung his arms looking for something to hit, when the side of his head exploded with pain. He stumbled to his feet, charging towards where he was hit, finding nothing.

"Repent, Darklight, and perhaps the light will find you." The smooth voice seemed to come from everywhere.

"COME OUT COWARD!" He screamed into the blackness. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

In response, a blast of red light struck him in the chest, sending him pinwheeling into a tree. His vision flickered, and suddenly the red light was back, this time with the priest right in front of him. With a surge of effort, he tried to swing at the man, but was forcefully slammed against the tree and pinned upright.

"Repent, Darklight, you have run out of chances."

"Go fuck yourself!"

A blast of Red energy swarmed around him, and he felt his very soul being burned. He blinked out tears, realizing that it was blood, not water, running down his field of vision.

"You have failed your test, and will be punished. May the Gods have mercy on your soul. Your exorcism will be painful but-"

"FUCK YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!"

"But it will redeem you in the eyes of the Lord. You have lost the right to have last words."

"FUCK YOU, FUCK YOUR MOTHER, FUCK YO-" He was cut off as he screamed out in a silent scream, eyes bulging, as Lazlo's staff drove into his chest. Lazlo's own vision flickered, as his offensive magic sapped from his own lifeforce.

"I shall purge your soul from this world. It is a stain on the purity that this world possesses, and by vanquishing you I take another step closer to the world's salvation." He pulled his staff from the man's chest.

"Repent. Admit your sins."

The darklight sobbed helplessly, the fight out of his bloody eyes but his pride still strong enough to resist. Lazlo struck the man on the side of the head with his staff. "Repent. Admit your sins."

The sobbing continued. Another hit, more sobs. Another hit.

"REPENT! ADMIT YOUR SINS ELSE YOU SPEND ETERNITY IN OBLIVION!"

And finally, through broken sobs, came: "I'm...I'm s-sorry! I'm a s-s-sinner! I failed the l-light!"

That was all the man was able to get out before falling into hysterical sobs. That was all that Lazlo needed.

"I banish your soul from this world." He said calmly, ignoring the cry of protest. He jabbed his staff into the man's throat, and with one quick spell, absorbed the last of his life force. The man collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

The next hour was Lazlo pinning the man to the tree, drawing a circle around the tree, and lighting it on fire. The Scarlet Flames only burned the tree, and produced little light-a trick he learned from the Grand Inquisitor himself. The next morning, a blackened tree and an unrecognizable corpse might have been found, if the group ever went this way. He had purposely led the man in the opposite direction of the group's course, and was confident that his body wouldn't be disturbed by the weak minded party.

Lazlo lifted his staff, and returned to the camp. The Red Church would have been proud.

Kabboom (or anyone who might want to interact)