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claws it did take a bit longer than it might have, but she got
the door open.
Thorne was on the ground twitching, she left him to find her
gear. She made
her way back to the room she had been mutilated in, and there
was her gray
sack, her bag of holding. She reached inside and pulled out her
sword,
"Wind's Razor." With it she hoped to get some sort of signal off
to Flame.
Storm growled to herself as she made her way back to where
Thorne lay. It was
too bad Flame hadn't listened long enough to know what the
signal would be.
"I never get to the important parts with her," Storm complained
silently as
she stepped inside of what was meant to be her and Thorne's bed
chamber.
Motion!? Not again!
She heard the air being sliced as she dove for the floor. She
rolled to her
feet, sword at the ready as she faced the man that had taken her
fangs and
claws...Thorne's Warder.
"Hmm, your reputation holds true," spoke the Lyeazic warrior,
as he brought
his sword to bare, "You don't make the same mistake twice."
Storm only smirked, getting to her feet and leveling her sword.
She risked a
glance to her fallen friend, seeing Thorne was curled up in a
fetal ball.
And..shrinking? No he was turning back into Thistle's form.
She took a
sidestep closer to him... her. The sound of the Warder
flourishing his blade
recalled Storm's attention. She stood with Wind's Razor, ready
to challenge
him.
"Are you sure you want to die like this?" The Warder asked,
almost sounding
disappointed.
"I don't plan on dying." Storm replied curtly.
"None of my victims ever do."
She tightened her grip on her father's sword, "I'm nobody's
victim either."
The Warder shook his head slightly, a shimmer of light ran down
the edge of
the blue and gold blade as he evoked its power. The air crackled
and became
thick and heavy.
Storm set her teeth in a snarl, "This old trick, I thought
you'd be... more
original." She'd never been on this end of the trick. She'd
think twice about
putting someone thought it again. If she ever got her Gifts
back.
The Warder moved slowly, fluidly, not so much circling as . . .
waiting. The
air, too thick to breathe, rushed into Storm's lungs, setting
them ablaze with
pain. The pressure within her chest doubled with every passing
moment. Storm
knew she wouldn't last long. She gathered up her will and lunged
at the
Lyeazic warrior. He stepped forward to meet the lunge, catching
her sword
with his own. Storm tried to put pressure on the locked blades,
but her knees
began to buckle and her vision darkened.
"Just fall," The Warder whispered, "I will make it easy on
you."
Storm's mouth worked to form words, but the air was too thick.
She dropped to
one knee using all her strength to hold up the sword. The Dark
elf stood over
her, sighed and shook his head. Then swung his blade back to
deliver the
final blow.
As Storm faced her final moment, something in the Razor came
alive. The magic
in the Razor had been placed there with a purpose. To aid Storm.
To augment
her gifts. The magic looked for those gifts. The gifts of Air,
Water, Earth
and Fire that were her birthright as a Quickning. When the magic
couldn't find
those gifts it reverted its original purpose, to spark those
powers that had
lied dormant, as they were dormant in Storm now.
The Razor flashed then began to glow and vibrate. The Warder,
sensing the
change in Storm's weapon, changed the arch of his stroke to meet
Storm's
weapon rather than her neck. Bane Blade and Razor met with a
blinding flash.
The Warder shouted and shielded his eyes as he's driven back and
the powers of
Water and Air are ripped from his grasp. A vortex of blue and
gold light
surrounded Storm, then rocketed into her body.
The dark elf lowered his arm, the weight of his weapon felt odd
in his hand,
too light. He looked down to discover only a half a sword. The
blade, cleanly
broken in half, was a dull metallic gray rather than the once
shimmering blue
and gold.
HeܥeJ
The Mongrel and the Thief faced each other. The Dark infusion
warped the
Mongrel's face into a mask of hatred. The woman's defiance was
not to be
tolerated. As Storm looked into his eye, she didn't see any of
the person she
knew. What could have changed her friend so much and how was she
to stop him.
The madman charged, his fingers coiled to choke the life out of
the little
wench. He was a berserker in heat fueled by anger. The Thief
held her ground
as the Mongrel came toward her. She knew that the only way to
hold her own
against this raging ball of passion was with cold hard logic. At
the last
possible moment, as the bully charged, she shifted to one side,
ducked down
and stuck out her shin. The move had its desired effect, the
Mongrel tumbled
head over heels.
But Storm was fighting with Thorne, one of the most agile
people she knew. He
was on his feet and leaping into the air almost immediately.
Storm rolled to
one side as the Mongrel brought his foot down with all his
weight, on the spot
where she had been. The Mongrel howled then whipped out a punch,
catching the
were-tiger in the side of her head, sending her sprawling out
backwards on the
floor. She struggled to get to up but the madman's weight
knocked the wind
from her.
The Mongrel leered as he pinned her shoulders with what was
left of his arm.
Storm struggled to get free, and the Mongrel's face lit up as he
saw the panic
rise in Storm's eyes. He would soon conquer his victim. The
Thief's mouth
suddenly split into a cruel lopsided grin as she remembered a
promise made
long ago in jest. The Thief raised her knee and struck between
the madman's
legs. The Mongrel winced and Storm got to her feet, settling
into a fighting
stance. To Storm's surprise the look on the Mongrel's face was
more shock than
pain. His eyes met Storm's and as he rose he seemed to grow in
height.
"Not even phased!?," Storm whispered to herself as all the
calculated
coldness melted away in the fear, true fear, that rose in her.
Storm's mind scrambled for a way out as the Mongrel
outstretched his hand for
her throat again. The leer returned to his face and Storm took
an involuntary
step away. He would have her soon. He would conquer. He would
teach her she
was nothing.
Storm backed into the wall, her mind wheeling, looking for an
option,
anything. Fighting was useless. Pain seemed to encourage him.
Running...there
was no where to run. Words had already failed. There was only
one remaining
option open to her...and it was unthinkable. She'd sooner kill
him and
herself. Her mind continued to spin...she was losing
control...starting to
panic...paralyzed.
The Mongrel closed, wrapping his hand around her throat. Storm
shut her eyes
and...Nothing...
~*I am trying to repair damage done, allow me to proceed and do
not
interfere,*~ came Stygian's raspy mind voice.
Storm opened her eyes, meeting Thorne's. She saw something
else there. Then
his eye rolled up and he collapsed. She took a moment to gather
her breath as
well and her wits. Thorne was down at least for now. What next?
She went over to the door. It was locked with a sliding bolt,
fairly simple
to pick. She guessed they thought she'd be too busy to open it.
Without her nearly didn't register the weretiger charging toward him.
Storm smashed
The Razor's pummel into his face and snatched what was left of
the Bane Blade
from him. She shoved him back and went to Thistle's side, and
roared as she
saw the rest of the shattered blade embedded in the Mongrel's
thigh.
The Warder was stunned, and Storm saw her window of opportunity
though her
instincts screamed it would be a mistake. She knelt down wrapped
her arms
around Thistle. Then, blinked away.
She knew better than to doubt her instincts.
They spun out of control in the place between here and there.
Storm had never
spent more than a fraction of a second in this nowhere, and if
she had been
here for minutes or hours or days, she had no way of knowing.
She could feel
Thistle's weight in her arm and the sword in hand but she could
sense nothing
else. Storm gritted her teeth, remembering that this gift of
blinking was a
power of the mind. She needed to think of...somewhere and
concentrate. Maybe
she would complete the leap. Where? Somewhere very
specific...somewhere safe.
The image of a skylight came crisp in her mind. The skylight in
the sanctuary
Flame had built for her. That infernally tiny, wonderful window
that let the
light and air into the lair. Storm held on to the image in her
mind the way
she would hold the neck of her prey in her teeth. Hang
on...don't let the
image go...
Black...
There was a roar in her ears, so Storm knew either the
afterlife was very
noisy or she wasn't there. She felt for her limb, and finding
them all she
grew brave enough to open her eyes.
She saw the moon through that stupid skylight, and she heard a
moan at her
side. She turned her head and smiled to find Thistle laying in
the sand next
to her.
The sand was vibrating...Flame was on her way...Storm could
finally rest.
]Í