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@}-- Act I
@}-- Act II
@}-- Act III
@}-- Act IV
@}-- Act V
@}-- Act VI
@}-- Act VII
@}-- Act VIII
@}-- Act IX
@}-- Act X
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Letters from the Heart, Act V

He grinned in anticipation. There his enemy was, dressed in black and awaiting him. The herald stood at the ready, confident, arms at his side. He could see daggers at his waist and a sword strapped to his back. A bag lay on the ground near his feet.

The Blood Paladin dismounted and began to approach the herald, leaving his horse behind. “So,” he began, his voice ringing out across the meadow, “we finally meet.”

He found himself amused at the lack of response from his opponent. “My men call you the Dark Herald, you know. They believe that when they see you in battle their death is imminent. They see you as the foreshadower of ill things to come. Tell me, are my men right?”

When no response came, the paladin looked over at the herald in annoyance. An impassive face looked back at him. “Alright. We don’t have to be civil. Why don’t we just be blunt: if you surrender now I’ll give you a quick, painless death.” He waited for any response from the black clad man. He could make out the tattoo that was under his left eye and wondered briefly what it meant. “I suppose we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

He pulled his sword form his sheath with reflexes honed from years of practice and combat. What surprised him was how quick the herald was. Before he even knew it his blade had been blocked and turned aside. He was so surprised that he had almost forgotten to block the other blow.

The herald’s moves were lightning fast but it wasn’t the typical thrusts, jabs, slashes, and parries that he was accustomed to. Everything was in a circular pattern and it was difficult to track. When the herald slipped he saw his chance.

The paladin dove for his opening and scored a hit. He saw his opponent wince in pain and he continued to press his attack. He was amazed at how quick the herald recovered, despite the blood that was now flowing freely from his wound. He truly felt sorry that he would have to kill such a magnificent fighter.

He could feel the fight begin to tip in the herald’s favor. The blades of his daggers were beginning to get closer and closer to him. He panicked. He grabbed one of the daggers from his belt and ignored the blows from his opponent. He thrust upward toward the herald’s chest, right at his heart.

There was a pause as the herald took a step back. Then another. He looked down at the dagger protruding from his chest and all the paladin could do was watch. The herald staggered forward and fell to his knees, then forward onto his face.

The Blood Paladin snorted and turned away. He was sorely disappointed. He had been hoping for more of a fight from this man that his troops feared so much. He began to walk back to his horse when he heard a voice behind him.

“We have not finished, you and I.”

He turned and saw the herald standing. He watched as the man pulled the dagger out of his chest and cast it aside with disdain, then unsheathed the sword strapped to his back. He back away from the herald and readied his weapon. “What are you?” he asked in horrified fascination.

“I am as you see me, tainted soul of Omnicron: a man determined to see you defeated or to have your death by my hands.” The herald advanced upon the paladin slowly. There was a determination in his eyes that did not falter and his gaze never wavered.

The paladin backed further away from him, an unbridled terror beginning to well up in his chest. What creature but one of darkness could withstand a fatal blow? What exactly was he up against? He flinched when the herald suddenly charged him. He raised his sword to defend but he wasn’t quick enough. He felt his left arm go wide and a burst of pain as he felt it break. Then, in a blink of an eye, his foe was behind him. Did he just flip over his arm? Blinding pain exploded into his back and he felt himself go flying forward.

He rolled when he hit the ground. He was dimly aware of the herald approaching him through the haze of pain. He wasn’t sure which was worse: his broken arm or the pain in his back. He had been a fool to come out here without armor.

He stood to his feet and tightened his grip on this sword. His left arm was ruined and useless now. He at least still had his right arm. His sword arm. If need be he could use his left arm as a shield of sorts. It was all or nothing now.

He watched as the herald advanced upon him slowly. What was he waiting for? Didn’t he want to just finish him quickly? Or was he enjoying the panic that was so blatantly obvious on his face?

The herald moved suddenly. Left, then right, then he leapt forward, sword raised and ready to wing. The paladin moved to block and it was all he could do to hold onto his sword, so great was the impact between them. He stumbled back and he saw the herald do the same.

He took advantage of the opportunity and charged forward. He thrust his sword toward the herald and felt it turned aside. He recovered by twisting his writs and forcing the weight of his blade to follow. He hoped that the herald wouldn’t block or parry the wing but expect it. He was blocked and he looked up into the face of his enemy: dark, dispassionate amber eyes with an intricate tattoo lining the underside of his left eye looked at him.

“One of us will die this day, follower of Omnicron, but I assure you it will not be me,” the herald said in a hollow voice, and it sent chills down the paladin’s spine.

The broke apart and their swords met again. On and on it went, neither one giving nor taking any ground between them. They appeared to be evenly matched, but something told the paladin that he herald was holding back. Almost as if he was afraid to let himself go and become immersed in the battle itself.

He pressed onward against the flashing blade before him. There had to be a weakness! But where? Everywhere he looked there was the blade, flashing in the sunlight. Down, up, and around. Always in some sort of circular fashion, and even when he thought he had found an opening he was always thwarted.

When he finally stumbled past the herald and looked over his shoulder, the faint look of amusement on the herald’s face told him that he was having fun at his expense. Enraged, the paladin charged forward recklessly. No one had fun at his expense!

Too late, he realized his mistake. He saw the blade level, then rise. He had played right into the herald’s plan. There was no way he could stop his forward momentum in time. What a pitiful way to die. He felt blinding from his abdomen up and across to his right side, then across his back. He staggered forward and nearly fell to his knees. He became vaguely aware of the herald approaching him. He felt so drained form his loss of blood and his ruined arm that he didn’t bother turning to face him.

He half expected the herald to say something, but nothing was said. No words were need. He heard the herald raised his sword, then a swish as it came down. He uttered a quick prayer to his god before everything faded to black.

Lucien stared down at the ruined corpse of Salris. His head was some distance away from his body and it stared up at him with sightless eyes. He thought about taking the head back with him but felt that he didn’t deserve the honor of being displayed in such a way.

He wiped the blood off of his sword on Salris’ clothes and turned on his heel. He walked away from the scene of the battle and toward his travel bag. He heard Salris’ horse whinny in the distance and ignored it. He wanted to go home but knew he couldn’t. Not yet. There was still so much work to do.

He sheathed his sword, picked up his bag, and shouldered it. He turned to face in the direction that he came from and stared for a long moment. He couldn’t leave. He needed to help them. His work wasn’t finished yet until that cult was completely disbanded.

Lucien began walking back and reflected. Staying here longer wasn’t going to kill him. Perhaps he could finally let his heart heal. He just needed time away. Away from all of the madness and hurt. Being here for a while yet could be good for him.

 

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