Sometimes those who failed in life, succeed in death.

A wise saying (unattributed)

"Get down!"

Exactly who among them barked those orders was lost to Sheala. She would have complied with the command sooner, had her spooked mount cooperated. As it were, she was more than consumed with trying to tie off the terror-riddled gelding that wanted nothing more than to bolt off through the trees in terror.

As if the constant pulling and panicked whines from the horse were not enough of a distraction, the medallion given to Sheala by her father years before was causing quite a stir. Normally quite and cold, it was now like a burning ember under her armor and vibrating with an agitated buzzing.

If the enchanted trinket believed she needed further assurances danger was upon them, it was wrong.

During their stay at Mours Towers, Sheala had begun to sense a long dormant and soothing warmth return. The sensation had been distant, like a faint echo of a dream, but she recognized it immediately. Even after all these years.

However, what the medallion was doing in this instance, was nothing at all like when her sister was nearby. The heat it currently exuded was not reassuring, but rather hard and firm. It had started slowly at first when they had caught sight of the black form hurtling towards them on the road east.

They had spotted it coming up behind them on undulating wings just before entering the fringes of the Eastern Woods. Its appearance made the group's pace hasten to a full gallop in order to reach cover before it caught up to them. And they hadn't stopped for quite some time after reaching the safety of the trees.

Now the medallion was raging like thunder in a storm.

Overhead, whatever was in the sky circled; a black scar upon the blueness.

"Anyone get a good look at that thing?" Anthony's hushed whisper was unnecessary, but more habitual in nature. The trait of the experienced thief and assassin he was. It wasn't as though speaking in such tones was keeping them from being discovered.

"Is it a dragon?" asked Gregory. The swords master formerly in the service of Sheala's late uncle tended to be to least opinionated and most silent member of their party lately.

"Not a dragon," Sayra clarified. "Something darker. Something more foul." Sheetah fluttered and rippled on the silver-haired elf's shoulder. "Present company excluded, of course."

From its vantage above, the beast pursuing them howled.

"Sure sounds like a dragon," Sheala said. "I still remember the roar of that archeon that attacked the Oracle all too well."

The shadow continued to rotate overhead as the sun was about halfway off its peak and heading towards the horizon to signal an end to the day.

"Well, it's got a bead on us," Brentai correctly observed. "Whatever it is."

"Something from The Dark itself." Reane drew her sword, craning her neck to see as best she could through the leafy canopy above. All she could do was catch bits and pieces of the creature's black form as it became visible for brief moments while it stalked them. "It is not of this world." Then she paused and corrected. "Not entirely, at least. I sense that it has a tether here to the mortal plane of existence, even with my mind shielded from its thoughts, I can discern its dual origins. But I dare not drop my guards to try to divine anything further."

Sheala mimicked Reane's battle ready posture, bringing out her own gleaming blade of silversteel. "Think my sister sent it?"

"Possibly," Sayra said.

Anthony added a more firm pronouncement. "Probably. I'm sure it's one of Lady Noranda's pets. Sent to sniff us out. She has quite a few servants from the underworld at her disposal."

"I'd say it's done sniffing," Sheala quipped. "Based on the way it's circling, it knows we're down here. So why isn't it attacking?"

Reane shrugged. "Probably that medallion of yours. If that thing's a demon, I'd wager it can sense the magic that's upon it. But I'll also bet that the medallion's protections are countering it getting a full lock on us."

"Well, we can't just sit here."

"Agreed." Sayra tried to ease Sheetah's agitation with a scratch behind her head. All the while, their horses continued to panic, seeking to break free. "Demons grow exponentially stronger when night falls. If we're not away from it by then, we're going to be in a real bind."

"So we have about four hours to sunset? Another one or so from that until it really gets dark. Not much time to come up with a plan."

Gregory shook his head. "If it returns and reports our position, we'll have your sister, probably with an entire flight of dragons, on us in no time." He stood and started unstrapping the reigns of his mount from the tree where it had been moored. Immediately it bucked up, but the man at arms brought it under control with a soothing pat. "I'll lead it away. Buy you some time"

"What?" Sheala's voice cracked. "No, that's not an option."

Korg snorted his own disdain to the plan.

"Look, it's not open for discussion. We're done sacrificing people and condemning them to death."

"You got a better plan?" Gregory challenge to her came as he hoisted himself up into the saddle, his horse all too eager to run if he would let it.

Sheala's lips screwed up in a bizarre snarl. "Well, no. Not yet, anyway. But I'll come up with one."

"There's no time. I'll be the next distraction you need."

"And how, if it is sensing my medallion, are you going to get it to follow you if the medallion stays with me? We supposedly need it to enter the shrine. Besides, once that thing catches you, and kills you, it'll be right back on us."

Brentai agreed. "Sheala's right. It's not a good plan. You might be able to outrun it for an hour, maybe two. Personally I give you about a handful of minutes, but even so ... a couple hours aren't going to matter if it's able to track us down like a bloodhound. It found us once. It will find us again. And that being the case, we're going to run out of sacrifices real quick. And long before we hit those mountains and the shrine if this is how we hope to counter its pursuit."

Gregory leaned forward in his saddle while the beast roared again. He cast all those assembled a hard stare. "Look, I'm not saying that I'm particularly fond of being the lamb preparing to be slaughtered, but we really don't have very many other options."

"There are always options." Sayra replied to his bleak outlook with half-hearted optimism.

"Damn right there are!" Sheala's bellowed words accompanied her finding a sense of confidence in light of the situation. "We just need to figure out what they are. I remember the cleric telling us she fought a monster like this one. Maybe it's the same one? If it is, then we know it can be beaten."

"Daphney's a cleric," Anthony reminded the Fimmirran ambassador. "Holier than any of us here. Or even all of us put together. She survived because she's blessed by the Greater Goddess herself."

"Look, I'm not saying that she didn't have significant help. But we're all capable in a scrap. You're trying to tell me that a seer who can read minds and manipulate objects," she pointed to Reane, "and elven First Daughter, now First Mother," her finger progressed to Sayra, "and someone with a medallion loaded up with more enchantments than we can apparently comprehend, along with everyone else here, can't find a way?" That serious question forced everyone to stop talking. "Well?"

Sayra nodded. "The Child of the Storm's right. Perhaps there's a way. But it would take all of us, and a lot of luck, to succeed."

"Do we have any choice at this point but to try?"

"No. I don't think we do." Sayra agreed. "But to make it work, Child of the Storm, you are going to have to give up something very precious to you. At least, temporarily."

Hooves thundered down the path in the forest. The cloaked rider, hood drawn, forced its mount onward with all possible haste while avoiding branches. The medallion worn about the rider's neck bounced and glowed like a white hot sun in the fading light of the day.

From above and behind, albeit significantly closer than a few moments prior, the demon in close pursuit roared. The gelding carrying the rider was losing speed — legs tiring from a breakneck pace maintained for far too long on top of previous hard riding for the past couple days.

Another roar. Time was running out. Soon the beast that had clawed its way out of The Dark would be upon its quarry. No amount of running could stem the inescapable tide seeking to consume both horse and rider. And when that happened, this game of cat and mouse would come to a swift end.

Unable to justify prolonging the inevitable, the rider pulled up. In response, the gelding reared up at being called to a sudden halt while feeling the intense need to continue its pointless flight from certain doom. Whirling around, the rider turned to face the demonic pursuer while wind from infernal wings buffeted the prey it sought.

Slamming into the ground with the accompanying crack of tree limbs being shattered by the beast, the demon remained in the crater its girth and force created. Rippling black plates each ended in wicked points. Like skin they pulsed as muscles below flexed and tensed. While the curled horns protruding from its head spoke of wanting to gore prey and mount.

The medallion's brightness intensified.

"Foolish girl," the demon growled. It rose up to its full height as the cloaked rider drew steel to meet the threat. "Do you think you can best me, Child of the Storm?"

Without a word in response, and buried heals into flanks, the rider charged upon an unwilling mount.

The assault was short lived, a single swipe from the underworld forged claws of the beast tearing open the horse's neck and dismounting the rider onto the forest floor. With the same blood-stained hand, it wrapped fingers around the throat of the rider trying to rise and flee. The second the flesh of the demon's hand touched the medallion, it burned. But the pain was not enough to cause the monstrosity to release its hold. Hefting its flailing captive into the air, one might say the beast smiled.

"Now, Child of the Storm, your sister awaits you. And with your reunion, the world can end."

"I don't think so," replied a voice, but one not even remotely feminine. With a free hand, the rider swiped back his hood to reveal the features of a middle-aged man.

Angered at the deception, the demon roared the loudest it ever had and sent spittle forth that clung to Gregory's face. He winced as the as the creature's other claw pulled back in preparation for a fatal strike.

As that blow moved to come, silver steel flashed from the right, cutting into and through the forearm used by the creature to detain the sword master. It did not stop upon contacting the black flesh of the monster, cutting clean through and severing the limb as it though it were a heated knife slicing through butter.

Gregory dropped, peeling back the vice like fingers one by one while the demon shrieked and Sheala stood there admiring her handiwork.

"Woah!" The former thief had trouble taking her eyes off the stub at the end of the demon's arm, the wound crackling like coals in a stoked fire. "I can't believe that worked."

A retaliatory swipe from the demon's other hand made her realize that this was not yet over. "You're the one I seek!" it called out.

As she ducked, Sheala avoided having her head taken off. Backing up, she stayed out of of the hellspawn's reach as it thudded after her while its swipe intended for her instead felling a nearby tree. "A little help?" she pleaded.

Brentai, Korg, and also Anthony attacked simultaneously, each from a different side. Korg's battleaxe, despite its magnitude, did minimal harm to the creature. Unlike Sheala's sword, the otaur's weapon rang off the plates of the demon's side with a clang. Undeterred, the otaur tried again and again, doing little but slowing the pace of Sheala's assailant by only seconds.

Brentai used one of his knives to deal a more precise strike, finding a gap between two of the plates. Anthony managed to do the same with his sword. But, despite both wedging in, each seemed to have far less than the desired effect. The otaur, the rebel, and the Pelsan were forced to fall back as the demon lunged at them first with either claw or maw.

Sheala flipped her sword in a circle once, returning the point to between her and the demon upon the conclusion of the display. She made a move for the beast's other arm, hoping to remove it as well. The demon, however, would not be done in so easily. It slid out of the way, like a shadow might, and forced her back with a counter attack.

"Sheala!" Gregory's call occurred at the instant he worked the medallion free from his own neck and tossed it. Still glowing hot, it sailed through the air towards the young woman.

Snatching the gift from her father out of mid air, Sheala held it up between her and the pursuing demon, the intensity increasing several fold and forcing the monster to shield its eyes.

"Now!" Sheala called out the command.

With that, as though bound up by an invisible force that squeezed it, the demon became stiff and upright. Arms pinned to its sides, Reane stepped into view from behind a nearby tree. Hand out before her and towards the creature, it was clear she was the source of the monster's distress. "I can't hold him long."

With her other hand, the seer was gripping at her head and wincing as pain from visions trying to overtake her stood on the verge of overwhelming her. All while the demon struggled and not once, but twice, appeared on the verge of breaking free.

Materializing into existence, Sayra dropped onto the demon from above. Tearing her blue cloak of fairy silk from her back, she looped it around the throat of the roaring demon and then over as much of its head as the remaining fabric would allow. All while angry teeth gnashed. She struggled to secure it, as quickly and as completely as possible.

And then, as suddenly as the elven woman appeared, she, the cloak, and what was underneath vanished once again.

The two massive horns that had not been contained collapsed to the ground with a thump, as did the headless corpse of the demon. Where the head had once been was now a gaping hole spewing foul black blood from its neck. Not more than a few seconds later and the elf reappeared, dropping her demon-blood stained cloak to the ground. After having left the head apparently in the fairy realm.

"Well, now that's useless." She pinched her nose. "That stink will never come out."

"You know," Sheala chimed in, "for someone who's not supposed to kill, you do sure know some gruesome ways of doing so."

"It honestly wasn't my intention. I should have been able to transport the whole demon into the fairy realm."

The demon's corpse twitched, causing the postmortem of the encounter to cease and everyone gathering around to jump back before quickly catching their breath and realizing it was merely a death spasm.

Reane, still holding her head, the throbbing pain within easing, walked up to examine the remains. "Hopefully I won't have to do that again. Damn thing was only slightly easier to control than the Oracle was. But its thoughts were the worst I've ever been connected with. Even worse than an archeon."

"Did you get any insight into it and who sent it?" Anthony asked.

Reane nodded. "I did. Nothing pleasant, though, I assure you. It was one of the most ancient of the Cursed Ones who inhabit The Dark." She kneeled down and felt one of the black spines on the shoulder of the corpse. "But there was another presence there too."

"Another presence?"

"Yes. A host, if you will. An unwilling host, however. I've read about such rituals used to summon demons. The only way to bring a Cursed One from The Dark to the world of the living is through the use of a host body. Usually one that has itself passed violently and was doomed to spend eternity in the realm of the Dark Lord Descist because of how foul and evil the host had been in life. Thus providing the necessary link between the underworld and ours."

Standing over the body, Sayra nodded. "I sensed that too. The reason why I couldn't pull the whole creature through."

"This one wanted so desperately to find some semblance of rest after a long and tortured life that it allowed me to enter and gain enough control over the entity to subdue the demon within. Without his help, I would have never been able to do what I did."

Anthony smiled and nodded. "Well, I guess we should thank that poor soul."

Reane's mouth quirked up into a smile. "It was General Kayzar."

"Kayzar?" The question escaped a wide-eyed Anthony. "The Imperial Butcher himself?"

"Indeed."

Anthony spat on the corpse upon hearing that name. "I say good riddance then." For added emphasis, he kicked the body, even if it didn't so much as move.

"Do not downplay the gift he gave us. He may have been deplorable in life. But, in death he redeemed himself and gave one thing that is invaluable. Hope." Reane stood. "I suggest we take that gift and make haste to the east. And pray there's no more surprises like this one following us."