Graiden watched as the snake fell, and held his breath as Avris flew away. He shouted towards his soldiers, and they redoubled their efforts. Graiden turned to move towards the direction Avris had flown, but stopped, glancing back towards the balcony.

"Lugaria!" he called, squinting towards where the man had fallen. When he heard no response, he started for the keep without hesitation, worry building in his chest. Before he could make it to the door, he heard a slithering, wet sound.

Graiden stopped and pulled his weapon back to his hands. He heard a few screams, and watched his men slaughtered by the gigantic snake as it slithered over the wall like a wave. Panic gripped him as the snake arced for him with hatred in its eyes. It was bleeding, torn apart by Avris claws and it's mighty fall, but it looked upon the soldiers like its anger was all that kept it fighting. His spear flew from his hand and struck into the side of the snakes mouth as it lurched forward over rubble and dead men.

Its movement was so unnatural that Graiden could barely step aside from its staggeringly fast approach, and he only had a fraction of a moment to right himself with his weapon poised, as it turned, and shot for him again.

He caught the creatures fang on his spear and twirled aside, but was not quick enough to block its tail, which smashed him face first into the stone. He felt his nose crush, and tasted a warm and gushing flow of his own blood.

He heard a series of yells, of his men coming to his aid and he heard them die. When he found his feet again, he glanced to the hesitant soldiers and healers. "Stay away!" he yelled, "Get those men to the heal—" before he could finish his sentence he was back on the defensive again, stepping as far as he could to the side to avoid being caught up against the building. He ducked low to avoid the fangs, and shuddered as they carved gouges from the stones above him. He stuck out with this spear thrice, and left a series of holes in the snakes hide, as he stabbed in, acidic blood splashed out, and covered his armor, strong enough to eat though the enchantment that deemed it unbreakable.

He kept moving, deftly dodging its every strike and watching its tail carefully until he had walked the giant thing in a circle. His back was to his men. He knew he could not back down. Not after the power this thing had displayed. If it escaped, he was sure that it could easily wreak havoc on Aughk'tor, and he had come here to end this.

Its fangs flashed for him again, and they struck through the leather at the tip of his boot. He huffed out a terrified breath as the end of his boot was town away, to reveal a sock that still held a complete foot. He struck out, opening a criss-cross of slashes across its body and speaking quickly under his breath to imbue each of his strikes with radiant energy.

The snake-demon hissed and recoiled, curling up in a circle. As its head reared, Graiden saw a deep, bleeding wound on its side, and took a chance. He hefted his spear with one hand and threw it forwards. The weapon sank into the already open wound, and as it stuck, the soft glowing light tore the wound wide, and he watched as the snake shuddered.

Before his weapon returned to his hands, the snake struck again and though he tried to dodge he felt one fang slice down his back. He felt a dizzying burning sensation as poison seeped into his veins, and felt his body begin to lock up as that pain spread throughout his limbs. His spear returned to his hands, and the rings upon it clinked together.

He struck out once more as the snake reared again, and drove his spear between its eyes as its fangs pierced his chest. As he fell back, he heard the clinking of the gold rings upon his weapon, and as his vision faded, a smile crossed his features.

*

Lugaria panted as he pulled himself up, dragging his useless leg with him. Whatever this creature was, it was not solely a snake. Nothing of this plane had a poison like that. He sank his fingers into the cracked stone bricks beside him, and watched as the snake struck for Graiden.

Before Graiden had fallen all the way to the ground, Lugaria tucked his sword under one arm, and jumped, using his good leg to lever him as far as he could toward the snake.

He landed terribly, but still atop the creature. He felt its body shake as it thrashed Graiden. I don't die so gods damned easily, he thought as he drove his sword point first though the thick hide of the creature.

He was glad he had sunk the weapon to its hilt, or he most surely would have fallen off as the creature hissed and shook. With every jostle his body screamed in agony at him, but he paid it no heed, seeing Graiden crumpled in the dirt. Anyone but Graiden.

He pulled a dagger from his belt, stabbed into the creature, and heaved his sword free as those fangs arced for him. He hung suspended for a moment, his muscles cramping, and waited for the creature to strike for him again. It obliged and he slashed out with his great-sword held in one hand, leaving a terrible gouge along the bottom of its neck.

The spray of its blood was the last of his worries and the least of his pain. Again, it struck forward, and again he slashed out, trading an excellent blow for yet another injury in his ruined leg. He felt that same poison, the one that had locked him in place beginning to act, but this time it felt less potent. As he slashed across the bottom of the snakes throat it floundered.

Now, blood poured from it like a fountain, and its eyes were losing focus. Or were his? For a moment he saw the fear stricken faces of six members of Sahn-Raidar as they beheld their commander. "Get a healer!" He screamed. "Now!" But he had no time to gauge their reactions, as the snake came again.

This time, he dropped hold of his dagger and fell backwards, counting on its fast reflexes. It changed the angle of his strikes, and through some miracle borne of desperation, Lugaria righted his grip on his sword, and drove his blade through the creatures mouth as he fell.

*

His back met the rubble-strewn street with enough force to knock every last whisper of breath from him, but he did not bounce as his sword was still firmly stuck in the demons mouth, and the creatures head would have crushed him, had the fangs not held it up above him.

He grunted, closing his eyes to the pain and the tears that fought to well their way out. He willed them away with that same cold determination that had kept him alive for all these years.

He scooted out from under the creature and struggled to find his footing, his one leg dangling at his side like a broken lever. He pulled his sword from the creatures mouth, shielding his face from the spray of hot blood, and used the weapon as a crutch, as he made his way to Graiden.

"Get a healer here, now!" he yelled, each word enunciated perfectly, loudly, and angrily. As he fell to his side, his breath shook. He lifted Graiden on one arm. Lugaria worked with blood slick fingers, to remove the breastplate of Graiden's armor, and by the time it was free, there were four more people around him. Tired and weary looking healers, all leaning down and urging him to move away and to tend to his own wounds.

He shook his head to the woman who stood over him, his vision growing dizzy. "Take care of your commander. He needs—"

"He is in the best hands, and we would not be wise to lose you, too. Sit still please, or I will knock you unconscious," the woman said.

Lugaria glared. She was young, no older than her twenties. "A sleep spell?" he snorted. "I ordered you to help your—"

The woman sighed, and spoke three words.

Before Lugaria could finish speaking, the warm energy of a spell fell over him, and all he knew was a deep sleep.

Graiden awoke in a terrible excuse for a cot, his breath coming in slow and painful gasps. He blinked at the torchlight around him and the unfamiliar stonework. This was the inside of the orcish fortress. Immediately his hand dropped to his chest, which was bare and wrapped in bandages, but the stains were only small blotches. He looked about to see half a dozen healers, in Sahn-Raidar colors, and raised his arm weakly. One was beside him before he could even formulate what he might say.

"Commander! Good to see you awake. You need water." The older woman, dressed in stained teal garb pulled a pitcher from a nearby table and filled a wooden mug.

"What happened?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm not the one to ask for that. Your fighters know those details. You need to drink this, and please, stay in this bed till the morning, at least..." Her words trailed off, and she gave him a worried look.

"What?" he asked her.

She fidgeted. "Whatever that creature was, well it harnessed a powerful poison. But there's something else, too..." She pulled a small mirror from her pocket, and held it out for him. "We don't know how reverse the effects.. but I assure you we are working tirelessly to—" she cut off as Graiden held up his hand.

As he stared in the mirror he saw a strange image of himself. Dirty, uneven stubble covered his chin. But past that, his wrinkles were deeper, his hair grayer, and as he stared at the image he felt that his joints were weaker, too. He sighed, shaking his head as she pulled the mirror away. "Lugaria?"

The woman nodded. "He should be here any minute. He demanded we send word when you awoke."

Graiden smiled a tired smile. "I would expect nothing less."

The woman returned his smile, but it was edged with worry and exhaustion.

"Thank you," Graiden told her as she turned to someone calling her.

"Of course commander... I—"

"Go," he said, waving her away. He sat for a few minutes in silence, moving his toes, his legs, every part of his body, making sure he was whole, and breathing as lightly as he could.

It was not long before Lugaria burst through the door and made straight for his cot, eyeing his surroundings as if asking someone to stop him. Graiden watched with a frown as he saw the limp that deterred the man, though he was doing his best not to show it. Lugaria's cloak was dripping with rainwater and heavily bunched to one side, as if to hide the bulge of bandages that covered his side. If Graiden looked older, so too did Lugaria, though the effect was much less pronounced than the effects on himself.

He dragged a stool from a nearby empty bed, and dropped it next to Graiden's cot, looking him over with a serious expression. "I am so tired of answering questions."

Graiden laughed. "Taking well to the role of leadership?"

Lugaria glared.

"Why are we still here?"

"No one would march without their commander, and I refused to ask them to."

"What happened?" Graiden asked, forcing himself into a sitting position, and not missing the look of disdain on the clerics faces. "Where's Avris?"

Lugaria explained how the soldiers had refused to march without him and with so many others so badly injured, how he had awoken to Beymor ordering everyone about, and deferring to Lugaria as soon as he had left his bedroll.

How that in the one day since, the soldiers were cleaning up what they could of their camp, and preparing to march whenever the order was given that they could return home. "Avris is here. She was badly hurt, but wouldn't allow any our clerics to tend to her. Most are confused as to how she got so badly hurt... from the back lines." Lugaria said the last sentence with a hint of annoyance in his tone, and a knowing look.

Graiden sighed, and nodded. "I would not tell the secrets of a friend," he said. "What of that... creature?"

"Demon, you mean? It's dead. Agrata burned the body, but said that damn mace wouldn't melt. I have it, and no one has touched it. One of the clerics said It was tainted."

Graiden nodded. "I'll take care of that. Soon as I can get out of this bed. Keep it close to you... and try not to touch it."

Lugaria nodded, and let out a sigh. "What in the name of the gods possessed you to take that thing on alone?"

"I was only doing my job."

Lugaria walked about the camp the next day with purpose. The limp caused the people around to cast him with worried looks, and he returned them with annoyance. Let any one of them test his leg, if they wanted, and see how far it got them.

Graiden had taken the weapon, and disappeared. But he would be damned if he was not there to see the end of this.

That weapon had been the problem since the beginning of this war, and if he listened to Donovar, it was likely what started it. He found Agrata near the still ruined gate of the fort.

"Where'd he go?"

Agrata jerked his chin toward the hills beyond the gate. "Out there. Didn't want to be close by, if something goes wrong. Avris went with him."

Lugaria's expression turned thoughtful as he started past the gates. He supposed that If you're going to take someone to watch your back, a dragon would be the best choice.

Agrata looked over his leg, with a frown. "Want a hand?"

"I'm fine."

"But, you're also injured."

"I do not need help." Lugaria's tone was sharper than he intended.

"Suit yourself," Agrata said with a laugh, falling into step beside him, as if not worried about the slower pace.

After a few minutes of walking, they found Graiden and Avris at the bottom of a hill. Graiden knelt over a painted piece of sacramental cloth, with golden symbols upon it. On it laid the twisted mace, and it was surrounded by powders of different colors and grains, a bushel of wheat and other components for ritual spells. Avris sat across from him, and the two spoke in low tones.

As they approached Graiden gave them both a once over, and a tight smile. "Glad you could make it."

Lugaria snorted.

Avris grimaced at his words, half turning to regard them, her right shoulder bandaged tightly so that it held one arm across her chest. "It would be safer, were you not here."

"We aren't worried about that." Agrata said, offering them a small smile.

"What's the plan?" Lugaria asked.

"I am going to attempt to cleanse it." Graiden said, in a strained voice. He and Avris both looked tired and gaunt. "But to do that, I have to touch it. It's strong. If it takes my mind..." His words trailed off, and he looked to Lugaria with a question in his eyes.

"It will not," Avris began. "You are stronger than it."

Lugaria was glad she had spoken, so he never had to answer that question in Graiden's glance. He would not harm him. Would not raise his sword against him. On principle he worked to only raise his sword with purpose against those that he would kill, should he ever need to. There were very few people on this continent that he would not raise his blade against and today both of them present. "Fight like you fought the war."

Graiden studied his expression, before taking a deep breath and laying his hands over the weapon. As soon as he touched it he stiffened. and his breath escaped with a ghastly sound. His eyes opened and flashed a demonic green and yellow, serpentine pupils fighting against the soft blue-gray color of the man within.

Avris reached her hand forward tentatively, and laid it upon the top of Graiden's closing her eyes and speaking in whispers.

Graiden's eyes normalized, and he began chanting, soft as a whisper at first but rising in strength and volume with each repeated verse. The veins on his neck stood out and pulsed black like poison screeched throughout him.

He hunched over the weapon like he could barely hold himself up, and a cry of pain broke broke his chanting for a moment, but through gritted teeth he continued, as the poison in his veins grew ever darker, and his skin looked ever paler. Avris chanted her own words alongside him, never releasing his hands, and Lugaria could not help but notice the desperation and worry her tone held.

Black energy wrapped itself around Graiden's hands, and Avris' skin changed so that golden scales appeared from her hands, and along her shoulders. Her fingernails changed into ivory talons, but they did not leave a scratch on Graiden.

A golden light emanated from her, a counter the black energy that rose like a tide over Graiden, and within another moment, no longer did a woman kneel next to Graiden, but a dragon huddled protectively over top of him, its claws still holding one of his hands. The golden energy faded, but the effect seemed not to diminish as Graiden's skin color returned, and the black in his veins faded. The dragon breathed deeply, and turned one eye upon Lugaria and Agrata, who sat silently. Within its golden depths was a warning, as if to say this was not a moment to speak of.

Lugaria offered a shallow nod, eyes never truly leaving Graiden, as he breathed in ragged breaths and gripped the weapon with white knuckles, his chanting never ceased, and for minutes he continued, until his hands were bleeding from their grip on the weapon.

Suddenly there was stillness.

The chanting stopped abruptly, and Graiden did not breathe. A sound like fabric ripping, and acid popping echoed across all of them, and the weapon disappeared in a violent flash. Graiden fell forward, only steadied by the gentle yet strong claw of Avris. And Avris form changed again, to that of the familiar golden haired woman, who sat breathing deeply, still composed.

The black pulse under Graiden's skin faded completely, and that same ichor ran from both his eyes. He wiped his face with the edge of his shirt, and shook it off into the grass, glancing to the scorched cloth, under him. "That ought to take care of things," he said, his voice stressed.

Avris looked him over with concern, and a hint of pride. "It will not poison another mind. Now, the war is done."

As the four gathered themselves and walked back for the gates of the fortress they had taken, there was a boom that shook the ground beneath them, and they all paused.

A whistle echoed through the air, and in a flash of somehow visible color, a burst of Sahn-Raidar's colors lit the evening sky. A trumpet blew six notes. The notes of a victory won. And the colors in the sky morphed into a cracked version of that same mace.

Graiden laughed. "I would say he's too early, but I'm happily wrong, for once."

"Donovar does have a flair for the over dramatic," Agrata said.

"He's an illusionist. They all have such traits," Avris said.

Lugaria watched the sky, with one eyebrow raised. He could not help but feel relieved. It was over. No more war, no more danger upon the towns, no more uncertainty, for the moment.

The dwarves could continue with their plans, and he could go back to being an overly paid guard.