from the edge of the camp naze watched, his eyes narrowing as the fire burst into existence. he turned away and glared into the night. as the living huddled around the fire, he stared into the cold forest around them. the little bits of debris and flickers of wisps and wraiths haunted him. natural things in the forest, but harbingers of what could be coming. burrowing deep within the trees roots the threat lingered like a shadow. he knew full well that he may end up leading them once more into the maws of the great creatures of the deep wood, should they continue down this path.

those terrified him as much as the undead lord did. he watched as a elk bound past their camp, massive by human standards, but small by wilder standards. it would not be long before they were forced into the deep wood by necessity. perhaps they could find sanctuary within miltiki’s temple?

no.

not the temple of a god. what would she think of him now, once devout priest, now a rotting corpse waiting to fall into ruin. he rubbed his hands together, willing and wanting feeling again. instead of warmth or cold, he felt nothing. nothing of the grass, nothing of the wind. he was not this corpse any longer, but the sacred precious little ring. he knew better now, but still he yearned. 

there was a way to gain life back into his breast. 

he looked back, the woman with her boar helm was standing watch, the others sleeping. his eyes drifted to the two younger elves, the memories flooding him. sweet tendrils of meat and the crunching of bone. the slick squelch of blood down his forming throat. 

the first beats of a regenerated heart. 

he looked away. she would slay him, no doubt.

he rubbed the collar he wore, thankful for its solid nature. thankful for the ring it hid within its gem. 

Lylar’s eyes flickered between Griffon and the bonfire in awe. He’d never had someone go out of their way to help him before, especially not with his fire magic, and the way she’d explained it - though somewhat disjointed - had made so much sense. It was as though a puzzle piece had fitted into place in his mind, and, although he knew he was still missing many, at least this was progress.

“I...thanks.” he said, quietly. He still wasn’t sure whether or not talking aloud to her was the proper thing to do, but he couldn’t think of any other way to express his gratitude.

           Griffon looked around and noticed the unease of the group around her. The consistent fighting between both her and Naze seemed to be taking its toll on more than just them. Perhaps they were being too aggressive to each other, but then again, perhaps not. If they were to see Griffon as monster, so be it (she was used to it), but if she could make the others see Naze as such as well, it would be a fortunate situation; that is what he was after all.            She looked around and saw Lylar, the exhaustion was quite visible on him. They had been fleeing for some time without many breaks. Lylar wasn’t the only one feeling fatigue, it was affecting Griffon as well; she was human after all. If she were forced too, she could push herself to continue, although she was unsure the rest of the group could do the same.            Pallys had suggested a rest; it was something to think about, but maybe it wasn’t the best option. To continue—to push through the overwhelming exhaustion—would to get further away from the undead horde; they could sleep then. If they were to rest here, they risk the very real possibility to get surrounded by a force that they are unequipped to take on. Were the undead far enough away? Could they take a night’s rest safely? Who knows. And there wasn’t any simple way of telling, it looked like it would come down to taking a chance. Risk a possible attack through the night, but leave at daylight feeling rested and rejuvenated? Or push onwards, ignoring the exhaustion so that it may come at full force later? In doing so, they may not travel quite as fast if they were well rested; it may give the undead horde some time to catch up. It was a hard decision, and if Griffon were traveling alone, there wouldn’t even be an option, but she had to think of others now.            Just as a bird migrates for the winter, we too must move forward . . .            She looked back to Lylar, illuminated by the small flame he was playing with, and then to the heavy bags just beneath his eyes. She crossed her arms and a low, yet distinct, noise of the metal shifting filled the silent air. If they were to continue without rest, she was not looking forward to it, but was necessary.            . . . Just not now.            The night was cold. The air was humid, but freezing. Griffon began to wonder if perhaps Naze was (? unintentionally, intentionally ?) influencing it in some way. Maybe he would try to freeze them in their sleep.            Should they rest here? Or should they find someplace out of the way?            She didn’t think on it too much, she figured Naze’s radiating aura would act as a beacon anyways; a signal to lure the dead right into their camp. If that was the case, that was at least one worry off of Griffon’s mind. If he were truly leading the undead their way just by being, what difference would it make if they were to make a fire; a vibrant light illuminating the dark night. She worried that if they made any trace of light, it would be easily noticed by any stragglers; it didn’t seem to make a difference now.            In her previous travels, Griffon learned ways to heat up a cold night without the use of a fire. Through the use of very careful pyro-magic, she would heat up the air around her. It did not produce a light and once she learned how, it was simple to do. A bit too little, it wouldn’t make a difference; you’d still be cold. A bit too much, and you could end up giving yourself a heatstroke (she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t done that at least once). But regardless, such tactics were too dangerous to do while sleeping. You could not control the temperature while unconscious; you may end up killing yourself if you’re not careful. But Griffon didn’t need to sleep while hunting someone, the thrill of killing someone was enough adrenaline to keep her up for days. But there was a limit for how long she could stay up, and sometimes she went over it with reckless abandon. The punishment for doing so was minor mostly, and at worst . . .            There must be a reason you no longer own a tongue, isn’t there?            Thinking back sent a shudder down her spine. Those were memories best left forgotten. They were weaknesses and foolish mistakes. She would never let herself fall to such fault again; it would not happen.            But she was trailing off now. There was a decision to announce.            She walked up to Naze and projected her voice forward. “We’re going to rest tonight. Those you travel with are human and still living, they need it; it’s necessary.”            “Another one of your grand ideas?” He replied back with a hint of venom on his tongue.            “This is not up for debate! We rest here tonight!”            “Will you suggest that we walk towards the undead next?”            But Griffon did not answer him; she simply didn’t have the stamina to argue right now.            Griffon walked passed Pallys and ruffled her hair as you would a child. “Good suggestion,” she would say, “although I’ll be lucky if I don’t pull all my hair out traveling with this fool!”

              It didn’t take too long for a crude bonfire to be made (it was unlit, but the structure was there); some people helped, some didn’t. For some, it was understandable. They were all tired, and it hit some harder than others. Griffon didn’t allow it to bother her though; if she had to do all the work around her, gods dammit she would! This was her new test from Aether, she was sure of it. She took it on herself to protect these people; this was her test. Or maybe it was just the lack of sleep getting to her, she couldn’t tell right now.            She knelt down by the twigs and sticks gathered together in what they called a “bonfire.” It was the bare minimum; it looked like it too. But it would work, that was what was important. She went to light it, stretching her hand out . . . But stopped.            She turned and spotted Lylar, alone, still playing around with conjured flames. She watched him and remembered back when she did the same thing. She was a mere child then, left without any proper magical training. She was force to learn by trial and error (many scars prove it). It was a long and arduous path, and perhaps she wouldn’t be as skilled as she is now if she wasn’t put into the position she was in; no better way to get better at something than to be forced to be better at something.            (Weaknesses!)            (Foolish mistakes!)            She shook the images away; it was time she realized that the past has been set, but it wasn’t that easy. It was a trial by fire, but it shaped her into who she was. And it gave her the experience she has now. But is that a good thing? Is she a person you’d want to be? She couldn’t see herself any other way . . . But other’s don’t need to be the same.            She managed to grab Lylar’s attention and beckoned him over.            She took his hand and pushed his middle finger towards his palm, all others were stretched out. “Perhaps I can help you yet.” She would say, shaping his hand into the right position. “Elemental magic can be directly influenced by your hand movements in combination with your mind and will. It’s just as important.” She took her hand away and gestured a quick swipe—an arc upwards, a twist of her wrist, and then a flick towards the bonfire. A small spark alit, but you could tell she was holding back; she wanted to see what he could do. She then took a step back and allowed him to do the same.            (An arc,)            (a twist of his wrist,)            (and then a flick towards the bonfire.)            A flame erupted in the center of the twigs and kindling. They both had to take a step back at the rate it was growing.            It felt good! It felt right! Perhaps this was what he was missing? Elemental magic was tricky; it relied less on memorization, but more on dexterity and physical movements. It was also not as common. And if you weren’t taught by a professional, there’s a chance you stayed an amateur until death. You were either taught, or you learned            (by trail and error)            what hand motions worked, and what didn’t.            (many scars prove it)            The better option is always the former.

Lylar watched the altercation with tired eyes. Any thought of asking Naze to teach him had been driven from his mind by the grueling march - the ache in his legs and the heaviness of his eyelids. He didn’t dare get closer to see what was the matter. Not after what had happened last time.

Pallys frowned at Griffon and Naze fighting. "Maybe!" She shouted, "Maybe we should rest for now? You two shouldnt fight. Its actually a little scary." Pallys shrugged. "My hug is still open."

           A single step brought Griffon closer to both the naiad and the lich. With a hint of apathy towards Naze, she spoke with a single finger pressed against her throat, “Than why not take out the source? Why not destroy the Undead Lord?”            Naze turned his attention to the woman, pushing away Pallys with a stiff arm. He tilted his head and huffed. “Is that a real suggestion, or are we just blurting out the most ludicrous requests possible?” Griffon took a wide stance with crossed arms; Naze continued, “If so, then how about we all manipulate the Undead Lord through manners of seduction? We will teach the wrongs of his ways and he will listen; we will all be free from his clutches forever. And the future generations to come will all wonder why we hadn't donned our tight corsets and dark leggings sooner. Are these the types of requests you wish to hear? Because these are the words that leave your mouth.” Naze had grinded his teeth while staring down Griffon. He had became quite animated during his speech. With arms outstretched, pacing around and leaning in closer every other sentence.            Griffon only responded with a stare at first, attempting to ignore his petty mocks. She shifted in place, and then touched a finger to her neck, “It was a suggestion; an effective one.”             “Enlighten me.” said Naze.             “If the source of the undead scourge is dealt with, the need for this running will be moot.” Naze moved in to interrupt, but Griffon continued with a louder voice, “If the puppeteer looses control over their strings, the puppets will no longer put on a show. If you could gain a following of skilled and loyal companions, you could take the fight to him. Yet you will never earn the respect of me or any others, because you're concept of loyalty is absolute tyranny. But if a shred of courtesy and sense were left in your rotted skull, you would realize this. You could put an end to this, but you won't and never will!”             “And why would I?” Naze had interjected, “Declaring war upon the Undead Lord would surely result in my death.’             “If your death is needed in battle, it will be taken. But if you have a chance to end your torment, why wouldn’t you take it?”            Griffon growled and Naze had laughed, “My first life was taken from me, I don’t intend to loose my second one. How could you ever understand? Perhaps if a shred of intelligence was left in your thick and hollow skull.”            As Griffon raised her voice to a shout, her speech began to fade in and out, “So you would rather live your life in fear and regret?!”             “I would rather be alive!” Naze matched his volume to hers.             “A life in terror is not one worth living. If you are given a chance at redemption, take it! I was told that if there is a chance at greatness, you act upon it. You do not run, and you act with bravery. You do not give up, and you pour everything you have into that chance.” She jabbed his chest with her index finger, “You are playing Kael’s game, and you are letting him win. But you’re too dense to see it!”

“no. I need not a hug. I need to escape, be free of the hivemind and its lords embrace.” Naze told her, his voice solemn. “I have done a great many terrible things nyiad... under his command and control. now I am free, but that freedom is threatened even now. even now I feel the tug of his mind. of his minions. we should be free of them soon. his arm will have grown long indeed if he intends to follow me so far from the plagued lands.”

“You sound mad,” Pallys commented at Naze after he snapped. “Is it because we’re flesh and bone and you’re not? I mean. if I had the glowy magic you had; I wouldn’t be so mad. You need a hug.”

Pallys opened her arms to the Lich. “It’ll be awkward to hug a skeleton but I’m willing.”

Most of the time, Pallys observed the Elven people scold their children and made them hug it out. So she figured this time, it’d work on Naze. He was Elven right? What could go wrong?

“no. they are rotted and mindless. you should be glad to have me, I am the only thing standing between you and having the flesh ripped off your bones.” Naze told Pallys, who stared at him as he turned. his robes swirled in a flurry at his feet, the others following as he led them on.  “they are below, in the great tunnels made by the rotting trees.” Naze spoke, returning his face into its disguise. “the rotted wood is easily consumed, we will have to move quickly if we are to get out of the undead overlord’s reach, his arm will have grown long indeed if he thinks his horde can leave his blighted grounds.” 

a day passed, and the group found themselves in a clearing, they had made good time under the tireless lich, but the mortals were exhausted and could go no further. even griffon had a hard time keeping up with the undead elf.  “fine! rest if you must!” Naze snapped, pacing as griffon set up a fire next to the exhausted half elf, the elvish nanny, her charge, and the little naiad. 

the magic oozed about them, but where naze choose to stop was clear enough that they did not have to worry. “I remind you. touch it not unless you craze a very painful death.” Naze snarled, turning in a flurry and standing on the edge of their small camp. 

Pallys tilted her head. Undead hordes? What are those? She looked at Naze and blinked. Did they look like millions of the half-rotting elf?

“Do they look like you? Tall and vain?” Pallys asked out loud. “Or do they look different? I’ve never seen a horde of “undead” before.”

           Naze took a step back and with a flick of his hands, he brushed the ash from his robes. He tilted his head and his eyes narrowed, “So while you were throwing out meaningless threats, the undead hoards grow ever closer.”            Griffon took a step back and popped her knuckles. She crossed her arms as Naze continued, “You hear that?” he said, “You can almost feel the vibrations of their march underfoot. can you feel the magic in the air as well? the sheer energy this place hums with?”            Griffon grumbled and went to place a hand to her neck in a attempt to speak aloud, but Naze continued and she lowered her arm. “Are you going to continue with your petty insults, or is your decision to further waste the time we could have utilized in a much more efficient way; say, gaining more distance from our impending doom... ” Griffon took a step back.             “But go ahead...,” he continued, “...you obviously know far more than this rotted old corpse...” Naze spoke sarcastically. Griffon growled while and turned from his sight.            She looked around at the great oozing magic crawling up the trees and consuming the plants around them. she looked to Naze, who looked down at her with apathetic eyes. 

             “If the time comes where we are swarmed,” Griffon spoke, turning to Naze, “you will lead them away.” She gestured around to the group. “I can fight, keep them at bay.”              Naze looked at her and tilted his head ever so slightly; his eyes bled with apathy in a way that spoke more then words. He shook his head, “So what? You’re going to take on the entirety of the undead menace!? A force that has been problematical for countless armies centuries passed?” He stretched out his arms at a wide angle as he balanced on one foot. He moved back onto his two legs and an eerie grin stretched across his face; a quiet laugh takes place before he speaks softly, “…have a grand time….” Naze outstretched his arms, motioning to the liquid magic around them.                Griffon smiled as she takes a step closer to him, “I have slain numerous undead in my life; what’s a few more?” She laughs with a hint of venom as she stared Naze down.              Griffon was often times not aware of her boundaries that were set by her own physical body, although this time, she knew that it was very clear that she was not able to battle against the undead hordes; she merely said it in an attempt to intimidate Naze.              Naze rolled his eyes and turned his back to her.              “Also,” Griffon continued, “if I am forced to leave, and you run not unlike a coward; abandoning us all. You can consider yourself as just another number below my feet.” Griffon angled her head upwards as she stared down upon him. She stood taller as she rose unto the balls of her feet. She took a step forward, moving closer to Naze. She made herself very clear, “You leave them, and I will hunt you down. And by my word, I’ll make sure the last thing you’ll ever breathe is my secondhand fucking smoke.”

Naze led the group on, the ground rumbling under foot still. Naze stopped and frowned, his eyes going over the landscape. liquid magic oozed from the ground, its vibrant colors swirling. “what manner of den have you led us into.” Griffon sent him telepathically, Naze looking around. “this wasn’t here before.” Naze spoke, his eyes going over the landscape. “this is magic. pure magic.” he looked to griffon, who pulled up her helm and gave him a stern look. 

the ground rumbled and Naze went forward. “touch it not, unless you wish to explode into magic yourselves.” he warned, navigating the oozing pools. Griffon growled as she tried to keep up with the surprisingly nimble lich.

Lylar glanced down in awe at his hands for what felt like the hundredth time. Naze had controlled his magic. His mind spun with questions. Despite the unsettling nature of Naze - his appearance without his disguise and his general disposition - he had seemed almost...compassionate. Not quite. But almost.

The only other mages in the group that Lylar knew of - fire mages both - had only been able to tell him that control took time. Perhaps Naze knew something more. Something else like the advice he had given about keeping his hands cold. Perhaps if he could gain the elf mage's favor...Naze would teach him to control his fire.

He glanced up when the group changed direction, and continued to follow to the best of his ability, already trying to determine how best to go about asking Naze to take him on as a student.

Naze's ear twitched, his eyes looking ahead in the woods. he looked back at his tired companions who were trudging over massive roots and large boulder. they seemed so small in comparison to the landscape, the trees went so far up into the air you could not see the tops of them. Naze's eyes drifted forward again, him hearing the sound again.

or maybe... it wasnt sound. Pallys stopped and complained, huffing and puffing in the disturbingly still air. Aeolin patted the naiad on the back, sighing as gwyn sat down and hugged her knees. Griffon stood on the edge of Naze's sight, watching him like a hawk.

"it is this way." Naze told them, deciding to go towards the mental call. it was decidedly not undead, but not quite elven either.

and it tingled with magic.

Naze sulked slightly, Gwyn running to Aeolin and hiding her face in the older elf's chest. Naze moved away from griffon, who watched him closely. he narrowed his eyes and motioned to the fire, expecting her to re-light it. he then moved to lylar and frowned. "give me your hands." he ordered, Lylar staring at him. "your hands boy." Naze made a motion with his own hands, disguise fully functional. Lylar jumped, holding out his trembling hands that were quickly heating up. Naze knelt down, frown on his face. "I had the same problem with my ice when I was younger." he mused, bringing his hand in a motion above lylar's.

the boy's hands cooled, Lylar looking in amazement. "I shoved my hands into hot coals to stop the cold, try and keep yours chilled to stop the fires." Naze suggested before standing up. Naze glanced and shot a glare at griffon, who heated the fire pit before letting it catch light.

the group sulked about for a few hours, trying to keep warm and doze off for a bit before the chase resumed. Naze woke everyone up, staying a healthy distance away from the warrior pyromancer. "they shift now, to the east. we can loose them in the deep woods, the roots go far into the ground and they wont be able to borrow." Naze told them, motioning to the north, where the trees grew thicker and the animals grew larger.

"I know the deep wood, I can navigate it without leading us into a beasts den." Naze lifted his robes, making his way to the woods. "watch your steps. the trees are wild here, and only listen to our wilder cousins." Naze spoke ominously, turning his gaunt face to the group. Griffon hefted her axe, her helmet releasing steam as she watched everyone follow the lich, one by one into the wood.

Lylar trembled and his hands pulsed with faint heat. He could hear his heartbeat in his head and he felt like he wasn't breathing right. Even after Griffon retreated, the tension in the air was almost palpable, and, though its intensity had dimmed, it still made the young mage's skin crawl.

Two such powerful people as Griffon and Naze could have done some serious damage if they had actually gone to blows with each other. He shuddered to think what the result would have been.

He stumbled back to where the fire was - or where it had been, at least - and hid his hands close to his body, trying to calm himself before he slipped and hurt someone.