Bis Interimitur Qui Suis Armis Perit

[Trillian]

reserved for Reaver

He is doubly destroyed who perishes by his own arms

 

SHE STOOD ON a mountain of men, ignoring the fact some of their corpses were reaching for her legs, pleading with her to help them up.  She\'d scaled their bodies in order to get an eye for the landscape, where best to lead her newer, fresher charges. They were on horseback and the horses were said to shy if the ground they stood on was made of moving corpses - though she didn\'t believe these were normal horses, much like her charges weren\'t normal men.

She could see a cut path through burnt fields around the ruins of a town.  Above it stood a fortress that could likely see her silhouette against the ever-present fires at her back.  She was outlined and prone where she stood, but nobody would dare attack her - most already knew her by now.

A dark eyed gaze, hollow and withdrawn, did one more pass over the landscape before she turned her head and then retreated, returning to the four horsemen she was travelling with.  They could\'ve been directly from the tales of legends themselves, but they were not the apocalypse.  They would be patrolling the outskirts of the waste-lands, to prevent the exit of anyone that wasn\'t permitted to leave.  Entry - if anyone was laughably crazy to enter these lands, insane like she herself had been - was easy, it was the leaving that was difficult.  These four horsemen would make it increasingly so.  She\'d trained them herself, and their natural talents would only enhance their efforts at keeping those in that wanted... out.

She walked while they rode, until they got to the no-man\'s land that was the seemingly eternal border of the wasteland.  When they reached their destination, she stopped and watched as they lined up before her, like guardsmen under her command.  Technically they were, but she knew that nothing commanded these creatures really.  Their loyalty remained to themselves and their own missives, and at their core their allegiance was with whoever sought out the same end result - to make the world into something that they could rule.

They said something to her, she didn\'t really hear.  It was something about her heart and it was something that they liked.  If they liked it, she was sure it couldn\'t be good.  After bidding them farewell with a nod she turned heel and trudged away, hearing four sets of hooves thunder in different directions.  A backward glance showed that they\'d split into two pairs, and would likely split again in order to increase their territory.

It was a long walk alone, with no soul-seeking to speak of, before she saw him.  Her hand went to Yarasif, her short sword, even as her gaze drifted over someone who she barely recognised, but should\'ve known well.  A frown marred her normally blank expression as her mind reeled, knowing it should recognise him and attempting to form cognitive thought beyond battle-scarred memories.

[Reaver]

Jeru waded through the dead, their grasping arms tugged at him like the current of a stream. It was disturbing, but he couldn\'t stop now. He could see her, up ahead. She had climbed a mound of undead and was scouring the land with her cold gaze. He had to get to her, he had to bring her back. Screams sounded in the distance, long wails and dry moans, the undead heralding the arrival of something he wanted to avoid. Jeru had to get to Rozenn first. He needed to speak to her before the fell lich, Zyrden, did. He wasn\'t sure where the lich was, he only knew he was approaching. It had been a race to find Rozenn, one that hopefully, Zyrden was still unaware of. If he knew what Jeru had in store for her...

Tugging at his forked beard, he cursed a few times and started widening his stride, short legs bowed as he stomped one, then the other booted foot down on rotted fiends. He could see her, turning her gaze towards him. She had already started walking, inadvertently towards him, and had finally noticed him. Jeru the Dastard locked gazes with Rozenn. He saw the flashes of thought behind her confused eyes. Jeru saw the reaching hand of Zyrden over her shoulder, about to steal her attention. The lich had stepped out of a cloud of ash, his mysterious portal closing behind him and silencing the wailing dead.

Jeru screamed and whipped his axe around, tearing through the dead around him. Bits of flesh and gobs of blood blinded him as he dashed forward. He could hear the lich bellow orders to stop him, and could feel the hoard of dead moving in on him. And then he broke free, into the open ground around the lich and Rozenn. He didn\'t have much time, he had to get to Rozenn and keep the lich away long enough to use the device... but there it was. The crushing defeat of his entire plan. The lich had his hand on Rozenn\'s shoulder, and had his slender sword swept out and at Jeru. No more advancing, and he couldn\'t use the device without taking the lich with them.

Jeru did the only thing he could. "It\'s been awhile Rozenn! I\'ve not seen ye since last yer trial in Demiderus. A right fine mess that, ye\'ve in good health, I see." The lich only had his hand resting on Rozenn\'s shoulder, standing at her side. It wasn\'t much, but that little contact was enough to hinder Jeru\'s plan. He needed to put some room between them and the lich... the host of dead they could more or less deal with... of course, that was all assuming Rozenn had even a sliver of her sanity left. Otherwise, she could be just as dangerous as the lich.

[Trillian]

So cold.  Such coldness on her shoulder.  It was like a chill that was creeping down her arm and down her chest, into her heart, turning it into an icicle.  She could almost imagine it slowing the beat there; badum... badum... badum...  ...badum... ...ba... ...dum...

She closed her eyes.

It was her name that made her open them again.  Such a familiar voice.  Such a familiar face.  Such a familiar word.

Rozenn.

Nobody calls me that, she wanted to say.  It wasn\'t her name.

Not anymore, her mind whispered, and she was confused again.  Was she that once?  Or was she a faceless, mindless, heartless captain with a body filled with ice?  She breathed a laborious breath, could feel it fill her ears.  Why she was pulling in breath was beyond her but there was something, some kind of willpower, some kind of driving force that recognised the dwarven man before her and wanted to be a part of the world that he had come from.

A memory, a dream, a past that no longer belongs to you.

Ro... zenn.

Her breath stopped pulling in, now it was ready to push out past her lips.  There was a connection, a spark in her mind that made her soul ache.  What pain was this?  Remorse?  Regret?  Whatever it was, it was strong, much stronger than the chill that began at her shoulder and ended in her chest.

"Jeru."  The name was spoken on breath that lacked volume, but there it was, upon her mouth.  He might not have been able to hear it, but he would be able to see it.  She tried to smile, but couldn\'t.  There was a twitch in her face, upon the corners of her mouth, trying to remember how.

What was that coldness?  She began to shy away from it, turning and dropping, wanting it away from her.  It seemed to follow her, like fingers clenching.  She dropped further, falling to one knee, turning, spinning, but keeping her eyes fixed on

Jeru

the dwarf in front of her.  He was warmth.  He was warming her.  He was battling the chill.  What was that?  Her mind flailed, on the edge of solid ground and a dark cavernous pit, trying not to fall into the dark.

She reached out a hand.