ForevaXena's FanFic . . .

A Few Turns More . . .

by Ellianora

Disclaimer: The characters here are my own and as such the property of moi. Though the two main characters do resemble a pair we all know and love there are some differences.

Violence: Yes violence is here and it can get graphic, close to PG-13 I would say, so be warned.

Sex: A little more then hugging and kissing but not much, between two women who love and care for each other very much.

Feedback: Always. I love to hear from folks who read my stories. Either good or bad. I would like to take the time here to thank all those who wrote me and told me how much they enjoyed 'Turn of the Wheel' and were hoping for a sequel. Here it is:)

Chapter 5

Deep within the crumbling remains of the ancient city cloistered within the hidden alcove Azantre began to sense the trembling vibrations in what these primitives called Manna as those crawling upon the surface began to think of his name once again. It had been ages since any had begun to search for the fabled Fire Ruby or its brethren, before this none even dared to acquire the power they offered. This one Azantre sensed was close by and filled with a desire for power that he had not ever felt on this backwater planet, in this Stone Age dimension.

     Azantre had sensed another for a brief time, who had been lusting after the ruby, but only briefly then the desire suddenly vanished. Azantre gave this but a passing thought assuming the original seeker so filled with desire had destroyed the other one. Though it was strange there was no delicious scream of pain and loss as the other was destroyed. It was as if the other had slipped behind some veil shielding itself from Azantre. Then again, that was impossible there were few forces, which could allude to the probing thoughts of Azantre who was after all the Fire Ruby.

     Azantre’s thoughts, for lack of a better description turned to the period when he, in absence of a more suitable pronoun, came to this world through a dimensional vortex where all the dimensions met and collided at once. The breach had been created by four foolish bipedal beings who called themselves the absurd title mage, experimenting with what these beings called manna.

     Azantre had to admit manna was as good a word as any to describe the force here on this world that was unlike any throughout the dimensions. On this single insignificant world the veil between the various dimensional planes and all of their unique properties of law and physics of each world were thinnest. This allowed each individual reality pertaining to the laws of nature, to spill over ever so slightly into this space creating what they called manna and allowing those here to manipulate the various ambiguities of probability to whatever they desire. Of course, the being called Azantre understood the dimensional mechanics of such a phenomena. Even if he wanted to explain it however the complexities would be lost by these fools. He and is fellows understood the full power this world possessed and it was also this very force that created their prison.

     His race had long ago given up their cumbersome physical husks choosing to travel through the worlds in a shapeless form of energy. His was an ancient race one which most likely should have passed on long ago.  Once they had been a great and mighty race, who was able to transcended space and time as they willed.

     Now they were a shadow of themselves scouring throughout the universes in search of weaker races, to rule and torture in an attempt to relieve the boredom of their existence.  Even they in their great knowledge did not have complete comprehension of the forces they manipulated.

     Slowly he and the others of his race began to live very solitary lives, choosing not encounter each other. When they did, it erupted into wars that had destroyed entire galaxies.

     So it was most peculiar that he and three others of his ilk were all drawn to the sudden vortex onto the world called Iamoore. Perhaps he and his fellows were the last of their race. Not that it mattered to Azantre. It only meant more of the infinite dimensions were his to do with as he pleased.

     Landing upon this world he immediately sensed the pulsing energy created by the manna. He also grasped the possibilities here as well. This was a world of which could elevate him above his peers, indeed even higher then the few ancients above himself. Unfortunately he discovered that very power threatened to destroy even he, absorbing him into its threads. So it was that Azantre and the others who had arrived with him were forced to take a physical shape, choosing the visions they had glimpsed in the minds of the fools who thought they had conjured them from the manna.

     For once he couldn’t work directly, needing a living vessel to channel his powers through. Not even he could dare to have direct contact with the manna. There were other more highly evolved beings that used manna, calling themselves gods. These beings he soon determined were of no consequence to him. They were too wrapped up in their own petty concerns to worry about him. Each fretted about holding their own in the tenuous balance of power within their ranks.

     So it was using his own human, as they called themselves, he began to carve out his private empire. The others having also chosen the shapes seemingly most cherished here began to create their own empires though it was a great demotion for beings who had once commanded vast intergalactic fleets and now were reduced to battling with mobs of warriors upon one single little mud ball of a planet. The power, and the manna was like a narcotic, a desire as strong a draw and addiction Azantre had ever felt. After eons of boredom and emptiness he finally felt a hunger, a need, something to strive for.

     It had only a matter of time before he and the others would be drawn into contention against one another for sole control of this world. They all felt the power, and each wanted it for themselves. The only problem was each being was nearly equal in strength. Two could possibly defeat one but the problem was they couldn’t bring themselves to trust each other. Countless centuries of separation and hatred of the members of their species made cooperation seem impossible.

     That was until the single white haired pale skinned female appeared offering to aid each of them. He cursed the day he had a let that being lull him with words and visions of glory.

     Suddenly, Azantre drew back screeching in rage shaking its essence. He suddenly sensed another among the threads in the manna. One whom he had thought had passed away along ago. The being who had nearly single handedly brought about his downfall, using his own lusts against him. The woman whom he hated more then those of his own race.

     Far away in the trading city of Midtor in her large stately quarters Orisa opened her wide deep blue eyes as she sensed the tendrils winding through the manna. The woman arose from her firm mattress standing upon her sculpted legs, which had once been horribly deformed by the mad mage Demarian, to resemble those of a large bird.  A slight smile made its way to her lips as she brushed away a single silky strand of hair with her long tapered fingers, which had once been the claws of a feline, now returned to their elegant beauty.

     “ You tried to retreat Azantre,” she whispered in her light soothing voice. “ Though you lingered too long to make an effective escape. Then again,” she said to no one in particular with a bemused smile, “ overconfidence was ever your biggest weakness much more then your comrades.”

     She afforded herself a glance in the mirror at the thin oval face seemingly ageless. If she had any vanity remaining within her she would have admired the timeless beauty she presented. Then she left such frailties of ego far behind well over a hundred years ago.

     “ Rathen,” she said quietly to her still sleeping charge,” awaken please.”

     “Yes mistress,” Rathen said groggily still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. After his betrayal of the companions to Censor the young adept had been placed under the command of the great seer. Since then he had done his best to serve the woman without question attempting to atone for the evil he had done.

     “ Please,” she said turning, giving him a pleasant smile, “ call me Orisa you long ago earned that right young adept.”

     “Yes Orisa,” he answered back. The seer never failed to give him a feeling of safety and worth. Something he had never felt in his young life, not here as an adept or as an urchin running through the dark alleys of Midtor. “ What is it that you need?”

     “ I would like you to fetch Gehron for me,” she said turning back to stare into the mirror. “ Tell him I need to see him immediately.”

     Rathen tossed on his robe rushing out of the room to roust the great mage Gehron. The mage would surely be cross at first, of that Rathen had little doubt. He would however quickly become much more complacent when he discovered the reason for such a rude awakening.

     “ And so it begins,” Orisa remarked to her reflection in the mirror.

     Ellianora lifted one lid shielding her sleepy eyes upon hearing a slight creak as someone tread lightly upon the wooden planks of the floor in the small room.  She raised her head glancing up to see Venom already fully dressed, her scarlet headband wrapped around her glistening raven locks and placed upon her shoulder just right. Unlike most female warriors she had known, her partner took great care with her appearance. Ellie imagined it was due to her horrendous upbringing by the pirates who had enslaved her so long ago.

     “ Getting ready to go out without me?” Ellie accused her propping herself up by one arm.

     “Actually been out and back already,” Venom commented with a slight smile. “ I’ve gotten the supplies we needed for the journey and few other items as well that might come in handy.”

     “ Probably paid too much,” Ellie rebuffed her. “ So were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?”

     “ I’d never do that,” Venom replied sitting down next Ellie. “ Besides if that had been the case you wouldn’t have heard me at all. “ You may have ears more sensitive then a grubkor but there are few that can detect me when I choose to try and be stealthy. After all, I was able to get dressed and leave prior to this.”

     “ True enough hon,” Ellie laughed lightly. So are the others up and about?”

     “ Yes,” she answered kissing her forehead, “ you are the last to get up, as usual.” Venom arose dropping the belt with her two weapons onto the bed. “ Right now we need to get going, the others are waiting.”

     “ What about Terrell?”

     “ Sleeping soundly,” Venom replied exiting the room. “ Zaphrina made up a mild sedative which should let him rest for now.”

     “ How is our outspoken mage taking all this?” Ellie asked. Before Venom could answer she caught sight of Zaphrina and her smoldering stare emitting from her dark violet as they descended the stair.” Never mind,” she whispered. Venom only nodded slightly in agreement with her companion. This was going to be a long journey.

     Ellie watched as Venom joined the others already rising from the table. It felt strange not getting ready to travel with her friends on yet another mission. Still, she knew Venom, if the one called Fang was hiding something they needed to find out what it was. “Any idea where we are headed?” Venom asked.

     “I believe I heard mention of the ruins of Jaroon,” Fang replied. “ I think I can get us there ahead of them though.”

     “ Good,” Venom replied.

     “ Well let’s get this over with,” Zaphrina grumbled she still did not like leaving Terrell even in Ellie’s capable hands.”

     “ Don’t worry I’ll have him boring folks in no time,” Ellie remarked as if reading the thoughts of her close friend giving her a comforting hug.

     “ We should get going,” Gasqule, urged them stepping forward. Despite his current position he still wore the white tunic with the symbol of Velia.

     “ I agree.” Fang remarked, “We are wasting precious time which could be better utilized.”

     “ Patience,” Zaphrina shot back, “ just because you’re in a rush to kill someone doesn’t mean the rest of us are. What’s the matter you falling below your quota for murder?”

     “ Enough,” Venom stated loudly before anyone else could utter a sound. Silence fell upon the gathering. “ She is right we need to get going whatever Censor’s after it must be significant for him to enter the plains.”

     “ True,” Ellie agreed hugging her tall companion. “ So I‘ll see you when you get back.”

     “ We’ll be back shortly,” Venom promised, softly brushing Ellie’s cheek. “ You’ll hardly know were gone.”

     “ Doubt that,” Ellie replied smiling sweetly, kissing her companion goodbye then releasing her from the embrace.

     Ellie watched as the band filed out of the door into the still dark streets. The rogue lightly brushed the arm of Fang, as the slender dark woman passed by.

     “ Just so you know,” Ellie whispered, “ if anything happens to them there wont be a rock small enough for you to hide under.”

     “ Do you people always make it a habit of threatening your allies?” Fang asked sounding mildly annoyed.

     “ Only special ones,” Ellie answered, “ and I never threaten.”

     Before Fang could reply Ellie had stepped back allowing her to exit the building.  She would get a mornfest and check on Terrell. Then she would set about trying to locate the man who had escaped through the window. Her intuition informed her he was the key to the mystery of what Censor wanted along with any possible hidden agendas their latest ally had.

****

     Far away in the ancient city of Archeon, Fyre stood in the vast oval throne room of Emperor Thereon. The finely crafted inlaid white marble would have been a tribute to Archeon architecture if the artisans of the young empire had created them, which of course they weren’t. The entire city the previous Empire that once dominated this land ruled by one of the infamous Gem Kings by the name of Azantre created Archeon.

     The Countess Fyre waited for a reply from the Emperor as she gave her farewell preparing to return to her keep in the far north. Gone was the elegant gown replaced with her black almost form-fitting armor, which glistened in the reflection of the polished marble.  The intricate ornate designs in the armor gave it the appearance to be like those worn by others of nobility, more for appearance then function. The armor in truth was a gift to her when she was a young light warrior long ago after she rescued a dwarven craftsman from the fabled City of the Silver Mists. The plate created by the magikal singing silver ore found only deep in the bowels of the Silver Mountains. After the adventure she had promised him she would never reveal the location of the ancient city yet another seat of power for one of the Gem Kings.

     She nervously shifted the massive sword strapped to her back as she waited for a reply from her emperor. The once mighty man’s shoulders were now stooped as if caring some heavy burden. The eyes were sunken almost like those of a corpse while breathing seemed to be an arduous task. Fyre found the rapid decline of his health most alarming. Just a few short days ago he had seemed his usual robust self during the fest.

     “ It always saddens me to see you go,” Thereon answered at last gathering the energy to make a response. “ Your visits always seem to few and far too short.

     “Thank you sire,” Fyre acknowledged but affairs of my lands and peoples are ever demanding. I actually believe things were much easier when I was riding about as a Paladin in the service of her lady.”

     “ So my younger son keeps telling me.” He remarked laughing slightly causing a short fit of coughing.

     “ He is wise for his age,” she replied, “ it is much easier to wield a sword then carry the responsibility of a kingdom and its people.”

     A slight smile crossed Thereon’s aged face. “ Leave us, “ he ordered the guards at the door to the room.”

     “ I beg your pardon my liege,” the captain offered respectfully bowing, “ but our instructions are to guard you at all times.”

     “ Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped showing some of his old fire, “ this is Countess Fyre one of the most famous Paladins ever to tread Iamoore. I doubt I have little to fear from her.

     “ You have my assurance,” she added diplomatically, “ that no harm shall come to the emperor in my company, I shall guard him with my own life. Though your attention to your duties is duly noted and commendable.” The captain nodded in agreement motioning his men to follow him into the foyer leaving the emperor and Fyre alone.

     “ Good,” Thereon stated as the man left closing the door behind him, “ I wanted to have a chance to speak with you alone.”

     “ I am always at your command sire,” Fyre offered respectfully, “ as long as it does not compromise my own edicts.”

     “ I would never ask you to do such a thing,” he remarked, and I only wish to ascertain your own views on certain matters.”

     “ Such as?”

     “ What is your opinion of my younger son Janus?”

     “ He is a good man my liege,” Fyre replied thoughtfully, “Extremely intelligent and caring, he has shown he places the welfare of the people above his own,”

     “Yet he is hardly a warrior,” Thereon remarked with a note of disdain.

     “ True, “ Fyre admitted, “ I have seen him on the practice ground his skill with sword his amusing to say the least yet perhaps those skills are not so important these days.”

     “This land was forged by warriors and armies,” Thereon argued, “ you and I were among them battling the hordes of orcs and holding the small principalities together to create one strong empire.

     “That was a different time, “ she offered, “ the orcs are no longer truly a threat and the Empire is now formed with strong bonds. You and I are of the past sire. I believe your son is the future, it’s a new world and a new age.”

     “ So you have a great deal of respect for him?”

     “ I do sire,” Fyre replied solemnly.

     “ So tell me,” Thereon continued reclining back into his chair, “ what do you think of my oldest son Censor?”

     “ As we both know sire,” Fyre replied averting her eyes to the hard gray marble tiles on the floor, “ I am a follower and servant of Velia. Never ask one of my order especially one of my rank a question unless you are truly prepared to hear the truth.”

     “ I am prepared to hear.” He answered sternly.

     “ And I don’t want say anything that could be construed as treason, “ she answered staring up into the hard steel gray eyes of the once mighty warrior.”

     “ I would never accuse one as loyal as you of treason,” Thereon answered nor have anyone question your loyalty that is why I had my guards leave us to ourselves. Now I asked a question and would like an answer. As your Emperor I demand it.”

     “ Very well my liege,” Fyre said with a heavy sigh, “ I find little if anything redeemable concerning the Prince Censor. He is concerned only with himself and his seemingly endless thirst for power and glory at any cost. This most recent incident concerning this Sherrit Kahn and the woman called Venom is a glaring example of his lack of morals.”

     “ He was exonerated by your very own tribunal,” the emperor countered.

     “ That is another matter sire,” Fyre replied shaking her head sadly, “ the Light Warriors are not but a shadow of their former selves. This long war with the Old Kingdoms as changed them and not for the better. Many have begun to think the ends justifies the means.”

     “ So you are saying my son bought back his good name,” Thereon said bluntly.

     “ I can’t say for certain one way or another,” Fyre replied truthfully, “only that your son as you well know donated a large amount to the war chests of the Tribunal at a most opportune time.”

     “ These are hard things for a father to hear,” Thereon said shaking his head sadly. To think my son was associated with such vile creatures like Kahn and Demarian.”

     “ And it is hard for me to say sire,” Fyre said sympathetically, “ we have not always agreed on certain matters but you have always had my respect as a warrior and ruler who truly only wanted what was best for his subjects.”

     “ Thank you,” Thereon answered with a weak smile, “ a compliment from you is high praise indeed. Now the question remains what is best.”

     “ I would say look to the future sire,” Fyre replied. Our ways of blood and steel may no longer be what are needed. Now sire if I may ask is there more to this then you have stated?”

     “ Yes,” Thereon replied, “ and no you may not know. Only know that I am grateful for your wise counsel. I wish you safe journey Lady Fyre.

     “ Thank you my liege,” she replied kneeling gracefully then turning, striding out of the room leaving the aged emperor slumped in his massive chair alone.”

     Fyre exited the Emerald throne room, seat of power of the mighty Archeon Empire. She continued to ponder the words of the Emperor as she made her way through the great alabaster hall towards the stables. The seasoned Paladin felt certain his recent disintegrating health was not natural. She wondered why Zarlorn had not noticed the change. Then again, since the death of his mate he had been too preoccupied with his own affairs to notice anything not directly pertaining to him.

     She smelled the sweet aroma of the manicured lawn as she exited the Palace heading towards the stables. She could sense her mount Varion, awaiting her arrival. The steed of a Paladin was more then a mere horse, rider and horse actually shared an empathic relationship, able to sense each other’s moods.

     The young stable hand gave her a sharp salute as he informed her Varion was already saddled and prepared for her journey.  Fyre absently acknowledged the lad, still deep in thought.

     “I fear we have a storm coming,” Fyre whispered to Varion, stroking his muzzle. The horse nodded in agreement. “And I fear, as she continued mounting the great white steed. “We shall be involved before this is over.” Giving a quick snap of the reins, Fyre road out of the great floating city.

****    

     Verant the Vicious glared down at the pathetic youth sprawled out beneath him in the dirt. The lad’s once shiny chain and crisp leather were now covered in filth and what had been in their cooking pot before Verant and his men had jumped them. Normally the brutish raider preferred to attack those coming out of the undead plains, but this pathetic group was just too tempting a target.  Besides, he doubted they would survive the plains anyway. These fools obviously had visions of glory and treasure, probably dreaming of them from listening to tales in their wealthy parents homes next to a warming fire. He hated these people; actually he hated anyone who looked down on him as common thug.

     “This all ya got,” Verant sneered as he looked down upon the lad staring up at him like a frightened animal. “Just what are we going to do about this?” He asked, poking the lad with boys own finely crafted sword.

     “Give them back their possessions and leave,” he heard a deep female voice reply behind them.

     Verant glanced back to see who would dare to interfere with his entertainment. His piggish eyes gazed upon a statuesque muscular woman, glaring at him with ice blue eyes as a massive crimson cloak danced about her form. To her left was a tall blonde youth wearing the tunic of light warrior.  On her right stood a slender dark skinned woman garbed in black leathers, a thin sword slung across her back. He could also discern what looked like an elf behind them.

     “Do that,” the woman continued, “ and you might actually live to see another day.”

     “Dragperg with that!” “Do you have any idea who you are dealing with woman?” Verant swore, as he rushed towards the interlopers, motioning his men to follow. 

     Verant swung his stolen weapon at the woman. She easily sidestepped the clumsy attack, grabbing his wrist in her vice-like grip. Verant howled in agony as the fragile bones of his wrist felt as if they were reduced to powder.  Nonplussed, she snatched away the sword, plunging it into his chest. The bandit leader toppled over staring at the hilt protruding from his body. The raiders halted their charge upon seeing their supposedly invincible leader so easily defeated.

     “A corpse,” Venom stated, stepping over the body of Verant. “And I wasn’t talking to you.”

     “W-Who are you?” One of the raiders finally managed to ask.

     “Venom,” she replied, shifting her gaze from one bandit to another. “And I don’t like to repeat myself.”  At this, Gasqule and Fang unsheathed their own blades. Not that they raiders needed further encouragement. Upon the mention of the infamous sea-bitch the men turned tail and scurried away as roaches caught in a light.

     “I don’t see why you need to give them a choice? Zaphrina quipped. “They always choose to fight.”

     “I like to give them an option at least,” Venom shrugged.

     “I don’t see why we had to stop at all,” Fang criticized.  “We wasted what precious little time we have.”

     “We can always spare a few moments to aid someone in need, “ Gasqule replied. “If we didn’t are little more then Censor and his ilk?

     “Gasqule is correct,” Venom stated, “but so is Fang we had best be on our way.”

     “You saved us,” the lad who had been pinned down by Verant exclaimed rushing up to Venom. “How can we ever repay you?”

     Venom looked down into the innocent brown eyes of the youth, the eyes of one who had yet to take a life. “ By going home, she replied in a grim tone then turned to lead the band into the dreaded Undead Plains.

Chapter 6

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