Date: Mon, 5 Aug 2002 20:13:48 +0100 (BST)
From: goldenknight <goldenknightuk@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Night of No Tomorrow - 17 (gay/boybands)

Disclaimer:

Hello again! Well then! I finally managed to get my ass back in writing
again (particularly because I'm so sick of studying college stuff 'n'
all...). But I'm back with the seventeenth part of NNT. It's kinda shorter
than the rest, I know. Sorry about that. Now what should I yap about
first... oh yeah! Legal stuff. You all may shut your ears now. First of all
(bla, bla, bla), as mentioned before, this story is totally fictional and
has no purpose whatsoever to imply that any member of the BSB is
gay. Secondly, also as mentioned before, the setting of this story is 100%
based on TSR, Inc. Novels, the Forgotten Realms. The story is written
purely out of fun and leisure and I have no intention of publishing it
anywhere or whatever. Hmm... what else? Oh yeah, this story also contain
homosexual elements, so if you got a problem with it, Boo-hoo. However, if
you are looking for some hot monkey sex scenes, sorry dudes, you'll be
disappointed. I'm just not good in writing about that stuff :P (I'm a good
boy, hehe) Let just keeps the detailed sex stuff behind closed doors. But
if you like stories that goes nice and slow and have more to offer than
just sex, oh well, you might like this one (I hope).

Well! Now that is gone out of da way, lets get on with the story. Hope you
enjoy it. If ya got comments, objections, suggestions, tips, death threats,
bomb threats, boos, tomatoes or cabbages to throw or whatever, just write
to me at goldenknightuk@yahoo.co.uk

Anyway, I would like to thank everyone who e-mailed me of your comments and
such. It's nice to know that you've enjoyed it. I live to serve (Hah!). All
in all, thanks guys. I intend to make this story as long as I can. But
ideas do tend to run out quickly. I can always think up of new ideas (if I
can get my lazy mind going long enough. It really needs a kick or two at
times but it has always serve me well... hmm... well, most of the
time). But if you have any inputs, ideas or suggestions, feel free to drop
me a note anytime you want, be it through e-mails, letters, pigeons,
message in a bottle, Morse codes, talking drums, whatever.

Author's Note:

Another thing is, in case you didn't notice; I have changed my email
address. So if you guys wanna drop us a note, sent it to
goldenknightuk@yahoo.co.uk

Right! Enough mindless chatters, roll back the curtain, roll the drums and
on with the show!

Drew and Andy

*******************************

In the Ruins of Tandrull, near the Sword Coast...

It was said that legends and myth are akin to old folk's tales, created by
aged grandfathers to scare children into obedience. It was said that
history represents deeds that were done in the past and that, one must
always learn from it and gain more wisdom. It was also said that evil never
sleeps and that sometimes, when one evil is vanquished from this world, it
will come back in another form, another shape.

The creature is old, older than the kingdom of Cormyr, older even the
fabled ruins of Myth Drannor. Even when he was amongst the living, he has
lived for more and a century or so, his life prolonged by his magic.

Once, during the ancient days of long lost Netheril, he was amongst the
most powerful archmages ever lived. His name alone is enough to bring fear
and respect to anyone who hears. During the time of the Netheril, humankind
has reached the peak of magical achievements and skills. His works, his
skills, his achievements was greatly valued and his miraculous feats had
attracted the attentions of numerous scholars from all races. Those were
the time of the Netheril, when knowledge rules all and symbolizes the
status of power.

But knowledge and power has never been enough to him. He has known that for
so long now. He seeks more. What uses are knowledge and power when he is
nothing but dust and bones? Why should he spent all of his energy and time
burying himself in countless tomes and scrolls or doing countless magical
researches, just so that others could gain from it when he is dead?

Time. Time has always been his enemy. It works slowly and patiently, never
knows fear and never tires. Persistent and gradual. Eventually, no matter
how great his achievements is, no matter how powerful he is, his bone grew
tired more and more. His memory began to fade. His eyes began to blur and
his hearing began to dull. Such is the limitation of being a mortal. Such
limitations, such weakness. Soon enough, he realized that he is nothing
more than a pathetic mortal, standing near the end of his life. He has been
a proud man all his life. He could never tolerate such weakness. He has
crushed all his enemies in the years past. But now he knows what his real
enemy really is. Time!

It was at that time he started seeking for more than power. It was at that
time he began seeking for immortality. He was willing to sacrifice his own
very life to the darkest of gods if that could grant him what he
desires. Immortality... a chance to beat time.

But such quest is not without its own sacrifices, oh no. With great greed
and dark desires, so goes all that is good from his heart. From a kind and
generous teacher, he became cold and harsh. From a loyal and honorable
friend and comrade, he became treacherous and deceitful. From a loving
lover, there is now anger and hate. From the light, he enters the realm of
darkness. And in darkness, there is no place for goodness and love.

So he focused all of his magic and skills and force himself to achieve what
he desire most, to be immortal. A lich he becomes, the most powerful and
evil of all undead. And with it, he has crossed over the line where there
is no return. With it, so goes the last shred of goodness from his soul
leaving him with nothing but coldness, hatred and malice. So arises one of
the most purest forms of evil in Faerun.

Driven by his own malice and hatred, he strove to shape the world anew. He
created a fortress of his own, imbued and protected it with his own
magic. And from that, he strove to kill and destroy. His undeath form makes
him hates all life. So he seeks to destroy them all.

His army is massive and terrible to behold. With the awesome might of his
magic, he raised all of the dead to march before him. From the shadow, he
summoned fourth all kinds of shades and shadow-fiends to fight at his
side. From the nether planes, he summoned ghouls, wraiths and wights and a
host of spectral armies to join his own ranks. His generals consist of a
host of vampires and demon-lords. His flanks consist of mummies and golems.

Such armies of the dead are terrible to behold and wherever they goes, a
blight follows and the Realm trembled with fear before them, for this army
is not an ordinary army. They need neither foods nor drinks. They do not
tire and know no fear. They cannot be bribed nor do they feel any pain. And
wherever they go, night follows and the sunlight fled.

Battles after battles followed and the army of the dead prevailed. Races
allied with each other, humans with elves, and dwarves with orcs and gnomes
with halflings, and for each army sent against them, the undead shattered
them all. And instead of leaving them in the battlefield, the lich raised
them and make them swell his legions of the dead. So arise the Time of the
Dead, a dark period upon all the races in Faerun.

But such battles eventually attracts numerous unwanted attention from other
powerful foes, and one in particular, the lich will never forget to the
rest of his undead days.

At the peak of his victory, a new powerful threat, more powerful than the
High Mages in the elven kingdoms, comes his way. The threat comes like the
wind, in the form of Lanthor, Lord of the Arcane Tower, Sorcerer-King of
the Netheril Empire. Behind him came his nine most loyal followers, great
archmages all, and worst, each of them has been his greatest rival in his
previous life. Long has the lich expected this confrontation and long has
he prepared for it. But to his deepest loathing, deep inside, he knew he
would never prevail against such odds.

The spell-battle was massive and more than spectacular, lasting for five
continuous nights. To these days, the eldest of the elven High Mages who
still survive such time in Evermeet, still shudder at the memories of the
sheer amount of unleashed magical energy at that time. The spell-battle
could be seen from miles away and even in Icewind Dales, the ice-dwelling
barbarian tribes gazed in wonder at the gathered storm clouds and continual
flashing of lightning in the far distant.

As he has expected, the Sorcerer-King prevailed at the very last. But not
without his own losses. Eight of his nine companions fell that fateful day
and even Lanthor himself was bleeding to death from a magical wound that
could never be cured. Even then, the Sorcerer-King couldn't overmaster the
lich's power. No one can, the lich himself has made sure of that. Through
his magic, the lich has made himself nearly indestructible. Only a god or a
being with the power of a god could destroy him.

As powerful as the Sorcerer-King is, the best he could do was imprisoning
him in an extra-dimensional prison. Now, his body still stood in Faerun
beneath the ruins of his once glorious fortress. His body still stood in
the middle of his ritual room beneath the ground, hands still upraised in
mid-spellcasting, suspended in temporal stasis. Part of his soul is in his
body. But the other part; the part that hold the true source of his power,
are sealed in another dimension. And there he has existed till now.

But he has found a way to free himself. For decades, he has worked with his
plans and even now, he has partially succeeded. Now, he only needed a
willing mortal to free him completely.

The hollowed orbit on the lich's skull glow with dim red light as he sensed
four mortals entering the ruins of his fortress above. Within the dark
depth of his extra-dimensional prison, the spirit of the lich smiled.

"These mortals will do nicely." The lich thought to himself. "They will
free me. And when they do, the Realm will learn to fear the name of
Tandrull once again."

********************************

At the Citadel of the Ravens...

As his consciousness gradually return, he became more and more aware of the
cold stone floor beneath him. The pain the wreck his body slowly lifted by
itself but that in his head still remains. Slowly he opened his eyes and
tried to push his body up.

Bad mistake.

The pain he had thought to have gone away crashes back upon him full force,
perhaps ten times the initial amount. Mumbling curses to every dark god he
could think of at that moment, he let himself fall back to the floor.

Another bad mistake, as the pain intensified when his body hits the cold
floor.

For several moments, Andy lay on the floor, helpless as a newborn kitten. A
soft groan emerged from his lips as he slowly musters his energy to gain
control of his body again.

'Where in the Nine Hells am I?' he thought to himself.

As his mind clears, he raised his head and turned his bleary eyes to
examine his surroundings. His gaze fell first on the dark stonewall that
stood forebodingly before him. A series of rusty shackles and low-burning
torches lined the wall at regular intervals. Examining closer, he realized
that he is in a cell within a dungeon. A rusty iron bar separates his cell
from the rest of the dungeon.

The air is damp and cold. Here and there, he could hear the dripping of
water, no doubt from the bad plumbing from the drainage of water from
above. There doesn't seem to be any window to let any sunlight in. The
floor is dirty with dirt and scraps of garbage. Occasionally, rats and
other rodents would scuttle by, creating small screeches and clicking
noises as they busily ran freely about with their own business.

Gathering all his energy, Andy worked his muscle enough to get up to his
knees. Pain aches his body everywhere and looking down, he noticed various
scars and bruises decorating his body. His battle-robe seems to be torn at
many places to the point where it almost looked like rags. His blond hair
is matted with dirt, mud and dry blood, as does his face. His lip is
swollen and touching it, he noticed evidence of dry blood matting over
it. It is evidently clear that his arrival here had not been a gentle one.

Memories of recent events leading to his arrival here is still foggy but it
gradually becomes clear as time passes on. He remembered his running with
Nick and the rest, his battle with the Hellhounds before the gates of
Tandrull's ruined fortress, his battle with the beholder...

He remembered the mage riding a wyvern hurling a lightning bolt at the
bridge where he stood. He remembered the bridge crumbling and the beholder
paralyzing him, rendering his absolutely helpless...

Memories after memories came crashing down upon him. And most of all, he
remembered his desperate attempt to transfer half of Tempus' gift to
Nick...

Pain flared again, this time over his scalp, and Andy gave a small groan
and closed his eyes as he wavered weakly to maintain his strength. Gods!
Will the pain never cease?

Standing on his feet slowly he forced his eyes to open and willed his mind
to examine his prison further. Pushing his mind through the mist of pain
and recent memories, he forced his mind to try to formulate a way to escape
his predicament. Examining the lock, he dismissed the notion away as
quickly as it comes. A thief may be able to pick the lock as easily as
eating a pie. But Andy is no more a thief then he is a rabbit. Breaking
down the door? Again he discarded the idea. He may be a battle-mage, but
that doesn't mean he has the strength of a true brute warrior. His strength
lay more in his magic than anything else. His magic? Again, it is
hopeless. His spells are there but all of the necessary spell components he
needed to cast them are gone... as does all his weapons - his daggers, his
silver shortsword, and his staff. Even his spellbook is gone.

Searching for any cracks, holes, footholds or even a small window within
his cell, he found none. Cursing again, he leaned against the wall behind
him. He's in a real fix all right.

He looked up as he heard the sound of the door crashing open somewhere in
the distance. Soon enough, five sentinels, garbed in typical Zhentarim
armor, appeared before his cell. One of the sentinels studied his warily
before nodding the prison warden to unlock the door.

"Take him," the sentinel leader spoke to his comrades. "Be wary for any
tricks. Quickly. The Lady brooks no delays."

Andy might as well struggled to crack a stonewall with his bare hands,
because no matter how much fight he puts up, no matter how much he protest,
the sentinel seized and over powered him easily and soon he was half pulled
and half dragged along the dark corridors and halls, up the stairs and
eventually pushed roughly into a small ritual chambers within one of the
numerous tower of the fortress. Dazed and confused, Andy looked around at
his new surroundings, trying to find some sort of a clue as to where he is.

Looking at the runes engraved markings of the room, he found the clues he
was looking for at last. He recognizes the room well. He has seen it many
times in the past, while scrying or in one of his numerous battles. The
runes, the lines of scrolls and tomes filled bookshelves, the small mage's
lab that stood at one corner of the room. He is within the Wizard's Watch
Tower, the main Zhentarim wizard's hall within the Citadel of the Ravens.

"Welcome and well met, Child of Tempus."

A voice spoke from one corner of the room. Whirling around to confront the
owner of the voice, Andy face the cold gaze of the otherwise truly
beautiful woman. Even from afar, she looks stunning. Her hair is raven
black, streaks with white at the front. It flows across her shoulder like
water from a river, swaying alluringly as she moved. She wore a glimmering
sky-blue gown, streaked with silver and split at the bottom, up to her
navel, revealing her pale smooth leg that is covered from her knees
downwards by a leather high-heel boots. Even her hands are covered from the
elbow downwards by a pair of silk gloves that matches her gown. A flowing
blue cape draped her back and her face is half hidden under the cover of
her raised cowl. Rings line her fingers, some are simply plain rings, and
others are carved beautifully and ornately decorated by rare gems. A
necklace hung around her neck, supporting a deep blue sapphire that seems
to flash faintly as she moves. Silver runes decorated her gown and cape,
even her boots and gloves. Her body is delicately curved and definitely
alluring to look at, and even as she shifted her stance slightly to put her
arms on her hips, she reminds Andy of a beautiful temptress he met in the
years past in Calimshan. Beautiful... yet dangerous. An ornately carved,
jeweled belt draped around her hips, and from it, Andy could see no less
than five wands hanging loosely from its holders. Even if that is not
enough to make any man wary of this little serpent, the ornately carved,
golden scepter in her right hand that occasionally crackles with power
should be more than enough.

"Spit you name, little serpent." Andy growled softly.

The woman moved forward coolly. Her movements are slow and graceful as any
highborn queen... and most definitely alluring and hypnotizing. In another
life, should Andy find himself favoring women instead of men, there would
be no doubt that he would have fallen under her charm. Even now, he finds
himself struggling from getting down to his knees to worship the little
goddess.

The woman smiled, as if she knew exactly how Andy felt about her.

"I am Elaendra, current ruler of the Citadel of the Ravens, which is where
you are standing now." She replied coolly. Andy gazed into her eyes, trying
to look into her soul, only to find himself repelled by the cold fire that
raged within. This is no woman. She bore the resemblance of a woman
outside, but the void where her soul once was is now filled with ice and
cold. A serpent? Nay, even worst.

The enchantress motioned her hand lightly.

"I presumed you know my dear friend, Sememmon, Lord of Darkhold?"

>From the door where she stood earlier, another figure moved into Andy's
view. A familiar figure. Middle-aged (though looks can be deceiving when it
comes to wizards), long dark hair and somewhat, handsome face, Sememmon of
Darkhold is no small foe to be set aside lightly. Rumors speak of him as a
ruthless mage who has trained many evil wizards of the Zhentarim over the
years and has slain many who tried to slay him. It was also said that he is
so far, trusted by Manshoon himself as fully as Manshoon ever trusted
anyone. It was further rumored that he held the second rank of power in the
Zhentarim network, within the Inner Circle of power, with the first rank
being held by Manshoon and Fzoul Chembryl, while the third rank is held by
the arch-sorceress, Ashemmi.

Sememmon nodded at Andy coldly and expressionlessly.

"Well met, old foe." The archmage greets softly.

Andy's lips curled into a snarl.

"You." Andy managed to spit out.

Elaendra smiled.

"Old grudges never settle, doesn't it?" the enchantress chuckled in
amusement.

"Whatever you plans are, witch," said Andy, his voice hoarse in anger and
challenge, "I shall put a stop to it!"

With that, Andy embraced his half of the power of Tempus, creating a direct
conduit to the War God essence to channel enough magic to power one of his
spell. Spitting out the necessary arcane phrase, he thrust his hands out to
work his spell, intending to teleport himself out of his captivity.

A disc of silvery light appeared around him, spreading brighter and
brighter, forming a teleportation disc. At the corner of the room, he saw
Sememmon backed away, his hands raised to shield his eyes. The spell is
working perfectly. Even now, he could feel the familiar surge of magic
powering up his spell...

Then the world exploded around him and flaring white light blinded him,
shocking him to the core of his soul. Pain wreck his while being and for
the moment he felt like his whole body is being torn apart.

The pain lasted only for a moment and then the light faded, leaving him
dazed and unable to move. It took him a second or two before he realized he
is hanging in the air. A strong arm grasped his neck tightly, preventing
him from breathing and before he could even do anything, the same hand
slammed him to the wall.

Desperately fighting for air, he looked forward only to have his gaze fall
upon the cold eyes of the enchantress. Despite her frail appearance,
empowered by her own spell, it was she who somehow managed to halt the
teleportation disc and held the young man in the air by the neck with one
hand as if he is nothing but a ragged doll.

"Young fool," she hissed harshly. "You dare cast a spell in MY domain?"

She released her hold on Andy and stepped back, taking care as to not
breaking her gaze from the young mage. The she pointed to the wall behind
Andy.

"Wall! Hold him!"

To Andy's surprise and horror, the wall behind him shook and grew out
numerous hands, each curling around his body from chest to toe to prevent
him from escaping. One hand grasped his mouth, preventing him from casting
any spell. Andy fought for all his worth to shake himself loose from the
holding arms but all he could manage was to make the arm holding him
tighter against the wall. His cry of protest came out only as a muted
mumble.

The enchantress stepped closer to stare at him face to face.

"This is MY domain, foolish mage." She said softly. "No one teleport in or
out without MY permission."

The hand covering Andy's mouth lifted under the enchantress' will. Andy
glared at her, his eyes burning with hatred.

"What are you planning to do to me, witch?" he spat out angrily.

Elaendra's lips curled into a smile.

"Why, making you serve me, of course." She purred softly. Gently, she
stroke Andy's hair, her hands then descended to stroke his cheek. "I do so
love to have strong young men such as yourself serving me."

Disgusted, Andy spat on her face.

"Never!"

Elaendra drew back and gazed at Andy with eyes burning fiercely with the
vengeance of winter as she calmly wiped the spit from her face.

Then before he knew it, his world exploded again. It took him a moment to
register the burning pain on his left cheek where the enchantress' slap hit
him.

"You will serve me, boy," the enchantress purred softly as she placed the
tips of her fingers of her left hand over Andy's chest. "You shall be my
most faithful servant."

'Ditae Emera'ath Ka'aranithra namiae...'

Andy looked up in alarm as he finally realized Elaendra is chanting a
spell, her hand on his chest began to glow with blue-white light.

"NO!" Andy shouted and began to struggle for all his worth. Eleandra simply
chuckled cruelly as she continues with her spellcasting. "NOOO! I WILL
NOT..."

The without warning, the enchantress backed away, aura of magical energy
began to swirl around her. Surrounded by her magic, the enchantress began
to look less frail, and more powerful. The scepter in her hand glow in
resonance of her gathered power. Her voice began to rise as she continue
with the chant, and her face grew stone cold and expressionless as she
muster all her concentration and strength and focus it into her
spellcasting. The circle of runes the surround Andy on the floor began to
glow too, and it was then Andy realized what spell the witch is casting.

Elaendra pulled her hand back from Andy chest, slowly as if she is dragging
something out with great effort. It was then, Andy screamed as a burst of
pain shot throughout his body.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO.....!!!"

The room seems to thicken and crackles with gathered power and even as
Elaendra continue to shout every syllable of her spell, the runes on the
flow flared brightly and arc of magical lightning sprang up and struck
Andy, engulfing him like a blanket. Andy screamed, the pain seems to be
tearing his soul apart and shattering his mind. Tears of pain blurred his
eyes and trickled down his cheek and still the pain continues.

Elaendra's shout rose even further, as she spat out every syllable
shrilly. Both her hands are raised now, one holding her scepter and the
other held outstretched towards Andy. A magical beam connected her
outstretched hand to Andy's chest and from it, a translucent mist emerge,
as if being pulled out of him. Waves magical wind swirled around Andy now,
and little by little, Andy's strength began to fades. Then, a hideous
shriek burst out all over the room, heralding the arrival of a dark spirit.

The translucent mist shot forth, pulled free at last by Elaendra's
spell. With it, Andy gave one final tormented shriek as the dark side of
his soul, the part corrupted by Bane's curse, the side which he has fought
most of his life, is pulled free from his body. Above the din of the
shrieking dark soul, Andy could dimly hear Eleandra steady chants turned
into a cruel laughter.

Looking up weakly, Andy could dimly see another figure standing before
him. His own dark soul. The one that continually hungers for war, carnage
and blood lust. It appearance is identical to that of his own. Wavy blond
hair and pale skinned. His stance is firm and even his robe is identical to
that of his own. But where Andy's eyes are warm with compassion, this
being's eyes are filled with cold hatred and battle lust. While Andy always
have a gentle smile upon his lips, the being's lips are continually twisted
into a cruel sneer. This is a being of pure evil and pure hatred - a tool
of chaos and destruction.

Deep within his weakened mind, Andy wept as he realized the terror that is
about to befall the Realm.



Elaendra laughed in delight as she marveled at her own handy work. For
years she has strived to perfect this spell. For years she has dreamt for
such a day to come upon her. It worked! The spell worked perfectly. She has
separated the dark part of the soul of a Child of Tempus, the part that was
cursed by Bane. Now, the soul stood before her, a being bent only for
destruction and chaos. There shall be no mercy within him, no
compassion... only death, blood and carnage.

The dark being stood before her, studying his surrounding and his new form.

Eleandra stepped forward, eyes bent to stare warily upon this beast. It is
one thing to bring it out from the mortal shell where it was once trapped
within. Controlling such beast is another.

"That's right, my beautiful Dark Avenger," she purred softly, "make peace
with your new form and surrounding. Then cometh forth to my side, for there
is much task that lay before you."

The being looked up slowly towards the enchantress. Then, slowly, his lips
turned into a rictus snarl and then, with a fastness of a lightning, it
hurled itself towards the enchantress.

"Eleandra, look out!" Sememmon shouted.

But the enchantress simply stood her ground, watching the approaching beast
in amusement. Then circle of runes on the floor flared out with brilliant
white light and the beast was thrown back. Snarling in pure anger, the
beast slammed itself against the barrier once more and again, it was
repelled back. This goes on several times, with the beast trying
unsuccessfully to find a weakness within the barrier that surrounds
it. Finally, it grew quiet and gazed at the watching enchantress.

"Thou hast brought me out." The beast hissed. Its eyes blazing with hatred.

"Yes," Eleandra answered wryly.

"I shalt be thy doom." The beast simply stated.

"Don't be too sure."

"Thou hast no knowledge of the power I hold within me." The beast smiled as
he slowly gathered the power of Tempus within him. "Thy barrier is nothing
to me."

Eleandra raised one eyebrow mockingly.

"Again, don't be too sure." She said coolly. Then, she reached upon and
caresses the blue sapphire stone hanging from the gold chain that hangs
around her neck. "Your soul cannot survive alone. It is still connected to
your former shell."

She nodded at the still form of Andy.

"I cannot hurt you." She spoke again to the beast. "Any injure inflicted
upon you are merely transferred to your former shell. But your former shell
also holds your life force. You share your life force with Andy. You two
are different... and yet you are the same."

She held up the sapphire.

"I have bound his mind within this stone. And through him, I can exert my
will to control you if I want too. Surely you don't want me to do that,
don't you?"

The beast growled as he fixed his glare to the stone.

"What is it that thou want from me? I shalt not be controlled by anyone."

Elaendra smiled.

"Oh I will never dream of controlling powerful creature such as you. Only
if I need to. Let us hope it will not come to that." She replied before
fixing a hard glare into those cold eyes. "Instead, I wish to make a pact."

"A pact?"

"Aye. You shall perform any favor I ask of you, in return, you shall roam
the Realm freely to wreak all the carnage as you wish, with an army of your
own."

The beast remains silent for a time, as he stared unblinkingly at the
enchantress. Even as Eleandra watched him, she could sense his mind whirl
as he continue to think of a way to destroy her. Elaendra smiled. This is a
dangerous beast indeed.

"Agreed." The beast replied at last, not breaking its glare at the
enchantress. "Now, release me."

Elaendra looked at him coolly, careful not to show her fear. Near her, she
could feel Sememmon tensing readily, prepared for any treachery on the
beast's part.

With a nod, the enchantress lowered the barrier, and the beast strode out,
eyes intent upon the enchantress. The enchantress simply looked at him
expressionlessly, her body erect as she watched him challengingly.

The beast simply smiled.

"Sleep lightly from now on, beautiful one." Said the beast. "I meant what I
said. Sooner or later, I shalt be thy doom."

"I'll eagerly wait for such day to come." Elaendra replied sweetly. "Just
be wary that it is not I who shall be YOUR doom."

The beast laughed.

"What about him? Any suggestion as to what I should do to him?" asked the
enchantress as she nodded towards Andy.

The beast fell silent in mid-laughter.

"He is weak!" he spat out in disgust. "For years I struggle against
him. His head is filled with nothing but honor and justice. He is a fool."

"Let him bears the burden of my pain." The beast continues. "It is the
least of what he deserves."

**********************************

Somewhere in the Stonelands...

Another explosion in the distance shook the whole tunnel.

"That's the seventh explosion so far in an hour. They're gaining fast!"
Howie shouted as they ran through the catacomb.

"Can anyone do something about it?" AJ yelled from the front. "Slow them
down or something?"

"I cannot set anymore traps!" Beth yelled back. "It'll take time! Just keep
running!"

"Tess?" Howie yelled at the warrior-mage running beside him. "Any useful
spell?"

Tess answer came slowly in between her gasps as she struggled to run and
talk at the same time.

"I have *gasp* several... warding spell... *gasp*... but... I didn't
memorized... any of it..."

Another explosion rocked the whole place, followed by some shouts in the
distance.

"That's the last trap." Said Beth. "Run faster, all of you!!"

The thief sprang forward into the gloomy darkness of the catacomb.



Back in the Zhentarim fortress, Damien stood quietly in the middle of his
laboratory. His hands hovered just above his scrying crystal and from his
lips; whispers of arcane phrases slipped out as he work his scrying spell.

The wizard's eyebrow furrowed in a frown as he exerts all of his
concentration and will into the spell. Divination has never been his
strongest skills. Even with the aid of his scrying crystal sphere, he still
finds it hard to focus the spell to do as it should do.

Blue-white mist swirl within the sphere as Damien struggle to scrye the
position of the escaped prisoners. Sweat rolled down his forehead and cheek
but still he struggle. This has been his third attempt to scrye their
position. The last two attempts have failed miserably resulting in him
scrying some place else - the first has been an empty field and the second
showed him a brawl that is going on in some inn in Cormyr.

"Come on, damn you!" he muttered under his breath as he bent all of his
mind, will and soul into the effort.

The mist still swirl and the glow began to brighten even further. Then,
gradually, the mist began to clear and Damien lean forward to gaze into the
revealed image...



Deina rushed forward through the tunnels angrily. This whole ordeal is
slowly becoming a nightmare to her. Already she has lost about two dozens
soldiers from the explosive traps that have been left laying around all
along the tunnel.

Studying the triggered traps, she decided that these are not Tessaril's
handiwork. It looks more like a thief's work... a very skilled one too
because no one seem to notice the traps until it was too late; which is the
main reason why she walk at the very back of the crowd and gladly allow the
other warriors to walk on first. So there was someone who helped Tessaril
and the others to escape.

After walking for some distance and still there are no triggered traps, the
priestess judged that the thief must have stopped setting up additional
traps.

"I don't think there are anymore traps laying about," she barks from the
back. "Move, everyone! Quickly."

Muttering under their breath, the warriors rushed forward.

Deina began to run as the warriors rushed on into the darkness. In her
mind, she fervently hopes Damien has more luck in finding them then
her. For better or worst, the last thing she wants is to greet Manshoon's
arrival empty-handed.



"How... far... have... we... run?" Tessaril gasped out as they rushed along
through the dust-filled tunnel.

"Don't know, don't care," AJ replied as he held out the burning torch as
far forward as he can so that he can see what lay before them. "Just keep
running."

"I... don't... think... I... can... run... anymore!" Tessaril groaned.

Howie reached out to hold her hand.

"We cannot stop now, Tess. Just hold on."

"That's... easy... for... you... to... say."

"Hey!" they heard Beth cried out.

"What is it?" asked Howie, slowing down.

"No, don't stop running!" Beth replied as he held out her hand. "Can you
feel that? A breeze! Fresh air!"

"Really?" said Derek.

"Aye! I feel it too!" cried Zen. "There must be an opening nearby!"

They rushed along in hopeful silence for several moments. Then as they
rounded a corner, AJ cried out happily.

"There it is! We're free! We're... oh FUCK!"

AJ halted abruptly in mid-running, causing the rest to crash onto him.

"Jesus..." Howie spat out as he tumbled, armor and all, to the floor. Near
him, he heard Tessaril let out a VERY unlady-like oath as she too fell to
the ground, with Beth royally lay on top of her.

"Arrgh! I have dirt in my mouth!" Tessaril moaned as she spat desperately
to the ground.

"Umm... guys... actually, that's the least of our problem." Said AJ softly.

Howie slowly look at what AJ is staring and let out a groan. Near him, Beth
cursed.

Before him stood the wizard, Damien, flanked by two fully equipped
Zhentarim war-masters and two skeletal warriors. Behind them, the sun
shines brightly through a huge opening that leads to the Stonelands
outside.

"Escape?" Damien smiled evilly as his finger began to move in the gestures
of spellcasting. "I think not!"

With that, the Zhentarim war-masters and the skeletal warriors began to
rush forward and Damien's voice began to rise in spellcasting...