Dirk Talon came to his feet as the wolf charged off for his enemies. The young Talon was trained by his guild to fight equally in dark surroundings or without sight at all. Yet those times had been different. Back then, he was the attacker, the hunter. Now however, he was the prey, the victim in an assassin’s plot. Ironic, Dirk thought, to arrive at such a path in his life. Though if he wished to come free from this trap, then he must again be the hunter, the assassin. Dirk moved a single hand and gripped the hilt of his katana still secured in its scabbard, making his stand ready against anything that would come for him. Then there passed that moment in slow easing that everything in his whole life led up to, and he felt the hairs at his nape stand and tingle, and he knew that danger and death was approaching him. The assassin spun on the draw and arced his sword all the way round behind him and something tore and spread away under his silver razor edge. It crashed against the tree to his side and then slid down between the great squiggly roots. Dirk hand-felt his goings around the tree and slipped away from camp in hope of coming out of this spell and take the game of assassinry to his enemy. * * * Guildrian leaped onto his feet midst all the confusion. He watched in great hope as the magician called for his light and something for a brief moment shown from his staff to return sight to all about here. Then, just as suddenly as came the first darkness cast on them, all went black again. Though for that brief moment he had had his eyes back and saw the swift charge of one single doonagore heading straight for him. And once in this nothingness again, he timed his move and lashed out his holy hammer. “Back into the hells from where you crawled!” Guildrian commanded as the heavy silver weapon crashed into something. The lone black elf charged in and was just as blind in the blackness, rushing to where he thought the cleric was still standing and making certain of his own movements so not to mistime his steps and trip over this human and fall prey to the hold of the enemy. Counting in his head, he wound back his scimitar and started it forward on its course for the robed man’s throat when something came pummeling into the center of his face. Many crumbles and cracks issued from under the cleric’s great hammer and the force of its blow stopped the dark elf in his tracks and sent him straight down. Guildrian held up his silver weapon at arm’s length over his head and in the darkness he looked upward to where the sky should be, calling to Kalroth loud and strong. “Lumen!” he cried and commanded in a single ancient word, and from Guth’s Avengier high above him there first came a sparkle and flicker, then a continuous fountain of light that chased away the darkness and made it fear to return. “By Kalroth,” the cleric began. “Begone creatures of the dark realms, workers of evil! Begone cohorts of your prince of hells who spawned you!” The cleric spoke for all to hear his words and feed his friends with the strength of hope, and in his enemies, he wished to strike fear. Guildrian wielded his hammer in long arcs, trailed and outlined by the sparkling light that blazed from his weapon. Another of the doonagore charged him and the cleric came down with his holy hammer into his enemy’s chest and reversed him in the force of the blow. Guildrian swung again, and with a back handed stroke the weapon crashed against the cheek and jaw of still yet another enemy. As all about the camp was restored their vision, the warriors took full advantage of their new battle conditions. Algren launched a fist between the eyes of one dark elf as he kicked out into the chest of another running up behind him. Both doonagore went down hard, choking and gasping.
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