A Quest for a Date

[Peredhil]

Scene One. The Pen Keep.

 

Elrohir checked over his gear for the upcoming date. He'd asked Guido who'd signed him up for the Bachelor Auction while he was away, and still wondered why Dad hadn’t told him in advance. It really didn’t matter, he’d fully intended on supporting the Guilds, and who could argue about a date with Alaeha? It could’ve been Melba after all; he knew Dad had been pushing her to participate.

Gating through, he Communed with a couple of Deities, assuring himself of their support. Reminding them that he’d have Alaeha, he arranged for her magics to work in this Plane if necessary. He’d deliberately chosen a place where the Accounting was heavily in his favor, it made bargaining so much easier. Gods, by their very nature, tended to be a bit domineering and egotistical, in his experience.

Returning his room in the Pen, he checked over everything, grabbed her backpack, and headed to pick her up.

 

When she opened the door, the only sign of surprise was a slight widening of the eyes as she took in his attire. With a cheerful grin, he handed her the backpack (leather dyed blue with turquoise beads), and began speaking rapidly.

“Good evening! Your dress looks lovely and accentuates the azure pools of your eyes. However, it’s a bit impractical for our date tonight. Today. Anyway, we’ll be going on a bit of a Quest that I think you’ll enjoy. But a dress might not be as practical. So in the backpack, I’ve taken the liberty of including a tunic, a robe Dad made that should protect you – it’s the spare, I’m not sure where the primary is, but this is fully charged; If you are in life-or-death danger, it will Gate you to Dad’s room, and it has some minor healing abilities. The Holy Symbol is an amalgamation of several which should allow a Heretic Mage such as yourself to cast your spells. I just realized I don’t realize exactly what they are, but you radiate power so that’s all good. You have your sword handy?” He finally paused and looked around as if the sword might materialize. Looking back at Alaeha, he blinked at finding her still in her dress.

“It’s a chance to help oppressed people by stealing the Focal Artifact of a powerful Dark God in another Plane. When we bring it back here, it will lose the power and ability since that God took the Place Bound and Use Artifact options when it was setting up its worship.” He paused and looked at her a bit helplessly. You don’t mind do you?”

“You certainly know how to show a girl a good time… “She began laughing as the expression on his face. “No, it’s fine, really. I think it will be fun.” Taking the backpack, she began moving to her bedroom, tossing casually over her shoulder, “I’ll just be a minute while I change.”

“Change!” yelped Elrohir, blushing deeply. “Uh, I’ll be waiting outside your door!” He fled the suite.

[Peredhil]

Scene Two. A passage on Another Plane.

 

Alaeha had never seen this side of Elrohir before. Usually he was calm and quiet, yet effective. Kind of like a minor Gyrfalcon in a way. Now she saw him in his element, on a Quest for Right, bantering with Gods and Goddesses, who seemed to compete over his attention and respect. He’d depreciatingly quoted Elladan’s comment in explanation, “’Dan says I’m the slut of the Gods; they all want me.” At times when she blinked, she had afterimages of a bipedal pillar of bluish flame. Elves tended to wear their spirits close to the surface. His time with the Valar had strengthened him greatly, yet it was something more. She suspected that he bore all of Elladan’s rejected spirit as well. They seemed balanced together, fractured apart.

All of which musings didn’t keep her from stepping precisely where Elrohir stepped. They’d maneuvered through a number of traps and pitfalls. The Elf seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to them. She’d had little practice in singing her magics here, which bothered her a little. The draw through the Symbol subtly changed things. In their first encounter, with lightening quick were-rats, she’d sung her spell – and managed to set all their eyelashes on fire. NOT what she’d intended. It had been enough though; the sight of Elrohir dancing with his sword was heart-breakingly beautiful. She’d managed to track the first few kills as he’d leapt toward them, ensuring that the battle was away from her. She knew even in her dreams she’d never be able to recreate the strokes which slew the last three. Overall, her magic’s failure to do as she willed was nicely offset by an increased confidence in Elrohir’s abilities. The ease with which he’d drawn the Adept Gate showed he was proficient in magic as well, although he’d used none of it here.

The passage narrowed and sloped downward. There were odd ripples in the slime which formed a watery carpet over the large floor stones. As Elrohir paused in suspicion, she looked around warily. As he was about to step forward, she whispered, “Wait.” He looked at her, and followed her finger to gaze on the wall where she pointed. Moving gingerly, he examined the worn spot, and poked at the cracks around it with a thin-bladed dagger. The blade caught on something and he probed delicately until something clicked. A large irregular section of the wall moved several centimeters back into the wall. Pressing lightly on each of the sides, Elrohir positioned himself on the left side and pushed. The stone-covered panel swung back to reveal a narrow passage which immediately turned left and descended as stairs. Elrohir swung around, flashed an incandescent happy grin at Alaeha and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

As the moved down the stairs, passing arrow slits and the lever to reset the grate-trap at the bottom of the slide, Alaeha reflected that while Elladan smiled constantly, that was the first true smile she’d ever seen from Elrohir.

 

Withdrawing her blade from the lizard’s head, she thrust into the other eye as she danced away from its spitting counterstrike. Elrohir was somewhere off to her right, using sword and dagger, but this beastie was all hers. Now that it was blinded, she might have the speed advantage. Although she normally relied on magic, she was no stranger to the short sword. Or, as the Giant lizard discovered, to well-planted daggers. It fought empty air even after she’d moved on, too stupid to realize it was dead. Together, she and Elrohir finished the last of the monstrous beast. Looking at the carnage, she began laughing at the look on Elrohir’s face.

“What?” She laughed harder. “What?” Gasping for breath, she gestured at the dismembered corpses and the gory room, and then pointed weakly at him, and began chortling again. With a rueful look, rubbed his hand through his hair. “I guess it is a bit silly to be upset that I got blood on my armor, but Dad tends to worry when he sees blood…” He looked a bit wounded at her renewed laughter, until he finally began laughing as well. Wiping his eyes, he began examining the three passages that lead out of the room, while she watched the way they’d come.

 

She narrowed her eyes appraisingly at the flair of magic, bright to her dark-expanded vision. They’d been functioning on the Under-light and Over-light vision since the Undead ambush in the Dark Chamber. Elrohir whispered twisting words as reached through the glowing split in the air and withdrew an unstrung bow and belt quiver of arrows. Closing the Portal, they waited until they’d blinked away the glowing after spots.

She could see the warmth of his body contrasting against the cool walls with her Under-sight as he padded close to her. “Sorry about the sudden light,” he whispered. “I want to face this last bit with my best weapon, but hadn’t wanted to tote it through the tunnels.” His breath tickled against her ear.

 

“We’re clothe.” A warm breath against her ear. Lisping the “s” because that sound travels. “May be unguarded, but prolly not. Watch my back?” His hand over her face was the touch of a spicy zephyr, hovering to feel her nod. As he moved out, she noticed in the Over-sight that the glimmer of his outline showed the bow was strung and he carried arrows in his hand.

[Peredhil]

Scene Three. The Temple Chamber.

 

They’d had to give up the Under-sight when the temperatures grew painful to view. Sight became a moot point in a short while, as light returned in the form of flickering reds, whites, and yellows. The parching heated air gave warning, so it came as little surprise to see the chamber’s ceiling held up by mighty pillars of iron stretching off beyond sight, all glowing nearly white with heat. Pools of oil held low flickering blue flames, while gouts of fire vomited randomly from the thousands of holes piercing the floor. Dozens of passages opened out like spokes from a hub.

Figures moved like jerky ants across the floor giving proportion and scale to the room. All were horribly covered in burnt flesh, which occasionally split to reveal red filled fissures of fiery blood. Their constant tears were a yellow stream flowing from each eye. Pushing her senses out, she recoiled as she realized they were still alive, and eternally suffering.

They drew back into the corridor.

“Levitation?” he queried softly. “Problem, uthe cloak!” She nodded. He pointed to himself, his arrows and mimed a figure walking with his fingers. He looked so serious it would’ve been rude to laugh. Pointing at her, he led her back out to the room’s edge and pointed across at an altar. A red glow pulsed like an evil heart. He pointed to her, and then to it. Rather obvious she thought, but it’s nice to be certain.

She softly Sang and reached out with her mind riding the subtle melody of her spell, having to worm between the flowing channels of Power which flowed like lava across the room. Over, under, around, she began to wonder if she could do this. The straight-line distance had been far, this winding path was adding critical distance. If the glowing rock or gem weighed more than 40 grams she’d be in trouble. As she strained, sweat instantly evaporating as it formed, Elrohir set a line of arrows point-down in the passage in front of him. Their heads sank into the stone easily.

The passage of one of the Burnt Men caused a sudden eddy of Power around the Altar; it brushed her probe slightly as she thrust for the rock. Bells began chiming in bone-jarring dissonance to her spell as she strained to lift and bring the stone back to herself.

Burnt Men ran in all directions seeking the threat. The bells rang more loudly as she pulled straight back, tightening her thread of melody ruthlessly, slicing through the Temple’s turgid Power flows as they writhed and slithered to block her. Her hands began to shake with the strain and energy expended; her throat was dry as she sang her power.

The stone’s flight was finally noticed, Burnt Men began running in a spasmodic trot toward their passage. She still found to move the stone as Something fought to focus itself enough to block her. She dodged vast fingers whose near misses threatened to burn her spirit from her frame.

Arrows began singing rapidly across the floor, bending in arcuate paths to seek the clerics rushing across the floor. As each hit, it exploded into a ball of artic-blue light, shattering the frozen target.

Alaeha struggled with the stone, moving it in short jerks in rhythm with her labored breathing, her spell occasionally collapsing down to a sustaining humming. Her mind and throat were sore and she’d pay with a headache and laryngitis later. She was having to push and pull to unstuck the rock, while keeping it above the frantic leaps of the Burnt Ones seeking to reclaim it.

Bolts of fire began gushing at their passage, veering in a bubble around Elrohir. He’d had to stop shooting to form the Sigils, however, and the clerics increased their speed. As each one came within range, perhaps 25 meters, it would pause and throw up a two-handed gesture with a resulting stream of fire, or a billowing fireball.

The passage was getting a bit too hot for comfort, she thought wryly.

Elrohir beat back clerics with his sword now, retreating toward her slowly, utterly on the defense. With a final convulsive effort, the rock lay in her grasp. A faint burn instantly captured and soothed by the cloak she wore.

“Elrohir,” she screamed hoarsely. “I have it, let’s GO!”

Throwing an arrow at the Burning Cleric in front of him, Elrohir grabbed his bow and retreated after Alaeha.

“We need a place I can summon help,” he panted as they ran. “I only get one call so it will have to be good!” She didn’t answer as she followed blindly, all her concentration on holding the stone with her mind as she ran.

They quickly outran the Burnt Men, only to turn a corner and run headlong into a group of halberd-bearing orcs coming the other way.

“Celebrian!” screamed Elrohir, his blade sweeping out and cleaving a halberd’s shaft with a flash of light. In a moment, he was in the midst of them where their long weapons were at a disadvantage, whirling his weapon in long whipping motions, slashing without binding the blade. Fighting an Elf-lord fired with rage must not have been in the day’s schedule. They fled, with Elrohir pursuing them hotly. It was with visible reluctance he recalled himself to his duty, and came back to Alaeha. She’d used the time to drop the rock onto a corner of the cloak, and knot it securely.

“We passed a room on the left when we came through. If I hold the door, will that give you the time you need?” Elrohir smiled his assent and they ran lithely together through the twisting passages. The room was a hole-in-the-wall spot where a natural bubble had formed in the rock, waiting to be uncovered when slaves pushed the tunnels through. Elrohir began inscribing runes on the floor even as he slid to a halt. Singing Bale-fire to flicker a bilious green around one hand, Alaeha held her sword ready in the other. The rustle of enormous scales scraping from the direction they’d been running announced a new player to the party, while the ever-strengthening stench of burning flesh announced the steady progress of the Burning Clerics.

 

A flickering fork of a tongue tasted the air to the left. She sent the Bale-fire globe shooting down the corridor. When it splashed against the tongue, the tongue withdrew and the thrashing shook dust from the walls. Whatever it was had five feet of fork at the end of its tongue. She did NOT want to meet it up close and personally. She resisted the urge to glare over her shoulder at Elrohir, it might distract him. She’d do it later.

 

A wave of heat announced the Burning Clerics; The fireball washed down the passage to explode against the corner at the far end. Wonderful. Maybe the Tongue and the Clerics would fight. She could hope.

 

From behind her came a symphony of voices speaking a Word, a wash of light, and a very solid hand grabbing her arm tightly.

[Peredhil]

Finale. The Pen Keep.

 

Alaeha blinked rapidly, but only saw green and blue afterglows filling all her visions. Elrohir was whooping happily, so she assumed she was safe but didn’t sheath her sword.

As her eyes cleared she saw she was in Peredhil’s chambers.

Elrohir, ignoring her sword and the look on her face, swooped her up in a hug and swung her around in a circle.

“Fantastic! Hope you enjoyed it.” She swung at him with the flat of her blade in response.

It whistled over his head as he dropped to his knees and unknotted the cloak. The stone had cooled, and was a deep cerulean blue. Raising it, he smiled up at her impishly.

“I didn’t get a corsage… accept a sapphire?” There was a long pause as she looked down at him.

“You…” she coughed and cleared her throat. “You certainly know how to show a girl a good time…”