Which War will be Won

[Lollercide]

The cold reluctantly left the earth, fog lifting as the morning sun melted the frost away from the fields of grass to leave the thousands upon millions blades of grass glistening in morning dew. Even as the sun rose to greet Sundren with it's warmth, cold whispers occasionally escaped from the Spine and moved across the fields who all bowed to them with smooth swaying motions.

The cold whispers licked at the back of Hano's neck, sending his hairs to stand up on end as he stared from off the top of his hill with a deadpan expression towards the distance -- To the once glorious house for the dead; now desecrated and crawling with the undead.

At least five days worth of stubble had collected on his deadpanning face, and combined with his shimmering sea-green eyes with the tired lines under them, it gave him a handsome peasant appearance -- Were it not for the brilliantly shining armor he donned.

He was one to easily forget to give attention to the details of his appearance when like this; when turmoil took strong presence within him. And it was for this reason he chose to break away from the commotion of the city, away from the triumvirate temple, and away from personal affairs that seemed to only cause more problems and drama than solutions. Break away and come to this place that seemed to snap everything back into perspective.

He was a paladin, a knight, and while some would say that this had always been his destiny to lift up a sword and crusade against evil, Hano would argue otherwise. Regardless, the undisputed truth was he needed to fight. He needed an enemy to point a finger at and to wage war upon. The longer he had an absence of enemies, the more he could feel himself becoming further detached from those he once called Brother, Sister, and friend -- And as self-aware as he was of it all, his attempts to change this were in vain.

"A tool, a weapon for Torm," he quoted Tamryn from a few days ago. "Perhaps she's right. Why else would my blood beg for me to do this?"

She was right. Why else would his blood beg for him to do this? Why else would Torm grant him a piece of his very own weapon? There's no question to what Torm intended for Hano to do with it -- The problem is, he wasn't doing it. So what now, he asked himself. What now?

He would find an enemy. He would keep his vigilant watch over the Necropolis like he had been for the past few days until he would find something noteworthy, or run out of supplies and be forced to return to the city and temple.

[Lollercide]

The day slowly passed with each hour dragging the sun deeper behind the mountain tops. The sky was painted dark blue, mingling with the brilliant sky blue at the horizon as twilight approached. Now it would only be a small amount of time before the sky was drained of all blue and left in absolute darkness, save for the stars that manage to peek through the clouds overhead.

And there stood the neurasthenic paladin -- Still on top of that hill. Still gazing off to the Necropolis as the shadows of the night consumed it and the moans of the undead grew louder in a sudden fit of dysphoria.

It was time -- He slung his scabbard from across his shoulders and gripped onto the hilt of his blade. The blade itself slid out with expected ease along with the all-familiar sound of its cold iron material gently grazing the inside of his wooden scabbard as he drew Bane Slayer. The blade's runes hummed violently as it knew its job as much as Hano did when squeezing his steel clad digits around its hilt.

He managed to slip his empty scabbard back over his shoulder while marching down the steep incline of the moist and muddy hillside, adjusting his step as his momentum shifted from the incline of the hill to fully match the flat plane to the Necropolis -- Breaking off into a light charge as he collected himself and drew nearer to his destination.

It was there he expected to encounter masses of undead, and he would, but it was there he would also encounter something -- someone -- unexpected. For it was in the shadows that a small figure lurked, stalking the paladin, and having stalked him for quite some time now.

[Gamling]

The grass was damp with rain water as the daily down pour passed. The wall of the Kelemvor temple was enfeebled from years of vacancy, and the wall cool to the small fingers that trailed through the stones grooves. The rank smell of rotting flesh filled the air as night fell to cover the once beautiful temple, and the small figure standing behind it.

He watched; curiously. The paladin stood on the road, staring into the Necropolis. Keen eyes scrutinized the armored figure. Chinks in his armor, his sword, Bane Slayer, the holy symbol around his neck... the figure keeled further into the brush and tilted his hood down in acknowledgment.

When darkness finally consumed the place, the paladin did battle with the Dark Advent's puppets -- cutting them down one by one as if cutting wheat. The assassin watched his steps, his moves, getting a feel for his combat style... and the power of that blade is something he had never seen before.

He reached for a dart when the paladin began to retreat. A dart that would paralyze a foe easily if struck in the right place. The paladin sighed, and headed up the road. "He wants an enemy?..." The assassin sneered in the back of his mind. "He has one." With that, two darts flew from the darkness of the temples wall, aimed for the paladins neck.

[Lollercide]

The darts flew true to their target, whistling through the chilling air as they divided it with perfect spinning motions on steady invisible axises.

*Plink, plink*

The darts bounced off the slick and silver pauldron of the paladin's armor as he turned during the very last second before impact. The poison tipped darts fell to the ground in chaotic spiraling motions as Hano acted immediately in turn; all systematic responses that had been trained into muscle memory since the young age of fourteen.

Turn his torso to become a narrow target.
Place one foot in front of the other.
Bend his knees.
Place one hand firmly around the base of the hilt.
Space the other a little more than a foot above it so as to maximize range, damage from thrusts, as well as defensive capabilities.

...

But not even the years of strict training as a paladin would tilt the odds of this encounter in his favor. The shadows were the assassin's playground, after all. With one who can strike from the shadows with absolute silence and masterful guile, how would Hano defend himself, let alone hope to strike down this enemy?

"Shit," he thought as his sea-green eyes darted around the width of the dark and dank walls of Kelemvor's destroyed temple, unable to locate the hidden assailant. Each second feeling like hours under pressure as his mind raced in search for some means to draw out this enemy and have a chance of winning.

...

"Shit."

The paladin turned to make a reluctant retreat against his pride and honor, but it was just then a third dart shot from the shadows. This time Hano would not be so lucky.

[Gamling]

The assassin frowned as his darts failed to penetrate the paladin's armor. The moss-covered wall with the tall grass where the wall and ground met served its purpose in concealing him. The ground was soft, but his feet were light enough to not leave a trail. He darted from behind the brush and safety of the wall to the dark fencing across the road while cloaked in invisibility.

"Masters--?!" the paladin shouted, as Diborm readied another dart to strike out with. He crawled to the end of the gate, at the fringe of the brush that was closest to the paladin. The dart left his hand, and zipped toward a crevice in the paladins armor, just under his right arm.

Chink. The sound of armor being pierced brought a brief feeling of confidence to the halfling. Seeing the paladin wince in pain was not enough, though. He darted behind a tree to renew his invisibility, pulling free three more darts. Two in between the knuckles of his left hand, and one in his right hand, ready to throw.

He peered from behind the tree, the paladin now anxious, glancing around wildly. It was obvious the assassin had gone unseen, and the armor around his knees shook, hinting that the poison was taking effect. The cursing and muttering of the paladin was cut short when the sound of metal on metal was heard. "Damnit!" the assassin sounded in the back of his mind, but when he has turned the corner to toss another, the paladin was gone...

[Lollercide]

Hano's heavy steel boots pounded away at the mud, making distance from the Necropolis as quickly as his body would allow. The poison on the dart's end working far better than Hano would have thought; having heard the chink of the dart hitting his armor, but was far too certain that it was deflected like the previous two darts as he didn't actually feel the dart penetrate his flesh. But it did, and the dart's poison slowly worked through the paladin's veins, numbing him as it worked its way to shut down his respiratory system. That, coupled with his heavy armor and low constitution brought his sprint to an abrupt halt.

Cold air shot through his throat and into his lungs like burning, sharp, needles as he heaved and gasped for air. He wasn't sure where he was, finding himself surrounded by trees blanketed in darkness. Quick assessment of the area around him let him decide that he was not in the Mossdale. That at least gave him some relief and an idea of which direction he headed -- The Mossdale north of the Necropolis, Sundren City west of it, and the Shaharan hills somewhere south-west of it. That means during his frantic escape he headed north, north-west, and ended up somewhere in the Viridale.

While gathering in his surroundings and catching his breath, the paladin had a terrible feeling slowly pouring into his mind as maintaining his breathing started to become more and more of a burden. Then the levee snapped with a flood of realization. Wide-eyed and disgruntled, the paladin dropped his sword to the ground and lifted up his arm -- And there it was. The poisoned dart protruding from his flesh and armor.

In a single motion he tore the dart from his flesh and armor, and threw it to the ground as a spit of blood shot out from the wound.

"D-Damnit," Hano grunted while pressing his back against a nearby tree, sliding down its length into a sitting position. He tried to slow and regulate his breathing in hopes of hindering the poison, all the while attempting to clear his mind and focus long enough to prepare a blessing that would purge the toxins.

But he was too late.

A blacker shade of darkness fell upon Hano as his lids slid over his eyes. noow unable to move and blinded by his own lids, hearing was the only sense left that gave him any kind of awareness about his surroundings. Though he prayed that he wouldn't hear anything, it didn't matter now. Only one thing did and it required all of his effort and focus to do it.

Breathing.

[Urithrand]

Leckith Oakenhair was confused. Hunger, pain, fear and thirst may have driven him insane, but he was almost certain he had just heard a familiar voice, followed by the deafening clatter of a man in full plate collapsing. It was quite a unique sound, and dispite his assuredness of what must have happened, the decision lie in whether he cared enough to check. His indecision carried him maybe another ten feet, until Resia, for the first time in days spoke. "Don't become a monster, Leck." Her voice was subdued and quiet, but he knew what she said was true. He knew what he'd heard, and that sound usually meant suffering.

With a sigh, he changed direction, moving towards the sound of the metallic crash, and as soon as he caught sight of the paladin's motionless body, he thanked Resia profusely. Hano lay there, his breath in short, shallow gasps. Leck stumbled to Hano's side, weakly collapsing and attempting to draw enough energy to cast healing spells. Then he tried to speak the words required, but his voice did not work. A gurgle escaped then pain and a little blood spattered the paladin's armour. He panicked a moment, wondering if he would be able to remove the heavy full plate mail to find and treat the wound. He recognised the signs of poison straight away.

It took Leck quite some time to remove the plate and roll Hano into a position where he could treat the tiny little pinpoint. Removing a healing kit from his pack, he placed his lips over the tiny wound and sucked the venom out as much as possible. His mouth was filled with bitter tasking goo which he spat onto the ground, but his dry mouth was now filled with the disgusting taste as well. He applied specific creams and potions to the tiny wound and bandaged it, hoping that he would not lose another person he cared for.

"Wake up Hano." He willed, wishing his voice was working and his throat was not dry. "All the magic I command, and none to give you. I cannot help but fail my friends it seems."