Blackmoth Options

[Kiln]

Nice update, very long but spaced accordingly so it doesn't bother people to read it. This writing style seems good, characters talking is also a hard thing to pull off without distracting from the plot but you've managed to write it quite well. *Applause*

This post has been edited by Kiln: Jul 29 2005, 09:20 PM

[MerGirl]

*claps* Yay! Update, me happy! Very nicely detailed and it flows quite well. I admire that very much, so I hope you will continue, pweese?

[Fuzzy Knight]

Catched up with this story now.. Good and well written, the detailes are well and discription good..

Short version, I agree with most people here.. Keep it up

[Kell-Reevor]

While browsing the official forums, I came upon the knowledge that a Blackmoth mod has been in development well before I started my story.

I would just like to say that this is PURE COINCIDENCE. The mod and my story are not related. I feel somewhat embarrased by this turn of events, but I will try to bear with it.

[Mazuk]

Well rather that it is a good story going on. Good Job.

[Kell-Reevor]

Here you go, the long awaited update. I think you might like this one.


There was very little worth making off with in the cave. Not to say there was nothing of value, of course, merely they weren’t worth being caught with. Within the crates was a wide assortment of moon sugar, skooma, ebony, dwemer artifacts… hell, if it was illegal, it was here. Thank the nine there were no slaves. There was no telling how that unstable Argonian would have handled that. All this watched over by four inept guards; Bryce wasn’t buying it.

It was on one of the four corpses that Bryce found the answer to their travel fees. A single diamond. He pocketed it before wrapping the four unfortunates in faded, dirty, brown blankets. He had no desire for Amara to see the carnage left by Kell. Either way, the diamond purchased them a meal at the Shenk’s Shovel, and they still had enough money to pay for the guild guide’s teleportation services. Bryce was just glad he was out of that cave. While he was outright deadly with that glass dagger at his hip, he was by no means cocky about it. It was a rule to him…NEVER underestimate an opponent. An opponent who had just found four of his comrades wrapped in shrouds stained a dark brown with blood would be a considerably powerful foe indeed.

But it was all behind them. The three sat now in the gloomy, dank pit known as Shenk’s Shovel. The name gave him chills. He expected to find it loaded with unsavory characters, glancing at the expensive weapons he and Kell carried, and making hideous grins to Amara with rotted teeth. Within, however, he found the place to be filled with adventurers, travelers, merchants, and even commoners; normal folk chatting, eating, and simply having a good time. Sure, the tavern was a nasty looking place on the outside, but within it was just a friendly establishment seeking to earn an honest day’s pay for the proprietor.

Their meal was nothing special, but it was the best thing they had in days. Salted hound meat topped with chopped saltrice with scrib jelly on the side. The scrib jelly seemed disgusting, but never to judge a book by its cover (as he had the tavern), Bryce sampled it. He was pleasantly surprised by its slightly sour taste. The hound meat was amazingly good as well. Way better than rat meat; always stringy and unpleasant no matter what you added to it.

He had no idea how hungry he really was. Back in the cave he had scrounged up very little. They were all near starving, but Kell was the one that fought the four smugglers, Kell was the one that was injured, and Kell was the one that had been unconscious for two days. Though in the end, Bryce was grateful when Kell chose to share with Amara. The girl may have stood maybe two feet taller then him; she was still like a little sister. It pained him to see her miserable. When she had spent those seemingly endless two days cursing Kell as he slept, he couldn’t help but feel her anger.

Finishing the last cube of his hound meat, Bryce was ready to suggest leaving. Before he could speak, a Nord slammed his hand on the table. One of the rowdier folk in the tavern. The fellow stunk of cheap Morrowind spirits, a truer stereotype Bryce has yet to see. He flashed a grin to Amara; the very grin Bryce feared as he say the old wooden sign dangling on rusty hinges with Shenk’s Shovel scrawled nearly illegibly on the surface. It was a grin filled with rotten teeth; it was a grin that suggested the unthinkable. Bryce reached for his dagger, but hesitated. It would be unwise to start a fight here; he needed to get the man outside before he started anything. If only Kell had thought that…

The man whispered something inaudible into Amara’s ear, merely an inch or so from her. She stiffened, clearly afraid to move. It was time to make his move. Bryce slowly rose out of his seat. With a ‘PLINK’ followed by a scream that rung throughout the tavern, Kell smashed his fork into the Nord’s hand, pinning it to the table. The scream was more out of shock than anything else, as the Nord was now struggling to get the fork out of the Argonian’s grip with wild eyes; eyes that sought blood.

‘Don’t let go of that fork,’ Bryce thought, ‘whatever you do don’t you dare let go of that damn fork.’

“I’m going to let you go, but next time I’m going to ram that hand down your throat,” Kell growled.

‘Great. Here it comes…’

Kell yanked the fork out of his hand. Blood coated it so thickly it formed crimson webs between its prongs. Immediately, the Nord swung for Kell’s muzzle. Kell easily swung the drunken swing, and then finished the confrontation by slamming his metal fist into the back of the Nord’s skull. Bryce was impressed. He had never seen an Argonian fight in the human martial arts style so well. Unfortunately, he let his guard down with his attacks, while he should have immediately followed through into a defensive position. A fine example of what this flaw could lead to would be the chair that smashed into the back of his head, sending him to the ground in a mess of rotten wood chips.

He pulled himself to his feet wincing in pain. Upon seeing his foe, his eyes widened with fear. Before him was an Orc, cracking his knuckles and beckoning Kell to fight. The poor fellow’s luck seemed so bad it could only have been a curse.

“Oh guar crap…” he muttered.

It wasn’t long before Bryce found himself in trouble as well. The whole tavern was alive with violence. The Breton suddenly remembered his previous doubts about this place. Amara was keeping behind Bryce; getting her somewhere safe was their priority. The Dunmer running at him with a broken bottle was going to have to be dealt with first. Bryce dropped to the splintered wooden floor, barely avoiding a swing from the bottle. Grabbing a chair leg left over from the object that more than likely cost Kell a couple of brain cells, he hopped to the top of a table in a fashion that could remind someone of a frog. Using his unusually small stature, he was able to easily avoid the drunken dark elf. Now it was time to end it. The man lunged forward with a stabbing motion. With a simply side-step, Bryce now had a clear view of his light blue forehead. With a quick jolt of his arm, he buried the chair leg into the man’s face. Of course it wasn’t deadly, but it did leave plenty of splinters and bruises; more than enough to knock the Dunmer back a few feet and keep him out of their way.

He pulled Amara with him to the door, avoiding as many stray fists and flying bottles as he could. He eased her through the exit.

Kell was in bad shape. No matter what blows he managed to land the Orc simply grinned back. In a panick, Kell took one to the face. It was simply a quick jab from the Orc’s left. Anyone watching could have mistaken it for a weak shot, until Kell leaned back and landed flat on his rump. His vision was spinning and all he could feel was pain. From the commotion and rumbling around him, he could barely make out a voice; bryce’s voice.

“Kell! We gotta’ get ‘outta here! Fun time’s over!”

That was when he saw it. His way out.

“Sorry pal,” he whispered. With what little strength he had left, he lifted his leg in a great kick. A kick that landed his clawed foot right into the Orc’s stones.

With a roar and bulging eyes, the Orc crumbled. Until now, Kell never thought it was possible for an Orc to shed tears, but here was proof they could. He scrambled to his feet and clumsily darted for the door. Sunlight, precious sunlight. It wasn’t the only thing waiting for him, unfortunately. Surrounding the exit, preparing to bust in to break up the brawl was a gathering of Imperial Guards; their shiny helmets gleaming in the sunlight, the very sunlight that seemed at first to signal freedom from that dank tavern.

This post has been edited by Kell-Reevor: Aug 5 2005, 02:14 AM

[minque]

Very nice story.......so please keep it coming to us....

[Kiln]

Nice update, wonder whats gonna happen next....


This post has been edited by Kiln: Aug 7 2005, 09:04 PM

[Kell-Reevor]

Ok, next update. I really don't like this one. It deals with the Stormhold Massacre Konimus was involved in. (For some reason I feel upset when I hear about just one Argonian dying, imagine writing about many of them dying.)

Anyways, it's still an important part and I'm glad to have it out of the way, it was really difficult for me to write.



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

Some would say there is a little good in everyone. This was not true for Lieutenant Dorian Aminus. He was a giant of a man. His cold, gray eyes commanded loyalty. Atop his head was short red fuzz; he liked to keep his hair short. Dorian was a hero on the battlefield. The men under his command would die without a second thought should he command it. Sometimes this was out of fear, not respect, for Dorian was a living embodiment of hate. This unpleasant fellow was more racist than any Dunmer. Not settling to simply dislike the other races, he chooses to absolutely despise them.

It is unfortunate that Konimus was assigned to his squad that day.

The Emperor himself had given them their orders. Word of the growing protests just east of Stormhold had reached him. His orders were to end the protests. Konimus had heard lots of things about the Emperor, good and bad, merciful and merciless. He could not accept that this man was the one who ordered them to kill all of those people. No, it was Dorian’s idea. The Emperor left the means in his hands, so he was going to do it his way.

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

There were fifteen of them. All donning their Imperial steel armor, and their Imperial broadswords. Konimus had left his helmet back at the barracks, as it didn’t fit him too well with his horns. He had seen some Argonians in the legion that had cut away parts of their helmets so their horns and frills could stick through. Konimus didn’t have time for that though, since he had only just joined.

Just joined… and immediately placed under a man that regarded him as scum.

Now here they were; fourteen grizzled veterans and the new guy. The Argonian population was gathered in the center of the small village near Stormhold. For such a small village, there was an amazingly large amount of people. There had to be at least seventy souls gathered together, held in check by the armed legionnaires. Konimus figured they were keeping anyone from aiding Val-Jeer, a wizard and the one responsible for starting the protest.

It was when Konimus saw Val-Jeer that he panicked. The Argonian was brought before them by two of the legionnaires. He had been disrobed and was covered in cuts and bruises. It was very clear that both of his twisted legs were broken.

“Wait! What’s going-“

“Shut up Kon,” Dorian growled in his low, booming voice.

Konimus did as he was ordered. He stood silent and watched as the giant strode from his side to the Argonian. The two dropped him, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud. Dorian wheeled about to the crowd, studying them like a judge ready to issue the death penalty.

“I want you all to see.” He continued to give the horrified crowd that stony gaze. “I want you all to see the price of treachery.”

Konimus was frozen with terror. They had no intention of arresting Val-Jeer… they were going to kill him. Dorian turned to a guard, receiving an old iron axe carrying its own weight in rust. He stomped his foot on the back of the Argonian, who let a wheeze of pain as the air was forced from his lungs. Dorian lifted the axe… Konimus was sure he was going to faint.

The axe came down with a “chink”, then rose and came down again. This continued several times, Val-Jeer had managed to get enough air into his lungs to cry and moan in agony as his frills and tail were cut off.

“STOOOOPPPPP!!!!” Konimus charged to the four figures. Almost in anticipation, Dorian swung out his gauntlet-clad fist, nailing Konimus in his unprotected forehead. The blow seemed to launch him backwards several feet.

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!” Dorian howled. “Damn half-breed.”

He looked to the closest guard and tilted his head in a motion referring to a hut just to the left. The man nodded and grabbed one of Val-Jeer’s ankles. The other guard approached the hut with a torch and waited patiently as the Argonian, now screaming more than ever, was dragged through the door by his broken legs. The second the first guard exited the hut, the other tossed the torch inside.

“Deal with this trash!” Dorian commanded, his stony gaze never leaving the hut.

The legionnaires drew their dull broadswords and advanced on the crowd. The wet sound of metal piercing flesh was drowned out by the screams and cries for mercy as the guards slaughtered the people.

Konimus struggled to pull himself up. His vision was blurry from the powerful shock to his head. It felt as if his brain had smashed into the back of his skull. Blood trickled down his face and found its way into his mouth. The sound of heavy feet thumping closer made his heart stop. It was so clear and distinct it stood above the cries of the Argonians.

A whimpering immediately shot Konimus’s gaze to meet Dorian. In his left hand he was clutching an Argonian girl by the back of her neck. She was lifted two feet from the ground in one hand… she was so small.

“Just whose side are you on Konimus?” His growl didn’t even sound human. It sounded like something straight out of Oblivion. He lifted his sword to Konimus’s throat. “Don’t forget. So long as you are under me you will respect MY decisions.” He finally lowered the girl, still struggling to get free but unable to get her claws through the legionnaire’s heavy armor. “Now kill it,” he ordered, still holding her by the neck.

She looked pleadingly into Konimus’s black eyes. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Her struggling calmed a bit, she was losing hope.

“I’m waiting.”

In the distance, he could almost make out laughing. Those monsters were having fun killing them. Their hoots and laughter rose above the screams and the moans of the dying.

Konimus unsheathed his weapon. He could not save her, but he could spare her a cruel death at the hands of these people.

“Right between the ribs.”

He thrust his weapon forward. The blade made contact and pierced through scaly hide. Gods, he could actually feel it scraping bone and cutting flesh. Dorian released her. The blade slid out of her as she cried and fell backwards. She curled up and cradled the mortal wound. Her glazed eyes were already sinking into her head. Konimus couldn’t move. All he could do was watch in horror.

A strike to the jaw awakened him from his paralysis. He wouldn’t fall though, he was too scared.

“That was for hesitating. We brought peace to this world and all these things want to do is protest it. If they don’t want to live under the Empire then they just plain won’t live.” He drew closer to Konimus, so close he could actually see the traces of stubble on his face through the darkness. “They are all worthless animals.” He paused again. “The very thought that someone would breed with one is nauseating. Just looking at you makes me sick.” He slammed his palm on Konimus’s shoulder. He could feel his grip bending his metal pauldron. “Don’t you dare forget that you are property of The Legion. It is your duty to kill its enemies.”

He spun and hurled Konimus in the direction of the remaining crowd, surrounded by legionnaires and houses. There was no escape for them.

“Get to work half-breed.”

As he stumbled forward, his eye met the hut where Val-Jeer was currently still burning. That moment, he thought for sure he heard a voice deep in the back of his still aching mind.

‘See you soon.’

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

Konimus woke with a howl. Jumping from the wooden cot he reached for Willow, propped lazily against the hull of the old ship. Before he could reach it and swing it in a rampage, the only thing that would comfort him, he froze. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air. The bitter, acrid smoke left by burning flesh. Laced with the smoke, he could detect another scent. His Argonian side allowed him to smell it; it was blood.

Then he was it. Just out of the corner of his eye he saw… it. It appeared to be a bony figure, white with a few black stripes and patches. Or was it black with many white stripes and patches. He was overcome with fear, it seemed to emanate and aura of terror.

With the blink of an eye, it was gone.

‘See you soon.’

This post has been edited by Kell-Reevor: Aug 12 2005, 07:48 AM

[MerGirl]

Oh, that's just so sad! I feel sad, too, when Argonians are being mistreated/killed/tortured/etc. Actually, I feel also sad for the mistreatment Khajiit too; they are mostly the 'bad guys' or get killed/torutured by someone, anyway, in lots of stories. And, the orcs, who always seemed to be portrayed as the bullies or something (well, besides Nords, I mean)...

Anyway, really nicely detailed. Lots of emotion and personality packed into this story (especially in this chapter). I loved it! Please write more...Pwease?

This post has been edited by MerGirl: Aug 10 2005, 10:02 PM

[treydog]

Great additions- I can see why the massacre was hard to write- you do a good job of conveying the brutality as seen through the eyes of someone who has not abandoned his humanity.

[Kiln]

Great job with the details. You definately well described the horror of what happened in a way that it was understandable.

[Kell-Reevor]

Thanks everyone. To be honest that update was originally going to be far worse. As you could tell, I couldn't even bring myself to mention any blood. I'm glad I was still able to portray the overall mood and Konimus's feelings toward what happened.

Expect an update next week.

This post has been edited by Kell-Reevor: Aug 12 2005, 07:47 AM

[Kell-Reevor]

“Did they really have to hit me that hard?” Kell whined. The guard did indeed hit him pretty hard, worst yet he had to aim for where the chair had exploded into the back of his head. He rubbed his skull sorely. At least there wasn’t any blood. Steel gauntlets hurt.

“We’re lucky we didn’t get arrested,” Bryce mumbled,”You should have just let me handle it.”

“Yeah well you were too slow!” He barked, “Didn’t you see his hand slithering across the table? Was I just supposed to assume you had a plan while he touched her?!”

Bryce turned his head to Amara. Her head was still hung low, staring at her feet in either shame or embarrassment. A grin formed on his face, at which he aimed at Kell.

“I see how it is. It’s all starting to make sense now.” He was clearly amused by this.

Kell was taken aback. He gave the short fellow a shocked expression as he backed up a step. “It’s not like that!” he argued, “I didn’t do it for her.” ‘Did I just say that?’ He could actually FEEL Amara’s heavy gaze on him. He didn’t mean for it to come out like that, and now he felt guiltier than he ever had. “It’s just… people like that really piss me off.”

Bryce was still grinning. “Admit it, you have feelings for her.”

Now he was mad. He drew his lips back revealing his fangs. “Drop it. You’re upsetting her.”

He had him where he wanted; time to strike. “And how would you know that when you won’t even look at her?” His grinning face was replaced by a serious expression. “Look at her, Kell.”

Kell was stunned. He walked right into Bryce’s trap. Just when he thought his guilt couldn’t grow any further, it did. He knew it was his fault the fight had started. One of the guards in Cyrodiil had told him, ‘There’s a difference between being smart and being bright. And you, my lad, are not very bright.’ He didn’t get it at first, but now he was beginning to understand. He really wasn’t very good at handling delicate situations. He turned his head and slowly his eyes met Amara’s. They were welled up with tears.

‘Poor girl,’ he thought. She really had been through a lot in this one week. From the looks of it, she probably blamed herself for what happened. It was stupid, but that certainly was how it appeared. She had to still be in shock; that was the only explanation. It was Kell’s fault she had to see a man’s hand pinned to a table with a fork. It was Kell’s fault they had to pay all of their money in fines and compensation. And it was Kell’s fault they were now banished from Caldera. Way to go, Kell.

‘Way to freakin’ go, Kell.’

He sighed and looked at his feet. He knew what Bryce wanted. He wanted Kell to apologize to her. He didn’t handle the situation very well and even endangered her.

‘Did I do it for her?’

“Amara…” he started. Gods, this was the hardest apology he ever had to give. Why was that? “I’m… really sorry.”

All three stood in awkward silence. Not even Bryce could bring himself to look at either of the others. Kell was expecting to feel slightly better after apologizing, but he didn’t. The guilt was still there. He had always viewed sacrificing one’s pride for humility to be a virtuous endeavor, something a knight would do. Until now, it had indeed always made him feel knightly. It had always made him feel good. Perhaps he was finally growing up. Perhaps he had finally learned he wasn’t in the very least a knight like Marcus was. No, he was just a nut swinging around his father’s expensive sword with a mechanical right arm that threatened to control him.

A man clearing his throat caught their attention. They looked to the direction of Caldera to see a tall man standing on the beaten dirt path cut in between two hills. He was a Nord, ‘yep another Nord,’ but he wasn’t like the previous ones Kell had met. He did indeed possess a beard, but it was neatly trimmed short. His blonde hair was combed and parted down the middle. He wore a bonemold breastplate and pauldrons. His clothes were all of expensive quality. He had the appearance of a man that stood tall and had no regret for his actions. Resting on its butt was an ebony spear in his hand. A whole foot and a half of the weapon was wrapped in white cloth at the end.

He reached upward with a long arm and unwrapped the spear. Instead of a spear tip, the weapon boasted a foot-long curved blade. Bryce let out an impressed whistle. This type of weapon was rarely seen outside of Akavir. The wicked blade was now aimed directly at Kell.

“Argonian with the sword, I would ask if you had recently visited a smuggler’s den south of Caldera.” His deep voice was calm, but beneath it was a trace of rage.

The guilt was back. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Four men within were found slain. Their wounds were that of a long sword. Is this the sword you possess?”

This time, Kell could only nod.

“You are the one that slew my comrades.”

“I did it…”

He waved the weapon in an arc, signaling that he was now referring to all three of them. “You’re friends may go free. It is you I must slay today.”

Kell again looked at him. This time, he gazed coldly into his eyes. Something that might scare a lesser man, but the Nord didn’t even flinch. In fact, he didn’t even lower his weapon. Kell approached him slowly.

“Kell… thank you,” came a whisper from behind him. It was the voice of a certain young woman that didn’t speak since he stabbed that other Nord in the hand.

“I did it…” he found himself whispering again.

‘I did it for her.’

[Neck' Thall]

Nice...but there hads to be more than one guy...i guess we'll see them later.

[treydog]

Excellent writing about the problems people bring onto themselves through pride, misunderstanding, etc. And how much worse those problems can be when the people are as different as Argonians and "humans." And a fascinating cliff-hanger end to the installment, as well.

[Kell-Reevor]

Next update. It's a bit short, but they might all be from this point on.

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The blade swung with such force it actually managed to kick up the mixture of dust and traces of ash at Bryce and Amara’s feet. Kell was barely able to duck in time for it to pass harmlessly above his head. It was a one-handed swing. The Nord held the thing in a manner that caused the haft to hug his forearm, granting him better control. He wasn’t just swinging it wildly like many of the opponents Kell fought. No, this man knew what he was doing.

Kell had been trained in one-on-one situations, and he was at first relieved to finally participate in a fair fight. But after that… well… now the whole situation was just plain scary. He was certain that curved blade would have sliced right through his scaly face and not even slow down. And what’s worse, the Nord simply followed through with his attack, turning the weapon (which is known as a naganada) in a semi-circle to bring it with the same momentum (if not more) in a diagonal slash.

Kell again barely avoided it. He hopped back a foot as the blade passed. The whistle of the sharp ebony blade cutting air rang in his ears.

He was starting to figure it out… It was when the Nord followed through into his next attack when it hit him. Horizontal… diagonal…horizontal…diagonal. It made sense. His opponent was relying on his weapon’s weight to do the hard part. All he had to do was control it. It was a tactic that would expend less energy than conventional attacks, but it was limited. To follow through an attack into another attack without losing too much momentum took practice and concentration. To concentrate on keeping the weapon going, the Nord couldn’t exactly plan out his next move, so he was following a pattern. A simple pattern at that, but effective nonetheless.

‘Horizontal… diagonal… horizontal… diagonal…’

Kell leaped back and immediately jumped to the right, letting both attacks whiz by harmlessly. The Nord was exposed on his side, and Kell did not hesitate. His sheath squealed as he drew his sword from it and brought it about in a mighty swing.

CRACK! The sword didn’t make contact with the Nord’s bonemold cuirass. No, it was stopped dead by the haft of the ebony naganada. This man wasn’t stupid. He knew that his tactic was too predictable and the whole time was ready for a counterattack. He now stood regarding his shocked foe with disdainful, and perhaps even disappointed, eyes.

He twisted his body and with the fingers of his left hand forming a loop around the haft of his weapon, he aimed the butt of the naganada straight at Kell’s head. A quick jab sent it flawlessly between Kell’s eyes.

The Argonian fell to his back, but was now out of his shock. And a good thing too, as the blade was coming down right before him. He rolled just in time to hear a hollow thud as the Nord’s weapon buried itself into the loose soil.

“Kell!”

The man lifted the weapon from the cloud of disturbed dirt and twirled it. The blade’s point was now aiming directly in Amara’s direction.

“My quarrel is with the Argonian, so stay out of this,” he growled.

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to block the daedric dai-katana. It clashed with the ebony haft and the two fighters stood with weapons locked. It ended when the Nord twisted his torso and shoulder-charged Kell, sending the tiring Argonian stumbling back. The Nord had no idea this was his last move.

Kell had noticed it. The air had begun to grow bitter as their weapons were locked. He could smell it. It was the smell of charged energy.

A buzz came from behind the man, but it only lasted a split second before a brilliant flash shone like a lunar eclipse around him. He straightened, jerked, and then slumped his shoulders. He knew it was the end. As soon as he heard the buzz of the electrical orb he knew it was over.

Without hesitating, Kell dashed for him, bringing the long blade of his sword across the man’s chest as he passed him. For a moment he stood, weapon still raised before him. Splinters of bone from the man’s armor had nearly struck his left eye, but it stayed wide open as he studied the glistening dark liquid on the weapon’s edge. The bitter smell of static was replaced by the scent of fresh blood. With a crumpled thud, the Nord was heard falling to his knees. It was now that Kell turned to regard his fallen opponent.

The Nord was supporting himself with the naganada. He was hunched over, and very still.

Kell looked questionably at Amara, whose arms were still in an extended position from firing the orb. By Stendarr, the girl was actually useful. She wasn’t helpless after all. He approached her, the whole time gazing into her eyes. Eyes that gazed back with an indescribable look. He stopped before her. He had to thank her. He opened his mouth to voice his thanks.

But that wasn’t what came out…

“Gods woman, you’re not as useless as I thought!”

WHAM! Amara replied with a right hook into Kell’s cheek. He staggered backwards then fell on his back.

‘Braaavooo’

[Kiln]

I just caught up on this story, absolutely amazing and the last bit before you left off struck me as funny. Very good writing style, update soon.

[Neck' Thall]

"Gods woman," Those are famous last words of hundereds of men/beasts...but i dont think they will be Kell's last.

[treydog]

Excellent fight scene. And as to Kell's way with words around women- it somehow seems familiar....