Bladesinger

Readying her own power to assist Taenaran in his fight with Yulda, the druid sensed something she hadn't noticed in the first flushed moments of battle, or perhaps this was a gift from the Staff of the Red Tree itself. Either way, the druid could now make out a thin tendril of energy that erupted from Yulda's back, stretching deeper into the shadow of the cavern beyond. In each moment before the witch cast a spell, Marissa could see power travel along that tendril until it poured into Yulda's body.

Someone or something was feeding the withered crone power-power that threatened to destroy them and all of Rashemen. It took only a moment to call upon Rillifane's gift and transform herself. She felt the familiar dislocation as the shape within her mind took form. In three heartbeats her flesh had completed its transmogrification. The sounds of battle sounded impossibly distant to her new senses, more vibration than anything else. Deftly she scuttled forward on seven legs, maneuvering around the outer edge of the cavern, crawling closer and closer to where the tendril originated. When at last she stood before an alcove completely shrouded in darkness, Marissa returned to her original form.

Gripping the Staff of the Red Tree, she summoned light. At first it did little to pierce the veil of ebon darkness that hung over the alcove, but the voice of the staff swelled and the light grew in power. The darkness tore like thin vellum. When at last she could see what lay in the alcove, Marissa nearly cried out in horror.

An emaciated, wizened old man hung spread-eagled in the air by four obsidian chains. A writhing tendril of pure energy penetrated his skull, right between rheum-glazed eyes. The captive stared at her, pain obviously etched in every line of his face; his breath came in great ragged gasps. At once, Marissa knew that this was the vremyo

She reached out in an attempt to help free the enslaved wizard-and snatched her hand back in pain as it touched a wall of energy. Her fingertips still tingled with the force of the spell. Marissa tested the wall with elemental fire and the fury of winter itself, pouring forth her god's power in an attempt to shatter the defensive wall. The druid knew that breaking whatever bond joined the vremyo

"It… it's no use," the ancient wizard gasped as Marissa struck the magical wall with the full force of the Staff of the Red Tree. "The spell is wrapped in both of our power."

Marissa shook her head in denial. "Then how I can I free you?" she asked and felt desperation rise in her voice.

The wizard coughed and sputtered for a moment before answering. "Only my death can free me now."

"No," she nearly shouted, "there must be another way!" Destroying the telthor had been horrific enough; she would not kill another part of this wild land. Not if she could help it.

The vremyo

"How-?" was all that she asked before the wizard's gentle smile silenced her.

"You know how," the vremyo

As if to prove the wizard's words, Marissa heard Taenaran let out a shriek of agony. She turned to see the half-elf caught in a beam of pure darkness that emanated from Yulda's empty eye socket. His flesh began to bubble and boil, as if liquefying right off of his bones. The druid's heart felt as if it were being ripped from her body. With a single cry of Taenaran's name, Marissa had made her choice.

Taen ducked beneath another swipe of the vrock's claw and rammed the point of his sword deep into its side until it grated on bone. Spi

So much so that when the Song shifted beneath him, he did not resist it but followed its strains. It grew louder, more powerful-began to pull at him, yet still he flowed with it. When the crone sent pulsating green bolts of energy flying from her fingers, Taen leaped into the air, drawing his arms to his chest and spi

Taen stood before the decrepit hag, sword poised to strike. The Song crescendoed around him; he could feel its need, its hunger drawing him down into its depths. It called to him-asked of him the only thing of any worth he had to give: his life. For just a moment, he hesitated. For just a moment, he resisted its pull, struggled against it the way a drowning man struggles against an implacable tide.

In that moment, the crone struck.

Power lashed out from the wreck of her eye, a beam of pure nothingness that caught Taen full in the torso. He screamed as the dark energy of the beam struck him. Agony coursed through his body-his very spirit was afire and every inch of his skin bubbled and boiled. In an instant, the vengeful cadence of the Song was stilled. Caught in the unquenchable power of the witch's eye, unable to move, Taen caught sight of Marissa in his rapidly dimming vision. The druid held aloft the Staff of the Red Tree in her remaining hand, and in that moment, the half-elf knew with utter certainty what she was about to do.

He summoned the last bit of strength remaining and screamed, "Marissa… no!"

Anger and desperation melted away from Marissa, replaced by a calm certainty. Choices bring their own comforts with them, she knew, and thanked Rillifane for the one she experienced now. There was so much that she had wanted to say, wanted to share with Taenaran, so much of this land she had wanted to explore, yet it was love-love of the broken half-elf and the rugged land they had traveled across-that had solidified her choice.

A single tear of regret, for words not spoken and feelings not shared, spilled down her cheek as she raised the Staff of the Red Tree above her head. She sent one last prayer to Rillifane that he would guard and guide Taenaran and her friends, before she brought the staff down hard upon a sharp stalagmite-

And everything became light.

The concussive force of the blast knocked Taen to the ground, tossing him like a paper doll in a raging storm. He lay there stu