Utilizador:BrastaSeptim/Jewel of Selvir

The Elder Scrolls Chronicles: Jewel of Selvir



           Prologue: Betrayal

Beams of light shone through the glass windows, and tired students were hastily scribbling notes onto their papers, as the classroom echoed with the sound of their professor’s voice. One student, Brasta Septim, was looking out the curved window of the tower, staring at the tall spire that towered over the Imperial City, gold and pointed: The Imperial Palace, his home. Brasta was fourteen years old, thin with tanned skin and bright green eyes. His hair was a pale golden-brown, which was short in front but was long at the back of his neck. He wore a dark brown robe, standard uniform for Apprentices of the Mages Guild except for a silver chain with a blue gem at the end hanging around his neck: the Amulet of the Prince of Cyrodill.

He had been an apprentice to Guildmaster Merlin Galerion for four years, each day spent studying in this tower, the classrooms of the Arcane University. He knew that this was his fourth year, so pretty soon he would graduate and be made a journeyman. Lelwyn, his Third-Year friend, was the son of a Nobleman in the fifth level of Talos Plaza, Baron Gaius Marius. He had short black hair, pale skin, and dark brown eyes with a look of innocence and naivety. Brasta himself had lost that look fighting in wars with his father, Emperor Tiber Septim, to be replaced by a constant expression of blank politeness. Brasta had promising skill, both as warrior and a mage.

Another student at the university was another prince, Prince Raleth Makdor, from the realm of Cassia to the north. He was tall, with brown hair and steel-gray eyes which mirrored his personality; cold, but clever. He had pale brown skin, not as dark as the redguards of Hammerfell, but not much difference. He was a good student, especially with destruction magic. But Brasta wondered: where was he? He looked around the classroom, but the only person he recognized was Lelwyn, reading his book at his desk. Brasta was getting impatient. He better get here soon, he thought. Or he’ll miss the next class. Just as he was thinking, someone burst into room and sent a jet of red light flying across the room and blasting a hole the size of a dinner plate in the roof. Amidst the confusion and dust from the explosion, he heard, “Tell me where the Jewel of Selvir is, old man, or my wand will silence you forever!” Brasta looked to see who it was, and the sight of the familiar brown skin and grey eyes caused his mouth to drop open. It was Raleth, pinning Merlin against the wall and holding a wand glowing red an inch from his face. Merlin had a look of pure shock on his face, and his long purple robe was covered in dust and wood splinters from the explosion. At that moment Brasta realized, I don’t know how, but I must stop Raleth! In a split-second of bravery, he stood up fully, raised his wand, and yelled “”Expuliere!” A small ball of golden light struck Raleth on the side, and sent him flying across the room in a flash of light to land with a loud thump on the cold marble floor. As everyone else rushed towards Raleth, wands out, he pushed himself up, looked Brasta straight in eye, and said the words he would remember forever. “I will never forgive you.” He disappeared in a flash of light. At that moment, a feeling of immense fatigue enveloped him, and Brasta collapsed straight onto the floor.

           Chapter 1: Proclamation

Brasta opened his eyes and found himself lying amongst the soft red velvet covers of his bed. It was all a dream, he realized with a sigh of relief. He suddenly noticed that he was sweating. “If you keep dreaming you’ll be late for your promotion ceremony,” a voice said from the far right corner of the room. Brasta turned his head, and immediately a feeling of joy spread through his entire body: His father, Emperor Tiber Septim, was smiling at him from a chair in the corner of the room. His golden brown hair mirrored Brasta’s, except longer, and with a small, round beard that framed his broad, rounded jaw. His blue eyes had a look of pride and dignity reflected in them. His pale skin, except for his hands, was covered by the long crimson robe with the white sash and golden chain that showed his status as Emperor. The only thing missing was the golden crown of Tamriel. “Come on, let’s go: You don’t want to miss becoming the youngest Master Wizard in Tamriel.” Brasta climbed out of bed, and put on the blue robe and cloak that showed his position. As he turned to go, Tiber said “Not so fast: you forgot your sash.” Brasta turned around, tied the red sash around his waist, and opened the trapdoor to the lower platform. As they walked down the long, spiral stairs of the tower, Brasta said “Where is Pelagius?” “Pelagius is downstairs in the Council Chambers.” said Tiber. Immediately the reached the bottom of the stairs, and opened the door to the study. They walked across the marble floor, trying to avoid the stacks of books brought in by the Imperial librarian last week. They reached the large oak door on the far right which led downward. They descended the stairs hastily, and when they reached the landing, went through the doorway into the guard quarters. The guard quarters was a large, but cramped area of the palace, with beds on one side of the wooden floor, and racks of assorted weapons on the other. They walked through the room, and then went through the doorway on the right. Immediately they saw a circular, but extremely spacious room with four wide balconies circling the walls above them, only accessible by the stairs at the ends. As they walked, they ran into a young boy, about ten or nine years old, with pale blond hair, a thin round face, and bright amber eyes. “Pelagius, watch where you’re going,“ Brasta snapped. The young boy stood with his head down and said, “I’m sorry Brasta. And Father.” Brasta said soothingly, “That’s okay Pelagius. Just stay here until my Promotion is over, okay?” Pelagius’s face lit up a little bit, and he said cheerfully, “Okay Brasta. See you afterwards, Father.” Tiber and Brasta went out the Chamber, and entered the Throne room. The throne room was a large room, with the enormous red, cushioned throne on one end and the way out at the other. They went through the huge oak door past throne, and went out of the palace. Immediately, the entire city appeared in front of them, as the sun shone bright in the blue sky, and the gray walls, sparkling marble slabs of the courtyard, and flowerbeds around them were illuminated by it. They hurried across the marble cobblestones of the courtyard towards the large wooden gate built into the tall stone wall in front of them. As they walked, six guards in silvery mail and bearing the Imperial crest formed a box around them. All of them, Brasta, Tiber, and guards, went through the gateway and were immediately surrounded the noise of cheering citizens. The guards pushed back the oncoming tide of cheering citizens to allow the Emperor and Prince to pass through the cobblestone streets of the sixth level of market district. Both regular people and merchants were gathered on either side of the streets, either buying or selling wares in or around the shops. As this was happening Brasta thought, I wish they would let us pass, or by the end of the day, I’ll be deaf! The procession turned abruptly and went to the less crowded street on the right, between the timber and stone houses which cast their shadows on them. As they were walking, Brasta saw the tall gate in front of them, and opened it to let them in. They went down endless steps and streets, until they exited the gates of the city and headed towards the enormous grey tower surrounded by a low wall Brasta had seen for nearly every day for the past eight years: Arcane University. They had to run through the gateway to get past the enormous crowd that had gathered around the walls. At this point, the guards went into the crowd to control the traffic in and out of the University courtyard. Brasta and his father climbed the marble steps of the courtyard to stand behind the podium looking out over the crowd, with the wall in front and the tower behind. Immediately, trumpets sounded from the tower and all heads turned towards the tower as Guildmaster Merlin strode through the wooden doorway, resplendent in purple and gold robes and carrying a long bundle in a red silk sheet. Everyone became quiet as Brasta and his father stepped aside to allow the Guildmaster to approach the podium. Then, the Guildmaster looked at the crowd, and announced, “We are all gathered here today for the promotion of His Imperial Highness, Prince Brasta Septim, as the youngest Master Wizard in the history of Tamriel. He has spent two years under my guidance, and is worthy to receive this great honor. Now, without further ado, I will bestow upon you the staff of the Master.” Guildmaster Merlin removed the sheet from the bundle, and revealed a long, slender golden staff with a large, round ruby held by five golden hands at the end. “Do you, Brasta Septim, Wizard of the Guild of Mages, accept this staff and all duties pertaining to your position?” Brasta wondered, Should I? Or should I not? Then Brasta realized, I will be able to help my Empire with staff! After making his decision, Brasta said, “I do.” Then, all hell broke loose. Jets of light flew into the courtyard from nowhere, and blasted enormous holes that sent great shards of glass and stone all over the place. Someone yelled, “Ambush! It’s Cassian soldiers!” Sure enough, around twenty soldiers, clad in black armor, and bearing the Cassian diamond, stormed into the courtyard amidst the confusion, killing unarmed citizens left and right. The guards who had followed Brasta and Tiber ran at the soldiers, and tried to hold them back best they could. One of the Cassian troops ran at Brasta, wildly waving an enormous Claymore. In terror, Brasta grabbed his staff, and using it like a club, blocked the sword and struck the swordsman hard on his helmet. The swordsman was knocked backwards by the hit, and collapsed to the ground in a daze. Brasta looked to his right to see his father fighting with two other soldiers with black maces. Brasta ran to his side, and yelled “Electricus!” to send a blast of silvery lightning from his staff to strike one of the soldiers in the chest, while the soldier was knocked off his feet by his father’s golden sword. The two of the looked at each other for a second, then embraced. Tiber whispered “Thank you. Thank you, Brasta.” “No problem,” Brasta said, then yelled, “Watch out!” as he spotted another swordsman running towards him. The two, Father and son, fought side by side and struck down the soldier, then ran to help the guards push back the soldiers. All of them, both guards and nobles, carved their way through the black-clad soldiers until all that was left was a mass of mixed citizens and soldiers bodies. Brasta grinned in triumph until he turned around. On the broken steps, lay the Guildmaster, his robes dirty, his beard torn, and his body lifeless. He gasped, and ran towards the body of his dead master. He immediately fell to his knees on the spot, and wondered in tearful shock, Why did this happen? Then he noticed something in his master’s pocket. He reached for it, and pulled out a torn piece of paper. He looked over it, and then gasped in awe when he saw the words written across it; This map of olde bears the resting place of the fabled Jewel of Selvir, to whom triumph over mortality shall be given. To reach its place, follow the path to Anvil, then the tooth…” Tooth what? Brasta thought. Then he noticed that the page ended at a long jagged tear across the paper. A piece was missing! But how? Then it dawned on him; Cassian troops, Jewel of Selvir? This is what Raleth was looking for two years ago! He said it both in his mind and out loud, “This is Raleth’s doing!” Everyone stared at him awestruck. His father rushed to his side. “You mean, the Prince of Cassia orchestrated this attack?” Brasta stood up, and confidently replied, both to his father and the crowd. “This attack was orchestrated by the Prince of Cassia, Raleth Makdor, to obtain information about something called the Jewel of Selvir. My question is, what is it?” A young golden-skinned High Elf in a plain green robe rushed up the broken steps to him. “Master Septim, my name is Tauryion. I am a warlock in the Guild. I have heard of this Jewel, if you would allow me to speak.” Brasta said, “Go on.” “The Jewel of Selvir is nearly the most powerful artifact in Tamriel. According to legend, a Wizard named Selvir gained the secret of immortality. Unfortunately, he didn’t want it, but couldn’t kill himself, so he used a spell that bound every drop of power in him into the Jewel, and bound his spirit as its guardian for eternity.” Brasta said, “What would Raleth want with it?” “According to legend, whoever reaches the Jewel of Selvir will gain nearly limitless magical power. It gets worse; Also whoever reaches it shall gain full, unlimited immortality!” Everyone, Brasta, Tiber, and crowd gasped in shock. Tiber said slowly, “But that would mean…” “Raleth will try to gain the power of the Jewel to destroy Cyrodill!”

Chapter Two: Decision

Back in the tower of the palace, Brasta paced back in forth across the carpeted floor, thinking to himself. How I am I going to deal with this problem? I can’t just let it go, and neither can Father. I just have to figure out some way to fix this! he thought. Suddenly a thought popped into his head, and a clever smile spread across his face. I know! he thought. I can go after the jewel myself with Lelwyn and that young mage, Tauryion. The problem is, how will I convince Father to let me go without having half the Imperial Legion following me? Just then, Tiber opened the door and walked into the room. Brasta said, “Father, I have to talk to you.” Tiber looked at him kindly, and said in a curious voice, “What do you need to tell me?” Brasta took a deep breath, and thought to himself. Here it goes. Brasta just blurted it out and said, “Father, I want to go to chase after Raleth to track the Jewel. I have to make sure Raleth doesn’t get it or we’ll all die.” At that moment, Tiber’s face clouded over and he said sternly, “You’ll not be going. It’s too dangerous to go by yourself! I will go, not you, with twenty of the best guards here. This is a job for the Legion, not you.” “But Father.” Brasta protested. “This is my job; Raleth killed Master Merlin, and as a Master of the Guild, it is my duty to go. Besides, I was planning to take Lelwyn, Tauryion, and six of the Imperial Guards with me.” After what seemed a century of silence, Tiber hesitatingly answered, “All right, you can go. But remember, don’t engage Raleth or his guards in single combat; let the guards do that.” Brasta immediately grinned, and said jokingly, “Don’t worry Father; If I can save you from two of Raleth’s elite guards at once, I can definitely handle a few robbers or soldiers with eight companions.” Tiber sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. As Brasta turned to go, He had a sudden thought. He quickly spun around and said, “Wait! If the Master Merlin is dead, who is eligible to become Guildmaster?” Tiber sat back in his chair and said slowly, “Hmm. I’m not a mage, but according to the Guild Code, the most proficient mage in the Council would be made Archmage of Cyrodill, then full Guildmaster. But they have to be a Master Wizard in good standing on the Mages Council.” At that moment, Brasta felt his heart drop down his chest and disappear somewhere in his stomach. “But that would mean…” He began slowly. “Yes.” said Tiber. “That would make you the new Guildmaster of the Guild of Mages, Archmage of Cyrodill, and Headmaster of Arcane University.” Brasta’s face became white as milk, and his eyes grew to the size of saucers. He protested, horrified, “But, I’m not ready to become Guildmaster! I’m barely 16! Father, I just want to make sure Raleth doesn’t find the Jewel; Nothing else!” Tiber stared at him until his blue eyes seemed to penetrate Brasta’s very soul. “Brasta,” he said gently, “You think you are ready to save our entire world, but you don’t think you are ready to head the guild? That seems to be a bit of a contradiction, don’t you think?” Brasta stood there, and thought to himself, Well, he does have a point. It is a bit contradictory. I’ll just tell him the truth. “Okay” he admitted, “It is a contradiction.” Suddenly courage seemed to flood into his heart from nowhere, and his mood changed instantly, “You’re absolutely right.” He said, “If I can handle finding this jewel, I can handle leadership of the guild. Just please hold off the ceremony until I return from finding the Jewel. Until then, the Council can head the guild. Tell them that.” Tiber smiled at him, and said kindly, “I will.” So Brasta turned around, and left the palace with courage in his heart and a father’s hope as his guide. That night, he arrived at the iron gates of the city, and saw eight figures walking towards him, their faces obscured by the night. He drew his sword, and said cautiously, “Who goes there?” Then he heard the familiar soft, gentle voice and realized who it was before the hood was removed from the curly black hair. Lelwyn smiled at him, and the others removed their hoods, with six others revealing shiny mail armor and one green robe among them. “Me, Tauryion, and the guards are your escort. His Majesty did not want to take any chances, so he took you up on your promise in advance.” Brasta shook his head, and grinned at them, “Lelwyn, you just can’t leave me alone, can you?” Lelwyn grinned back, “Of course not. It’s even enjoyable when it’s an imperial decree that tells me to.” Brasta laughed, and said, “Well, let’s go already. The map said something about going to Anvil, so let’s not keep Count Umbranox waiting.” So all night they all went, guards and mages, along the dusty road to Anvil City. That morning, the green grass was covered in dew and the sunlight was blurred through a heavy gray haze. All of the group, including Brasta, had to look really hard just to avoid running into anything in the fog. Suddenly, Brasta heard a familiar sound; the thunderous pounding of horses running full speed. His eyes scanned the horizon, fully alert, but he could see nothing in the mist. But even though he couldn’t see them, he knew they were coming, so he whispered to his companions, “Not a single sound. If you hear anything, get off the road.” As they waked, trying not to make a sound, the sound of approaching hooves got so loud everyone of them could here them. Then Brasta saw the blurred forms of horses in the mist. “GET OFF THE ROAD!” He yelled, alarmed. They obeyed, and jumped off the dusty dirt road to land with a thump in the damp grass. They lay there without moving, listening for a sign that the danger was over. Then, their ears suddenly perked up. A lightly accented voice, low and gravelly, issued from somewhere in front of them. “Where’d they go?” It said, “I could have sworn I heard someone yell, Apetius. Didn’t you?” Another voice, low but without an accent, came from the far left. “Yes, I did, but don’t you worry your Dunmer head about it. We can get plenty of loot off of someone else, Fareth.” At that moment, the Brasta realized who was speaking. Highwaymen! He thought, his terror briefly overpowering his courage. After coming back to his senses, he whispered to Tauryion and Lelwyn, “Tell the guards to sneak up behind these highwaymen; you two will go with me and block any chance of escape. Got it?” They both nodded their heads and whispered inaudibly to the guards. Brasta slowly unsheathed his sword, took a deep breath, and sprang out of the ditch. The two highwaymen heard the noise, and spun around, their eyes wide, and quickly drew their swords. “Hey!” They yelled together, and ran at Brasta with astounding speed, brandishing their rusted iron longswords. He blocked their swords with ease, and sent them stumbling back with a hard swing of his sword. Tauryion and Lelwyn ran to his side, and both raised their wands to send twin jets of pale green light at the attackers. The twin spells exploded on impact with the two highwaymen, and sent them flying back into the mass of guards who had snuck behind them. As soon as the highwaymen felt something hard and sharp behind them, they turned around, terrified. As soon as they saw who it was, they suddenly swooned and fell to the ground in a dead faint. Brasta stood over them, dusted off his silvery mail armor, and said sarcastically, “Well, my father was right; a few highwaymen might try to rob me, then collapse at the sight of Imperial soldiers.” He, Lelwyn, and Tauryion laughed uncontrollably until finally Brasta said, his voice cracked, “Well, let’s continue. You too, men.” So Brasta and his companions continued the long road to Anvil.

Chapter Three: Trouble in Kvatch

That night, Brasta and his companions walked along the road, Great, he thought grimly as he stared at the scenery around him, obscured by the black sky. Nothing but grass, road, grass, and more road. The only interesting thing at this stretch of road is that hill over there. he thought, staring at a dark hill far off in the distance. But then he noticed something; the grey hill in the distance seemed taller, and was pointed in places. Wait a minute, he thought to himself. Hills don’t have spires! What the…” Then, with a feeling of joy, he realized what he was looking at; a castle. That’s it! he realized, staring at the dark outline of a castle. It’s a castle! And where there’s a castle, there has to be a city. But what city is near…” A sudden realization came over him, and he knew what he was looking at. The city of Kvatch. With a joyous sigh, he spun around to face his companions and cried out happily, “Lelwyn, Tauryion, Captain Severus, and the rest of you! Can’t you see what’s right in front of you? We’ve reached Kvatch!” Immediately everyone saw the outline of Kvatch Castle come into sight, and everyone, guards and mages, ran for the castle. In about five minutes, they were staring at the enormous wooden gates of the city. The gatehouse was nothing more than a tall, dirty stone tunnel, flanked by two enormous towers with walls emerging from either side. Brasta walked up the cobblestone path, and knocked once at the gate. After a few seconds, the gate was opened a notch, and a short, lanky, stringy haired man popped his head out the tiny space. “Who are you?” he said in a low, screeching voice. Brasta pushed his long red cloak over his shoulder, and said, “I am Prince Brasta. And the rest” he said, pointing at Lelwyn, Tauryion, and the guards. “Are my companions. We wish to stay for the night.” The old gatekeeper pulled open the gate, mumbling to himself, and the companions went through the gateway into the dark streets of the city. They walked along the dark cobblestone streets, but Brasta didn’t see a single person or light in or near the houses. Where was everybody? Then, he saw a light in the distance. He looked harder, and the outline of Kvatch Castle came into sight. He gestured to his companions, and they walked up to the giant gray building that was the castle. He hastily ran up to the gate and pounded loudly on the tough oak doors. He pounded for a few minutes, until he heard a voice form inside say, “I’m coming!” A few seconds later, a tall, middle aged man with wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and a long fur-trimmed robe opened the door. He looked kindly at Brasta, and said, “May I help you?” Brasta looked up at him and said, quietly, “I am Prince Brasta, and these are my companions, and my guards. Captain, Lelwyn, and Tauryion, meet his lordship, Count Galla. Now, Count Galla,” he said, “I am very sorry to intrude, but I need a place to stay. May myself and my friends stay in the castle tonight?” Count Galla thought for a moment, then replied, “Most certainly. I have a few extra rooms in the tower, and your guards are most welcome to stay in the guard quarters. Follow me.” He led them inside and shut the door. Brasta and his friends were led into a long stone hallway, with tapestries hanging from the walls. They turned the corner, and walked into a large, spacious chamber with two long tables at the sides, and one in the center. At the center table, a large, cushioned throne stood behind, with chairs on either side of it. “Are you hungry ?” The Count asked. They all shook their heads. “Well then, Your Highness, I will lead you and your friends to you rooms. This way.” He said, and beckoned to a doorway near the right corner of the room. He led them across the room, through the doorway, and up a set of stairs. When hey reached the top of the stairs, he opened a small door and they entered into the bedroom. The bedroom was good-sized, with a dresser on one side and a chest on the other, along with a triple bed against the wall. The count smiled, and said, “I hope this is to your satisfaction. Good night, Your Highness.” and shut the door behind them. Brasta sat down on the bed, lay back, and sank into a deep sleep. Brasta was sleeping peacefully, when all of a sudden, someone yelled, “Help! It’s a Cassian Army!” Brasta was immediately woken with a start, and looked around, his eyes temporarily blinded because of the darkness. After a few seconds, his vision cleared, and he ran over to the window just to have his close again in shock. An entire army of black-armored Cassians armed with swords marched towards the gates of the city, the pale red light of their torches reflecting off their armor. Then, he noticed a figure wearing a long red cloak over his armor, and riding at the head of the line with his sword drawn. It was Raleth, with his gray eyes reflecting no remorse, even at a distance. At that moment, Brasta ran to the dresser, and pulled on his silver mail coat and put the blue-and-gold surcoat and cloak over it. He strapped on his leather-padded greaves to his legs, and put on his brown leather boots before rushing to Tauryion and Lelwyn’s beds, yelling, “Wake up! Wake up! The city is under attack!.” They immediately sprang up, and threw on their own mail coats over their linen robes, and belted on their swords before running out the door. They ran out the door, and back down the stairs into the hall. As they ran, Brasta saw Count Galla in full armor, with at least thirty guards running past him out the gateway. Brasta beckoned to Captain Severus, who he saw among the crowd, and he and his men followed Brasta and his companions out the door. They ran down the steps of the castle, and with the sounds of loud screaming and the clanking of armor surrounding them, ran into the streets past the houses. At this time, the streets of Kvatch were so dense with Imperial soldiers, that no one could even see the cobblestones. They all rushed forward towards the gateway, and Brasta, his heart pounding, ran with his guards and companions up the stairs to the wall to get a bird’s eye view of the army below. Brasta stood on the wall, looking at the army that had gathered below him. Then, he nearly fainted when he saw what was coming at him. An enormous catapult stood in front him, and as he stared at it, his eyes went wide as he saw the catapult’s arm spring forward, and giant ball of flame flew right at him. Suddenly, the air around him became so hot it felt like a furnace, and he was soaring through the air to land painfully on his back. He sat up in a daze, as men and rubble flew around him in equal amounts, and saw what he feared most; Raleth’s army had broken through the gate! He slowly stood up, holding his sword for support, and spotted Lelwyn and Tauryion with their swords drawn on either side of him. He yelled to them, “Get back here!” just as three black-armored soldiers waving longswords ran straight at him, slashing left and right. They ran into him with a loud clang, and sent him sprawling to the ground, Just as one particularly tall soldier stood over him with his sword raised, Brasta gathered up his strength to sent the soldier flying through the air with a mighty kick. He stood up, and blocked the swords of the two others running at him, and turning his sword, knocked them back and killed them with one slash. As he turned to look for more, Raleth stepped out of the shadows, his sword drawn, his armor dented, and his steely eyes gleaming in malice. “So, we meet again, Son of Talos. This is the third time I have encountered you. Now, where is the second half of the map? The reason I came to you, was that the map made no sense. Now, tell me where it is, and I shall kill you quickly.” Raleth said, circling Brasta slowly. Brasta turned to face him, and gathering his courage, he stepped forward and said, cautiously, “I don’t want to have to kill you, Raleth. Give me the other piece and we can reconcile. But remember one thing; I would rather suffer a thousand painful deaths, even ten thousand, than ever betray my Master. Raleth, you are a disgrace to the name of Makdor, and even more to the Guild of Mages. You will never get this map, if I have sacrifice my life for it! What is your answer?” Raleth stared at him, and said, with a sigh, “Poor Brasta. I pity you. You have decided to defy me, so you pay the price. Prepare to die, Son of Talos.” Then, he raised his sword, and sprang at Brasta, his eyes full of hatred. Brasta parried the blow, and swung blow after blow at him. From the streets to the castle they fought, trading slash after slash, thrust after thrust. Brasta was very tired, but still blocked and traded blows with Raleth. Suddenly, a blow caught him on his ribs, sending him to the ground in a painful heap, stumbling over a rock onto the ground, Brasta just lay there, thinking, Well Brasta, you are about to die. Next stop, sword in my gut. He looked up, waiting for Raleth’s sword to fall, when he suddenly heard a clang and Raleth went flying through the air. He jumped up, and saw Lelwyn and Tauryion pointing their swords at Raleth. Raleth turned to face him, raised his wand, and disappeared in a flash of light.