[It took me ages to think of something for this thread, at first i thought of a reason that you would not attack me but that became impossible, so i ended up with this, i took the liberty of burning your wrists and giving you something to think about in vengance =p]

The day had started well enough, sun in the sky and a pleasent cool breeze both from the offset of the morning, the day's travel required that he make his way across the vast ocean to a small ilsand just off the mainland, it was only for a few species of plant for a brew he was concocting hoping that it might prove a cheaper alternative to buying "potions of firebreath".
It was then Arlen ahd to ask himself the question, how was it that he was underneath the most bizzare blade that he had ever come across, with everyone on board the deck watching in both fear and wonder.
Arlen's mind wandered back a few hours in time.

---

The main part of the journey had been for the most part plain, for some part he spent it in his quater's reading up on the various plants and fauna that he would find out on this small island, he also believed that the island was too far away from the mainland for Arda to lay claim to it, but that was something else he might look into later on.
He paced the cabin, pondering possible soloutions for a replacement ingrediant for his brew, of course there were positive features of which he could make use of, though he believed that weighing up the pros and cons, the latter outweighed the former.
His dilema of sorts forced him to make for the deck of the ship, a light breeze upon his face would cool him down and ease his thinking, he turned his head over his shoulder to look at the small port hole in the side of the wooden frame, true it let the breeze in however it did not let in enough by far, silently latching the window back into it's place.
He made his way out from the cabin and onto the deck.

Apparently, as he got onto the deck, he overheard tourist for that was what this boat was, a tourist transportation, providing a simple ferrying system for the many peoples of Arda to leave the main land and enjoy a break of sorts, that this place was quite the attraction and Arlen in ernest could not blame them, the sea was spread far and wide, the white foam crest of the waves crashed on the sides of the boat and back into the sea, it was quite a picturesque sight to behold.

The pleasentries of the boat were quite calming on Arlen, though he joined in none, he stood and observed the waves as the ship made head way across the water, the wind blowing across his head.
However, A cry soon rang out as a monstrously sized man lurched out from one of the cabins, a great sword in his hand, it was not long before his intent was proven to be the destruction of others.
Arlen thought fast, muttering the words of power, his flaming lash once again came into existance and was instantly sent through the air grappling the warrior by the wrist, however Arlen soon found his manouvre reversed, with an all mighty swing, Arlen was sent through the air and through a crowd of people into a wall, the wood splintering under the force.
His eye's opening he looked up the business end of a blade.
Words failed him at this moment.

(( OOC: Mehehehe, let the fun begin. ))

He stood like a statue as the waves outside lifted and dropped the large ship across the endless expanse of cerulean. His quarters were furnished in spartan fashion, with a bed too small for his herculean frame and a rickety table that sent high yelps of acrimony throughout the lodge as the calm sea cradled it between flood and foam. Ever since the journey had commenced, Arael Ashfeather had not left this destitute lodge. In fact, he had not moved a single inch. His breathing was calm, collected, but slow. All sounds permeating his tranquil surroundings seemed to come from above; there were few who could resist the combination of a sun in cloudless sky and the smell of fresh brine drifting from the ocean encumbering them. Arael smiled, breaking the illusion of apathy, and several long strands of hair fell in front of his right eye because of it. The fools gawking at the horizon would soon find out that Palanen Ocean would be as good of a grave as any place on Arda’s solid soil.

Looking out the single window that allowed the sunlight to touch the dust that lay like a crust atop all objects in his quarters, he noticed that land was no longer in clear sight, apart from the tops of the highest mountains that still fiercely dotted the vista. He was as far away from continental authorities as he could get without waylaying his own escape; the tourist ferry had reached the exact distance at which Arael’s great wings, which now lay folded innocently behind his back, could carry him safely back to the coastline. His grin widened and his crimson orbs twinkled with insanity, a vampiric visage of hunger and yearning. None of the ship’s passengers would live to see those golden beaches again. For that was why the Fallen Angel had joined the cruise: out on the big blue, no human law or any guard to enforce them could stand in his way. If the ship did not return, people would think that the ferry had wrecked, the perfect excuse for the homicides that Arael longed to commit.

Paradise awaits. It is time.

Like royalty, he walked towards the door, which opened with the recognizable shriek of insufficient craftsmanship. The hallway leading up to the crowded deck was badly lit and completely deserted. His crimson chestplate cast jagged shadows over the uneven floor as yellow lamplight fell upon it. In his right hand, he held his greatsword casually, in reversed position. The barbed top scoured over the floor as he made his way up to the door that would allow him entrance to the vessel’s topside. A portal to carnage. With a strong thrust of his free hand, he smashed open the wooden barrier. The sun blinded him, and he squinted his eyes to a close for a second. When he opened them, a burly man stood before him. His beard was red, his clothes unwashed. A sailor. In disdain, Arael wondered how he hadn’t smelled the roach before he’d rammed open the entranceway.

“Wha’s the racket, smashin’ doors open like tha! Ye got a problem or sum’at?!” He shouted in an attempt to look intimidating, tensing his biceps and furrowing his lice-ridden brows deeply. The Fallen looked down on him. As the silence stretched, he could see the shipmate’s knuckles turn white. Coward’s eyes shot up and down, trying to keep track of both Arael’s emotionless face and the bloodred blade that hung sloppishly by his quarry’s side. Several other passengers had formed a circle around them. They, too, seemed worried about the show of weaponry aboard what should have been a journey of relaxation.

“Yes,” Arael answered simply, stepping forward. “You.” The seadog’s eyes were given no time to widen as the heavy blade slashed cleanly through his gut. Blood splattered onto the white robes covering the twisted Angel’s legs as the man fell down with a grunt, his hands attempting ineffectually to keep his squirming intestines in place. Arael quickly brought the blade back to his side, as though nothing had happened: indeed, the crimson blade did not appear any different than without bloodstains. Shocked silence lay as a veil over the small crowd. More passengers came to see what was happening. The Fallen welcomed their curiosity – the more that found his way to him, the less that he would have to track down when the greatest slaughter had ended. Then, the roars commenced.

Many fled from his bloodthirsty form with fearful screams, knowing that they had nowhere to hide apart from under the sea, where lack of oxygen would take them just as well. Several men grabbed daggers from their belts; amused by the display of heroism, Arael let them slash at the air for a while, bending away from their blows, before extending his ashen wing and smashing them away with a single wingbeat. A single, lean fighter managed to stay upright after the blow. He charged blindly. With fiendish features, Arael brought his sword up into blocking stance with so much power that the frail man’s lower arm was severed. With a hideous cry, he fell to the wood below. It quickly turned sanguine as life deserted him in a pool of viscid, vital fluids.

Chaotic revelry began to overcome him, and Arael embraced it as the drug he felt it to be. He hacked around with abandon, raised his blade for another, lethal strike – and was stopped. Blistering heat wrapped itself around his left wrist, causing the hand attached to it to let go of the greatsword, which consequently dropped back to the floor, supported only by the Fallen’s unhurt hand. The metal of his gauntlets quickly heated, spreading the pain through his entire lower arm. Groaning in agony, Arael looked around to see a fiery snake constricting the armored limb, its end an infernal rope that stretched all the way to portside. Roaring, Arael wrapped his left hand around the magical lasso and pulled with his entire mass. A humanoid frame was sent afly by his actions, landing harshly into and through the wood of the captain’s quarters near the front side of the ship.

The effects of the unexpected attack resonated through his nerves with the sting of slight burns. Blinding rage at the injury, however small, led him to stomp through the crowd, that seemed as much amazed by the sudden display of wizardry as the Fallen. None stood in his way as he halted before the robed frame that lay still between the splintered remnants of what had been a wooden wall. Arael could see from his prey’s rising chest that the bald man was not dead. It pleased his thirst for vengeance. He bent over arrogantly, placing his behemothic left hand around his attacker’s jaws. He repressed a wince as the blistered skin below his heated gauntlet was subject to pressure, but he knew that to do this was to inform the hedge wizard before him that his tricks would not save him from the painful death that would soon come upon him.

Expecting the wizard to remain dazed – for Arael saw that it was a human that dangled from its captured jaw, a foot above the ground, and humans were weak. In a barbarous display of jubilation, the Fallen grinned as he increased the pressure on the bold mage’s skull, slowly, oh so slowly… Until the bone would start to burst, to splinter like the wood remains around the gruesome scene, telling of the wizard’s valiant but foolish attempt to resist the tenacity of a Chaos Paladin. And through all this, the onlookers watched, paralyzed by fear or too cowardly to do something about it - as was usual with spectators.

His head was still foggy, as if some psyonist had begun to assult his thoughts and keep his mind from thinking up words of power that could assisst himself against this monolith of a man.
It was true, whoever this warrior was he possessed strength the likes Arlen had never even come across before, he truely thought that in the grasp of a such a giant of a man he would perish.

Arlen could feel the thick, icey fingers of the warrior squeezing at his jaw, he could barely open his mouth to let out a giant scream of pain, his tongue waving about in terror as he did so.
The spectators stood by and watched the public execution go on, this was probably part of the tourist package to them, though Arlen could severely disagree.
He could force no pleas for aid out of his mouth, stricken by the selfish nature of all human kind from this day forth, he had tried to subdue the warrior and save the peoples on board the shanty vessel, now he could care less if the whole boat sank and damned them all to an eternity at the darkest reigons of the seas depths, and he along with them, better by some natural cause than his bone splintering from under such great pressure.

Arlen's eyes gazed over his killers face, there was no expression, as if the man had no feeling about what he was truely doing, his own bottle green eyes fell into Arael's dim red eyes, like cooling magma fresh from a volcano, he could see no way out, no escaping such a wrath so maginificent and terrible, like a raging inferno, they were all to die in the fires of his hatred for the world.
His assailants white hair fluttered in the wind, how he wished that white was from a flag of surrender and not the end results from the folicals of a mad mans head.

There was nothing left now but to hope and to pray, within his mind he pushed aside all his fear and panic for his life and forgot about it, if this was to work then he would live, if it did not, then he would die.
Though he hoped the latter would prove true.
The pain now was becoming almost unbearable, every second felt like a blacksmith's hammer forging pain upon his face, and he could no longer make himself subject to such torment and agony.

Raising his arm suddenly and quickly, he grasped the leather armour of Arael and twisted his hand around as too keep himself linked to the warrior.
Through painful and choked out breathes, he uttered few words of power.
His finger tips began to glow in a shocking orange and red hue, dancing between colours like the flicker of a roaring flame, the magical energy grew at each and every one of his finger tips, his whole hand appearing is if his very skin had combusted.
With another cry of pain, he released his grasp on the energies and they flowed free from his mental dominion, such close contact was destined for a hit, though Arlen prayed that such close contact would not fireback onto him.

The whole ship rocked under the weight of the magical explosion, the wooden frame rocking too and fro', passengers dropping to the floor and screaming as the battle between the two raged on.
Arlen opened his eye's, he was once again on the floor, dazed and confused though danger was around him, he could not tell where the warrior was, his vision still adjusting from the sudden flash of light to the normal glare it was used too.
Though it was time for Arlen to do something he had not done in many years.

He grasped hold of his sleeve between his index finger and thumb and pulled it out wide and began to shake it, a small wizards cone dropping out from under the folds and onto the deck of the floor, quickly swooping low like a deseperate eagle, he took the hat and thrust in his arm.
His arm fumbled in the space deep within the cone until at last he grasped what he hoped was salvation.

Eressa, his longsword had finally come out from the space in which he kept it and back once again into his hands, long was it since he was familiar with the blade but it had no forgotten his grip and neither did he forget it.
It's ebony handle was tipped with an iron ball upon the end, the hand guard also iron was two pronged and flicked out on either end like the talons of a bird of prey, each "talon" having their own barbs to add to decoration.
The blade was a simple iron blade too, though polished and refined in Arlen's care, it was a simple and humble weapon, though Arlen only used it in desperate times, times like this.

Looking around the deck, he saw nothing but the scared faces of the tourists, eagerly awaiting as to what would happen next, would the warrior or the wizard win.
Spitting his own blood, a thick globule coasted through the air before landing with a resounding glck, Arlen glanced at each and every one of them.
"Damned am i if i will save you!"

Although the Fallen did not feel distressed, it quickly became apparent that he had bounced upon an impasse in his prey’s life expectancy. He felt as though light should have long left behind the emerald orbs that were still firmly locked with his merciless glare. Once again, he found that however succinct the lives of humans might be, they evidently clung to it like a pack of wolves to a wounded deer. He tasted the wizard’s fear as his fingers dug deeper and deeper into the hairless skin – he was surprised to find that in the aftertaste of the caught human’s feelings still lay a spark of hope, that last glint of truculent determination. An adamant avowal to Death that it should keep its reaping scythe at bay until the very last gasp had passed the dry lips beneath Arael’s palm. He would have found it an admirable show of character, had it not been sworn merely to waste his time.

It is time for you to die, the Fallen’s mind cast judgment, his fingers preparing for the final, crushing blow. Arael was discomfited to see that in his victim’s eyes, the very same message could be read, and it was not aimed at the fate of the dying man himself. The terse moment of consternation that it invoked was all that was needed to break the Fallen’s ascertained victory. With an energy that sprang forth from the humans’ eternal grudge against their own mortality, a robed arm whipped up at his face and spiny fingers managed to contract tightly around the bracer of his armor. Before he could assess what was happening, the wizard croaked ominous whispers of power that sent shivers through the sky, echoing far and wide despite their pallid intonation. Crackling force of magical origin spun around the fingers, emanating great heat where fingers and armor were connected. He let go of the jaw. Too late.

The explosion rendered him both deaf and blind. He was propelled backwards, jetting straight over the heads of the spectators, who had fallen to the wood as a result of the great force behind the magical discharge. It was his celestial heritage that stopped him from being smashed all the way back into the passengers’ quarters: in mid-flight, his wings spread out to full glory, the added friction of their humongous surface aiding the Fallen as an emergency brake. As the dust settled and the ship uttered its final trembles, the Fallen still hung in the air, dazed, only narrowly having kept a hold of his blade with his right hand. His great wings cast a dark shade over the deck and the tourists upon it as the invertebrates crawled back up to their feet. Once his sight and hearing had turned back to normal, he noticed that the wizard had not taking as much time to recover from the near-suicide assault.

A silvery longsword gleamed in the sun, biting at the Fallen’s sight as he slowly floated back down towards the ship’s surface. Apart from the burning blisters on his left arm, he had not been hurt more than the wizard, whose skull had nearly been turned to mush, but he still felt as though the tables had turned on him. He hardened his grip around the haft of his sword. Not out of fear, but because of a sudden need to recalculate the situation. He was a master with his chosen weapon, but the man before him had shown both determination and skill in the arcane arts. At the start of this journey, he had not expected to see much resistance. He looked around, the tourists still wincing under his oppressive gaze. That could change. Now that one had shown defiance on the threshold of death, more might follow. And any lone warrior could lose to a crowd of enemies.

“Damned am I, if I will save you!” It was ironic how the spellcaster discarded the only real advantage he had over Arael, though the Fallen could understand the man’s furious reaction: the tourists were eyeing them as though watching an epic story come to life, as though their struggle had no purpose but entertainment. Since the bald wizard showed no sign of starting an attack, Arael pondered the possibility of explaining him that this was not mindless slaughter. Would he understand? Probably not. But it would give him time, and time was all that was needed for the crowd to lay the memory of the one mage that bravely fought the Angel of Death to rest. In a sign of temporary truce, he placed his sword in front of him, placing both hands on the haft, the barbed tip pressing easily against the planks underfoot. This seemed to elicit a sigh of relief from many onlookers, founded on the asinine assumption that their troubles were over.

“Indeed, wizard,” he started in gruff tone, his words aimed as much at his direct opponent as the surrounding crowd. “Damned you are, and damned is your wisdom, if you strive to save this lot. Just look at them,” he sneered, lifting his right hand from his weapon and gesturing around the circle of open-jawed showgoers that had nearly formed an arena around them. “What good will one more day do to them? They are filth without purpose.” He did not shout, but the words were cold as the northern wind. “Arda and Aman can never flourish, as long as they are marred by these rag dolls, these gutless toys of fate!”

No reply. Not from anyone. Only silence. Grim satisfaction spread through Arael’s mind; this apathy proved his point exactly. But still, an example was in order. His crimson sight quickly targetted a lone young man inside the crowd. His hair was curly, brown and reddish like the blush of fear that lay on his cheeks as the Fallen pointed at him, gestured for him to come closer. At first, the youngster seemed paralyzed by fear, but after a few nudges from the people beside him, he finally tread forward. As he left the crowd, he tripped over a piece of rope, but no one dared laugh. The boyish man seemed very much intent on staying as far away as possible, but Arael wouldn’t let him, continually telling him to come closer, and stroking his bloodstained sword obsessively if the tourist’s hesitancy started to annoy him. Finally, the young adult stood next to him.

“What’s your name?” Arael demanded harshly.

“R-R…” he sputtered, the blush deepening. Anger flared up in Arael’s eyes, and this appeared to loosen up the man’s tongue. “Ronald, sir.”

“Ah, Ronald,” the Fallen continued with feigned amity. “Tell me, Ronald, can you swim?”

“N-No, sir,” fearful Ronald spoke, pupils widening.

“Good,” Arael decided casually.

“B-but why..?”

He was never allowed to finish his phrase. In the blink of an eye, the behemothic warrior of chaos had grabbed the self-doubting male by the armpit, and with one mighty swing, the mortal was sent afly. The trace his terrified screams left while he vanished over the portside railing was quickly stifled by the sound of tense flesh crashing into water. Arael walked over to the railing, ignoring the dismayed groans of the onlookers. He stood before the wooden banister as if he were a teacher, and pointed at the faint silhouette of Ronald, that was wildly swinging its arms around, trying to keep mouth and nose above water, failing miserably.

“See that?” the Chaos Paladin asked, in cruel rhetoric. “It is common knowledge that the human body will float on water – if one lies completely still, that is. All that Ronald needs to do, is do nothing at all. But he refuses to save himself. He’ll keep moving. He’ll drown.” He then turned his head to the wizard, heaved his greatsword with one hand, so that the jagged point was in a straight line with the spellcaster’s bald head. “See now what you’re trying to save, wizard? You’re trying to preserve that which wishes not to preserve itself! If you wish to fight me for your own survival, then I will, but at least let me rid Arda of the blemish that is this pathetic crowd!” The onlookers gasped in fear, their hopeful eyes aimed at the wizard in hope of a relentlessly heroic reply. But Arael grinned, and concluded boldly, merely to see how far he could go: “Or better yet, why don’t you help a hand in purifying this taint? If you do, I might see no need to destroy you, afterwards.”

His blood burned with a longing to charge into the crowd, like a predator into a ring of deer, sowing death and harvesting destruction. But he waited for a response. He would let the wizard decide over the people’s fate. Still, Arael knew that whatever path the mage would choose, the surrounding tourists would not return from this journey – in turning down his offer, the wizard would merely prolong the bystanders’ suffering, and delay their inevitable demise, not fend it off.

His hand felt heavy now with the burden of bloodshed to come, his whole arm could feel the weight and the ticking of time slowly pass as the longsword grew heavier in his grasp, twisting its silvery surface, he reflected the light across the deck, though not intentionally, his mind was not on mere childish games but on the situation that had unfolded and the options that were open too him.

No one was around the wizard, truely alone like the brave and bold knight before the dragon in his den of fire and ash, alone he stood on the void of extinction, dancing on the reaper's scythe, every trying to strive from falling too far over the edge and into the dakr hell that was oblivion, though it seemed no matter how hard he thought, oblivion was staring him in the face, regardless of the choices he would have to make and the consequences that would bring.

Valiant and noble were Arlen's actions now before this angel of demise, yet those around him did not feel the noble action valued merit it seemed, he felt no affection or appreciation for his actions, it was no in his heart that he felt that golden aura that nobility radiated fade away as the realisation hit him much like he hit the wall after being tossed like a ball for a dog to fetch.
He was fighting for himself.
The giant warrior before him rested his hulking frame upon his vitriolic blade as he spoke with a twisted and cruel tongue, though all the words fell like rain upon an arid soil, needed and true, nurturing what he felt growing inside of him as he spent more and more time around each and everyone of these travellers.

He continued in his vigilance of the warrior as the mass of muscle eyed up another victim for his cruel sport and amusement, the boy was only young, barely a man at that, both in appearance and age.
Terror welled in the boy's eyes, fear grasped at his every action like a blind man grasping out for a support before the fall down a flight of stairs. He could anticipate the great plunge that would indicate the reality that faced him, he was about to hit the floor and never get up.

“Ah, Ronald,” the Fallen continued with feigned amity. “Tell me, Ronald, can you swim?”

The future looked every so short for the boy Ronald, and Arlen saw it coming long before the boy saw his own fate, fear had paralysed the boys thoughts and left him as dense as the planks that his body was cast off from and down into the black depths of demise.
The scream fell on Arlen's deaf ears, no sympathy could he feel for the young man, Arlen had already attempted to save his life once and yet the boy would do nothing but simper in the face of death.
Again the warrior spoke to true to the feelings deep within Arlen's heart, though when he spoke of simply destorying them and Arlen having a small chance of escaping afterwards.

"Come to me!"
He cried at the tourists as the lost flock of sheep dashed away from the wolf and to the side of the shepard who would save them from being eaten, lifting his longsword into the air, ready for battle like a noble and vigilant knight once again, he spoke to the fallen angel, in a harsh and violent tone that only command authority to any ears upon which they fell.
"They shall not die by your hands Fallen one"
Lifting his arm up into the air, he opened up his palm and from the center flowed out a brilliant blue light that radiated over the whole boat, the light to the travellers felt like a safety net from harm from which the Wizard was about to protect them.
"I have taken mercy on these souls and they shall not die by your twisted design."

The light begun to radiate out more, pulsating like the throb of blood, flowing giving life and hope to everyone, the wind blew a gale that savaged the side of the boat, rocking it too and fro more violently than the last time.
"Arlen Elderson Shall Live!" He cried out loud, raising both his sword and his open palm to the heavens, releasing the blue light from his grasp.
Within an instant Arlen's sword slammed down and into the wood beneath his feet, splintering the deck and giving a firm hold by which to keep himself onboard the vessel as it catapulted itself over more violently.
The light released from his palms fell down an open magical net, ensnaring the tourists in its infinate capacity for holding, with the sudden shifting of the boat and the net ensnaring them, in their infinate confusion as to what happened between the warrior and the mage, they knew the wizard had betrayed their lives as they plumted over the ornate wooden railings and into an azure grave.

A carcophony of screams washed through the air as the tides washed over them, filling their mouths with the salt and water as to which their lungs would soon swallow and produce their last breath upon the world.
As the boat rocked back into its seaworthy position, only Arlen and the captain, who sat in terror beneath the wheel at which he grasped, his knuckles white with tension and his visage panic stricken he had somehow kept himself upon the vessal by grasping for dear life, but someone had to move this vessel across the waters of the ocean.

Pulling his sword from its wooden sheath, he pointed the business end up towards the captain of the ship.
"Should you not carry me to where i wish to go then rest assured you shall wish that you had a death akin to your customers"
His eyes scanned the horizon for a sign of land, though only a small black dot marked the horizon with its presence to the east, the wrong direction in which Arlen wanted not to travel.
Turning round he expected to see the fallen angel, gripping his blades hilt tighter in his grip, he kept himself ready for a fight should it come to that, though Arlen believed that it would not.

They truly were a mob of mindless rabble. Arael could only narrowly swallow the acrid hate he bore for these spineless, shivering dastards as their terrified visages sought to group around the bald wizard as closely as possible. The Fallen almost envied the ease with which the spellcaster could now dispose of them all, with a single expendage of energy. But at that moment, it seemed that the tourists’ hopeful pleads had found fertile soil within the robed wizard’s conscience. Arael gnashed his teeth in irritation – he should have beheaded the fool when he’d been helpless between splintered wood. Was it that hard to understand what the Fallen was trying to accomplish? Had the example, clearest of all, not opened those green eyes? He looked the man in the eye, but he was too far away to see what kind of expression those tanned features bore. Still, he did not seem entirely sympathetic towards the bevy that had assembled around him – Arael tasted strands of sweet chaos twisting invisibly around the brave caster’s soul. Perhaps the Fallen’s small contrivance would come to fruition after all.

Luminiscent power grew around the wizard’s fingertips as he stretched his free hand out to the sky. Beryl lightning converged inside his palm and formed a liquid flame with turquoise hue. Arael grabbed his sword firmly with both hands, several blisters on his burnt left hand bursting in the process, yet he ignored it, ready for what was to come. The heroic sight was accompanied by equally dauntless words, but again, Arael noticed the tinge of wryness shining through, as though his opponent verbally concealed was his true cravings were. The way the green-eyed mage spoke of having mercy remembered him of a small skirmish in Salquedor, where the men had killed their women and daughters to prevent them from being desecrated and sold in slavery by the bandits – bandits that had later met a fate worse than death at his hands, not out of vengeance for the village, but simply because one of the ruffians had felt the need to rob him, which had been the final of his many mistakes in life.

A mute fulmination rocked the vessel as the wizard released his arcane energies, but Arael did not brace for impact, for he saw that he was not the target of the wizard’s casting: instead, the powerless sheep that had seen him as shepherd were suddenly caught in a blazing net of semi-solid ivory and teal meshing. Arael smirked as the frail wizard uttered his final outcry, finally recognizing the true application of this incarcerating spell he had wrought. The chaotic energies around the man’s soul increased in volume as he thrusted his ornate longsword into the wooden board below, exuding a radiating shockwave of inivisible force that caused even the Fallen to take a step backwards; the waves around the ship vanished, the surface of the water now seemingly fleeing away from the damned barge in a single, concentrically expanding ripple of saliferous seawater.

The collective shouts of despair emitted from the bulk of flesh and magical constraints that described a perfectly circular path through the sky were alike a soothing melody to the Fallen’s inner flame. He shivered in joy as the clump of helpless people broke through the surface of the water, into the jaws of the inviting ocean. The wizard’s magic did not vanish; the panic would be great. The ones already in need of oxygen would find no way to reach the surface, blocked by others of their kind. In despair, they would pull others down. They would finally be fighting for their lives, trying to prove worthy to the Fallen and his new, revelated ally on the brink of death. Too little, too late, but Arael was satisfied that they finally understood. Unlike the wizard, who had made the right decision at the right time.

As the final elegies and deathly screeches in the background were drowned out by the tide, the Fallen turned to the man who’d caused the mass homicide. Although his pale features remained expressionless, his greatsworded pointed down at the boarding once more, in no need of any more bloodshed. However, the emerald orbs were no longer focused on him – instead, they pierced the torn soul of the ship’s captain, who had not stood together with the crowd, which had saved his life. Even from here, Arael could smell the man’s fear, and he despised it, but although the bald caster’s rough voice had turned into a cold, pitiless croak, he did not appear to take any action to kill the ship’s leader. The man who’d shouted his name to be Arlen Elderson most likely lacked any navigational skills, and thusly required the pathetic mortal to stay alive.

If you depend on humans, hate them. Once you break loose of the bonds that tie you to them, destroy them. A wise lesson, but one he did not speak aloud.

When the mage Arlen returned his attention to him, Arael could sense the slight tension between them. The man was still ready for a fight. Even though there were no scruples inside the Fallen’s soul to stop him from indulging the wizard’s unspoken assumption, Arael found the chaos seeping through the mage’s mental fortification quite fulfilling, and decided to extend the peace for a slightly longer time. Not walking closer or showing his fondness for what Elderson had put the filthy tourists through, he clasped his weapon to the strip of armor inbetween his wings and called out from afar.

“Well done, mister Elderson!” The voice was like a teacher approving of a young student’s attempts to understand theory that lay one level too high for him. “It is good to see that some still understand that those who wish not to fight for their lives do not deserve to live in the first place. Even if you took from me the pleasure of striking them down myself, you’ve saved me the trouble of having to wash the blood away.” He smiled evilly. “I see no need to try and kill you again, for now. You’ve shown that you possess the power to cast the foolish and the weak into their rightful tombs, be they crafted from water or from stone. Now to show that the will to guide that power is in there, too.”

He gave the veiled assignment a moment to sink in before asking casually: “So, where is the dear captain taking us today?”

Standing alone on the brink of destruction, he looked out across the endless rolling tides that extended their reach up too that line where the sky meets the land and onwards the azure walkway would continue on and on, the suns rays casting down a magnificent light that reflected up from the fluid mirror and onto Arlen's face.
The wind blew past him, trying to push Arlen over the edge of the ship as it rocked wanting him to repent before his final hours and die along with those he had killed, their screams finally turned to choked out gurgles and then deathly silence, nothing but the washing of the waters and the wind.

The captain was quiet and fixed on his one goal of keeping this ship going in a single direction to the island which it was already heading, diverting from such a path could lead to his demise and one not like his deceased customers, there was a threat of pain and anguish for so long, he could think of nothing else but ending this torment and having rid of both the angel and the wizard, looking down at them with rapid eye movements he despised them yet feared their effectiveness of making good at their promise of destruction, he had seen it with both eyes.

Arlen had ignored the angel for now, he had seen him appear once again on the deck after his eyes had adjusted to the normal radiance of light that was standard for daytime, after he had seen the angels hulking frame stand back upon the wooden deck of the ship, he turned his own body away from it, having no desire to deal with such a creature ever again.
His blade gripped tightly in his palm, Arlen was enraged that such a monstrosity stood so close behind him, that his powers had seemingly done little to destroy the creature for all that he was worth and that he, the goodly wizard, had commited no greater crime than becoming what he despised, succumbing to the angels venomous words, like a coiled snake around his neck he felt his words hissing into his ear, flicking at his skin.

Like the sound of finger nails down a board, Arlen closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound of the angel!.
"Well done Mr Elderson" he did not need the angels approval, nor did he need to hear him speak, but before he could get a word of anger in the angel carried on speaking its terrible and dark tongue.
"It is good to see that some still understand that those who wish not to fight for their lives do not deserve to live in the first place. Even if you took from me the pleasure of striking them down myself, you’ve saved me the trouble of having to wash the blood away.”
"“I see no need to try and kill you again, for now. You’ve shown that you possess the power to cast the foolish and the weak into their rightful tombs, be they crafted from water or from stone. Now to show that the will to guide that power is in there, too.”

Keeping his tongue behind his teeth, he held back his words he wished to utter onto the angel, and if he could he would have those words be the last the angel should ever hear and have his ruin smote down to the bottom of the ocean and if it was so the will of the way of things then Arlen would sink with it for all he cared.
The frame that stood behind him now represented nothing but atrocity in the world, for all the claims he made of cleansing those that needed to be lead.
Arlen even supressed a smile when he mentioned not needing to kill him, Arlen could hurt him, Arlen could kill him, it was that simple, should it come down to it, Arlen would take this ship down and bring the Angel down with it.

"The captain is taking us to the Pirates island, he is not changing his course, they, such as they are need to removed and i shall do it, whether you stay or go is entirely up to you."
He longed that the angel would just up and leave, though he knew that would not happen.

The sudden tranquillity of the azure was peculiar, as though nature wished to conceal the callous death that had been wrought from atop the ferry. It was hard to believe that, mere moments ago, a physics-shattering shockwave had pervaded the ocean’s calm foams, and that more than twenty innocents had met the icy grasp of lifelessness as the cerulean surface had closed shut above their magically captured bodies, barring any oxygen from entering their hankering lungs. It was a sense of irony that Arael could appreciate, for he had realized long ago that fate’s resolutions were very similar to his own: inescapable, ruthless, and destructive beyond comprehension. The dark mirth was amplified when he saw the bald wizard struggling with the intention behind his statements; after what he’d done, it would be hard to deny the truth behind what the Fallen had sowed in his mind.

Several moments after his merriment had subsided, the rampage-prone spellcaster informed him that the captain would lead the ship to a Pirate’s Cove. Arael wasn’t too familiar with Palanen Ocean and the many secrets that its deadly waters harbored, and was slightly surprised to discover that a tourist ferry would travel so close past armored, naval bandits. Unless, of course, the pirates were so pathetic that they were nothing but laughing stock for the common folk – a premise that Arael found rather doubtful. Still, the captain did not seem disturbed any more than he’d been when his passengers had been led to their watery slaughter. Silently, the Fallen wondered what the wizard was trying to accomplish. If the pirates had mounted a suitable defense around their hideout, which was quite feasible given the harsh, human laws on thieving and murdering, it would be difficult to send those rogues into the depths of the afterlife, however much Arael fancied the idea.

These contemplations quickly led the Fallen to believe that the wizard was trying to get him – or maybe both of them – killed, perhaps fuelled by regret for the irreversible choice he’d made earlier. Of course, the man could not know that Arael would not be able to flee to the mainland over the long distance that separated the cove of pilferage from the continental coastline, but that fact did add to the Fallen’s feeling that he was being led into a trap. That his unwilling, human companion would make such an attempt wasn’t all that much of a marvel; they’d barely met half an hour ago, and yet their reciprocal histories bore sufficient justification for the man to hate him, to wish him dead. The only thing that bothered Arael was the uncertainty as to whether the wizard was prepared to sacrifice himself, just to get rid of what he viewed as the epitome of evil; the pirates, after all, would see no moral idiosyncrasy when faced with intruders.

Albeit that he was aware of the danger in abiding by the frail commands that the torn mage set before him, the prospect of wiping any number of bandits from the face of Arda was bloodthirstily tantalizing. Even according to human standards, these rogues were all but vermin, hated and feared because of the calamities they caused in the poorly defended countryside – or at open sea. They were murderers, but they lacked any sense of cause, and foolishly thought that their intimidating strength made them any better than the pitiful humans they prowled upon, which only served to reinforce the hate that Arael bore for their kind. He looked out over the liquid flats, wrapping the pros and cons of staying here around the unvarying horizon as the ship drew closer and closer to the island of robbers in the distance.

He walked over to the middle of the ferry and folded his hands around his greatsword, once again standing perfectly still as he leaned on his weapon, his wings curving closely around his armored frame. He smiled, balefully, and waited.

It took far less time than Arael expected for the haunted vessel to reach the rogues’ sanctum. As he viewed the dark outlines of wooden shelters and smelled the rancid scent of corpses that hung from large poles that dotted the cove’s coastal waters, he wondered how many people knew about this place, apart from the pirates themselves. How did the wizard know about it? A tinge of worry nearly broke through his mask of malevolent lethargy. Was the bald human in league with this scum? It seemed highly unlikely, but it was a possible explanation of the caster’s command to set sail for this home of savages – and with an army of thieves at his back, the human would certainly not fear threatened by Arael’s presence any longer. He eyed the robed mage as sunlight gleamed of his hairless skull. Something told him that his presentiment was unfounded, but he remained on his guard – which proved to be a very good choice.

The whistle that accompanied the black dot in the corner of his eye forewarned him. He leaped away to the right while the crash of iron splintering wood where his head had been certified his instincts’ fidelity. He looked at the mast he’d stood before only a second before. A barbed arrowhead of darkened metal had effortlessly probed through the sturdy woodwork. Arael’s war-trained eyes scanned the coast, but there was no sign of his assailant, which made the attack all the more ominous. His crimson eyes returned to the projectile. Only now did he notice that a piece of weathered parchment had been wrapped around the deadly device’s shaft. Keeping his eyes open for any further assaults, he ripped the paper from its niche and unfolded it. There was not much to be read.

L E A V E

“It would appear they’ve noticed us,” he remarked dryly as he walked up to the angered wizard and forcefully pressed the parchment into the man’s hands. Even if his attacker had only been a scout, Arael knew that the entire encampment would come crashing down upon them the moment they set foot on their property. He could not hold off such a force on his own, nor with Arlen Elderson’s aid – aid that he most likely would not be supplied with in the first place. That presumption did not faze him, however. There were ample possibilities to slay these fools apart from the head-on approach. Of course, if he wished, Arlen could make it quite difficult for the Fallen to succeed in a surprise attack, but Arael doubted that the human’s sense of self-sacrifice would stretch so far, especially since divulging the Fallen’s presence to the pirates would give no guarantee of also getting the maniac killed.