The Corrupted Nightsaber, Arganol Deathstrider, padded quietly through The Mystic Wood, taking careful notes and observations of the land, for no particular reason. Although he followed the Wind, he still cherished Nature's bounties, because he often trusted it to take care of him when he was living off of it. Arganol didn't bother to change back into his human form, because he found it more relaxing just to be himself. His slate-blue eyes glanced upwards, and caught sight of the faintly glowing, ghost-white moon. He stopped for a moment, because he noticed a movement in some nearby underbrush. The feline's tail stopped moving, and he instinctivly lowered his front half, while his pale white teeth began to show. Within an instant, he lunged forwards and into the underbrush, biting down whatever he could find.

He felt something go limp in his mouth, so Arganol decided to back up. When he got out of the bushes, he felt embarrased, that the only thing in his mouth was nothing more then a lifeless rabbit. Arganol looked around, making sure that no one was watching, and walked obliviously into a nearby clearing, where there was a small pond. Without paying attention to his surroundings, the Nightsaber clawed the rabbit a little, making sure that it was completely dead. Within one gulp, Arganol downed the rabbit. It tasted delicious, but he knew that he couldn't keep doing this, because he could barely stand just snatching the life away of a helpless victim, especially a sort of animal or peace-abiding creature, unless they truly meant him bodily harm. Arganol yawned and stretched, a little bit tired from his days endeavors, so he leapt up and into a center tree with practiced ease, and began to get comfortable, until he saw one thing that was wrong with the landscape around him.

It was completely and utterly desecrated...

The land was almost completely barren of green grass. It was torn into shreds in some places, and was in completely horrible brackish color tones. The trees lining the clearing had many cuts and scratches in them, and the leaves were all but colorful, setting them obviously apart from the rest of the wood. The sort of 'pixy dust' that inhabbited the rest of the forest's air was also barren here, and the air seemed to have a very faint earth-brown tint.

All Arganol could do while gazing at all of these misfortunate aspects of the place he was in was gasp, and let his jaw hang ajar. But it was when he spied upon the pond, was when he realized how bad of a place he was in. The water was a very dark brown which almost seemed black, evidence of a sort of mistreatment and perhaps pollution. It had shrivled up, brackish colored plants and weeds growing inside and outside of it. Arganol noticed that there were a few decaying fish and a bird just floating atop the horrifying mass of liquid. When Arganol's keen sense of smell kicked in, he almost fell out of the tree, because it was worse then anything he had ever imagined.

The Battlemage knew that there could be only one thing possible that would ever cause this much damage to the wilderness, and he knew now that it was pollution of the Wood. It was most likely a team of Goblin Engineers or something, who just dumped all of their runoff chemicals and such into the pond or something, and had complete disregard for the well-being of the particular Wood. Arganol knew that something had to be done about this, because even though he had been corrupted long ago, the Nature was close to the top of his priority list, next to the Wind and Lightning. Maybe someone else knew what was going on with this particular patch of forest, but he intended to find out soon. Arganol closed his eyes, and jumped out of the tree. But Arganol did not come down, a human clad in a sage-green robe jumped down from the tree, and landed perfectly on his feet. Although his natural form could talk, he thought that someone else might not respond correctly to the shape of his body. He wanted to find someone to help him find out what was going on, and soon.

This Wood was mysterious and mystic. At least Azlateen thought it was as he sprinted as fast as he could with his demonic speed thoughout the woods. There were trees, lots of them, but almost no vegetation next to that. Practically everything was barren, save the trees of course, It sparked Az's curiousity as to why it was like this, but he didn't ponder too long over it as he was most likely never to find out. But who knows. The only reason Az was really out here was to take a little time to himself to reflect on a few past experiences.

He had just gotten out of a tournament a couple weeks or so ago, and with major injuries. He had had his stomach sliced open, the inside of his right leg sliced open also, and a little scratch on his back. It was bad, as he bled profusly afterwards, and had to quickly bandage up as soon as it was over. He took a week off to let himself heal and recover and take it easy for a while. He didn't want to stress his cuts open more and the week off let them heal up enough to get back out and keep up his strength. For the last week before this one he remained at the Grassland training arena, training light and easy, careful not to stress himself. It only took a few days for him to get back up to speed, or to just not feel anything anymore. But once he felt like he was ok, he left to get back on with his life. Back with his life, and he was still bandaged up. He changed the bandages everyday, fresh and tight daily.

He lost the match. Oh well. Time to move on knowing there were others just as good as he was out there, if not better. Then again, he was always a dumbnut saying he was at a disadvantage because his opponent had a dagger and a sword, where he just had his fists, feet, and a dagger. But, once again, he's been trained to fight without those and be able to defend against them. He also knew how to fight with them, he just didn't. Now though, he decided that had to change if he wanted to become a better fighter. He started getting into more street fights where betting goes on, winning bets and getting money for a few weapons he preferred. He even had thoughts on customizing a few of them together, but he first had to work on getting them.

Meanwhile for now, he sprinted on through the woods in a blur. He felt the cut hammy on his right leg stress from the wound, but he ignored it and kept moving knowing it wasn't as bad as it was to walk that first day of recovery. He swerved in and out of trees, jumping onto them, leaping off of them over fallen logs, just going acrobatic over the trees. He leaped into the tree branches, and dashed through them, maintaining perfet balance. Soon though he reached an end to them and leaped out of the branches and out into a clearing. He landed on the ground and ducked himself into a roll to absorb the shocking fall. He rolled right into a dirty pond though, but luckily it was just his feet that stopped him in the water. It was gross though as he checked them out once he got out of them. He shook off the mud and stood in the clearing looking at the revolting pond. He couldn't bear to look at it.

He then took his eyes off of it and took a look around, catching his breath from his long sprint. Wasn't much to see since it was night and everything is harder to see in the night. Well, that wasn't really a problem for Az, as he could function perfectly fine in dark with his other senses. Training like that helped a bunch, but know he just wanted to see the surroundings, to see how dead it was. Hard to tell, but it was noticeable.

Looking farther down he saw a figure standing off to the side, almost looking like he was looking for someone at this time of night. It was hard to say, but Az decided to leave the man to his business unless the man took notice of him. So he then just walked to a somewhat skinny tree, and started kicking it with his shins. Loud clunks of bone on hard wood could be heard a ways away, painless to Az from deadened nerves on his shins. He did this daily, to keep pain away from his shins by creating it with hard kicks. He kicked the tree hard and fast, switching legs from time to time to even out the training. Sometimes small twigs out fall out to the tree and land near Az, and the bark started chipping off in the areas he kicked which only fueled Az more. It made him think he was kicking hard, which he was, and that he could take down this tree with one good blow, which he couldn't. It would take a few good hits and an axe.

Soon he stopped with the kicks and moved onto punching the tree with his bare knuckles, doing the same concept on his knuckles as his shins. Too keep the pain away by creating it. He didn't know what the man nearby was getting out of this, but Az just left him to his business, and didn't bother him unless bothered otherwise. Though Az was sure if the man was to bother him it wouldn't bother him at all.

The day seemed like just any other into the life of the lizardman hunter, he was wandering the wilderness high and low with not a preset purpose at all, he had no certain place, no certain forest or mountain which he could call a home, and return whenever he felt like it. He felt the same wherever as long as it was outdoors. The lizardfolk village was since long left, he disregarded some of their believes, especially the ones that concerned dragons, he couldn’t understand why some of his kin had to worship dragons as if they were some sort of gods. A hate was formed within his very being, he even joined the ranks of dragon slayers and stuck to them for a few years, a lot of fighting technique and teachings concerning anatomy of dragons and certain spells have been passed to him. Also he gained the most powerful weapon from his arsenal: the Dragon Harpoon, it was obsidian sharp and managed to pierce even the toughest of the dragon scales, just imagine what damage was able to inflict to non-dragons…

The Mystic Forest was now the playing ground of what was the lizarian predator, an innate hunter, able to camouflage perfectly with the green of the terrain, and to pull out great feats of agility and speed. Also he was a fierce protector of the forest which he consider to be his home, and whoever desecrated it fell a victim to his hands.

In all his aspects, S’ormight looked like a lizard, only that he was standing on two feet, and he had two functional arms and hands, like any other humanoid. Unlike his lesser roots, he was able to wield weapons and was capable of speech, he knew the common tongue even if he didn’t speak it fluently, one would be able to understand him, and that’s like all he needed.
A gasp of surprise and a grunt of fury escaped the lizardman’s throat, as the scent of dead nature and putrefaction hit his sensitive nostrils. His eyes didn’t see anything yet, but he was sure that something was not right in the forest. He started to run, towards the direction of the putrid smell, and soon he would stumble upon the dead land, the trees were suffering, losing their leaves one by one, and even the essence of the nature itself was starting to diminish. A pond was nearby, and small and hairy creature was emptying some of its vials into the dark brow water; the link between the corruption and the small hairy creature was soon made, and before it could even notice, the dragon harpoon of the lizarian hunter traveled the air, and stopped into its frame. It released a loud shriek, alerting all the creatures nearby, but in a few seconds its body felt limp onto the ground. S’ormight had killed it ruthlessly, and now moved quick to retrieve his pole-arm before any other creatures would show up.

Arganol Deathstrider looked around, still searching for someone to help him overcome this madness, when all of the sudden, he heard something in the pond behind him. He launched his human body forwards and away from the pond, turning back into true form as he did. He reared his teeth and claws as he turned his line of vision onto a small hairy creature with at least three vials of yellow, green and red liquid. As he poured the ghastly substances into the already tainted and putrid waters of the pond, Arganol tensed up, ready for attack. These thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the Nightsaber had to think quickly and jump out of the way, as a finely crafted spear was hurled above him. Arganol watched closely as the projectile found its mark within the small hairy creature, and blood gurgled up in its mouth. A loud shriek escaped from the already doomed creature, definitely alerting any of its accomplices if they were nearby. The spear impaled it, sending it flying backwards a total of at least two yards, and then buried its tip into the banks of the pond.

Arganol tensed up again when he noticed other movement along the underbrush around the area he was in. He started to think that it was more of that kind, that were going to try and assault Arganol with vengeance, but then the embarrassed Battlemage remembered before, when it was a mere rabbit, carrying its daily business out. However, this time was different. Arganol actually noticed small figures about the size of the previously killed one's size and shape. He looked furiously around, trying desperately to locate the perpetrator of the ruthless slaughtering. He spied a Lizarian, probably a Hunter or Projectile-Wielder of some sort. However, he didn’t have time to guess. As the Lizarian moved rapidly and quickly towards his thrown weapon, Arganol actually saw the creatures this time. They stood at roughly four feet tall, and must have weighed less than 50 pounds. They had green and brackish colored skin, somewhat close to the pond’s color. They held an assortment of different weaponry, consisting of crude flails, swords, spears, and other devices, as well as a wooden buckler.

One of glanced ahead of them, completely and obliviously disregarding the Lizarian that actually killed their accomplice, and looking directly at Arganol. The Nightsaber cursed in H’rathh as he told the others about his existence, and said something in a primitive goblin language that Phistov Stonereader, Arganol’s storyteller in Dystopia crudely taught him. He made out something along the lines of, “Look, intruder. He killed Plakk, kill him!” Two of them charged Arganol, making the extremely common mistake of underestimating a Nightsaber. One with a serrated one-handed sword went first, and swung the weapon high above his head. However, once the blade was about to collide with Arganol’s body, he used his instinctive combat reflexes to react. He abruptly dashed backwards and to the left, dodging the blade as it hit the ground and upturned some earth. The Nightsaber used this to his advantage, and vaulted forwards, clawing viciously out with his right limb. It collided with an unguarded stomach, clawing quickly through an earthen colored tunic. It spilled a bit of blood, and the goblin creature yelled out in sheer agony. As his claw went back in for another strike, it tore its way into brackish toned flesh, making the goblin bleed profusely. It tore out a few rib bones, and Arganol left the goblin to die horridly; from loss of blood.


The other goblin eyed his comrade’s still-dying corpse, and then looked back at the fear-inflicting eyes of Arganol Deathstrider. He could faintly make out a smile on the face of his adversary, but decided that he couldn’t back down. The goblin held a wooden buckler weakly out in front of him, and unsheathed a small but sturdy dagger from his belt. The shield shook vigorously, and the dagger could not be kept from swaying involuntarily from side to side. Arganol had learned to play upon this fear, and brought the bloodied claw up to his face. He licked a few small flecks of blood from his first claw, smiling chaotically as he did. All it took was him to approach the goblin slowly, and occasionally lick his lips to get right next to the terrified abomination. When the Nightsaber raised his right claw up high above the goblin’s head, he dropped the two items and stumbled over his own feet. While this happened, Arganol didn’t notice the goblins starting to move behind him, forming secret formations behind his back. He brought his claw down upon the face of his victim, and blood splattered onto the grass next to him. By this time, the other goblin was dead, and now this one was as well. He looked about triumphantly, but almost immediately became dreadful again. He looked behind him, and to the sides to find goblins completely surrounding him. Even the Nightsaber wouldn’t be able to battle his way out of this one. In crude Adunaic, he yelled out to the Lizarian something that sounded like, “Help Me!”

S’ormight expected nothing less and nothing more from the group of goblins, the shriek of the killed one gathered them around like hypnotized, they did not seem to care too much about their friend, something else pushed them forward to fight, something stranger. Probably they were protecting something more important, they were trying to stop anyone from getting any further into the desecrated land, and stumble upon their base of operations. It did not matter to the lizarian, for him it was all the same, whatever reason they had they would still fall at the hands of his weapons, the dragon harpoon and the ones the Mother Nature had given to him at birth. A formidable predator he was, fighting in his own element; element which needed to be saved, the forest did not have to die because of some goblins. Goblins were known to be a pain in the bottom wherever they could be found, they brought trouble with them everywhere, no one liked them expect only for the orcs with which they occasionally worked. The fact that a couple of brute orcs could be found working with those goblins should not be denied; of course they were harder to kill, but far from impossible, at least they would consist some worthy threat for the lizardman predator.

He traveled the distance to his weapon with great speed, though a lot of things happened meanwhile, out of nowhere another creature appeared, it looked like a feline, and weird or not, it had the same cause, to kill as many goblins as he could, perhaps S’ormight could see this other appearance as an ally. Though he had to admit, he had never seen a creature like that before, the creature’s looks could be deceiving, he looked like a black panther, but for sure he was nothing of that kind, probably a magic creature, created by some powerful entity, anything was possible.

S’ormight was not one to dwell on thoughts for too much as long as it was a fight going before his eyes, a fight which he had to participate in. The dragon harpoon was pulled out of the small body of the goblin, breaking the creature into two, it was very nasty to remove, because of its special crafted tip. The bloody remains of the goblin were quickly removed from the weapon, and its wielder turned quickly to watch the last part of the fight between the nightsaber and the rest of the goblins, before the feline-like creature got surrounded, then opened its maw and cried out for help.

There was no more time to waste, a battle-scream erupted from the base of the lizarian’s throat, a cry which sent chills through every single of his smaller opponents, all eyes were fixated on him, and for a precious time of a few seconds they diverted their attentions from the nightsaber. If smart, Araganol would use that to his advantage.
A group of braver goblins formed and they went to face the lizardman on themselves, they charged at him from the front, but the resistance they found was even greater than they expected at the first, maybe they were good at making potions but they failed in what meant the arts of war. The first one found itself slammed against the reinforced buckler of the reptile humanoid, and was sent flying a few feet before it passed out from the shock, others followed but they did not have the same lucky fate, they were impaled on the tip of the dragon harpoon and even worse shredded to pieces by the wicked ebony claws. Their small weapons didn’t even manage to get to the scaled body of S’ormight, they did not have the strength to push them through the though scales reinforced with a layer of crocodile hide armor, and the differences in sizes consisted in a disadvantage for the goblins. They only had the strength of numbers on their side, they could easily overcome a target, but for that they needed a proper strategy.

The heath of battle took over the lizarian, he did not have time to glance over to see if his newly found ally was standing his ground against the rest of the goblins, probably the sudden break in their formation gave him an opportunity of escaping from the ambush.

After Arganol screeched for help, he looked furiously about, trying to locate any way to get out of the situation that he was currently in. Three goblins were dead on the ground, two of them from Arganol's own doing. He had mercilessly killed them without trying any sort of reasoning, a vital mistake to his actions. The goblins began to close in on Arganol, making him feel very endangered and uncomfortable. He thought about trying to escape, but figured that they would just either hurl their weapons forwards at him, or just catch him using some other way. He moved forwards a bit, and was about to attack one of them, but decided that that was not a good idea either, and thought that it would just get him killed. He had to use his intelligence to get himself out of this sticky situation, and as fast as he could, because the goblins were gaining more and more each minute. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the giant Lizarian running towards his weapon, until he finally made it. A sigh escaped his mouth as he noticed that the gargantuan turned to face him and the horde of goblins around him. He found his way out of the horde, and decided abruptly that he would just flee and leave the Lizarian to take care of the goblins, but decided against it once he finally noticed the condition of the air around him.

It was tinted some sort of brackish color, obviously the victim of mistreatment and definitely taken for granted. He realized that he had to stop this, because the Wind and Air were extremely important for the world’s overall welfare. He knew that no humanoid would be able to survive easily without the Air to breathe, or without the wind and breeze to keep them from being overheated and exhausted. This struck some type of nerve in Arganol’s body, and he would not stand for it, not at all. He didn’t care if he was reckless at the moment, all he wanted was for the already-ruined grass to be stained with the goblin’s crimson blood, his sacrifice for his chosen element’s well-being. Just then, he remembered a vital stage in each Nightsaber’s like, close to after ending Maturity. This was called H’rayth’maru. It was when he would choose the element that he would follow the rest of his life, and would become as devout of a follower as he ever could possibly become, and would actually transform a bit to better-serve the chosen element.

He already figured out what his element was, and that element was Air. As Arganol thought of all this in his head, he didn’t even notice what the Lizarian was doing. A large, fearsome battlecry broke out from deep within his or her throat, and it startled all around him. Arganol knew that he would have to play on this weakness of the goblins, because he knew that they would probably divert all of their attention and assaults towards the gargantuan, because they must have figured that he would be harder to take down, and he probably was. Arganol dimly accepted this fact, and let out a horrendous warcry of his own. The Nightsaber tilted back his head and barked as loud as he possibly could, from where he was standing to the very bowels of Hell, “FOR THE WIND!” During this, the goblins who did not take the initiative to attack the Lizarian actually jumped, surprised that what looked like a dark-purple panther could even talk. It only took one swipe of Arganol’s fearsome right claw to nearly dismantle a nearby goblin’s head from it’s shoulders.


The Corrupted Battlemage was about to attack with every single fiber of his very being, every shard of hope for the Wind and its wellbeing, and he didn’t care the even the smallest strand of it for himself. There were about five or six goblins left, not counting the ones that had gone after the Lizarian. He focused on the first one that he saw, who seemed like a burly and strong type. As Arganol approached him, he glanced as the goblin unsheathed a longsword from his back, and wielded it with both hands. He swung it horizontally at Arganol, who simply pushed his paw upwards very quickly, but powerfully. The goblin was somewhat prepared, and turned swiftly around, and made a downwards-to-up diagonal slash at Arganol. He stopped it in mid-strike, and rolled to the left, after making a stab at the enraged beast. The Battlemage was strong, but in this type of stage, he didn’t really think his moves out. He sidestepped the slash and lunged forwards at the goblin, but was blinded by his fury as the goblin rolled and stabbed at him. The steel collided with Arganol, and it pierced through his somewhat thick hide.

The gash started bleeding, but it wasn’t profuse or anything. Arganol let out a shriek of pain as the longsword was brought back from his unprotected side, which just helped fuel the Battlemage’s fire. Arganol turned and faced the goblin, completely disregarding the bleeding wound on his side, ready to still fight. The goblin grinned wickedly, and lunged forwards, making a downward slash at the dark panther-like being. Epitomizing a feat of highly-toned combat reflexes, Arganol leapt forwards as well, and clawed at the sword with his right paw, and his ivory-colored claws clashed against the crudely-made steel, and a large ring was sent throughout the air. He used his other claw during mid-air to assault the goblin further, and dragged the ivory claws across the brackish-toned face of his adversary. He safely landed, and led a relentless onslaught of slashes and claws to the stomach, ripping out a few vital organs. At this point, he wasn’t sure what the Lizarian was doing, and all he cared about was spilled blood. His side was still weakly pouring out blood, but not much any more. He turned around as his autumn-orange eyes seemed to glow, and then actually turn grayish-white. The Nightsaber wasn’t sure what was going on, but he liked it.

To clarify, the lizarian was not that gargantuan, he just stood a little taller than the average human male, but he towered even over the tallest of goblins but in size and fighting abilities.

He managed to either kill or rend useless two of his attackers, and upon regarding that scene, the rest of the goblins had a glint of hesitation in their actions, they stopped dead in their tracks and just gazed over the massive frame of S’ormight. His chest rose and fell rapidly with each passing breath, the tainted air filling his lungs. The grip on the dragon harpoon became even more powerful as before, nothing and no one was able to disarm him now.

Another attacking wave was unleashed against the humanoid reptile, small and rusty weapons failed greatly to pierce through the tough scales of the creature. Their wielders were either pushed back by the massive body and powerful buckler of the lizarian, and couple of them shared the same fate as their deceased comrades, impaled on the wicked tip of the masterwork polearm. The goblins didn’t have the strength of numbers anymore, they were demoralized and hesitation in further attacking their opponent installed within them, while on the other hand S’ormight was consumed by his own success, the adrenaline was pounding through his body like crazy, he could hear his heart beatings into his ears.

He didn’t feel at all endangered by the goblins, they were just too unprepared to be a match for him in battle, but it seemed that he slightly underestimated them, he failed to give any attentions to the vials filled with strange liquid at the belt of the goblins. The leader of the group seemed a little more prepared and had a very strong authority over the others, an order was given and all the goblins started to break similar vials against the ground or throw them into the direction of their attackers: the panther-like creature and the lizararian. No one in the nine hells knew what unearthed reflexes S’ormight had to raise his buckler just in time to block the incoming vial, though its effects could not be denied, a green vapor quickly started to engulf the area into the near vicinity of S’ormight. A suffocating gas which killed every particle of oxygen from the air, and if they would not act quickly the nightsaber and S’ormight would die a painful death.

It was a desperate measure adopted by the goblinoid pack, they seemed so fanatic in defending their cause and leader that they just turned themselves into kamikazes, they sacrificed themselves pretty sure that they will take the other two with them as well. In a couple of seconds the air was unable to sustain life anymore. The goblins were the first the fall the victim to their own weapon since they had smaller lungs, unable to store too much air, yet the lizarian remained standing, he was able to go on like this for a good period of time, he used this technique while traveling underwater. Though, the lack of air would soon cloud his judgment, and he needed not to do too much effort, every single second was precious, and a way needed to be found to purify the air once more.

The first idea which came to his mind was to flee that area, and return to deal with the goblins whenever the air purified itself and the effected of the gas was suppressed. A quick glance was given over to the nightsaber, he was curios to see if the feline was still alive, and if so, what course of action he would adopt.
With the corner of his eye, S’ormight saw that his ‘ally’ went somewhat berserk, the color of his eyes changed and his claws shredded the goblin enemies to pieces. Was he still thinking, was he able to figure out what was happening around him before being too late? The element which he was so trying to preserve was killed in a matter of a couple of seconds.

"Run!" The lizarian screamed out in a rough common tongue, coming to the conclusion that there was no point on dwelling in that place any longer, he himself started to depart. He was not a mindless reptile barbarian like many thought about his folk.

A large roar erupted from deep within the throat of the Nightsaber, and it rang throughout the air like thunderous strikes upon a drum. Arganol had just killed one last goblin, and a mixture of vanity and pride swelled up within his chest. This mixture abruptly stopped as he heard a rough command in Adunaic, the common tongue, from the Lizarian. Arganol heard the word, “Run!” as it shattered the already somewhat loud environment, and reacted instinctively. He reared back on his haunches and vaulted his body forwards. As he did this, he re-tore open the wound in his side, and fresh, new blood began steadily dripping down his side. Arganol was trained in the basics of healing without using magic, but he couldn’t tend to his wounds now. As he looked around him for the Lizarian, he noticed that a chemical had spilled in the ground, and the goblins began fleeing as well. From the chemical arose a green, gaseous cloud of smoke, ready to taint the air and wind even more. Brutality and Wrath overtook the Vanity and Pride left within him, but the Nightsaber knew that even he could not save the wind at the moment, and knew that he had to run, or die.

Arganol leaned on his back haunches again, and readied himself to depart from the deadening patch of desecrated trees, grass and underbrush. He launched his body forwards and a little bit into the air, and landed in an all-out sprint. The Battlemage didn’t worry about the Lizarian catching up, because he most likely had longer legs then Arganol, and could most likely run almost just as fast as Arganol. Becoming the epitome of quickness and agility, and utilizing basic Nightsaber acrobatics, Arganol sprinted a few yards, and vaulted his body over a small stump protruding from the ground, and into a nearby almost-destroyed tree, oblivious to the actual condition of it. The feline landed in the tree, but unfortunately, was still within harm’s easy grasp. The part of the trunk that Arganol landed on was partly deteriorated, and was very fragile. When the body of the Nightsaber landed atop it, the poor tree could not hold, and the side that Arganol was on crumbled down. This sent the Nightsaber hurdling to the unforgiving and earth-toned grass, which sent Arganol into a minor state of shock.

This shock was ended when Arganol begin to have trouble breathing, and he looked over at the Lizarian. He could make out a rather large form, a little bit taller then an average human. It was departing from the area, but the Battlemage couldn’t tell how rapidly he was doing it, because he didn’t really pay attention to the moving figure. He realized then that if he didn’t get out of this wasteland, he would soon die. The particles of air were disintegrating expeditiously. Arganol mustered up the willpower to stand up, but it was a challenge just to keep that up. He began displaying his spectacular skills of agility and endurance, pushing his body forwards even when it fiercely disagreed and disapproved. Arganol began trudging sluggishly forwards, still completely aware of the bleeding wound on his left side and the disintegrating particles of air. The Battlemage finally made it out of the small area of land, and heaved his body forwards. He collapsed completely, and tried as hard as he could to stand on his feet. He finally got there, and found that he was panting heavily and rapidly. He then came to the dull realization that he hated those goblins with every last square nanometer of his very soul. Not just because they almost caused his death, and not even because one of their kin wounded the flesh on his left side.

It was because of what they were doing to the land. They didn’t care even the smallest amount for its wellbeing, a horrible trait to possess. He especially hated them because of what they did to the air, with the chemical. They disregarded its wellbeing, and they would pay dearly for their act of treachery, most likely with their lives if Arganol was able to get them within his grim reaches. The panting had started to die down, and the wound on his side also was healing itself in the works, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to make sure that he wouldn’t go unconscious or anything from loss of blood. Arganol closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, and within a few seconds, a cloud of smoke appeared around him. When the smoke cleared away, a somewhat handsome man in a dark sage-green, woolen cloak materialized where the Nightsaber was previously sitting. The man went by the name of Zeratul NightKreek, even though it was actually just Arganol in Human Form, and unsheathed a small dagger he called Hyruth.

Arganol lifted his robe up and off of his body, revealing a pretty muscular build, and a vicious cut on his left side. It was partly sealed up, which was bad, because if it was already weakly sealed, it wouldn’t cooperate with his healing methods, so the man quickly, but painfully slit the gash open, releasing another small rush of blood. Swiftly after this, he tore a very durable weed with a shard end out of the ground, called Knifeweed. After this was done, the disguised Nightsaber inserted the sharp end into the right part of his gash, and threaded it through the left. He continued doing this until the Knifeweed served as makeshift stitches, and soon after, the profuse bleeding stopped. Arganol leaned back against a small tree stump, and the pain stopped in a few minutes. The Battlemage looked around, and wasn’t quite positive that the Lizarian had even made it out alive, but quickly proved the fact wrong. He thought in his head, The hunter must have survived. One, he probably has built up better endurance and strength the survive then me, and two, it has only been a minute or two since he notified me about the deadening condition the air in Arganol thought that he had seen the seemingly gargantuan form of the Lizarian come out of the desecrated area, but he wasn’t quite sure, and he would just have to wait.

(Notice that I said ‘seemingly’ this time, :D And sorry that it took me so long to post)

The warning was shouted towards the nightsaber, but S’ormight didn’t wait to see if he was going to listen to his words, instead he just turned and ran off into his own chosen direction, he started to feel kind of dizzy from the lack of oxygen even if he could survive a few minutes without it. A great pressure was formed within his torso, he didn’t want to risk inhaling any of the desecrated air, he did not want to be consumed by some corrosive poison. It was the first time when he was dealing with the alchemic mixtures of the goblins. They didn’t seem to be too much of a smart race, so he could not figure out how were they capable of creating such potions, and dealing so much damage to the natural surrounding areas. Someone or something should have thought them.

The lizarian couldn’t help but feel a powerful rage building within, almost taking control over him, he wanted to destroy every single goblin, and not even he could clarify exactly what was the reason behind this rage: the fact that they desecrated to forest or that they tried to kill him? Well, maybe both… But after all it did not matter too much. He kept running, and shook his powerful reptilian head a few times, pushing all the negative thoughts into the depths of his mind. He needed a plan on how to deal.

He pushed his slight arrogance aside and thought that he should look out for the feline warrior which fought on the same side as him, they needed to work together, probably the goblins had many tricks down their sleeves, and he alone would not be able to face them. They were known to wander around in pretty much high numbers. That’s all they had, the strength of numbers and their alchemical knowledge.

After another round of running, a new, refreshing air struck his face, finally he had come upon an area with healthy air. He stopped and took a deep breath, as if he surfaced from a huge mass of water, his lungs filled with air, it felt almost like a blessing, and his senses all recovered and once more functioned to one hundred percent. The dizziness was still there, but it was ignorable and soon it will just fade away. More important things needed to be solved, the first one was to find the feline warrior. He wandered off into the direction he thought that he will find the man, well, creature, whatever he was, S’ormight couldn’t tell exactly. But finding the ally wouldn’t be that easy, or so that’s how it seemed at first.

His armor and scales were sprinkled with putrid and coagulated blood, it almost made him sick, to have the blood of a so pathetic creature upon him. He had a strange tendency of enjoying the metallic taste of the blood from time to time but only if it came from an worthy opponent, it served only to push him further into a rage, and build a desire to spill even more blood and eventually finish off his enemy. He was strange as he was skilled in hunting, that’s how he called his own battle style: ‘hunting’. And speaking of that, his main hunting weapon was now resting on his back, he found no reason to hold it in hand any longer, he could not feel the scent of the goblins into the nearby area anymore. They must have fled, and now were regrouping, at least one of their kind survived the battle against the two so called ‘protectors of nature’.

The lizarian interrupted his walk, stopping for a couple of seconds to inspect several footprints, they were leading somewhere deeper into the heart of the forest, probably straight into their base of operations. The direction to which the footprints were headed was memorized quickly, before S’ormight restarted to walk, guiding purely by instinct.

He would emerge soon, into the same area as what seemed to be a human male. S’ormight didn’t recognize him, so to be entirely sure, he pulled his pole-arm and pointed its tip into his direction. “Who are you and what are you doing ‘ere?”

(Sorry about posting so little, I am trying to get as many posts today as I can. Hope you’ll understand)

Arganol looked up slightly to see the Lizarian pointing a rather large polearm at him, with drops of fresh blood still falling to the ground from it. He smiled roughly and replied to the Lizarian’s comment referring to who he was, “I am the one that you just fought with, and my name is Arganol Deathstrider. Would you be so kind as to tell me what yours is?” He changed back into his true, Nightsaber form. Arganol kept speaking to the Lizarian, “We need to figure out a way to get back at those goblins. For one, they almost killed us, and two; we can’t let them keep treating the air and earth this way.” He looked away, and then continued is crude speech, “I say that we move around the area that was defiled, and flank them from the left. Their primitive little minds won’t be able to comprehend that, and we may be able to eliminate them.” Arganol let his words sink into the Lizarian’s mind, and looked over at the side where he was stabbed by the goblin, and realized that some blood had oozed out from it and hardened over the wound, making what looked like a dark-red scale on his left side.

Arganol took this time to go over and check out what the tainted air had done to affect the surroundings of the desecrated area, and found that it was in much worse condition then when the pair had left it. The bark on the trees was literally falling off, and it already looked like the few plants that were left there had died, due to the destroyed molecules of air. More had probably filtered in by now, but he didn’t want to take the chance of it. He looked at the pond, and it had lost a ton of its putrid water, which made it even worse for his chosen element, because it evaporated into a gaseous form that would inhabit the air until it drifted up and into a cloud.

Arganol moved slowly back to the hunter that dwarfed him in comparison, his eyes spellbound to the horrible area. He looked back at the Lizarian and said, “I’ll grind their bones for this.” His blood boiled for what they did with that last suicidal move that ended their fight. He was sure that the Lizarian could tell all of the anger that was swelling up within his chest. Arganol grinned wickedly and turned to face the area again. The silence was shattered when the Nightsaber let out a ravenous battle cry, “YOU HAD BETTER BE READY YOU PUTRID DEFILEMENTS OF ARDA, EVERY LAST ONE OF YOUR BONES WILL BE CRUSHED, AND EVERY LAST OUNCE OF YOUR BLOOD WILL BE SPILLED!” Arganol could practically taste the fear that he had with no-doubt inserted into his pint-sized adversaries. His head leaned back and he laughed wickedly, just waiting for the moment to go and assault them with all of his might.

He looked back at the Lizarian and grinned, “Will you join me to slay every last one of these deprivations of nature? If you will,” he motioned to some nearby berries and edible plants, “Eat hearty, for tonight, we dine at hell’s table!” Arganol turned around again and saw a goblin coming out to see if their chemicals had killed them. His grayish-white eyes glowed brilliantly, and he looked directly at the goblin. It wasn’t like he was just looking at the little brackish-toned humanoid’s body, but it was like he was about to judge his very soul. His eyes pierced the very fabric of the goblin’s being, and Arganol could taste his fear.