Night was falling, the sun's last few rays of light cascaded down through the limbs, leaves and branches of the trees of Yomenïampa. Performing his duties on foot, rather than mounted, General Guard Ancalë was keeping his eye on things, patrolling his area rather scrupulously. He wore his standard battle attire, tan and gold, and his fine elven boots. At his waist was belted a large and heavy broadsword, plain and deadly. He wore a cloak over the weapon so that if he needed the element of surprise, it was always there. At the back of his belt, also concealed under the cloak, was the ornate dagger Threnody's Spite; an unbreakable keeper of the peace.
Hair swept out oh his eyes, the elf shifted around his main weapon, the one not concealed; hanging from a dark brown baldric at his shoulder was a massive, yet ornate and graceful looking spear, one of obvious masterful forging. The blade even had razor sharp, serrated wings to either side, giving it a sort of trident looking appearence. There were traditional elven engravings and markings on the weapon, making it look for all the world, ceremonial, but those who had seen what it could do in the hands of Ancalë, knew it to be anything but.

The elf made little sound as he walked his path, keeping his amber eyes sharp and on the lookout for the slightest thing out of place. Clasped in his hand was a bottle of the Cherry flavored Miruvor, cordial of the elves. He always took some with him on patrols, not only for it's marvelous flavor, but to give him an extra edge. He also bore the other half of a small wafer of Lembas, waybread of the elves, for the same purpose. Only a small amount for a simple night watch job, but enough for stamina in a tough scrap. Ancalë polished off the rest of the wafer and pocketed the leaf it was wrapped in, only to take another swig off of the bottle. Ancalë usually demanded to be put on one of the levels close to the ground, that way he could still be able to make it down in an instant, yet also be able to sprint up, should something come from the sky. Most assaults came from the ground however, and so it was that Ancalë didn't take the middle. There were still plenty of guards to take the middle and the top. Tonight, however, Ancalë was closer to the ground than usual, the place that he usually jumped from rather than taking the winding stairs the rest of the way, it being that low. He found stairs rather irksome when one was trying to get down somewhere fast, and dound that falling was rather more direct.

Before he went on duty, Ancalë said his nightly prayer to the Goddess of Life, asking for her blessing in his duty and loyal servitude to her. Ancalë was no ordinary guard, but an Elven Paladin of Life, blessed by Lothlómendil herself. His bearing was as such, and his Goddess was on his mind in most everything.
His holy aura was obvious and it reflected his dedication to the good. Ancalë tried not to be very prejudiced, but when it came down to evil, the elf's tolerance was not the highest in the world. He walked about his usual route, taking another swig of Miruvor before returning to his scanning of the ground below.
A sudden movement caught his attention and he fixed his eyes on the spot, unblinking. Something was out there, undoubtedly, taking one more drink, Ancalë set the bottle down and recorked it.
The paladin was not always a paladin, and before he was in the class of the ranger, and now was his time to show that. Silently, Ancalë lept from the landing he stood on, hitting the ground rolling to his feet. Aside from the faint rustle of leaves, he made no sound. Grimly, his mind set to his task, Ancalë slipped his deadly spear from its baldric, staring back the spot he caught the movement in. Maybe it was something, maybe not, but the elf knew he had better take the chance and find out.

The watcher had been looking for some guards to mess with this fine night. 'Guards are so fun, bellowing for help at the first signs of danger, and scream loudly as they are eaten' the lich thought happily before looking at the great wall that many a guard stood. 'This will be fun....wait' he though, noticing that an elf was standing on the lower part of the wall, looking right at him. 'This will surely be challenging, a captain perhaps? No, he is far to strong for that' the watcher thought before putting his bony hand onto his skull. He moved his hand, and a red glow came from his eyes. This was made to strike fear into the heart of him.

The lich then put both hands onto the ground, and pulled out a large shadow creature from the shadow on the ground. It was shaped like a large hedgehog, but with large claws and much longer spines. "Go my minion, bring me his head!" the lich whispered before the shade rolled up into a ball and sped toward the wall, before bouncing over towards the elf's current location.

(Sorry, very short)

As the elf's eyes picked movements in the shadows out, his keen ears picked up certain sounds. There was something out there, and it knew that Ancalë had seen it. A faint, red glow burned bright out of the spot the elf was looking at; a shiver ran up his spine, and he did not know why, but would show no outward signs. The spear suddenly found itself gripped in both hands as Ancalë's feet spread out in a defensive stance, his mind drawing in his will. And then it happened.
Something black and not overtly large was rolling towards him at a high speed. As the thing came within range, Ancalë plunged the spear tip into the dirt, vaulting himself over the little buzz saw creature while the inward rushing of his will took shape. There was a sharp detonation and crackling as a pale blue bolt of lightning was sent out towards the creature. As Ancalë's feet hit solid ground, the spear came up again, the tip covered in dirt.
The lightning was flying true, but to the guard's dismay, the little creature stopped and rolled the other way, narrowly avoiding the attack. The shadow beast unrolled itself and looked at the elf.

'What in Sartana's name is that?' Ancalë thought to himself, his eyes widening. Narrowing them back, Ancalë mumbled something in the high tongue.
All at once, the spear in his hand began to glow faint white light. He had blessed his weapon in the name of light in order to better vanquish this beast of darkness. But Ancalë had no idea that where the little demon had come from, there sat a watcher in the darkness, the spawner of the beast he now fought, waiting for the opportune moment. The elf had no way of knowing that the original movement he had detected was not cause by the shade, but by the one who had taken part in its genesis. So there were no distractions. The beast charged again, and this time, Ancalë would not dodge.

Bearing his spear at the creature that rolled towards him, sharpened body spikes spinning in a deadly manner, Ancalë had lost the trace of fear that he had before. His holy weapon shown in the night. The creature was closing ground fast and Ancalë knew what he was going to do. Right at the last second, the elf sidestepped the roll, thrusting his spear out into the creature as he did so. Had he not have blessed the weapon as he did, the blade probably would have been deflected by the dense body and spinning motion. It probably would have spun out of his hands, forcing him to rely on his sword. But the holy power bestowed upon the spear, let the razor sharp blade pierce deep into the creature, stopping it in its tracks. A high pitched shriek came from it's black lips as it fell backwards back into death. Ancalë sighed once as he watched the thing fall dead, but then its body exploded into a thousand pieces that evaporated before they hit the ground.
"What the-?"

(oops! wrong charry, sorry)

(Your somewhat lucky, this will be the last topic I use this account. You have my permission to kill him)

The watcher smiled as the shade was killed by the elven paladin. 'Soo....he's a follower of Loth eh? I will have to go all out on this one!' the lich thought before waving his staff around in a circular motion. "I call upon thee, solder of the damned. Feast upon his soul" The Watcher chanted.

Near Ancalë, the ground began to crack as a skeleton with full, dented armor rose from the floor. It soon charged the elf, trying to catch him be surprise.

(Interesting enough. Well, are you going to post after this, or not? I'm not killing him if you still want to make it interesting, but if you've finished with this topic, PM me I will edit the rest of this post accordingly.)

His eyes still wide in surprise, Ancalë hardly noticed as the ground started shaking, until the splitting sound riveted his attention to the new challenge. The elf turned just in time to see the skeleton warrior barreling towards him. Ancalë dove to the earth to avoid the attack, rolling back to his feet as he did, turning back to face the new monster.
'There has to be something else out there...' he thought to himself, regaining his composure entirely from the unknown fear that had gripped him. Gathering his will again, Ancalë focused on what he needed to do. Having never actually delt with a skeleton before, Ancalë had no idea how to kill one, so he needed to buy himself time to think. Obviously, running it through would do absolutely no good. Ancalë released his pent up will into the Knock spell, sending a solid barrier of his will across the empty void between himself and the skeleton. As the barrier colided with his enemy, the warrior went flying onto its back, the armor it was wearing clunking to the ground. The elf's mind was flying with ideas, from the useless to the not so useless. His eyes went dismal and narrow at the possible prospect of having to use his special attack, especially when there was something else out there that could be worse than what he fought now. An idea finally struck home. As the skeleton began to rise, Ancalë stuck his spear into the earth to his side, his right hand sliding inside his cloak, grasping his sword hilt. The gold hilt and crossguards rose up, giving way the silver blade in a flash of light the moonlight. The vacant eyesockets stared bleakly into those of the elf as he stared down the skeleton, almost wondering who would be doing this, and why, but not wanting to distract himself.
Though there was no flesh on the face of his foe, the expression the skeleton wore was obvious: kill.

Ancalë dodged another lunge, his sword arcing around in a wide swing that caught the side of the already dented armor, sending the undead warrior within reeling to earth. As soon as the fight was over, and granting the fact the he survived, Ancalë would make it his practice to learn a new spell, one to vanquish the undead.
As the skeleton clumsily rose back to earth, Ancalë swung his sword once more, the blade shearing through bone as the beast's head severed from the shoulders. As he had already surmised, however, the skeleton survived, even if blindly. Ancalë was left with few options, so he let his right hand go of the weapon, letting it relax in his left. His right hand closed all but his middle and index fingers, which he pointed towards the skeleton's body. Mumbling something quietly, the lightning from earlier shot forth again, heading home, straight towards the skeleton's armor.

(I meant this is my last topic with the watcher, after this I'm going to request him to be deleted. So if you wish to kill him then do it whenever)

The Watcher chuckled at the paladin's attempts at killing his slave. 'I might as well get over there to take him by surprise' the lich thought happily before floating up to Ancalë's location. As soon as he landed he summoned another shade, this one the size of a child and covered in very large spikes, and placed him in front of him. "Attack!" The Watcher spoke in the black speech to the shade. It obeyed, and shot some of its spikes toward the elf. After they would hit, the lich would charge in for the attack. "Die pathetic scum!” the voice ran through Ancalë's mind, seeming to come from all directions. The watcher pulled out his staff and dagger and went in for the kill.

As the lightning crashed into the mail, the skeleton flew backwards, rolling as it hit the ground once more. This time, however, it did not arise again. The elf did not know what that meant, it could be stunned, or it could be dead. Ancalë wasn't even sure if it was dead in the first place, and therefore, killable. As the foe lay prone, Ancalë set his eyes to where the initial strike had come from. The trees were all but still, the air quiet but for the ringing shouts of some of the other elves from up above.
From the vast black void, a dark figure arose, hovering over towards the elf. Narrow eyes and a scowl that would freeze Ita's Orc Killer brew greeted the intruder. A skeletal black hand summoned forth another shade, this one larger, though bearing a similar shape as the first. Then came a language that Ancalë knew though all to well, though never wished to learn. Ancalë had no idea what the words were, but it was obvious what was said, as the Lich bellowed, the creature struck, firing its spikes as projectiles. Ancalë had no choice, his will was not draining yet, but he new that if he were going to use his special move, he would need most of his mana in tact. But, the attack of the shade left him little choice; as the razor sharp needles flew towards him, Ancalë shouted something in the high tongue, a very strange word, and a shimmering, though transparent barrier of white light, covered his entire front half. The needles struck the barrier and simply deflected off, disintegrating into nothingness.

Ancalë was sheathing his sword as he formed a plan in his mind.
"Fight me yourself, you coward!" he shouted at the Lich, knowing that the barrier would hold for a few minutes more, letting no physical damage get through. Ancalë backed up a few paces to where he had stuck his spear, his fingers groping blindly for the handle. At last, he found it. Jerking the spear out of the ground, Ancalë stepped slowly, gracefully towards the enemies whose presence he was in. His weapon was poised to strike whatever came his way. The barrier was faltering, as the elf did not make it too terribly storong, wishing to conserve his mana. The spear still shone with blessed energy, holy power flooding through the weapon. Ancalë knew what he must do. The Lich was the Watcher in the dark, the summoner of evil t do his bidding, and the disrupter of the peace Ancalë struggled to upholdl; that would not stand. Without warning, the shade charged again as the barrier fell. Ancalë was waiting for that. His will built up, slowly, gradually, yet so powerfully that it almost made the air seem to crackle around him. But the gathering of will was not for the little demon, no. The power was all for the thing that sparked the trouble. As the little beast got closer, Ancalë threw the spear with all his aim and force. He turned his eyes back towards the Lich, not even watching as the weapon ran the whelp through, the sound was all he needed to know.
"Now, wretch, it's time for you to face your end. Burn in the deepest pit in hell you can find!"
Ancalë's right hand was glowing with a golden and white light, it was shaping the whole of his hand, making it seem as if there were no flesh there, only light. The Paladin clenched his fist and his teeth simultaneously. Throwing his fist out as if he were punching an invisible enemy in front of him, he cried out-
"Aia Lothlómendil!"
And that was it. When Ancalë's fist struck out, a beam of holy energy shot forth faster than an eye could blink. The light struck the Lich square in the chest, directly beneath the throat. The light seemed to stay where it had struck, as if it had attached itself to the target. Then, in lightning movement, it spread, like a living thing, engulfing the Lich and coiling about his body, through the air around him. There was a violent detonation, and all was silent.

In that moment, there was no more Lich, no more shades. There was still the issue of the prone skeleton with the head chopped off, but that minor detail could be rectified in due time. But the Sacred Hand attack was not without price. Ancalë was so glad that the enemy had been destroyed, because he could not manage an attack of that magnitude again, even lesser calibre attacks would be tricky. Sinking to his hands and knees, he drew breath in deep, shuddering gasps. After a few minutes, it seemed the trees wee alive with elves. Several of the guard were there, not a moment too late, either. There were medics as well. Ancalë waved them all off as best he could from his position, protesting that he just needed some time to recover. Sweat drenched his face and clothes, he blinked as he looked over at one of his men, who had stepped forward.
"Sir, I thought you might want some of this-" he said in unhalting elvish. As he spoke, he drew out a bottle of cherry flavored Miruvor and a large wafer of Lembas.
Ancalë managed a smile, and then a laugh, just glad for the whole ordeal to be finished. Worldessly, the General accepted the food and drink, the smile still playing on his lips.