Shadows.

That's all she could see: shadows. Not darkness, no - in true darkness, she would see nothing at all, and right now, she thought that would be a mercy. But this was Glomdoring, after all, and it had no mercy to offer; only shadows. And lurking beneath the trunk of every twisted tree, seeping from every malformed, clutching bough, a lingering, vaporous presence that was clearly sentient, clearly seeking...

Clearly malevolent.

She unsheathed her blades, gripping them tightly in both hands until her knuckles turned white from the exertion. They were fine weapons, passed down through her family for many generations. Her great-uncle once told her they had been wrought in the very forge of Lord Methrenton, and while that may have been embellishment, there was a certain otherworldly luster to those silver-handled blades. The forest seemed to draw back slightly at their unveiling, but she was not encouraged; the very unity with which the shadows retreated suggested there was a single intelligence behind them. And whether forged by the Crusader or not, she did not want to match a creature of such mighty will with mere blades.

She began to walk through the forest, her eyes cast down to better detect the treacherous, grasping roots underfoot. Though she could easily have retreated, she had been sent here on a mission, and as she wound her careful way through to Glomdoring's black and ruined heart, she began to murmur aloud, as if the low sound of her voice would stave off predators, rather than draw them ever closer.

"You were sent here to kill Rowena Darksh... Nightshade. You were sent here to kill Brennan Stormcrow. You were sent here by the Star Council of New Celest. You will show no fear; you will show no mercy; you will not hesitate when the time comes. Illusions shall not trick you nor make you falter in your work, for though a Soulless blight, the Taintborn are cunning and powerful. You were sent here to kill Rowena Nightshade..."

She made a litany of her words, a mantra that served to clear her head and focus her resolve. It steadied her shaking hands, but it did not relax the vice-like grip upon her twin swords, for she was no fool. So when the beast of thorns and vines tumbled through the trees to her left, clawed hands outspread as if to embrace her, she did not even hesitate - she span sharply round, blades slicing through the air with deadly speed. Its hasty attack cost the beast of thorns both of its arms, and as it floundered face-down upon the forest floor, snarling with idiotic rage, its life became forfeit too. She plunged both blades deeply into the creatures back, wincing at the limber crack it made, and offering a quick prayer to the Supernals beneath her breath that the noise would draw no further attention to her. She waited there for several seconds, crouched low enough to smell the ancient bark of the creature's hide, but no other monsters broke through the foilage to assault her. She was alone again.

Drawing her blades from the thorn beast's spine, she made as if to wipe them on the soft grass, then stopped herself with a soft, melodic laugh.

"Don't need to clean 'em. Trees don't bleed!"

Turning back to her mission, she continued on, her iron-shod boots gently rustling the dead grass and dessicated leaves of the forest floor. She could hear a noise now: a gentle, insistent thrumming, an audible sense of great power that was half-tangible, half-imagined. Though strange, she was very familiar with this noise - it was one any Paladin knew. It was the same sense of power felt when one was standing close to the Pool of Stars. But unlike the gentle thrumming of the Pool, which calmed her nerves and cleared her mind (much like a mantra itself), this thrumming felt diseased; the throb of a rotten tooth, the pulse of a headache...

The beating of a vast wing!

She threw herself upon the ground just in time, throwing her gauntlet-clad hands above her head and pressing her face into the loamy dirt of the Glomdoring. A resounding caw shook the trees above her, sending a primal jolt of fear down her spine, and a shadow - the greatest one yet - passed close enough for her to smell the choking, everywhere reek of carrion. But she was a Paladin, and had been trained well. She did not run screaming in fear, as many mortals would have: she merely gritted her teeth and focused on the hateful rite of Rubeus, shielding her nerves as comprehensively as her plate-mail shielded her body. She sensed rather than saw the shadow wheel in the sky and dive again, ready to rake its gigantic, hoary claws across her. She continued to lie flat on her belly as the shadow prepared to engulf her once more, then - in one sudden, fluid movement - she leapt to her knees, with one of her blades held upward in the air in what could have been a solemn and majestic salute. The creature did not have time to veer aside; commited to its brutal attack, it had dived straight onto her blade, impaling itself.

The caws it made now were deafening, maddening: the screams of a mortal being murdered in agony. It began to thrash with such ferocity that she was nearly thrown back to the forest floor: it was only with the greatest effort she managed to hold onto her ancestral blade, grimly driving it upwards (clutched, now, in both hands) into the creatures feathered breast. But the beast was powerful and ancient, a Spirit from the days before the Elder Wars, and a mere mortal could not defeat it. With one final, lurching effort, it pulled itself back into the air, the force of its sudden movement jerking her arm in entirely the wrong direction and snapping it neatly in three places. Sensing weakness, the abomination crowed in triumph and dove down once more, clawing with its great talons and pecking with its curved beak. Even as she applied a salve of mending to her arm, clicking it back into its place, she was suffering countless scratches and slashes - across her face, her hands, her neck. The worst was her armour; the creature clawed it furiously, sending slivers of peeled metal flying on the forest breeze. By the time she stood up to run, she was bleeding badly enough to warrant a vial of health potion and several hastily-chewed sprigs of chervil - all downed, of course, as she sprinted away from the hovering nightmare, finally succumbing to the atavistic fear that was its greatest strength.

Though powerful, the creature was clearly not made to pursue a mortal through a tangled web of fallen trees, or a dense canopy of twisted boughs. By the time she had reached the centre of the forest, the creature had fell back entirely, though she could still see its single, baleful eye glaring at her when she closed her eyes - glaring at her, with a hideous mixture of insanity, brute instinct, and an almost mortal intelligence. She sat back against a half-uprooted tree, breathing hard. She knew that encounters like that were possible, perhaps even probable, but she still hoped never to cross paths with that horrifying creature again, wounded or not. But to her creeping disquiet, the rest of her journey through the Glomdoring forest did not go unmarked; every time she glanced up into the branches of a tree, she could see crows lined up in lunatic batallions, wings tucked neatly to their sides, gimlet eyes peering at her with a bright and hateful curiosity.

She continued her trudging path to the black and ruined heart of Glomdoring. It seems her wish from earlier was to be granted: the shadows around her first grew darker, then were eclipsed by utter blackness. Concentrating briefly, she muttered under her breath and felt her eyes sharpen, adjusting to the sudden pall. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she had company once again, but to her relief, the hulking, mud-coloured creatures seemed to have no interest in her: they wandered aimlessly to and fro, ducking beneath the branches of the forest and occasionally grunting to one another in a guttural tongue. She remained cautious, walking past them slowly and with a renewed grip on the hilts of her blades - but though their heads turned and they snuffled at the air, they allowed her to pass unmolested, more interested in whatever affairs their Tainted, rudimentary minds had dreamed up.

To her mingled relief and disquiet, that sense of vague and thrumming power filled her mind once more as she continued southward, setting her teeth on edge and causing her eyes to water. The blasted, ruined nexus of Glomdoring - one had once been known as the Master Ravenwood tree - was close. She did not even flinch as she walked into a clearing where there were spiders as large as dogs, and webs as thick and sinewy as an Igasho's arm: she simply stood her ground as the misbegotten creatures rushed towards her at a nightmarish, lolloping gait, skewering them one by one upon her blades and marring its silver surface with stygian streaks of gore. Taking stock of the surroundings, it seemed clear that the source of this tangible aura of power lay to the northwest, and - wiping black blood from her blades upon the damp grass - she continued onwards, slashing through the gauzy shroud of webs that lay before her.

It wasn't long before the trees thinned out. She tensed her limbs, scanning the revealed sky with wary eyes for the tell-tale nightmare form of her earlier foe. But no dark shadow blotted out the frosty, far-off constellations. Perhaps the benevolent face of Moon, gazing down from above, had cowed his spirit? - No, that was unlikely, she thought. After all, nighttime was the domain of Moon's dark sister; outside of the warmer northern climes, Moon was a mere sentinel, content to gaze upon the twisted Glomdoring as long as its grasping roots did not extend to clutch at the throat of her beloved Serenwilde. A brief and uncharacteristic flush of anger ruddied the cheeks of the Paladin, set her stiff neck burning, and she spat bitterly into the dirt.

"As long as your precious forest is safe, you're happy, aren't you? Doesn't matter what happens to the rest of us... to the rest of the Basin."

No, Moon did not care about them - any of them. In fact, why was she here in the Glomdoring, seeking out the pitted, undead remnants of Gloriana's leaders, when she could be in the northern forest, setting the trees to flame and hewing the limbs from the living foes of New Celest - foes who, unlike Rowena Nightshade, had done irreparable harm to Old Celest, albeit through inaction rather than military force? When the historians of future generations came to write down the crimes of their ancestors, Farella Lunseer would surely rank alongside Ladantine VII as one of the most heinous villains of this whole, sorry age. Thousands had perished under her callous eye. She was a monster, a fiend, and she had to be taught a lesson! And the silvery blades of the Crusaders were just the tool to drink the blood of such a demon!

The Paladin had actually took several steps back, towards the webbed clearing of the spiders, before she realized her thoughts were not her own.

A creeping, lassitudinous terror took hold of her limbs, more awful by far than the primitive fear she had felt during her earlier battle. To face a foe with great strength was one thing - to face a foe who could creep inside your head, infiltrate your thoughts... that was another thing altogether. And as she stood there, rooted to the floor with terror, she heard the voice that she had mistook for her own - the voice that, perhaps of all voices, was responsible for more bloodshed and horror and misery than any other. The seductive and insidious voice of the one they called Night.

Why are you here, little mortal? Why do you creep amidst the rotten leaves of my domain like a thief, when you are clad in the rainment of a knight?

"I am a Paladin of the reformed order of knights, blessed by the waters of the Pool of Stars, lone vanguard for the second coming of Celest. I was sent here on a mission. I think you know what it entails."

And you were sent here alone? Unaided? Into my realm?

"I am a great warrior," she said, her muscles filling with renewed strength as she came back to herself. "I have killed many of the Tainted, and I intend to kill many more. And a damn voice in my mind shall not stop me from fulfilling my duty and my destiny!"

Then you are a fool, for a voice in the mind is the deadliest weapon of all. A knife plunged in the breast can be deflected by hidden chainmail; an army of warriors may be bested by simple masonry. But an idea is eternal. Who could resist the allure of sinuous, creeping shadows - who could ever say no to the romance of the night?

"I could." she growled. Mocking laughter reverberated within her skull.

Go, then - I shall not delay you any longer, little warrior. My servant awaits you beneath the branches of the greatest tree. We shall see whose will is stronger.

A sense of hollowness filled the Paladin, as if something beautiful had been torn from her soul, but that feeling was quickly usurped by a sense of revulsion and violation. Shuddering, she turned her back on the spiders webbing and continued onwards, not looking back to see if anything was watching her from amidst the trees... not looking back to see if a seductive female form was beckoning with one elegant, outstretched arm and thin, manicured nail, beckoning, beckoning her to unthinkable acts with sweetly reasonable logic.

Her mission, after all, was nearly complete. The tree ahead was huge: unthinkably huge, impossibly huge. Surely a tree so massive could be seen from all corners of the Basin - and yet her nightly vigils upon the newly-constructed walls of her city had never revealed this secret Nexus of Power to her, though her eyes had strayed to the blighted southern lands many times. Perhaps some fell magic contained its presence, hid it from the eyes of mortals - was it so unthinkable after the things she had already witnessed? Drawing close to the enormous trunk of the tree, she placed a hand upon it, and was amazed - despite its ancient, hoary surface and clear sense of untold power, this tree was a Nexus no longer. It had been dealt a mortal blow, was stricken and in agony, as close to death as any living thing she had encountered in her travels. She had reached the Master Ravenwood, only to find that she pitied what should have been repulsive.

She edged her way cautiously along the side of the great trunk, knowing full well what she would find when she reached its front - the front that faced the shadowed and resonating black heart of Glomdoring. And she was not disappointed. No sooner had she poked her head around its side than several powerful spells flew towards her. She jerked back just in time, and a miasmic torrent of dark power went spiralling beyond her shoulder, flaying the bark from several unfortunate trees. Her brief peek had only confirmed what she had suspected - she had a welcoming party. Four skeletal monstrosities, clad in rudimentary robes, their hollow mouths open in perpetual rictus grins. One cadaverous, undead elfen, twitching and jerking with spasmodic movements, as if his every nerve ending were alight. And one bewitchingly, impossibly gorgeous woman, whose violet eyes shone with a light that seemed half eldritch and half madness.

Rowena.

"Come out, little warrior! You're our guest here! Don't you want to sample our hospitality?" Rowena taunted. Though she could not see her, the Paladin knew somehow that Rowena was gesturing with her athame dagger, punctuating her words with sharp stabs at her unseen foe.

"No thank you - though I'm sure the hospitality of the Glomdoring is legendary, it sure hasn't helped your fellows look any younger!" she called back, frantically unbottling her bottles of charybdon and rubbing them swiftly on the surface of her blades, impregnating the silvery steel with venom.

"Dolt!" Rowena laughed. Again, the Paladin could not see her - but she could picture those strong white teeth, those crimson lips... and what lurked behind them, deep within the pitted cavern of her undead stomach. "Do you not see how beautiful I am? It is the rejuvenating power of Glomdoring which has made me this way! Glory be to the forest without mercy!"

"I can see how stunning you are, my lady," the Paladin shouted in mock admiration, straightening against the trunk of the tree, her blades ready for action. "As attractive as Ladantine, and no doubt with the same root - illusions!"

Silence greeted this pronouncement. For the third and final time, the Paladin had a premonition - Rowena silently and furiously gesticulating to her fellows. Two skeletal fiends to the left, two skeletal fiends to the right, Rowena and Brennan standing vigil before the tree's great trunk, to catch her as she fled. With a broad grin splitting her features, the Paladin continued speaking.

"I heard much of the terror of Glomdoring, you know that? In New Celest, you are feared more than Magnagora. At least we can see the source of THAT foe. But you are spoken of only in hushed rumours, a bedtime story to frighten the babes. A whispered mention of Rowena Nightshade can turn an inn silent!" she laughed loudly, betraying no fear. "But I am disappointed, Nightshade! I have found only tricks and illusions in your forest - lies like cobwebs; capable of snaring a fly or two, perhaps, but nothing to the bear that strides confident! And your pretty face is just another lie. I wonder what you'd look like without it?"

"NOW!" Rowena shrieked.

The Paladin broke to her left, praying that her supposition was true, praying that her hands were steady. Her prayers were answered: two robed and skeletal beasts lurched into view just as she left the cover of the great tree, and her aim was true as she lopped their heads simultaneously from their shoulders, sending them rolling into the undergrowth. With nary a thought, she dropped to her knees on top of their crumpling carcasses, and just in time - another burst of foul magic passed just overhead, sending the hairs on the back of her neck a-prickle as the other two fiends flanked her from behind. Tumbling forwards - thank the Supernals for those hours spent training in the recently-built guildhall of the Paladins! - she slashed and scissored her glittering swords through the air, reducing Rowena's dark council to so much shredded flesh, so much dust in the wind. Breathing heavily, she darted back around the cover of the Ravenwood. Dead silence.

"Is that all you have to offer, my lady? When your cunning lies are cast aside, are you so weak? F'ai Glomdoring - the forest without mercy, indeed!" the Paladin's tone was jovial, light-hearted. And it had the desired reaction - with a shriek of rage, Rowena Nightshade sprinted on bare feet through the tangled roots and fallen leaves of her home, the creature who was once her lover lolloping after in ungainly pursuit. The Paladin reacted on pure instinct, for though she had no fear of these pitiful beings, she heard legend of their skills in life, and was willing to take no chances. The moment Rowena's leg hoved into view the Paladin hacked downwards, and with one smooth movement impaled her foot to the floor. Leaving the undead witch shrieking and writhing to remove it, she placed both hands upon her remaining sword, and used it to cut the sunken, hollow-eyed head from Brennan's shoulders. His feathered cloak fell from his headless carcass, fluttering towards the ground but never reaching it, for it vanished mere moments before. The Paladin turned back to Rowena, whose struggles had now ceased.

She lay there, pinned to the ground with a silvery blade through her foot. But it was no longer the foot of a beautiful and dangerous sorceress, one whose name was revered and feared in every corner of the Basin - it was the gnarled foot of a hag, as hoary as the tree whose shade she lay in. And the rest of her had followed suit; her lustrous, raven-hued hair was lank and grey, her eyes sunken and yellowed. Even the teeth which were once pearlescent and glittering were a musty, fetid shade of green - those few teeth that were left, of course. She gazed up at her foe with a mixture of raw hatred and an almost palpable aura of self-pity.

"I will return, you know. You may chop my corpse into pieces and burn the fragments, but I will always return! It is the blessing of Mother Night! I walk within her favour! I shall live forever - they will sing my name in all corners of the Basin, while you are forgotten forever!" the crone spat, her voice cracked and broken as her form. The Paladin shook her head sadly.

"No - it is no blessing. You are cursed, Rowena Nightshade. And though your name will doubtless be remembered while mine falls through the cracks of the ages, I console myself with this - I will not live an endless life amidst the shadowed boughs of this hellish place." she raised her blade, pausing briefly before dealing the killing blow. "But know this - as I gazed upon your cracked and bleeding Nexus, I felt no rage - only pity. And I have that same feeling now. May this death be permanent, though it is likely more than you deserve. Your existence I wish upon no man." And with one final cleave, it was over.

For the Paladin, it was over. And though unfriendly eyes gazed from every tree - and a single, baleful one glistened wet and crimson from atop the Ravenwood - not one interfered with her passage as she trudged, weary and dispirited, through the forest she had once feared so much. She was safe. Their true prisoner and victim was still in the Glomdoring, and her long night had only just begun.