Brothers of Flame
Dictated by the Flamebrother of the Fourth Rank Jacob Iversson, Son of Samuel
Scribed by the Sage Elindel Goblynsbane
My name is Jacob Iversson, son of Samuel. I am a Flamebrother of the fourth rank. My father was a flamebrother and so was his father. Many people in the world do not know how we, the true servants of Flame, came into being. That is the story I have been chosen to tell you. It began on a dark night, when the Dragon had begun his convincing of the true gods towards betrayal.
Blood dripped from the sacrifice, down the marble alter, only to soak the black earth below. Raising the still beating heart of the dead man, the priest of the god of Death raised the heart above his head, the dark fluid of life pouring down his shaven skull. The crowd began to shout and yell as the swirling storm gave its approval through lightning and thunder. "The god of Death accepts our sacrifice", the priest yelled, "The gods of Fire, Water, and Wind shall not defeat our God!! We shall defeat them, with the Dragon on our side. Who shall be the next sacrifice?"
Suddenly, in the back of the crowd, a scream began, followed by others. Death shrikes and moans filled the air. The crowd parted and a man could be seen, his greatsword filling the air with shards of light. One man went down, then another, and another, never to rise again. All around this man, followers of the god of Death went to their god in true worship. Several of the larger men drew weapons but to no avail. The warrior killed them as easily as he killed the unarmed women and children. Over the sounds of the screaming, the priest could hear the warrior laughing as if it were all just a joke. His full-throated braying counter pointed the death screams of the thirty or so people he had slain.
Praying to his god for power, the priest gathered his strength. He sent the power of his god thrusting into the other planes. Using this power, he pulled a huge fiendish wolf to fight this warrior. The wolf came into existence before the warrior, growling its fury at being called to this world. Still chuckling the warrior slashed before him, slicing the tip of the wolf's tender nose. The wolf, starting in surprise, reared backwards on its rear paws. Taking advantage, the warrior slashed the wolf's neck. Stepping over the dead body of the wolf, the warrior stalked towards the priest.
Backing in fear, the priest slipped in the blood of the sacrifice. Any thoughts of spells fled his mind as this unstoppable warrior approached. The warrior raised his blade, laughing his mad laugh. Seeing true death in the steely eyes of this mad foe, the priest drew his power into a mighty death touch spell... and cast it upon himself. As he felt his body chill and his soul slide to join his god in the other word, he laughed at the surprised and chilled face of the warrior..........
"Good work Iver", said the voice inside Iver's head, "That was among the more mighty of the god of Death's servants. Now, for your reward, what do you want?" Iver thought for a moment. Then he began to chuckle softly. "My god all I wish is to be able to serve you better", he responded. "Very well, I grant you the ability to sheathe your sword in flame at any time you wish. I also grant you the ability to teach others provided that they follow my will. Like me, they must remain with the neutrality of fire. Like fire, all must burn, be they lawful or chaotic, good or evil. You must be neither. Be as the flame, and be impartial before all. But most important, be a brother to the flame" Iver felt great pleasure before this. His god, the god of Fire, had rewarded him with the greatest gifts of all, fire and power. He felt the knowledge of his god flow through his mind, leaving behind it the secrets of the god of Fire......................
Time passed, as it always must. The gods began to battle. The Dragon gained in might. Iver began to teach great warriors about the ways of flame, but with his teachings, all those who gained in power also gained Iver's madness. Some of the great warriors became twisted, killing everyone who was not a flamebrother and got in their way. Others became berserk warriors, charging into combat in a nearly suicidal manner. Lastly, others became neurotic. Laughing endlessly, they even chuckled as they died on the spears of the warriors of Death and Life. Finally, the Dragon betrayed them all and devoured the gods and then was slain by the Four. The flamebrothers, lacking their patron deity, followed Iver into the deep wastes where the dragon fell. There they created a monetary. Iver wrote there, the ways of the god of Fire and of the ways of his greatest followers, the Flamebrothers. There they buried Iver in his 87th year. His son, Roland Iversson became the leader of the flamebrothers...
"The dragon is back Roland", said Justin Tulmach.
"I know, Justin, I know. It was inevitable. My father's writings prophesized this. 'The greatest of all beasts shall rise/ and death and evil flame shall coat the earth.' But chances are slim that he will come here. Besides, what could he do against us? We are mighty warriors and undefeatable. Let him come. We are the brothers of flame, and no man or beast or even Dragon may stand against us and live............."
The sky darkened, as the huge form blocked the sun. "Stand your ground men. Fear not the Dragon!!" Justin shouted to the flamebrothers, their swords sheathed in living flame, "Roland, what are we going to do? We are not enough to stand against him."
"Fear not my friend. We are the brothers of flame. What Dragon could do against us? Besides, what will he do? Breathe on us?"
"But Roland! Even if the Dragon's hellish breath does not affect us, he has devoured gods! Even our God was smote down by..." Justin whispered, drawing it into a sigh as Roland drew his sword through his general and best friends guts. "I told you never to say that Justin? Now get up. We have work to do. Justin? Get up! The Dragon is coming. What's wrong with you Justin? Must I do this myself? Fine then, lie there and let us die." Roland said turning to order his army as the Dragon landed.
The Dragon, towering high above the some ten score men, roared his anger at being defied. As one the men drew their swords, flame arcing up the blades, and as one charged into the waiting powerful arms of the Dragon........... and as one, died...............
Of all the flamebrothers who fought the Dragon only Roland lived. After the four defeated the Dragon, Roland began to teach ten other mighty warriors the ways of Flame. But then, a year after the Dragon's death new gods began to rise up. Many gods claimed the mantle of flame. In great need for a new god of Fire, the eleven flamebrothers began to seek out a new god. The first god they found was an insane god of fire, Ikatola.......
"Burn, pigfucker burn....." the avatar chuckled as his flames coated the building, "Call me a false god, heehEE!"
"Ho! Avatar of flame, hold there!" Roland shouted as the nine foot tall avatar turned to the warrior.
"What's this? Strange strange warriors with swords of flame... Where did they come from? Where are they going? Did they trap parts of me in their blades? Or are they wizards? Either way......... DEATH!!" Ikatola shouted.
Upon hearing this call of their ancient enemy, the flamebrothers attacked. As immune to their strokes as they were to his, the warriors fought a minor deity. The battle raged as the town burned around them. Finally, the battle had burned away all fuel for Ikatola's fire and he went away......... a hint of heat, of smoke, nothing more.
"He was not the one my brothers! But we will find him!" Roland shouted to his men as they howled their accent, "We will find him......................"
After the fall of Ikatola the flamebrothers began to be more careful in their search for a new god. Soon, many of the avatars had fallen. Only three gods of fire or flame remained. Tolad, a god of vengeful anger and flame, great in his strength and fury. Ralord, a god of the sun, wise and good but with a fiery power. Lastly, there was Frektra, goddess of Fire, a fiery chaotic goddess. Soon the warriors came across a great battle. Frektra was fighting some god of storms...
It was a dark and stormy night. A line of eleven warriors stood atop a hill, their shadows cast by the flames in the valley below. In the valley a tempest fought a firestorm. Wind whistled. Fire roared. The powers separated and Roland could see her. A Goddess of Flame. She looked at this petty god of storms, threw her head back, and laughed. Roland heard this and understood. Here was a deity who understood the madness that raged within each flamebrother, who understood the secrets of fire. As the gods clashed again Roland saw that even though this Goddess was powerful, she could not defeat the airy god of storms. Raising his sword Roland called a charge.
"Victory is close", thought the god of storms, Enkili, "All I have to do is keep Frektra down and she cannot recall her flames. Almost got her now. WHAT ARE THOSE?" the god thought as he saw the line of warriors with burning swords charge down the hill towards him. He couldn't both cover Frektra and defeat the warriors. Finally he made a choice. Flee.
The wind rushed around Roland. The storm god was retreating before the awesome might of their new Goddess. She stood before Roland and looked at him. He felt her eyes and her power sweep over him and know him, but his secrets remained secrets and she did not gain knowledge of the ancient God of Fire's secrets. "Roland, my new warrior. I grant you some of my secrets. Secrets that even you do not know. I grant you the ability to cover your body in fire. I grant you the ability to fill your blade with the power of the flame. I grant you the ability to cast flame across the air. You are my paladins, my warriors. I will build you a tower of flame from which you will raise an army. When I need you I will call for you. I will not turn you from the neutrality that was the ancient's belief but you must also worship the chaos that is I. In your weakest ranks my power will also be the weakest and from them will the vaunted neutrality of the flamebrothers will arise. The greatest ranks will be as you Roland, insane but deadly. The rest will be followers of chaos and falling into madness. Go Roland, my servant." Frektra gestured at the newly arisen tower of flame, "Go and await my call."
With a new Goddess, the Brothers of Flame went to their new tower. From there, they raised an army of one hundred flamebrothers. Never more, never less. They were called upon in many battles, many defeats. Finally, Frektra became a true Goddess. No longer needing their direct assistance, the Goddess of Flame sent the warriors to serve as paladins to assist her clerics and as mercenaries to defeat their foes. The line of Roland Iversson, son of Iver continued to myself, Jacob Iversson, son of Samuel and to my brothers. The Flamebrothers..........
Dictated by Jacob Iversson, Son of Samuel, Fourth Rank in the Order of the Brothers of Flame
Scribed by the Sage Elindel Goblynsbane, Scribe of the Tower of Flame
I was born twenty-seven years ago, in the shadows of the Tower of Flame. My father was Samuel Iversson, Son of Darel. He was a mighty warrior who had been selected to become a flamebrother. He went to his induction on the day of my birth. I was the last normal person he touched before he became a flamebrother. My mother was a local peasant woman. She hated my father for leaving us and going to the Tower of Flame, despite the fact that my father would visit often and leave gifts and money. My father did great deeds like his father before him, and his father after that. But while he gained in skill, his heart was afraid. He never progressed passed the Third Rank in the Order, but he still gained in might. He feared the madness that flame brings. When the Armies of Muniark first challenged our Tower, he fought on the front lines. They tell me that the madness so apparent in our line showed within him for the first time that day. They tell me his laughter carried over the sounds of battle. They tell me he died with a minitaur gasping on his blade. Weather they tell me the truth or not, he died in battle with honor as I hope to do. My mother died a few days after my father. I think she missed the competition. By that time I had become a great warrior in my own right, and this is my tale.
1
When I was sixteen I decided to dedicate myself to the ways of flame. But first I had to master the Greatsword. This was a difficult task because while I am strong of arm and of mind, there was no one who could teach me. All those who knew the ways of the blade were Flamebrothers and they could not teach me. Those in the village where my mother lived were farmers. They could do nothing for me. So I left. I traveled south to the Alliance there I met a man named Corbain.......
"Get that blade up you fool or I'll gut you myself. Fool boy. First orc that comes by is gonna kill you and I will have wasted all this time with you." Corbain growled as he raised his greatsword with both hands. I raised my sword to the same position as his. Suddenly Corbain lashed out with his blade. Moving quickly I caught his sword with mine and began to ride down his blade. With a flick of his wrist, Corbain disarmed me and placed his sword at my neck.
"What have we learned, soldito? Never lock your sword unless you are sure you can win. Now, because you were so foolish, go and do one hundred push-ups, with weights." I went to go and struggle with the weights. "And make it snappy................."
I progressed quickly under Corbain. Corbain had been a soldier in Muniark but he was not evil. When he became powerful enough to escape, he did and fled to the alliance. He said he was born in a remote village to the south. He said they even spoke a different form of common! He was a small man, small and brown. But he was strong, and tough. He was also old, the oldest man I had met at that time. Now that I too am older I know that he was forty or so but at that time, older people were rare. Or at least in the areas I went to. Anyway, Corbain taught me the Greatsword and its uses. One day Corbain told me that he had taught me all that he could for then. He said I needed field experience and when I had gotten it to return to him. By this time my father had gotten a better blade and he sent me his old blade, Glomcleaver. Glomcleaver was a masterful blade but it carried no magic, just as my blade, Drabunick, today does not. Corbain signed me into the Alliance army as a skirmisher and so I went. Soon, we made contact with an enemy force........
"Breath Jacob, breath........." I thought, my eyes scanning the horizon. The ranger Patrick at point had reported that the enemy was nearby. The other warriors had drawn their weapons as did I. The patrol cleric prayed over us and we hid in the woods near the road. Soon, a dust cloud rose over the horizon and we could see them. There were twelve of them, twelve professional soldiers of Muniark, to our six ragtag irregulars but we had the surprise. I was the closest to them. They rode past me and not a one saw me there, hidden in the bushes. I waited for the first attack on them.
Suddenly, the sergeant leaped from his hiding place and buried his sword in the lead soldier shouting, "For the Alliance!!" I charged from my hiding place and bull rushed the enemy. Realizing that the mounted enemy could topple me from above I rushed his horse and with my great strength toppled the beast with it's rider. I leaped over the horse and, with surprising ease, forced my sword through the neck of the flailing man on the ground. There was a burning pain in my shoulder and I saw the broken stub of an arrow in it. I turned and saw that one of the soldiers had pulled back and now was firing a short bow into the combat. I knew he must be stopped.
I rushed the man, screaming incoherently. He turned to me and fired but my studded leather turned the arrow. I slashed low with my sword and kneecapped his horse. Like the soldier I had killed before him, he fell with his horse but rolled away once he hit dirt. He drew a wicked saber. We circled around his screaming and dying horse. While circling I glanced around the battle. Most of the enemy was down but so were most of the skirmishers. Of the enemy only five still stood but of the six irregulars, only the cleric, the ranger, and I were still fighting. This glance cost me as the soldier leaped over his horse and scored a strike down my flank. While I turned the blade before he got my vitals I was now bleeding from two wounds. I caught his sword on mine and began to run down his sword. With a flick of his wrist, the soldier disarmed himself. Corbain had taught me well. I caught the soldier with a deep strike through his ribs and felt him die on my blade. I turned to help the rest of the bedraggled party. Still the cleric and the ranger fought on, having taken down another foe but the ranger was wounded and bleeding and the cleric was clearly exhausted. I rushed the combatants and gutted one from behind. The three remaining soldiers were surrounded now and while we were wounded, so were they. They kneeled and held up their swords. We took their swords and searched them. We bound them with rope from their own horses. We searched the bodies of the enemy and collected their gear. One of them was about my size, the leader. His chain mail was of incredible quality. The cleric, having healed all of us, including the prisoners, wandered over. He whispered a prayer and told me that the armor was of great magic, that it would turn many a blade with ease. I took the chain mail and replaced my now worthless studded leather. We headed back to camp.
When we returned we were all decorated, I most of all. I was allowed to keep my new armor and was promoted in the ranks. But I refused the promotion, retiring from the army. I wanted to continue my training with Corbain. I went in search of the old man.
I found Corbain in his home. He had fallen ill. He looked at me when I walked in, still covered in the blood of my foes. He smiled grimly and beckoned me closer.
"Welcome back, my soldito. I have nothing left to teach you but this. When you are old, be not afraid. Pass your knowledge to another. You have the skill to be the greatest warrior of our time."
"My friend, I can get a cleric. I have been paid much gold...." I said, fearing for my friend and teacher's life.
"No. I am an old man. I have seen everything I need to see. Done everything I needed to do. Now, I need to rest. Just one more thing, when you get to the afterlife, tell me what you did. I'm gonna want to know. Adios, mi hijo." Corbain closed his eyes and fell into his final sleep.
I buried him myself, surrounded by his friends. I never knew that Corbain had been a general in the Alliance, that he had fought the bearer of the Blade of Strinnor and lived without change, that he had been a father and raised two children. He was a great man and I miss him to this day......
2
I returned home after Corbain's death. There was nothing else to learn in the Alliance. The flamebrothers were ready to have me join their ranks but first I needed to do some things. I was the last descendant of Iver, the first flamebrother. Our line needed to continue. As I was an only child and my father could not continue to produce, I went in search of a wife.
The first place I went to was the local villages. There the women were simple and slow. So I returned south, this time I went past the Alliance to a small village rumored to have a man of even greater skill than Corbain. There I met a man by the name of Zokald. Zokald told me that he was the master but he refused to teach me. I begged of him to allow it. He refused. I promised him wealth. He refused. I promised him power. He refused. I promised him anything he wanted. He wanted his father back. As I couldn't provide that, he demanded that I prove that I was worthy of his training. I would spend a year in service to him. Every night I slept in his barn and every day I did his chores for him. From mucking out his stables to building a wall, I worked from dawn to dusk. From the day I first lifted a blade I had worked to master it. While I served Zokald I was banned from training. I wasn't even allowed to touch a blade. Except for fifteen minutes a day. Every day at dusk, Zokald would nod and Glomcleaver flashed in the fading light. For fifteen minutes the air sang and screamed as I went through the moves that Corbain had taught me. Then, Zokald would nod again and I would get back to work.
One night I was awoken to see a girl, almost a woman, at my window. I looked at her and I knew. I said to her, "No matter what happens we may never marry." She cocked her head and looked at me strangely.
"What?" she asked, her voice oiled velvet.
"No matter what happens we may never marry." I replied.
"What are you talking about? Why would I marry such as you? You are ugly with your scars and your strange red hair. I wouldn't even touch such as you." she said, her beautiful features twisting in disgust. Have I not detailed her beauty? She was an Elvin girl of perhaps one hundred years, her hair was the darkest black, so black that light wouldn't even reflect from it's depths, her eyes were the lightest blue, almost clear, and they shone with her inner light, her skin was a delicate white, never darkened by labor under the sun.
"We would sleep in barns, because we could not afford better. We would eat scraps because that is all we could get. I would work the fields and farms. You would sew and cook. And each evening we would come back to each other in love. But I can never marry you." I said, calmly.
"I bet you tell that story to all the girls. They must love you. Eating scraps? Ha! My husband would have to do better than that!" she said, turning from my window.
The next night, again she appeared at my window, a vision of eternal beauty. "Sleeping in barns? Could you have thought of anything more romantic? Sheesh!"
The night after that, "Me? Sew? I don't even know how."
The next day she came and watched me practice with Glomcleaver. That night again she came to my window. "My husband would have to be better with the sword than THAT!" She exclaimed but that night as she walked away she glanced back at my window, then looked away.
Finally, she came into the barn the next night. "I am the daughter of the local Count. I didn't tell you because many men come after me for my beauty. They promise me wealth and power, but only you promise me happiness."
That night the animals got no rest in the barn.
Two months, and many happy nights later, Zokald called me to his room after my practice.
"I have not been completely honest with you. I am the Count Zokald of this region. It is my daughter you have been.... seeing each evening."
I looked at him strangely as Zokald did not have the ears of an elf.
"Ho, yes I know I do not have the ears. I had them changed so as not to upset the locals. As for your training, know that you have completed it. I have taught you that no task is unworthy in pursuit of greatness. That kindness is often more powerful than charisma. That greatness is not just with the sword. Now, for even greater news. My daughter is with child. I know it is yours. We will hold the marriage immediately!"
"I am sorry my lord, but I cannot marry your daughter." I replied sadly.
"WHAT? Why not?" exclaimed Zokald, "What is wrong with her?"
"Nothing my lord. I am a Brother of Flame. My father made the mistake of marrying his woman when she was with child. I will not make the same mistake. I will take your daughter to my home village where she will give birth to my son. There I will raise him to follow in the footsteps of his father, and his father before him. The line of Iver will be strengthened with the addition of elvish blood. I told your daughter before that I cannot marry her. I will not leave her as my father left my mother."
"I see." Zokald stated, "Very well. I see that you are dedicated to your cause. Go. You leave a bad taste in my mouth.................."
Nine months later my son Brandon Iversson, son of Jacob was born. He was the last human I touched before I became a Brother of Flame................
3
After my son was born I entered in to the ranks of the Brothers of Flame. The secrets of fire given to us by the gods were mine to know. I learned to coat Glomcleaver in flame. I discovered how to ease flame from my body. I found I could cast flame across distances. I was taught how to instill my will into the edge of my blade. I was of the Second Rank when I was sent on my first mission. We had been hired to go and smash a wizard's tower deep in Muniark territory. I lead a group of six fellow Brothers of Flame, each in the First Rank. This was all of our first mission. As the direct descendant of Iver, the higher ranks looked to me to lead the entrance Ranks. We struck out at dawn.
"That's a tall tower Jacob." Rodgar, my second-in-command said. Rodgar was a dark-skinned warrior from the south. He had heard of the flamebrothers in his homeland and left to join us.
"I've seen bigger." I replied. I sent Joseph and Colins, our strongest men, to test the door.
"It's solid." Joseph told me.
"Let's burn it down." I replied. As one we burned down the thick wood door. As it collapsed into a pile of ash, I took point as we entered. The base of the tower was about fifty yards across and seemed to be a waiting room. To the left was a winding staircase upwards. I sent Revers and Colins to secure the room.
Without warning a scythe swung from the floor catching Colins in the groin and slicing him in two from the waist down. I hurried forward and gave him a potion of heal minor wounds. This potion, while it did not bring his lower body back, stopped the bleeding and healed the gaping hole so that he might live long enough to be brought before a cleric to have his lower body regenerated. He had passed out from the pain so we hid his comatose form about fifty feet from the front door. We went to the second level of the tower.
"By my estimates, the tower is about nine floors high." Rodgar told me. He was always better at math than I was.
"Thanks friend." I replied, taking in the new room with far more caution than I had the previous room. This was the kitchen and unseen servants lifted blades and cut vegetables. In complete unison all the blades turned towards us.
"Burn them. Overlap every five feet." I said casting flame from my hands in its widest arc. The flames disrupted the delicate magic holding the servants together and the blades fell to the floor. We continued upwards knowing that now the rooms were going to be truly dangerous.
The next floor was of a different format than the others. Unlike the previous levels the staircase upwards was on the other side of the room rather than next to the staircase from the previous floor. Thinking quickly, Rodger drew a flask of oil, lit it, and hurled it at the center of the floor. As the floor burned, huge numbers of arrows, darts, spears, and blades hurled across the room, the trap's strings cut by the flames. Finally, the traps stopped. We moved across the burning floor and up the next staircase.
The fifth floor was a realm of fire. We passed through with ease, the firedrakes merely glancing in our direction and basking in our heat, we continued upwards.
In the sixth floor, wind gusted towards us. We entered with blades drawn, knowing that whatever resided in this room would not be impotent against us. Once again I took point, Revers and Rodgar behind me, Johnson Mattock and Rolsten behind them. Without a sound, Mattock was swept backwards into a wall, bleeding deeply from his face.
"Invisible stalker, back to back." I shouted over the wind. Moving quickly, we stood back to back. We stood there, watching and helpless, as the stalker tore Mattock apart. Then it came for us. It struck at Johnson first, catching him across the shoulder. Johnson stuck forward catching something on his greatsword as we encircled the place he struck. Our blades flowed in the wind as we struck down the air elemental. Finally, with it's death, the wind stopped. We went ever upwards.
The seventh floor was apparently the room of stone. The room seemed empty except for this strange being in the middle. It looked like a big green cauldron with three eyes and three hands. We walked towards it.
"RRRROOOWWW GARRRR ROOOOOOO?(Who are you?)" it rumbled.
"We are the brothers of flame. We have come to kill the wizard." I replied. The huge beast turned a little yellow at that.
"RRRRRRRRRUNNN RALLL RASSSSSS. (None shall pass.)" it rumbled.
I remembered learning of this while listening to my mother's stories of my father. This was a Xorn, a powerful Earth creature that ate valuable metals. I took out a gold piece and began to flip it. Immediately, the Xorn's eyes snapped to the flipping coin.
"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIII RILLL RET RRRRRRRRROOOOOOOO RASSSSSSSSSS ROR RRRROSE ROINS!(I will let you pass for those coins!)" I handed the Xorn about five hundred gold pieces from the party funds and we went up to the second to last floor.
The eighth floor was simple. Two deep pools of water with a bridge of stone leading from staircase to staircase with the pools on either side. We crossed the bridge, me at point, Rodgar behind me, Rolsten and Johnson following. I made it across, Rodgar right behind me. I looked back and Rolsten seemed to be stuck, Johnson trying to help him. With a crash a mighty wave burst over them. When it subsided, they were nowhere to be seen. The wave rose again, coming for us. In it I saw what looked to be red eyes, but I can't be sure as we fled up the stairway.
The final floor was the wizard's study itself. Before me stood a wizened old man. "Finally, it took you two long enough. Now kill me." Rodgar and me looked in askance.
"What old man?" Rodgar asked incredulously.
"Kill me. Only the finest warriors can kill me. Fine then you don't like it? KRISTKIE WABLOEMA!!!" The wizard chanted, his hands spinning and a huge cone of cold blasted Rodgar and froze him to the hard stone. With a roar of anger I drew Glomcleaver and cut the wizard's head from his body. When his head hit the floor, the tower shook. The eyes on the head opened and he said, "Good job sonny, now die 'cause my life held the tower together!! HA HA Ha haaaaaaa........" The wizard died with a chuckle. Looking around I saw a pair of boots and a few funny shaped stones by the window. Looking over the boots quickly as the tower shook I saw that they didn't burn when I touched them so I put them on and grabbed the stones. Suddenly, when I took a step I went twice as far!! I leaped out of the tower and landed on the ground with nary a scratch! But the stones fell out of my hand as I fell. I got on my knees and amid the smells of burning grasses searched for the stones. I found them circling my head. With no time to admire this wonder I remembered Colins. The tower still stood but it was leaning. With my newfound speed I rushed to Colins, who was still unconscious, and ran with him on my shoulder out of the way of the falling tower.
The tower fell with a mighty crash, making a suitable tomb for four mighty Brothers of Flame.................
Paths
