[Amanaduial the archer]

Aravelnon screamed like a wild animal as the flaming sword sunk into his chest. Elanor barely registered surprise as the blade carried on going through the floor until its hilt rested on the black sorcerers chest and she was kneeling beside him. His black eyes flashed silver then back to their unnerving darkness as his scream faded, leaving him writhing on the floor. Seeming to get a hold of himself, speaking almost inaudibly through gritted teeth, he grabbed the front of Elanors collar as he bent her ear to his lips.

"At least...at least I got you to kneel to me!"

Disgusted, Elanor stood sharply, wrenching the sword from Aravelnons chest. His entire body convulsed once then lay still. His eyes faded from black, becoming the green of emeralds. His dark hair paled and thickened, turning ash blonde. His wiry body thickened slightly, muscles forming, becoming healthier looking, and his pale, translucent skin darkened to the tan of one who lives in the sun.

Elanor gasped; in front of her lay Calixto, the very one who had started the quest. She hung her head wearily; a ragged human witch with an ancient sword hanging from her burnt hands.

Lifting her head slowly she looked around once, taking in everything. Elwyn still stood with her sister, watching her as if frozen, but something had changed about Mithwyn; like her sister, she was glowing slightly with inner power. The last of the orcs fell to Harolas' blade as he stood in front of Culloths body, slain by a wild mans blade. Tumnaooriel also lay on the floor, a thin trickle of blood issuing from her forehead.

A man was kneeling at her side, a white haired warrior. His eyes were knowing, ancient with the knowledge and pain they bore, and those eyes lifted slowly from the healers body as he stood and turned. His sword fell from his hands as his eyes caught that of Elanor Istavaira. She held his gaze for a moment and, lifting her hands, she held up the Crimson Sword, the sword that determined the fate so long ago of Horus, a warrior against the beasts of flame itself, and now determined the fate of a group of warriors and witches. The Sword that now rested in her hand, its dull red sheen still telling its story. Raising it to her lips, her eyes never leaving Bulvards she kissed it, adding her own tale to that of the Sword. With that her eyes closed and she fell to her knees and as the warrior ran over, Elanor Istavaira collapsed, the Crimson Sword still held in her hand.