Untitled
a Record of Lodoss War story
by DojiGirl

Ashram sat inside his makeshift tent, ignoring the sounds of drunken arguing and animal growls which came from outside. He was studying the map before him intently. It showed a rough sketch of the interior tunnels of Fire Dragon Mountain, with dead ends and trapped areas marked off. He studied every angle, every curve until it was locked in his memory. Somewhere, hidden inside that labyrinth of tunnels lay the chamber which held the Scepter of Domination. It was the ultimate prize: whoever held it would be ruler of all of Lodoss... He shivered at the thought of it. The conquest of Lodoss! Such a thing seemed impossible, almost too much to wish for. Yet it was within in his grasp; so close, so close he could almost feel it...

'It will be mine.' He smiled coldly at the thought. His nose twitched and he rubbed at it absentmindedly, still absorbed in the details of the map. His mind worked fervently. Before he could claim the Scepter as his own, he would need to defeat Shooting Star, the ancient dragon that guarded it fiercely. It would not be an easy task; to slay such a dragon would require unmatched skill and cunning. And so he sat now, studying this map and formulating a plan of attack which would allow him to claim the Scepter and use it against the dragon that guarded it.

He shivered again, but this time it was from the cold wind that blew through the tent's tattered flaps. It had been a brutal march from the island of Marmo to Fire Dragon Mountain, with harsh cold and exhausting terrain battering the men every step of the way. Now they were camped just a few miles away from the great Mountain, with their attack planned for the following afternoon. Shooting Star would, if everything went as planned, be out wreaking havoc while they snuck into his home and stole his prize. But they were pressed for time. Ashram had caught word that King Kashue, the Mercenary King of Flaim, was also coming to the mountain for a rendezvous with Shooting Star. He would surely do everything in his power to prevent Ashram from recieving the Scepter... Ashram reached a black-gloved hand to his side, gripping the demon sword Soulcrusher unconsciously. It glowed an ominous purple at his touch, burning with evil intent.

'To try and stop me will be your undoing, Kashue. Soon I will rule all of Lodoss...' His thoughts trailed off as his nose twitched again. He released his grip on the demon sword, recognizing the burning feeling that ran through the back of his nose...

"Ah---," his black eyebrows raised slightly as his head tilted upwards and back. "Ha---NNNmmp!!" He sneezed violently, his long nose pinched shut between his fingers. "Ahhh.." He sighed in satisfaction as he sniffled slightly, his breathing cleared from the sneeze. He turned his attention back to the map, but he continued to rub his nose frequently. He was getting sick, and he knew it; the harsh conditions of this last march had truly wearied him, physically and mentally, and now he was paying for it. Still, he wasn't the type of man to get upset or angry over something he couldn't stop. Perhaps that was why he was such an excellent leader; he accepted what he couldn't change, and dealt with it to the best of his ability. His head was beginning to ache now, and it was getting harder to think clearly. He sniffled and turned his head as another sneeze possessed him.

"Ha---MMMph!" He stifled it again, his nose aching and running freely.

<If my men could see me now> he thought wryly to himself. But he wasn't worried; if any man dared to intrude upon him they'd suffer the consequences. He doubted that any of his men would be bold enough to try it anyway. He wiped his nose on his black sleeve, wishing he had a handkerchief or even a spare piece of cloth. He coughed wearily, then turned his attention back to the map spread before him. It was going to be a long night...

A few hundred feet away from Ashram's tent, away from the dogs and men of the encampment, crouched a small figure in the spreading darkness. The wind blew fiercely through the figure's long white hair, chilling the tips of its pointed ears, but it paid no heed to the cold. Instead, it was concentrating fully the black-haired man in the tent.

'Lord Ashram....' Pirotess thought to herself.

The female dark elf had been watching him for three hours now, her elf eyesight making it easy to capture his every detail despite the decreasing light and the distance between them. Ashram had never appeared as anything but a pillar of strength to the men, but she had seen that beneath his tough facade he was tired and....lonely. And she understood that as well as anyone possibly could. Perhaps that was what had first attracted her to him, though humans were supposed to be below a dark elf's favor...

She watched as he sniffled and sneezed in his tent, shivering violently every time the wind blew. He'd gotten consistently sicker as she had kept watch; now he looked as if he was going to pass out at any moment. It had all started about five hours earlier, when she'd noticed how weary he had seemed when he'd addressed the men and decided to investigate for herself. Her heart ached for him; ached with full devotion and caring to the one man, human though he was, that she truly loved.

Ashram had been correct in assuming that none of his men dared to intrude upon him, but he hadn't counted Pirotess into that equation. Now, as she watched Ashram sneeze twice in a row, she decided she couldn't wait any longer. She stood swiftly and began walking towards the tent, fading into the shadows so successfully that no ordinary man could see her. She was about fifty feet away from the tent when a cloaked figure appeared in front of her. She jumped backwards swiftly, pulling a sharp dagger out of her belt and taking a defensive posture.

"Who are you??!" She hissed angrily.

The figure raised its head enough so that she could see who was underneath. Pirotess immediately relaxed her grip on the dagger as she recognized the man before her. It was one of the dark elves that had accompanied her on this trip to act as a bodyguard and assist in her assignment.

"Pirotess, my dear, just what do you think you're doing?" He spoke softly, but she could detect a note of accusation in his voice. Her lips twisted into a taunting smile.

"And just what business is it of yours, fool? Aren't you supposed to be out scouting for our precious Lord Wagnard?" She spat the name out as if it was bitter to the taste. She held no love for Wagnard, and he knew it; still, he was a necessary pawn in order for Ashram to reach his ultimate goal of domination.

"I noticed that you were doing some scouting of your own," the dark elf replied cooly, his eyes turning to Ashram's tent and back to Pirotess's furious face. "And I thought I'd investigate." He laughed contemptuously and continued: "Who'd have thought that of all the men in this world, a mere human would be enough to capture your heart!"

"You--" she began, but was cut off by his next words:

"He'll never love you."

For a moment, she was too stunned to respond. Then her anger took hold of her and she spat in his face. Her eyes were burning with fury, but beneath the anger she was deeply hurt by the words he had spoken, mainly because she knew they were true... But she didn't care.

"Get out of my sight. Go back to that dog Wagnard; you're both scum, not even worthy of my contempt." She tighted her grip on the dagger, as if to reinforce her words, but she knew that he would leave. She was more powerful than he ever could hope to be, and if she wished, she could kill him with a single slash. He nodded, that infuriating smile still on his face, and slid off into the shadows, back towards Marmo where Wagnard was waiting...

She watched him go until she saw him disappear into the night, certain that he wouldn't return. Then she turned her head towards Ashram's tent, watching as he sneezed forcefully into the crook of his elbow. He rubbed his reddening nose and placed a black-gloved hand on his temple. How she wished she could comfort him!

<...he'll never love you...> The words rang in her head as she watched Ashram. But it didn't matter. She loved him more than he would ever know... With a wistful sigh, she sheathed the dagger and continued walking towards his tent.

Ashram's eyes were closed as he sat and rubbed him temple with black-gloved fingers, every part of his body seeming to ache more with each passing minute. He felt horrible, so sick that he wasn't even able to sleep. He shivered violently. The meager lamp that he had to use for reading and writing was a poor source of heat, and it didn't help that the metal armor he wore was bitterly cold. He could feel it through the inadequate clothing he wore, as if he was wearing chunks of ice rather than protective gear. He wrapped his black cape around him tightly, but that didn't help either. He gave a shuddering sigh of defeat as his nose began to tingle again.

He turned his head with nary a thought and sneezed fully three times, not even attempting to stifle them and not caring if anyone heard him.

"ah...HA-ESSCH!!...."HAA-EESSSSH!......HA-ESSCH!!"

He'd been sneezing more frequently and more violently as the night wore on. His nose burned everytime he rubbed it and he was certain it was bright red by now.

"HAA-ESSSCH!!" He sneezed again, convulsively, and leaned back in his chair in a poor attempt to get comfortable. He stared at the top of the tent, his fevered thoughts running this way and that. He wondered what kind of a challenge the Demon Dragon would give him. After feeling this poorly, he didn't think that anything would daunt him. He couldn't remember the last time he was this ill; but then, he hadn't ever endured such harsh conditions before either.

It was a small price to pay, he reminded himself, if it meant that he would have the Sceptre of Domination. It would be worth it...

He leaned further back in his chair as he gathered breath for another sneeze, his nose burning relentlessly. "ahh---" he drew in a deep breath, "ahhh---HA----AESSHHHH!!!"

"Bless you, My Lord."

Ashram turned in surprise at the voice, instinctively reaching for his Demon Sword. He weakly sprung to his feet, his watery eyes focusing on the intruder. Usually he would have been able to sense them coming from a mile away...

His eyes focused on a slim, attractive figure with dark skin. He sheathed Soulcrusher as he looked at her.

Pirotess.

He sat down in his chair again, staring coldly at her. He sniffled and spoke softer than usual, his throat and nose making it hard to talk.

"What do you want?"

Pirotess bowed her head slightly in respect as she replied. "I came to see if I can be of any service to you, My Lord."

Ashram snorted laughter. "As if I would welcome the service of one of Wagnard's followers. I need assistance from no---" he paused as the urge to sneeze overwhelmed him. "HA---AESHHH!----no one. And if Wagnard thinks he can kick me off while I'm ill, he's an even bigger fool than I thought." His black eyes pierced Pirotess, so fierce despite his illness. So beautiful...

"Please, My Lord. I merely wish to assist you. That is my only desire, whether Wagnard approves or not." Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her.

Ashram began to respond, but suddenly he was wracked with coughs that shook his whole body. He bent over fully, gasping for breath, and nearly collapsed onto the floor.

Pirotess stepped forward swiftly to help him, but he snarled and motioned for her to leave him alone. She backed into the doorway of the tent and watched silently as his coughing subsided. When it was finished, he fell back into his chair, exhausted.

Silence resounded until the female dark elf spoke."I'm--I apologize, My Lord. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble. Please, forgive me." There was an unsteady note in her voice. Ashram caught it as she spoke and wondered what it meant. Surely she wasn't truly worried by his being ill? No...that couldn't be it...or could it? He found himself suddenly uncertain about this strange female before him...

"I didn't want to disturb you," she continued with a tone of regret...and sadness. "I'll leave you to your business. But please, take this first..." With a deep bow, she held out her left hand. A beautifully embroidered handkerchief lay in her palm, elven symbols stiched into the cloth with expert hands.

Ashram was taken aback. For a moment he stared at her in confusion; and then, with an unreadable expression in his eyes, he reached out and took the handkerchief.

For a brief moment, as his fingertips touched her palm, Pirotess felt them caress her skin softly. She shivered at his touch, overwhelmed with emotion...Then he clutched the handkerchief in his fingers and sank back into his chair, sniffling slightly. She raised her head and looked at him.

His black eyes pierced her crisp green ones; and something passed between them, enticing and mysterious... After a long pause, Ashram spoke. "I..." He began, then stopped. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before he continued. "I--won't be needing any further assistance tonight. I---appreciate it, though. You're dismissed."

Pirotess nodded slowly, understanding that this was how it had to be. Still, she was disappointed....she'd hoped that maybe, just maybe, something would have changed tonight... But it was foolish of her to have such dreams. She turned to go as Ashram sneezed again. "HA---AEESSH!!"

"Bless you, My Lord." She said automatically, her back still turned to him.

"...Pirotess..."

She stopped her in her tracks and stood stock-still. It was the first time Ashram had ever addressed her by name. She turned and looked at him questioningly, her heart beating a little more rapidly as she faced him. "My Lord?"

Ashram fixed her with his dark gaze, his eyes suddenly warmer and deeper than usual. A small smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "...Thank you," he murmured.

Pirotess's heart froze in shock. Had she---heard him correctly? Ashram had never thanked anyone--not even Emperor Beld, whom he had loved as a father...no one...she was overwhelmed...

<He thanked me..>

<...Me...>

Her eyes shone in the lamp light as she smiled back. "My pleasure, Lord Ashram." Then she turned and disappeared into the night.

Ashram clutched the handkerchief in his palm, rubbing it with his gloved fingers, admiring the beauty with which it had been crafted. He was staring thoughtfully at the tent flaps through which the female dark elf had just exited. He sniffled thickly, and looked longingly at the soft handkerchief shining in the lamplight. It looked very inviting indeed, his sore nose aching and burning... But he couldn't bring himself to use it. Instead, he folded it neatly and tucked it beneath his chest plate, right next to his heart. Then he turned and sneezed twice; harshly, freely. "ah.....ha...HA-ASSHHH!! HA-AEESHHH!" It was going to be a long night, he knew; but somehow, it didn't seem so bad anymore. He placed a gloved hand over his breast plate, right above his heart...

<Thank you, Pirotess...>

The End

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