Ignite: The Archangels Chronicles

After clearing their mid way check point, almost everyone was dehydrated, hungry, and more than a little irritated with the incessant buzzing insects.

One Second they were trudging over a rather large crest of a sand dune, and in the next second, Langu opened up before their eyes.

Magenta rays shot out through the deep blue sky as it shifted into night, casting a soft shadow over large ancient columns that once were tall enough to scr.a.p.e the clouds, but were crumbled and weather worn. Thick stalks of vines climbing over every inch of available stone, as if nature wanted to absorb the structures, and their magic, entirely. Like all cities, Langu had a beautiful side, with a rich culture and decent people, but unlike most cities, Langu revels in it's impoverished section of town, on the rat filled side with all the vamirs, goblins, and gravers. (disgusting creatures that disguise themselves as beautiful humans that slowly drain the life out of non-magical humans.)

The magically gifted in this city mainly got their powers through dark rituals and scarification. These spells only last so long or may only be used to do one spell at a time. That doesn't mean that these warlocks lost all power after casting one spell. Many warlocks will have a contract with a demon that will allow him to siphon off some of their dark powers to be manifested at the warlocks discretion, in exchange for so many years of their life.

The reason Langu's bloodstained underbelly is so pronounced is because of all the fighting pits, and the colossal main event, The Colosseum, built in the middle of the city where the most wealthy slave owners and tradesmen go to make bets on who will live and who will die for their entertainment.

An extra brittle draft crept through. Azreal's nerves were all bunched up. Their trek across the desert was hot and brutal, but she had a sense of unease that she just couldn't shake. Some primal sense of hers was tryin to tell her something, she just didn't know what it was.

That brunt searing wind scored across Azreals parched, cracked lips. A deep pit of dread yawned open in her stomach.

Then she felt it. The tremor in the ground.

At first it had been faint, but now she could feel its power quickly gaining speed underneath our boots.

Azreal barely had time to scream her warning to the other.

The look of confusion was quickly wiped from their faces as a massive mound of sand came barreling up from under them, lifting her helpless people in the air and letting them fall, or be s.u.c.k.e.d into the sand.

Immediately Azreal's broad powerful wings sprung out and she used her right hand to sweep in an arc under her falling people to create an invisible barrier of hardened air for them to fall on to. Next she had to save the people trapped under the sands death grip. Azreal closed her eyes, using her Earth magic she felt for heartbeats under the sand. And as she found them she would slam her fist down, making her air smash a hole in the sand, exposing the suffocating victims. With her left hand she used her Earth magic to raise the sand back to the appropriate height. She rescued fifteen of her people from the sands depths. Some were sprawled out, unconscious, and some were hacking their lungs up, kneeling in the same sand that had just tried to kill them.

Azreal would have went straight to the injured to heal them, but she had to find the source of the sands outburst before she could aid the others, or more were likely to get hurt.

Once again closing her eyes to focus, pulling in all the elements around her, letting the wind whisper its secrets in her ear. When she opened her burning eyes, she located the protection spell placed along the boarders of Langu. It looked like a knotted up ball of yarn, old and unraveling.

If the wielder casting the spell is extremely powerful the spell is more often than not, permanent. But, when someone not as skilled casts a spell, it will only last so long.

Whoever made this spell was very powerful to have lasted so long, just not as powerful as an immortal.

Some times when spells start to fray like this, they go haywire. Azreal's sheer power probably set the spell off.

Without even thinking about it Azreal crushed the spells binding in her fist.

She turned back to her people, finding them watching her.

Looking at her starved, near dead people, she knew they needed her to say something. So Azreal puffed up her c.h.e.s.t and banged it with a fist.

"WE ARE VANU" She bellowed to her crowd. These were her people.

"WE ARE VANU" she banged her c.h.e.s.t harder and screamed her war cry to the wind.

"NOTHING WILL BREAK US!" Her people were rallying around her again. Dusting themselves off and chanting with her, a feat in itself.

"WE ARE VANU!" A steady beat reverberated back to her. Some were beating their c.h.e.s.t in unison and some were stomping out the beat.

They were fighters, survivors, all of them. They had been to hell and back together, and they had made it this far. She would not fail them. Azreal caught Camerons eye in the crowd. His pride plain as day on his face, gave her confidence.

Azreal threw a fist in the air, and with a devilish smile said "Let's go show Langu who they're missing." And with that the crowd erupted in a chorus of hoots and hollers. Azreal feeling lighter than she had in years, lifted her chin and waved her people on as they set out down the last sand dune to the crumbling city of Langu.

Trudging down through the main road and between the two large stone pillars marking the entrance to Langu. This part of the city was a densely packed with people, many sellers were hawking their wares loudly over the crowded space. Azreal knew she wouldn't be able to find lodging enough for all of them, and was unsure of how to proceed with no money. She couldn't just simply announce who she was, Death Dealers would be upon this city before the sun had even a chance to shine.

Luckily that choice was made for her the instant she steeped into the market. A few of the merchants at the entrance had seen a bit of what had happened with the border spell.

An older man with deep auburn hair and a thick beard to match barreled up to them his thin, dainty wife in tow. "How did you manage to fight that spell? Your earth magic must be unparalleled!" The man gushed. His wife's face was red as she looked at him, but instead of what Azreal had interpreted as embarrassment, was apparently jealousy at not getting to ask us first, as she w.h.i.n.ed "Hunny I told you to let me do the talking!" As she batted him on the arm.

More of the crowd broke off and started rushing towards us. Azreal started to back off, feeling unsure of the new situation. 'How much had these people seen?'

When all of a sudden violent blue sparks sprayed through the air and a deep voiced boomed out "Let's give our new guests some space, huh?" The crowd immediately took a few steps back and quieted to a murmur.

Azreal looked about trying to find the source of that voice. There.

She spotted the crowd off the the left parting for someone coming directly at them.