Shaige continued up the path, the resolve of the defenders beginning to break. Many of the soldiers were fleeing for the woods beyond. The pain elementals caught some, but a good amount were still allowed to escape. Pursuing them would be of little purpose. The Klug's warlike nature meant that their neighbors would hardly be keen to welcome them. The other tribes were now watching their borders more intently than ever; these renegades would either starve in the woods, or resort to plundering. Whether they stole from the other forest tribes or fled the woods to Paterdomus' hinterlands, they would no doubt be hunted down and then hanged like the wretched cravens they were.

As the pain elementals rushed in for a bloody battle to secure the temple and dispose of the horde of mages, Shaige's attention was drawn to Ifrit. The wraith's pair of piercing eyes saw the monster clearly, through the smoke, flames, and pandemonium that had taken over the temple's serene outside. For whatever reason the scion had singled out one mage. Standing there, it almost looked as if he was toying with the human, or trying to converse with it. In the middle of the battlefield? The foolish beast!

A moment later, the mysterious woman performed an amazing feat of geomancy by bending the very rock of the hillock to engulf Ifrit, imprisoning the beast. After what seemed only a brief pause, the entire cliff face was gone. It was replaced by a thunderous boom, a great cloud of heavy, choking dust, and a cascade of falling stone. It took Shaige a moment to discern what just happened. The cavity that had trapped Ifrit had exploded, sending the beast (and a few tons of rock) flying and tumbling down the hillside, into the burning village. The Keeper now understood. This had to have been the infidel that had created the false star, an affront to his power. Now, the worm dared to attack one of his favorite minions?

This battle had proved far costlier than expected. However, thus far he had merely lost a few pain elementals and shadow beasts. While useful, the pain elementals were inferior. They were weak, had little capacity for anything spare mindless charges. They had no potential, which made the Keeper view them as even more lowly than the weakest of his Mutig followers. The shadow beasts were more valuable, however he would be able to summon that back or replace them with just some time and magic, both of which the Keeper possessed. Ifrit, on the other hand, was irreplaceable. With a seemingly unshakable loyalty combined with great strength and enough intelligence to use it, Ifrit was of a rare sort. Though some of the rogue being's last thoughts of his master had been cross, they were misplaced. Though all but impossible to tell, the Keeper had grown fond of Ifrit, and each of his distinguished minions.

So it was that Shaige abandoned his advance up the path, leaving the pain elementals to clear it for him. The wraith's form dissipated into the air, as if it had been as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. Before Emily had time to muse over the possibly vanquished Ifrit, she would no doubt be alarmed to feel a trembling in the air behind her. The odor of burned flesh, Ifrit's heavy smoke, the metallic taste of blood, all these and many more worked in synchronization to overwhelm the senses. However, one particularly distinct and pungent smell was added to the mix: the reek of the underworld, a scent twice as revolting as the rest combined. 

If Emily was not as blissfully unaware of her surroundings as an infant in its cradle, the feeling in the air, the horrible stench, and the feeling of two piercing eyes boring into her back would be enough to make the woman turn around. She would see Shaige, in all his glory and all his modesty, standing a few mere arm lengths away. Statuesque he was, poised in such a way that one could sense he was inquisitive, perhaps even bemused, even though his form was alien and rather featureless. "So this is their great sorceress," the wraith thought to himself.

Slowly, tactfully, he raised a hand. Emily did not burst into a fountain of blood, she did not have her soul ripped from her body, and was not slaughtered by her own shadow nor choked by near invisible fingers of unholy smoke. Shaige possessed the ability to do any of those things, at least on most mortals, but instead he had chosen to spare Ifrit's life. The beast quickly faded away, becoming transparent before translucent and finally vanished. The Keeper had whisked the Infernal King's Scion back to the spirit realm, in much the same way as he had when the two first encountered one another. In his comatose-like state, Ifrit would be unmolested by the plane's resident dead.

===---_---===

Fangir's face wrinkled with hatred when he recognized the Klug's champion. No doubt his adversary recognized him as well; their tribes had warred since both their grandfathers had been infants. The archdruid fell to the ground in order to avoid his foe's unexpected attack. Rolling in the damp earth to escape the reach of the champion, Fangir spotted some briars stubbornly poking out from the mud, refusing to be buried. With a flick of his wrist, the archdruid manipulated the plant. The thorns wrapped around the Klug champion's foot, digging their thorns through his clothing as they struggled to keep him entangled for a few moments.

Scrambling back to his feet a short distance away, Fangir cast another spell. His hair turned a verdant green, the color of moss. His skin grew crass and darkened in color. His flesh was being magically transformed into solid wood. With oaken flesh, the archdruid would be slower, but also far more resilient. As the transformation rapidly occurred, Fangir spat. He said to the Klug champion, "My younger brother. He was burned alive, crushed beneath the rubble of his own home when the Easterners sacked my village. Your tribesmen rummaged through his charred bones, looking for plunder to take home from my burned village, from my fallen kin. I'll piss on your corpse!"

The Mutig chieftain's right hand grabbed a dagger from his side. The blade was chipped and crooked, looted from the body of one of the knights that sacked his village. The battered handle of the blade still had a worn engraving of a prayer to Caldor's might. The archdruid brandished that blade, ready to counterattack any moves from the champion, while his left hand began to glow. Beneath the mud, in the subsoil, were hundreds of small stones. If the Klug champion did not move quick and interrupt Fangir's spell, he would find himself pelted by dozens of small, sharp rocks that would burst out from the bog underfoot.