text: [Themes: fantasy, fantasy, female protagonist]
  
  "Jerran, get ready," is all you have time to say, before the Wyrm is close enough that you can see the droplets of venom trickling from the barbs on its tail.
  
  > [Having trouble? Skip the battle.]
  As you've watched the Wyrm has been losing some of its enthusiasm for the battle, its movements and reactions growing sluggish. Panting and looking rather worse for wear himself, Jerran runs in to drive the sword into its exposed side. When this final blow is struck it staggers to one side weaving drunkenly before finally collapsing in front of the castle gate, its final growl transformed into a gurgle in its throat. Black ichor pours from its mouth and its unsteady breathing ceases.
  
  Jerran stands in a tense pose, not yet lowering his weapon. "Is it..."
  
  Dark, billowing smoke begins to pour out from the carcass. The two of you scramble backwards in alarm. The acrid stench chokes you and stings your eyes, but thankfully the exposure seems to cause no more ill effect than one would get from standing downwind of a more mundane pyre.
  
  Sparks dance in the air, and though the thick smoke still obscures your vision, some deeper part of you recognizes another movement of blasphemous power somewhere very close by. You blink your watering eyes once, twice, and then, dimly visible through the drifting clouds, you perceive a tall figure in black standing beside the pile of tarred and dried up bones that is all that remains of the Wyrm.
  
  With a small movement of the stranger's fingers, a sudden breeze springs up to blow the smoke clear. His ragged cloak flaps behind him as it catches the wind.
  
  "Olagar." The name leaves your lips with quiet certainty. Jerran locks his eyes with the wizard's, knuckles whitening on the hilt of the sword.
  
  > The Ragged King
  Olagar levels his gaze at you. His features are illuminated by the dim and bloody glow of the setting sun, and you see a tall, gaunt-faced man with his very black hair and beard grown out wild, and a cold intensity in his stare. He looks to be about forty years of age, although it's been three centuries at least since his kingdom fell.
  
  When he speaks to Jerran his voice is low, but contains an undercurrent of fury. "It has been many years since anyone has been fool enough to kindle my wrath, and yet in the space of a fortnight I am plagued twice. Allowing men to hunt the forests freely while I tended to other things was clearly a mistake, and a costly one for me...you have harmed me much this day, and accomplished what many have tried and failed. I suppose congratulations are in order, before I end you."
  
  "But your companion here..." The wizard turns to scrutinize you now. "What brings a unicorn to the gates of Castle Verayn?"
  
  Determined not to be intimidated, you boldly step forward. "I am Edelweiss. As for you, Olagar, you have gone too far. You should have stayed content with your castle and this wasteland you created around it. You and your spawn will no longer be allowed to terrorize the innocent and corrupt the land. I have joined with Jerran here to put an end to your evil."
  
  The wizard begins to laugh at that, low and deep. It sends a chill down your spine, but at the same time you begin to sense there's something else here. That same dark power you felt at work while battling the Wyrm and before that, spying on you in the forest, its source is right in front of you. Not Olagar himself...no, this is something deeper, harder to grasp. It's as if the wizard himself were merely a reflection across the surface of a deep and treacherous lake, with something wicked and ancient lurking within.
  
  "Enough! Where is Quinnara, you--" Jerran gets one step into his charge and half-raises his sword before a flick of Olagar's finger sends him crashing to the ground. He crouches on one knee, grimacing and struggling to lift the blade. His hand is pinned beneath the hilt at an awkward angle.
  
  "Take a rest. That sword looks a bit heavy for you, boy."
  
  You'll need to act quickly. You know you can't expect the wizard to be satisfied merely toying with Jerran for much longer. Yet the spell being cast right in front of you has revealed a few things. There's a tug from your horn as your own magic once again sparks and flares up within you in answer to his, and you know with almost instinctive certainty that you have the power to combat it.
  
  Lifting the spell from Jerran and rebuking attempts at further mischief would allow him to directly take his vengeance against the wizard, or...there may be another option. While the spell pinning your companion is yet in effect, you could use your magic-heightened senses to follow the tendril of dark power back to its source and learn the key to it all. Although it's risky, perhaps, and you've never done such a thing before.
  
  > lift the spell from Jerran
  Your magic continues to work within you, stronger than you've ever felt it. All that remains is to guide it to a purpose. With a toss of your head you sever the oily tendril of power that holds Jerran's sword pinned and sense it go reeling back to its source.
  
  "Jerran, now's your chance! Slay him quickly, and I'll protect you."
  
  "That's quite the promise, but do you have the power to keep it?" Olagar gestures sharply as he speaks and a flood of dark energies seek to overwhelm your companion, each individual wave cresting within forming into a specific malicious intent.
  
  Fighting to retain your focus, your own powers dance nimbly through to evade, deflect, or undo each one. Jerran meanwhile, heedless of it all, charges at the wizard and swings his sword in a wide arc. Olagar manages to throw himself backwards just quickly enough to avoid losing his head. Although as the stronger and swifter of the two, it seems a foregone conclusion that without interference Jerran will soon win the battle.
  
  Interference however, is what a wizard is best known for, and one as powerful as Olagar is no exception. Soon you're fending off another magical assault, and another, and begin to make mistakes. A movement behind and to the left draws your eye, and you suck in a sudden frightened breath as you glance aside to see the Wyrm stretching open its formidable jaws.
  
  An illusion--it takes only a moment to come to the realization and banish it from your mind, but the distraction has allowed Olagar to sweep Jerran's legs out from under him. He is quick enough to regain his feet, but his attention is suddenly elsewhere. "Quinnara?" He stares across the plain, towards the forest. "Quinnara! Is that you?"
  
  "Jerran, it's an illusion! Do not be deceived!"
  
  "But she's in danger! Edelweiss, I have to--" He takes a step in the direction he's looking with uncertainty twisting his face, while Olagar looks on with a gloating smile and lazily raises a hand. The fur along your back stands on end and you sense him gathering his magic like so many stormclouds.
  
  > keep focusing on banishing the spells.
  Olagar is still building up to something truly dangerous and so you can hardly spare the time for anymore distractions, but trying to reason with Jerran in the face of such a strong delusion will get you nowhere. Pawing the earth and lowering your head, you concentrate until you've figured out enough of the workings of the illusion to simply rip the entire spell away.
  
  Jerran blinks once, twice and shakes his head to clear it, face pale. "I heard her screaming..." he mumbles, than fixes the wizard with a hard stare.
  
  "Careful, he's casting something considerable. I don't know if--" you start to warn, but just as Olagar raises his arm to begin directing the spell, Jerran steps in with a cold, furious expression and with a swipe of his sword severs the wizard's arm.
  
  There is a gout of blood and a hoarse cry of disbelief and pain, abruptly cut short when Jerran slams the blade forward into the former king's corrupted heart.
  
  Olagar stares at him in mute horror, and when the sword is yanked free he slides dead to the ground.
  
  "Jerran!"
  
  "Now that is no illusion," you say with a nod towards the castle gates. But Jerran has already turned and begun to run toward the woman crossing the courtyard, a broad smile of joy and relief on his face. "Quinnara! Oh thank God! You're safe!"
  
  > Happily ever...
  The reunion with Quinnara is a tearful one. Her skirts and petticoats and rich auburn hair are a bit draggled, but she seems otherwise unharmed. You stand aside to give the two lovers privacy while they embrace and exchange their stories.
  
  What surprises you however is the thin and ragged serving maid that left the castle alongside her, who immediately upon sighting Olagar's body falls to her knees beside him, tears falling onto his face. "My poor, poor father...after all these years, I pray you're finally at rest."
  
  "Your father?" you ask, keeping your voice gentle, as the girl at least doesn't look like a threat.
  
  Bit by bit her story comes out. She claims to be the princess Nelathana, a young girl long ago when she saw her mother killed by a mob of rebels, and her father returning from overseas a broken man with only room for vengeance and despair in his heart from that day forth.
  
  "He locked himself in his library day and night, and I was not to disturb him. I believe he couldn't bear the sight of me any longer, it only made him wish for my mother. The kingdom was neglected, and when the mob rose up again he...something changed. I don't know what he did exactly, I didn't see him until after it was all over, and by then, he was no longer himself." She sniffles and raises a hand to scrub tears from her hollow cheeks with the end of a threadbare sleeve. "And that's not a figure of speech, I mean that truly. You may think me mad, but something else entirely, something fierce and cold had taken over."
  
  Remembering what you sensed of the unnatural darkness within the former king, you're quick to reassure the girl that you know exactly of what she speaks.
  
  "He slew the mob before the gates...all of that, everyone. And he didn't stop there. Afterwards, the city was just...gone. And the castle was overtaken by sorcery. I never was allowed to leave after that. Father never aged, and at some point I stopped too. I thought I'd be trapped in there forever."
  
  She falls silent, staring down at her father's blank eyes and bloodied form, as though searching for some sign of the life that could have been.
  
  Quinnara impresses you quickly with how kind and well spoken she proves, and in the years to come you become known as a frequent visitor to Lord Jerran and his lady's home. With her father weakened by the first witch's curse, she assumes the duties of running the estate grounds, and before long inherits them.
  
  Jerran becomes nearly as wealthy and powerful as a king in his own right, ruling his subjects fairly and justly, and together you go on to have many adventures in defense of the realm.
  
  Jerran and Quinnara, naturally, live happily ever after.