Nether

[Jetrauben]

Winter.

Snow was universal. It held the land fast in sleep beneath a soft, thick white blanket. It billowed through the air in sheets, veils of powder and hoarfrost kicked up the the northeasterly wind. It sprinkled from tree limbs swaying and groaning beneath heavy burdens like sturdy beggars, hale but weary from years of toil. It crunched with dull, muffled cracking thumps beneath boot soles, shod hooves, and the sleigh's runners.

Cassandra was dressed as best as she could for winter without immodesty and sat within the enclosed compartment of her sleigh, and still she shivered, furs or no. The young woman felt a moment of queasy guilt- others of her party rode outside the sleigh carriage as escorts, subjected to what seemed biting cold. She could have taken her place amongst them; she was supposed to be in charge, yet here she was, as usual unsuited for the rigors of the journey.

On the other hand, she had the distinct, if quite foolish, impression that if she took a step out there she would be a perfect ice statue in moments.

For once the trueborn girl envied Syeira her breeches. Leggings or no, a dress was no attire for a snowfield.

Two weeks had passed since she had bid for allies; a week and a half since the small party had departed from her manor in Vietzie. Perhaps they would near the borders of the barony of Dammerinthes by next week's Celesmorne, should they continue to make good time. Her entourage was as capable as she could have hoped; small, yes, but talented and of good repute. Then....

She was not entirely sure what came next, if she were true to herself. She had acted because she felt she must, because she felt responsible. It most certainly was not because she felt genuinely qualified to battle a corrupt artifact with a long and ominous history (if the imp Reskeis could be been believed) and malign intelligence. She alone had touched the cursed thing, and the shock had given her pause. Then had come the green flash, the explosion that blew the chapel's roof clear. Had she not hesitated- had she handed it to Reskeis, or put her sword through it- the Grimoire would no longer exist.

They had passed several travelers, many heading the other way with great haste, some disheveled and panic-stricken. Most of these passerby, if they spoke at all, were full of warnings; even the merchants in the marketplaces of Vietzie had begun to circulate ominous rumors of the place amidst the usually distressing news of the front.

Netherspawn attacks, they said- not yet on the scale of mighty armies, but seemingly content to spread pain and death as cowards rather than challenge hosts to battle. Monsters in the woods, the dead stirring in their graves. Strange behavior among the local aristocracy and townsfolk. Unearthly glimmers and lights in the night-time sky.

Of course omens were a common tale, but to Cassandra, who unlike most folk had seen the effects of the Grimoire's corruption firsthand, each new tale added a host of phantoms to already-existing fears. She wished she had been able to amass more support, but there had seemed little time. The few contacts she had possessed to House Lucaeci were all dubious, demanding proof beyond a junior member's unconfirmed fears.

No, she was wading alone in treacherous tides, and the knowledge only ate at her more as they traveled towards a land of spreading, cursed repute. She could think only of how ill-made she was for the task.

Cassandra shivered again and sat back, looking at the other occupants. She dared not vocalize her doubts. "Our course has been swift," she said instead, putting on the practiced, polite smile expected of a lady of fine breeding. "Doubtless we shall reach the barony shortly."

[WhiteKnight777]

Alexander

The Trueborn noble - a redundant phrase if ever there was one - sat in the inn's common room. Though it was otherwise fairly busy, there was a circle of unoccupied tables about them. While Alexander simply pretended it was a mark of respect, he knew that, in reality he knew it was fear. He wondered idly, as he stirred the thick stew with the ancient pewter spoon with which he had been provided, if the Shaden in the tavern were more afraid of him, or of the... creature sitting across from him. Though normally not one given to prejudice, Alexander had to admit a twinge of unease and a bit of distaste when he looked at Harker - though he masked it carefully. Something about him, and about Warbound in general, irked him. It was like looking at a failed experiment - the castoff remnant of some ill-conceived magic or unholy sorcery. He was less governed by this hatred than others of the Trueborn he had met, but his reasons were perhaps more personal than a simple racial distaste - it was his goal, in his heart of hearts, to bring the arcane and the mechanical to sentience - to find the spark of true life within the base elements, to coax from the ether the secrets of pure creation

And yet the warbound were entities only of destruction. Oh, entropy had its place, of course. Creation and destruction were equally important - if nothing was ever destroyed, all would be stagnant - and as a scion of progress, stagnation was anathema to Alexander. But destruction without bounds, blood for blood's sake, war given form - that was unsettling.

Charity, as usual, had her head in a book. He smiled fondly at her - she was his second research assistant. Alphonse, his first, had retired some ten years ago, and Charity, his niece, had taken up the position. She had her uncle's flair for the work - even with his photographic memory, Alexander couldn't remember everything - but Charity was dedicated to the work, and her penchant for organization was an invaluable asset that assisted him immesurably. She was consulting a thin volume, making notes on a map to evaluate the best route. As if sensing his scrutiny, she looked up and gave him a small smile before returning to her work. Her light brown hair framed her face, and she wore a simple dress in a matching shade. Her eyes were gray, and her face, though plain, possessed a pleasing contour to the eye. Alexander admired that - form and function, handsomely shaped but without undue decoration. A worthy goal for any craftsman.

He turned his eyes to regard his other companion. In contrast to the relatively petite charity, John was an ox of a man - Charity was fond of joking that he must have a touch of Bearkin blood in him. A blacksmith by trade, his massive, muscle knotted limbs and hirsute form lent credence to that theory. He was also a taciturn man, but Alexander knew that it was not from lack of intelligence - on the contrary, he had the wisdom to be silent when he had nothing of value to say. A trait, Alexander had to opine, that was all to rare among sentient beings of any race.

He felt a slight pain in his leg and looked down to see his familiar, Zareesa, kneading him with her claws as her tail twitched back and forth. Apparently she felt that attention not being paid to her was attention wasted, and he dropped one hand to absently stroke the back of her head as he looked around the tavern. The citizenry would occasionally cast fearful glances at them, but Alexander ignored them. He had more important things to consider. Looking over at Harker, spoke in his low, melodious voice.

"We should probably be moving soon. Unpleasant as the weather is, there's half a day left to travel in. And I doubt we've time to lose."

[yli]

Some Time Ago:

"Breathe...Breathe deep. Savor your last one...nice and slow."

There was shattered glass and the dying echo of screams. Blood, still warm and sticky, ran from the walls, soaking into the floor. There was Count von Eldingham, crawling away, the broken bones protruding through his skin catching on the thick knots in the carpeting. There were the dead bodies of his guards, what was left of them draped across the expensive furniture in less than peaceful repose, many of them having been smashed into paste. And there was this thing...the Windwalker, covered in black fire, arms wrapped in white hot lengths of chain ending in spiked studded lumps of steel as big as watermelons. Blood soaked through the bandages around its eyes, running down perfect, alabaster cheeks as it drifted slowly forward.

"I'll let you take your time..." It spoke quietly, with the voice of a young woman, the intensity of its determination was almost palpable.

Von Eldingham rolled over onto his side, trying to open his mouth to speak, only foamy blood bubbled out of his lips. Gasping, he put his hands together and began mouthing a prayer. The Count's gesture elicted merely an amused grin from his tormentor.

"You'd think it's a bit too late for that." The thing, whatever it was, stepped on von Eldingham's wrists.

As he slipped in and out of consciousness, the Count looked straight upwards. Hollow, endless nothingness stared back at him, blood streaming down her cheeks and dripping into his face. The black crystal around her neck pulsed, bathing everything with a glow that seemed to drain light back into it.

She continued to speak, no hesitation, no gloating, only a quiet, solid determination in her voice. "Why weren't you praying when you were raping those girls? Why didn't you ask for absolution then? Why wait until now? The All-Mother has already turned her back on you, Trueborn." She almost spat that last word out. "In order to gain absolution, you must first repent for your sins. Now ask yourself this; do you really have it in you?"

All the Count could do was breathe in shallow gasps, his broken ribs tearing through the expensive silk robes he wore. His eyes moved up to the portrait of his family he kept over his fireplace. He could hear their screams for mercy, and then silence. The Windwalker's expression was unmoved. She grinned as she began wrapping the chains around his wrists. One of the spiked balls was thrown over the ceiling rafters. Carefully, she hoisted the Count into the air, the loose end of the chain was tied to the other steel ball, von Eldingham dangling in place.

"No, you really don't have it in you to repent. Even when you left their bones out for the animals to pick clean. Because they were only gypsies. Nobody. Would. Mind."

The Windwalker reached in and with a sickening crunch, pulled apart von Eldingham's ribcage.

"I am Sister Ayani Ghadnan, Priestess of the Forlorn Path."

She tore out von Eldingham's still beating heart.

"I speak for my people."

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Harker

Harker Blitzengale, or as he was now known, Harker the Blighted, sat across from a Trueborn with hair the color of the night sky. Harker could tell he was nervous, but then most people were when around him. The Trueborn, Alexander, had come with some companions, a comely trueborn lass that Alexander said was his research assistant, and a huge, silent man. Harker had come with companions of his own.

Harker didn't even have to turn around to describe Rolis and Carlio, both Shaden were old time companions of his, mercenaries of the best, or worst, sort. Rolis was of average height and strong build, he had long dark brown hair that he had into a pony-tail, he was clean shaven but some say he'd be better off with a beard, to hide a series of scars cris-crossing his face, Carlio joked that shaving his beard off is what had given Rolis all the scars anyway, his eyes are thin and hard, a foggy gray in color, always looking for signs of a threat: Rolis had earned his status as a veteran by keeping alert, Rolis carried a long pike and a small shortsword on one hip, he kept the pike held easily over one arm but Harker knew from experience he could bring it to bare so fast you'd think it was always pointed at you.

Carlio seemed a contrast to the wary hard eyed Rolis. An exotic man among men, Carlio was born to the southern areas of Shade, he was tall and despite his constant efforts to build mass, he was whip-thin. To top it off, he had a shaggy mane of snow-blonde hair. Carlio's dark face was often, as Rolis put it "Marred by a ridiculously white stain of a grin" and it was true. Nether only knew how Carlio maintained such big white teeth, Carlio himself maintained that it was all the grinning he did, but Harker had met enough happy people with ugly teeth to know that wasn't the truth. Carlio's emerald eyes seemed to glow good-will and cheer. Carlio was far from the image of a well-bloodied veteran, but Harker knew just how dangerous a man he could be in a fight. Carlio carried a bastard sword in one hand and a longsword in the other.

Harker shifted the massed bulk of his armor. Harker was a Warbound, a creature of mayhem and destruction, a state which Harker gloried in. Despite the mug of ale he held in his hand Harker didn't need to drink, or to eat for that matter, but he did anyway because that's what old soldiers do on their breaks. Harker had long since adopted the position of ignoring the huddled masses, cowering in fear of him. To some Warbound it was a mark of their power over people that their mere presence caused fear and cowardice, but Harker just found it annoying. The only time people you should fear you is on the battlefield he always thought.

The Trueborn spoke up, and Harker nodded his beastly helmet, the cruel fanged mouth of his helmet, was a real mouth, and he spoke with a tinny voice, as though his vocal cords were made partly of metal. "If you say so, me and my friends are ready to move out when you are" as if to emphasize his point he downed the remaining ale in his mug, and smashed it down on the table. This caused a collective gasp from many of the patrons, before they calmed down and went back to fearfully ignoring his presence.

[Caphi]

"...shall reach the barony shortly."

The girl sitting next to Cassandra was, by all appearances, there for appearances. A traveling companion, a lady-at-hand. A young-looking, petite houri, arrayed in gold and green jewelry. Her white pants whipped about in the wind. Her hair didn't; the hair she normally let roll down past her shoulders now ended in a short fringe at her neck. Her fingers absently played across a small lute, and a slow, sleepy melody drifted about the caravan. Orynn felt her own apprehensions retreat a bit, listening to her song.

Neither a job nor a girl that would fit well with a name like "the Walker."

In this case, both job and girl were fronts. Houri have long known that adopting a feminine form usually got them more attention in shaden townships, whether in jobs or in tips. Cassandra had never seen the face Orynn considered true.

She hoped the noble would sometime soon, really. Strictly, all of Orynn's powers were available to him regardless of shape, but his preferred shape had its benefits. No, not really. Mostly he was just more comfortable in it. Loose-hanging pants and long, full hair pleased an audience, but they were distracting when Orynn was at his work. Also, he liked his hat, and the hat just didn't fit with the rest of her current appearance. It clashed, and her head was too small.

Orynn felt herself touch her own face, and jolted; the lute belched out a dissonant chord in response. What was she just doing? Trying to tip her hat, of course. The one that, for now, was ugly and too big, and safely in the bag on her lap. Her mind was fixed solidly in the future. She was too eager for this job. Too eager to be paid to explore the great Dammerinthes, undoubtedly stuffed full of secret routes, hidden treasures, and things unknown to the world. And at the behest of no less than a Trueborn like Cassandra.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and started again the calming ballad. It was more to quell her own excitement than for anyone else.

But imagine if all her jobs would be like this.

[JT Jag]

Ten days previous:

"And so I said, that's not a wildkin... that's my wife!"

The crowd laughed heartily, surrounding a blond-haired trueborn. The man of the moment, while not being the host of this engagement, may as well have been considering the attention he was getting. He wore a stylish cloak, one which was the envy of a few of the nobles there.

He poured himself a third glass of lightly-blooded wine. "Anyway, as I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself with that," this was accompanied by a couple chuckles, "I was talking about the breakthrough I had regarding aqua vitae." The air of the party grew somewhat more serious as he said the words.

"... Aqueous ethanol is the proper term, as most of you know. Anyway, I recently figured out that, when combined with lime, aqua vitae has slight combustible effect when combined with lime. So now I'm---"

The actual host of the party tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and the blond one looked back and raised an eyebrow in confusion. The host, an older trueborn in a high position of nobility in House Lucaeci, smiled and crossed his arms in a particular fashion. "Can I speak to you, Virgil?" The other eyebrow joined the other in a raised fashion to create an expression of surprise, and he quickly nodded, following the host to one of the parlor's several backrooms.

---

"You must be kidding." "I'm afraid not." The older Trueborn shook is head and took a sip of the red wine he was holding.

The other Trueborn frowned. Wearing a cloak designed for maximum protection against the cold with an eye still turned towards style, it had many hidden pockets and pouches throughout. A custom job. The blond-haired Trueborn wearing it slouched into the large seat he was currently occupying.

"You wouldn't be asking me this unless there was something in it for me. So go on." "I never told you the destination, did I?" "Nope." The elder smiled wryly. "Well, I do think you'll like this. Let's just say that... you'll have ample opportunity to utilize your talents." "Ok, then. Where?" "Dammerinthes." The younger, though not young trueborn's eyes opened wide. "I've heard things---" "They aren't rumors."

The younger trueborn paused for a long moment. After a while, he sighed deeply. "Ok. You've got me curious now."

Present day

Virgil Thorn was wearing that very same cloak, days later on a snowy afternoon. Sitting a while behind Cassie and the others, he's examining various items he had packed in the large case he brought with him. He runs his hand through his hair, pushing out a few flecks of snow that had nestled themselves in there. Closing the case, he looks toward the front of the sleigh. "Well, Lady Cassandra... I hope this trip is a pleasurable experience for both of us. I've heard good things about Dammerinthes' alchemists. I'm sure there will be many things to learn there."

[EponymousKid]

"I'm telling you, it isn't worth that much. I'm an appraiser, I know what I'm talking about." said the short, old man with the bald head and the greyed mustache. He held in his hands an ornate ring that he had been examining. Very rare, he thought, but not nearly as valuable as the man before him suggested.

The man in front of him was incredibly tall and muscular, moreso than any man you're likely to see in your entire life. From his clothes, you could tell he was a degenerate of some kind. Only vagrants and prostitutes wear vests with no shirt, after all. From his jewelry, you could tell he was a gypsy, or was one once. It's the anklets, they're crazy about those things. He was very intimidating, even moreso in the dim sunlight leaking in through the doorway.

A grimace crossed his stern face as he, Bertram Arigonias, wildkin outlaw and vagrant, spoke, his deep voice filling the small room and nearly shaking the counter with its volume. His frustration was clear as day.

"It's worth no less that forty gold pieces, which you will give to me immediately. Have I made myself clear, or would you like to hear that a tenth time?"

The old man started shaking. This wasn't going well.

"L-look, I'll give you twelve and that's-"

A colossal hand shot out at him and the next thing he knew, Bertram was holding him in the air by the head.

"I tried to reason with you. Just want you to remember that. Now, I'll have to take the ring back, as well as all the money you currently have in this pathetic hovel. Cooperate, or I'll crush your head like a grape."

---

Bertram sighed as he left the shop. He had been trying to lay low, but some people just won't listen to reason. He'd made a decent haul. He might be getting back on track. On his way out of town, he noticed a "Help wanted" sight posted on a wall right next to a "Post no bills" sign. Ridiculous as it sounds, he almost respected that, but also realized these people might be a tad desperate. Maybe even as desperate as he was beginning to get.

"A caravan..."

[WhiteKnight777]

Alexander

Alexander gave a short not and slowly rose to his feet. Pulling on his gloves and pulling the fur-lined hood of his traveling coat over his head, he placed the smoked glass lenses he wore to protect from snow blindness over his eyes and started towards the door, leaving a few coins carelessly on the table. The hood hid his amused smile from the rest of his room, as his servants fell in behind them - when the innkeeper wouldn't even approach to take one's coin, now that was fear. Whether that was a good thing or a bad one, Alexander was unsure.

Taking the map from charity, and trusting that Harker was following him, he stepped out into the cold, feeling the bite of the wind already as he began to walk forward. He had slung his traveling case over his back, and Zareesa curled up in a small pouch he carried for just such a purpose. Charity carried a number of books, and John carried nearly everything else belonging to the Trueborn. Thus arrayed, he consulted the charts, and set his course by the sun. Each step took them closer to the book. And closer, Alexander helped, to truth.

[umbralwarrior]

Charoxtre

The fox-man, Charoxtre had become a staple to those who travelled with the Trueborn, Lady Cassandra. He moved freely about the caravan of the Lady’s house, his movements light, leaving nary a trail in the snow as his fleet form passed. Often, he would leave the trail for a time, returning later with a new acquisition, some herb, mineral or, on one or two occasions, certain poisonous creatures (and in one case, just the creature’s venom sac).

The Seelie, known for his healing and skills at anything alchemical, made cough medicines, antidotes to poisons and even brews to ward off the chill of the winter snow storm. The Seelie seemed oblivious to the cold. He wore heavier clothing than usual but he never seemed to grow cold or tired. He simply kept on going. Ever one with a warm smile and a kind word to those he travelled with, it was also not unknown for the Vix to stop to tend a wound or an ailment of someone going the opposite direction to his lady, then catch up later.

Right now, the Foxman walked lightly beside the covered sled and passed a small bottle in to those inside, “Drink some of this, it will ward off some of the chill,” he said. With that, he closed the carriage again and continued his travel with the lady.

Charoxtre was a strange sort, in a way. He was very helpful. Probably too helpful. Whether it was healing an injury or tending the sick or simply helping to cook, clean or anything that was required, he never complained, never spoke a harsh word and accepted his lot with aplomb and discipline. The only time he would ever refuse a task was if it went against his own code of ethics which, he was thankful for, hadn’t happened yet.

The weapons he carried drew interest from the few soldiers that travelled with them. Charoxtre, having trained his whole life in armed and unarmed combat, had earned a degree of respect when he was asked to show what he knew. The young soldier chose a sword as his weapon. The Vix, simply his hands. The young man was fast, but the Vix’s natural agility and further training had made him as fleet as the running doe. He’d let the boy swing twice before he stepped into the swing, catching the boys wrist in the hook of his hand. He twisted that hand clockwise as he slid his right foot back, then, placing his left hand on the young man’s elbow, sent him diving into the snow. Charoxtre still held the sword.

Thankfully (as far as Charoxtre was concerned), that was the end of that, however, he had been asked to teach which, when they stopped for a night, he did (when he was not required for other duties. The Spetum was a weapon that he kept close to him at all times, it was his most dangerous weapon against a foe that was naturally averse to his being. He could drive the prongs into a Nether creature then channel his own life energy into them, not only making the wound far more grievous but making what would have been a touch on the skin into a touch within the creature. Needless to say, this tactic was devastating against the Nether, though over use tired him considerably. The staff on the other hand, was of wood, though it was nigh on unbreakable. This was the Seelie’s main weapon when a weapon was called for and unarmed combat was impractical.

Charoxtre continued to weather the storm in his usual way as they travelled the miles to their destination.

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Harker

Stepping outside he could see the cold air curling from the trueborn's mouth, he looked around at the cold snow everywhere. Rolis and Carlio wore thick fur coats and leather armor. Harker supposed it was cold, but being an unholy warmachine bound to his armor, he couldn't really tell. He followed Alexander, his metal feet trudging through the snow as the trueborn rifled through his belongings and brought out a map, checking it to the sun. Harker quickly lost interest, such things had never really appealed to him which was just as well.

Instead, Harker hefted his axe. He ran his hand over the head of the axe lovingly, as though it were a loyal pet, and the axe's answering growl, audible only to him and those magically inclined, only added to the image. For, the axe was alive, it shifted in his grip. It even looked alive, from the leather-bound haft that seemed like real skin, to the muscle-like metal that made up the head, right down to the mean looking serrated teeth on the blade-side. Harker smiled fondly, the beastly look of his helm a match for the animal hunger of his axe.

[yli]

"That bastard...those anklets belonged to my sister. You sure he was wearing them?"

The old man sitting on top of a broken counter nodded sullenly, "you mean the ones with the green stones, big as quail's eggs? I know what you're talking about. Shame that he had to ruin them."

The young woman sitting next to the old man had her blond hair in braids down to her waist. Amber beads and gold wire were strung intermittently throughout its length. She wore three necklaces, a small gold one with a few rubies tucked in, a hemp cord with a black crystal, and a necklace made of Trueborn teeth, 14 pairs of fangs to be more precise. Despite the bitter cold outside, she wore only a white linen tunic, a short skirt, black leggings and heavy winter boots. Lengths of chain, with links as thick as a man's finger were wrapped around her skinny arms, as were bracelets, twisted from gold wires by the finest jewelers. Of course, the old man didn't notice any of this, all he was staring at was the blindfold and the dried blood on her cheeks. That, combined with the coruscating black flames that seeemed to trail from her body, made the old man shudder a bit on the inside. Normally he would be running the other direction, screaming for dear mercy from the All-Mother while trying to find the nearest Paladin to purge the wicked taint that was within breathing distance of him.

Sister Ayani Ghadnan just happened to be the nearest Paladin. Vietzie wasn't a backwater, but the Aegis, Scutarum and Hypastis orders couldn't be bothered to start any sanctuaries in the town. Despite being demonic aberrations, the Priests and Priestesses of the Forlorn Path were the only order that could be reliably counted upon to service towns too minor for the other militant orders to care about. Despite her obvious disfigurement, the jeweler felt strangely at ease with Ayani. After all, she wasn't trying to kill him, nor was she forcing him to clean out his safe.

"What you're telling me is that he's a homicidal maniac."

"Yes, and also a chronic liar, thief and con-artist. From what I can tell, he only goes after targets he knows won't be missed, street kids, beggars, prostitutes, gypsies..." Ayani trailed off at the last word as rage bubbled in her otherwise calm voice. She could still feel the stiff, frozen bodies of the dead children in her arms. "You can tell he has no compunction with murdering people when it's convenient for him."

"You mentioned gypsies. You're from the..." the old man took a long look at the bracelets on Ayani's wrists, "you're from the Serevetti band, Datal Kinshp, what's your clan name?"

"I'm from the Ghadnan branch of the Datal Kinship, How could you tell?"

"Your warding bracelet uses a 6-2-2-1 wire weave, which is the traditional weave of the Serevetti band, and the inset jewels have centrifugally casted mounts, which is something that only the Datal Kinship has the resources and skill to execute. I'll give you 54 crowns for the bracelet and 105 for your earrings, they're absolutely magnificent."

"Back on the job again?" Ayani couldn't disguise the sardonic edge in her voice. Those earrings had belonged to her grandmother.

"He didn't clean me out all the--Oh... did I just...? I apologize for my..."

Ayani just smiled. It was clear the Old Man was very, very good at what he did. So she decided to ask the question she had been meaning to ask in the first place. "Did he try to sell you a ring?"

Ayani just smiled. It was clear the Old Man was very, very good at what he did. So she decided to ask the question she had been meaning to ask in the first place. "Did he try to sell you a ring? It was... there was a big stone in the middle."

"Do you have any idea where he went?"

"Some caravan, headed towards Dammerinthes, left about 3 nights ago."

"Everyone wants to be the big damn heroes. It seems uncharacteristic of our mutual friend to go towards the danger. He would have found another job...unless..."

"Well?"

"I'll find the caravan."

[Silverkiss]

Gregorius

Gregorius could hear nothing but the sound of the snow falling around him. He could see nothing, only a white veil everywhere he looked. However, he knew he was in the right direction. He could feel it. A dark, omnious presence. Something terrible. And he was heading straight to it.

Climbing over a small hill, Gregorius tried recognizing where he was. There's no use, he thought, I have no clue about where I am. Nevertheless, I must press on. Without a second thought, Gregorius moved forward, feeling the ground ahead with his wooden staff. Slowly, the white veil before Gregorius' eyes began to fade. Less snow was falling now, and the scenery was finally visible. As soon as Gregorius left the woods and began walking on the road, he was certain that he was on the right direction; there were many people going the way opposite of his, but none the other way around.

"Hey, you ! Yes peasant, you, come over here." - Stopping one of the fleeing men, Gregorius asked for information - "Tell me, from what do you flee ?"

"Dammerinthes, my lord. The place is cursed. Cursed, I say !" - The man shouted, resuming his walk, too afraid to stop on the road to chat with a stranger, even if that stranger was a Trueborn.

A cursed land, huh ? We'll see... Without much worry, Gregorius continued on his way.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

"...sure there will be many things to learn there..."

Cassandra looked back up and studied yet another reason to keep her composure firm and proud. Virgil Thorn was a member of her House in high standing, a respected and talented alchemist of great repute. She was still amazed that he had deigned to join her at all; among all the varied members of the party he alone was not under her direct employ.

They had only met once or twice before, both only in passing. His company was a high honor, even if Cassandra wondered to herself if the man was quite certain of her purpose. She might learn many things in Dammerinthes, but few of them, she suspected, would be comfortable knowledge.

"Perhaps," she replied, directing her best wistful smile and a polite nod his way, "lest fortune betray us. I thank you for your company, sir. It cheers me."

She sipped the little tonic Charoxtre had handed her. Charoxtre. Such a dear, even if he seemed almost unnervingly polite. Cassandra had met the lone healer in the township of Misthame, working for minimal pay among the sick. He had since accompanied her almost without question, and while she took pains to pay him well she was almost certain he could have found better employment elsewhere.

Charoxtre and Syeira alone among her attendants truly understood the nature of their desination; her words to the others had been, of necessity, somewhat vague. That the vix was so willing to face harrowing danger again only made her feel her own fears more keenly and self-consciously.

Then she looked to the houri girl and winced at the momentary discordant notes. Orynn was another enigma. The girl was certainly a talented minstrel; Cassandra had hired her mostly to keep up appearances. She knew well that she could not simply charge in as a knight might, sword brandished high. Subterfuge and investigation were called for here, and for that she needed the accoutrements of rank and standing.

Yet Orynn had taken Cassandra aside and offered herself as scholar and investigator as well as pleasant company. It was hard to picture the houri as a cats-paw, though; she seemed far too fragile and eager for that, even though Cassandra knew well enough to not take her temporary lady-in-waiting's appearance as any guide to her limitations.

"M'lord Thorn, Orynn," she asked, trying to ease her mind again. "If it be not discourteous, might I ask how your trades found you?" Conversation was good. It delayed the point when she would have to either sit there and let her fears gnaw at her, or she would have to face the biting wind outside.

----

Reskeis

Near the rear of the small party's formation, a dusky young man lagged behind, what little skin remained visible behind thick furs somehow contriving to look dusty even in such conditions. He appeared to be having some difficulty controlling his mount in the deep snow, but paid surprisingly little attention to his troubles. Behind a protective scarf his mouth was open in an expression that would have looked extremely out-of-place on his natural features: genuine, almost childish wonder at the wintry scene around him.

Reskeis had rarely seen proper, powdery snow. Storms in the Nether tended towards the ferocious, and the area of his birth wasn't known for snowfall to begin with anyways. Of the snowstorms he could remember, most had been thundersnow, making it dangerous to poke your head outside unless you liked eating a lightning bolt, or rains of hard ice like murderous hailstorms gotten way out of hand. Any snow that made it to the streets was slush in hours or days.

He remembered only one other time when the snow had fallen gently and powdery; it had been on his tenth birthday. He'd clung to his ma an' da that day more than he'd ever admit to anyone, because it was going to be one of his last with them. It had been a good day; they'd given him his first real dague and a heap of good food. His ma and da had been cheerful and brash in a peculiarly brittle way, but after the snowfall abated they'd lit a fire out on their roof and had their meal amidst the glimmering drifts, telling stories for hours. The memory gave him a flicker of warmth.

This snow was different, even from that one powdery memory. It felt...soft. It was peaceful, and made you want to sit and think- and if you tuned out enough, you'd soon be real peaceful, he reminded himself. Peaceful and cold and still. Nether or Lightwalker realm, you couldn't let your eyes off the wilderness for too long, or it'd find some new and amusing way to bite you in the privates.

As far as Reskeis knew, none of the Lightwalkers suspected. He'd given them the alias of Jed; the mongrel girl from back in the manor months ago had given him a funny look, but passed it off, evidently, since she hadn't spoken to him since beyond orders. The gypsy- she might suspect, so he tried to steer clear of her, her and the fox-man. It wouldn't do to give them any ideas, even if they would have trouble seeing his current ruse.

It didn't surprise him too much. He had been a little shocked, himself, at how well the trick worked. He was still getting used to the strange, weak feeling of a Lightwalker semblance. His missing wings felt like someone had taken the sky from him, and the soft skin seeme unpardonably frail. No wonder they wrapped themselves up in so many layers, even without the bitter cold.

Reskeis urged the animal beneath him into a quicker trot. It gave him a look that it probably meant to be uncooperative; he'd seen considerably worse, so it didn't bother him. Recalcitrant animals were easy challenges to overcome.

Oh, damn. The fox-man was getting closer again. All he'd need was the gypsy and they could have a scrape right there in back with no one the wiser. Reskeis forced himself to stay calm, fighting the instinct to draw and dare them to do something. Counterproductive. Just another Lightwalker merc, having some trouble with his horse. And freezing his arse off.

"'Ello," he said, under the theory that the more casual he acted the better it would be for both of them.

[JT Jag]

Virgil

Virgil closed his case with a smile. "It's a funny story, really."

28 years ago...

"I'm finished. It's over. I can't---" "Get a hold of yourself, Virgil."

Virgil Thorn was slumped over his desk, a young trueborn woman hovering over him. "Virgil, you can't do something stupid like this." "Well, what do you suggest, Lucia dear?" The last two words were coated in bitterness. "You know what happened. All that blood is on my hands!"

He wasn't entirely surprised when she slapped him. "Come to your senses, brother! You know that it wasn't... entirely your fault. And the mission was a success!"

Virgil sighed and returned to the paper he was writing. "Perhaps, depending on your definition of 'success'. Our goal was achieved, but at an unacceptable cost."

Lucia sighed, and then stared at Virgil. "But that wasn't your fault, Virgil! You wanted to go in and extract the house's head directly, and they went in through the front door instead!" "AND IT'S MY FAULT I COULDN'T CONVINCE THEM!" The fury of that last sentence is startling, and Lucia takes a step back.

"... Lucia. Sis, I'm sorry---" But she had already left the room in tears. He buried his head in his hands. "I can't do anything right..."

---

"I used to be in house security." The smile dimmed oh-so-slightly, but small enough to be almost imperceptible. "My last act there was marshaling one multi-House coalition effort to punish another House that had... fallen. I retired on good faith with the higher-ups."

The smile reasserted itself as he gained momentum. "I got bored, so I took up alchemy. It started as a hobby, but it turned out I was pretty good at it. I'm probably of more use to the house now then I was when I was a glorified bodyguard." He looks away from Cassandra, gazing down the road. "And my hobby has led me here, it seems."

[yli]

"'S a real honor to have you along with us, Sister Ghadnan." Martius, the leader of the caravan ladled out another steaming bowlful of stew for himself. The cauldron sitting over the roaring campire was bubbling. It smelled warm and good. The others in the caravan, rough looking traders and mercenaries, quietly huddled close to their own fires as they ate.

"Pleasure's mine, sir." Ayani took a sip from her own bowl, letting the warm liquid slide down her throat. "So, what's this caravan carrying?"

"Medicine, water cleansing agents, the things people in Dammerinthes need. Everyone else turned tail and started to run, but there's still people there. We've got to help."

"Seems like you'd trust anyone."

"What now?"

"Who have you hired these past few days?" asked Ayani as she took another sip from bowl.

"A couple of workers, mostly Shaden, and a Wildkin scout."

"Bertram?"

"How did you know his name?"

"How did you hire a guy wearing a couple hundred crowns worth of stolen jewelry? Those anklets he wears, those are my sister's."

"We need everyone we can get. Sure, some of my hands don't look too trustworthy, but I know who to trust, I've been doing this for years."

Ayani just nodded. "I checked up ahead today. Your trustworthy scout is leading your caravan towards an easily bypassed defile. Perfect for shoving a few of your wagons into."

"You mean..."

"I mean the scout you hired wants to clean you out."

Martius sighed. "So what do you propose?"

"Avoid the defile for now, you can take one of the trails following the Tyor River. It'll add a couple days onto your journey, but it beats losing your cargo. As for your scout, don't do anything for now, I'll take care of him when the time comes."

"What did Bertram do to you?"

"Huh?"

"What did he do to you? Or more specifically, what did he do to wrong your band? You didn't come to us as a cleric. You came to us as a self-righteous gypsy princess hellbent on seeking vengeance, and if there's anything I've learned from my mother, it's to never trust a gypsy. You're a cleric, I'll give you the full respect your post deserves, but I won't stand any gypsy blood feuds in my caravan, understood?"

Ayani slunk back with a groan. Thin rivulets of blood ran down her cheeks as she cradled her face in her palm.

They were going through the defile. But what about Dammerinthes? The rumors were true, they had to be. Columns of refugees on the roads up ahead, by the thousands.

She finished her food, thanked Martius and leapt into the treetops. Ayani glided on the air as easily as a feather as she soared into the moonlight.

Keeping watch didn't mean standing still.

[EponymousKid]

A caravan. It was carrying valuable and important medicine to Dammerinthes. He couldn't believe his luck. They were desperate enough for help to hire him, for one thing. He was sure he wouldn't make it past the interview until they told him there wasn't one, he was in.

For now, it was work. He had three meals a day, and sort of a roof over his head. The bare minimum of comfort. He couldn't stand it. The region he was headed for was ideal. News wouldn't travel out of the area very well, and it wouldn't be suspicious to hear that a caravan that went in and things didn't go well for it.

As a brigand, he'd knocked over dozens of caravans just like this one. But it's different working a job like this from the inside. Very different. Opportunities were likely to present themselves left and right. He just had to be patient. Wait. He'll get his chance, he thought as he trudged ahead of the caravan, wading through the snow and suffering through the winter cold without even a shirt on his back. Frost was forming on the tips of his hair. He would get his chance.

There was, however, one thing. Her. That... woman. The blind girl from a few months ago. He knew she was there, and he knew she probably didn't know he did.He could smell her coming a mile away, from that putrid perfume she wears to the dried blood around her eyes. The cold had its effects on him, but nothing could keep him from noticing her. Just thinking about her made his blood boil, but he couldn't take her on directly. He'd either have to wait for her to show herself, or force her hand. He was beginning to like the sound of that second one.

He shouted back to the caravan, feigning a slight sense of urgency. "Leader! You'd better come look at this!"

[yli]

"Strange weapons you've got there." The grizzled caravan leader sat on a fallen log in the snow, chewing a fat wad of tobacco. Martius gave Ayani a sideways glance as he cleaned his blunderbuss, being careful to give the weapon a good coating of oil. Ayani responded with a quizzical expression.

"What? You mean...ummm?" Half the spikes on the chains around Ayani's arms dug point first into delicate flesh, always on the brink of drawing blood. They twisted and writhed like iron snakes, ocassionally slipping into the snow.

"Your chains, Sister." Martius snapped the lock back into his weapon and rolled a fistful of lead balls down its funnel shaped barrel. "Don't they hurt?"

"Your tobacco, isn't it a known carcinogen?"

"What now? I'm not too well educated in the ways of the..."

"It causes cancer...errr...the crab lumps." Ayani switched back to the simpler peasant term when it became clear that he wouldn't understand what she meant.

"So? It's not like I mind. I've lived long enough, had me a fair share of adventuring."

"Dying of cancer is incredibly painful."

"I'd say it makes things more interesting. Last thing I want happening to me is that I die peacefully in my sleep. Figure the All-Mother's going to have to drag me kicking and screaming to her realm."

"I don't think the All-Mother would appreciate that."

"I'm not a devout man, Sister Ghadnan. But I appreicate your concern."

"What was that?" Ayani turned her head towards the treeline.

"Was what?" Martius cocked his blunderbluss, a hint of nervousness in his voice. The caravan's fires were pinpoints of light in the forest's suffocating darkness.

"It's your valiant scout. Whatever it is, it's not an intruder, otherwise he would have started screaming like an idiot. Man's a coward to the bone."

"There's loads of suspicious things in the forest." Martius gestured for a few of the caravan guards to come with him. "Sister Ghadnan, go check up ahead for anything dodgy looking, you gentlemen, follow me."

Bertram's darkened silhouette came up against the washy grey background as Ayani darted through the treetops. She shook her head. Nothing, not even a disruption in the snow. What was he trying to pull?

Martius made his way to Bertram, looking slightly miffed that he had to get up. He turned to his scout and shook his head. "Well, I'm here, now what?"

[umbralwarrior]

"'Ello," he said, under the theory that the more casual he acted the better it would be for both of them.

Charoxtre approached the guard. He'd done the rounds, offering his warming brew to all who would drink it. He responded to the man with a pleasant smile and a twinkle in his eyes, "hello yourself. Having problems with your mount?" he asked, smiling slightly before offering up the flask, "this should help against the cold," he said.

This new one was strange. He kept to himself and Charoxtre wasn't sure of the man but there was a certain familarity about him he couldn't place. Maybe it was in the man's speech or his mannerisms, however, to this point, the Fox-man had no reason to doubt the other, so treated him as he did any other traveller in the caravan.

Having noted the other's look of awe as he'd looked around, Charoxtre added, "I love this time of the year, when the silvery blanket of snow sheathes the land in silent, ethereal beauty," he said as he looked round them, falling into step beside the other's horse. "The crisp air and tingling cold of teh day makes one feel truly alive!" he grinned at the one he walked alongside.

[Caphi]

Orynn sighed, and drew a mellow and sweet tune out of her strings. "And me... I think I never really 'found' my calling. I've just always been thirsty to learn and know more about things. Once I finished my schooling, such as it was, I just decided I wanted to wander the world and drink in as much knowledge as I could. Of course, that includes immersing myself in different races and worldviews, so within a couple years of wandering, I started meeting with nobles as well as mingling in taverns. It's nervous business sometimes, but I've had many interesting jobs. Private performances, accompaniment, even serving parties..." Stealing secrets, infiltrating strongholds...

She struck a gentle chord. "And from there, I offered myself to Lady Cassandra a couple of weeks ago, and here I am."

She smiled cheerily at the nobles. Small talk. What would Virgil say if Orynn were to tell him who she actually was?

[Lord_Asmodeus]

*bump*

(OOC: This still happening?)

[EponymousKid]

The snow continued to fall lightly on Bertram's bare head and shoulders. The latest in a long list of experiences he vows never to go through again. He regarded the grey-haired man with a grim face, his vest's thin fabric clapping slightly in the wind. Being sure to make his tremendous size as apparent as possible to his employer, he decided that he would try to make this as easy as possible for both of them.

"Now what? Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought we'd discuss my situation for a moment."

"Your situation?"

Bertram wanted to tell him the things he was really unsatisfied with. The way that he's standing in the middle of a snowstorm without a shirt on. How he gets a small bowl of warmed over mush for a meal three times a day, and sleeps in a tent that doesn't keep the cold or the dampness out. How most slaves are afforded more luxury than he is, and how his pay is only slightly higher than theirs. That would have to wait. Bertram indicated the guards before speaking again.

"For one thing, I can see that you don't trust me. And why wouldn't you, I wonder?"

Martius grew slightly peturbed and genuinely confused. What had seemed like a perfectly rational action to him, brining guards along with him while he spoke with Bertram, had proven shortsighted.

"Well-"

"Don't even. I know. That... witch. I'm sure she advertised herself as a cleric, but she's only fooling herself."

"Oh, dammit. Look, I wont be part of any kind of vendetta or nothing! If there's trouble between you two, you can settle it after I'm through with you!"

"Hm? Oh, there's that. Honestly, I was planning on that anyway. No, I want to warn you. She's a murderer and a liar, and you'd best behave yourself around her. Also, tell her that I want to talk to her.", he said before turning his back to Martius and going up the path. Bertram sighed as he walked up the road. His least favorite person was giving him trouble again.

[Jetrauben]

((Yes. I'll be timeskipping us into the outskirts of Dammerinthes once we get some posts from a couple other folks who have yet to do so. Feel free to post activity in the meantime if you feel it appropriate, or to timeskip your own group into the barony's outskirts. If you need information about the barony, feel free to PM me.))

[WhiteKnight777]

(My apologies for the lack of postage... My subscription here somehow didn't go through and I'd thought the game had died 'till I rediscovered it. Also, having a little trouble writing longer, simply because there's not a whole lot to do with just two people.)

Alexander

The travel went by quickly, or at least so it seemed. Alexander spent the time on the road in contemplation, and each night he and his assistants would set up the equipment from his magical carrying case and spend several hours tinkering with various devices and experiments. Alexander kept meticulous notes in a massive leather-bound grimoire, and the light of obsession shone in his eyes whenever he pondered their goal. If they succeeded... Well, in Alexander's experience, knowledge, particularly that which others didn't want you to have, was too valuable not to pursue. Forbidden fruit was oft the sweetest, and for the fruit of knowledge that rang doubly true. One evening, as they drew nearer to the borders of Dammerinthes, he turned to Harker, a smile playing upon his face. Though he still vaguely disliked the creature, he had to admit that it was interesting, the way his spirit was bound to its metal shell. Though it seemed an abomination, he wondered if it might have more... useful applications in his

"Tell me, Harker... what is it you're searching for?"

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Harker

Hmm? Harker looked up, not startled but a bit surprised, he shrugged his big metal shoulders, the armor that was his body clinking. I want what all things like me want, I want to fight, I want to battle, I want war. For what I'm searching for HERE specifically, well, money. I need wealth, and power, so I can fund an army of my own, to crush the worthless worm who stole my old bands castle and drove them out...

[graypheonix85]

(OOC, but I've been busy, haven't been able to do much more than work and classwork the last 2 weeks, it's sucked, haven't even been able to get enough sleep some nights. Here's my post).

Jerrid

The snow swirled in lazy patterns, crossing and tracing the well worn dirt road, the dark night itself a startling contrast to the swirling white that falls, little light getting through, but the snow seems to glow, providing some small illumination, as a human figure runs at the speed of a horse's gallop, without any sign of tiring, racing towards his destination, silently, as others fled in the opposite direction in the daytime, with the road inhabited solely by him this night.

Wearing two cloaks instead of his normal one, both bearing bright colors meant to catch the eyes of potential listeners on a dark night in a warm tavern, the cloaks stream out behind Jerrid at his rapid pace, his face protected by a scarf and goggles he periodically wipes, but his eyes even through the goggles show only stony determination, looking forward, toward his target.

'Damerinthes. Home to many alchemic great works. Damerinthes. Home to an old friend. Damerinthes, home to his destination, to a family friend, and a possible marriage to Kamille. I cannot allow this place to fall, it holds too much. Kerteh I will not fail. I have too much at stake here.'

He runs, through the night, hoping to reach a group headed in the same direction by dawn, if only to have additional targets for his enemies, so he is not the sole target of those he might face.

'I just hope I'm not too late, there is too much at stake to fall just yet.'

Then he sees it. A faint light ahead, perhaps 3 miles at most. "Finally, someplace to eat, and maybe some help in the miles ahead." As he slows his pace to catch his breath a little and be prepared for a fight if needed, Jerrid thinks that maybe this might not be so bad, or at least he hopes so.

[Skellie]

With the ease of practice, Devyn gently tugged the reigns of her bay roan, turning the beast back in the direction of the caravan. Snow billowed from beneath the animal’s hooves and splashed over her boots, melting from body heat and then freezing again as tiny crystals of ice.

The houri paladin had gone ahead of the others to scout the trail, making sure it was free of bandits or other such unsavory obstacles. The snowfall crunching under her mount's hooves left a clear trail, but she wasn’t worried. She had spotted nothing suspicious yet, and to all appearances the landscape was empty of human inhabitants. Undoubtedly the weather accounted for that, but the woods up ahead might prove more shelter for unpleasant folk.

Devyn urged her mount back towards the small party. The sleigh loomed up ahead, and as she passed the foremost walkers she waved jauntily, her face rosy despite the cold thanks to houri biology. One or two stared enviously after her, and Devyn felt a warm little glow at their obvious admiration. She was doing well!

As she pulled up next to the sleigh the paladin lifted up a hand. The sleigh’s drivers momentarily halted their horses, and Devyn swung down from her saddle. She pulled herself up onto the sleigh and swung open the door, stepping inside the enclosed compartment in a momentary swirl of frost particles. As she entered the houri put one hand to the symbol of her order emblazoned over her breastplate and whispered a hymn, and the suit began to collapse onto itself, pieces folding up into other pieces with tinkling notes, leather undersuit rasping and dissolving into thin air. By the time she had shut the door the paladin’s armor had reduced itself into a holy symbol hanging on a thong around her neck, and was clad instead in a soft blue tabard and breeches.

“The road’s clear!” she announced, inclining her head momentarily. “The woods ahead may be a little trouble, but there don’t seem to be any bandits around right now.”

[Jetrauben]

This post was written in concert with Mirshann.

Cassandra

Cassandra nodded politely as the other two told their stories. She thought it interesting, but probably wise, that Orynn kept her private mention of her other talents hidden from the other Trueborn. Sir Virgil was clearly a noble man, but such things were best kept, well, private. Surely he would have understood.

She shivered as the door opened and a swirl of cold air billowed into the compartment, wincing and reminding herself to make sure the small brazier of coals used to heat the interior was reheated when they stopped. As Lady Devyn climbed into the compartment, Cassandra’s eyes widened and she could hardly help suppress the envy- the woman didn’t even seem cold! It was simply unfair that a lady be so beautiful and wear a paladin’s mantle, Cassandra thought.

And she has such regal stature, Cassandra whined mentally. Even in a lighthearted mood, she looks perfect. Is the woman a queen?

“Thank you, Lady Devyn,” the trueborn replied. “Your assistance has been invaluable. Would you take your ease for a time?” She summoned her determination and plastered a cheery smile on her face. “’Twould seem fit for me to dare the cold for a span.” Rising from her cushioned chair she braced herself for the cold and pushed open the door, happy her pained grimace was hidden from view as the feeling of being scoured by frozen curtains swept across her.

----
Reskeis and Syeira

Reskeis wasn’t entirely certain how to react. Surely the damn fox-man isn’t serious? he thought to himself. Do these people seriously speak like that? Without much in the way of a reply, he just nodded once or twice, and mumbled “Sure thing, mate,” beneath his breath.

Something in his peripheral vision… Oh, lovely, he thought. It would just figure…

Syeira kept to the shadows as best she could. Even though the man had done nothing to warrant suspicion, something about him made her wary. Something she couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the way he kept to himself- drinking occasionally with the other men, yes, but never to excess. His interactions seemed furtive, controlled…

Reskeis forced himself to remain calm with what seemed like a supreme effort. The concealed imp wished he was on more familiar territory- were he dealing with his own kind he knew precisely how to have driven the unwanted supervision off, by beating enough sense into them to let them know you weren’t to be trifled with. That wouldn’t work here….so what would? Stay still. Let the obnoxious wench know you’re being watched and you have nothing to hide….

He very carefully inclined his head in her direction and raised a hand to wave.

Syeira frowned, his noticing her only giving rise to her suspicions. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled lightly. Lightly, she waved back, trying to outmatch him in casualness.

Reskeis deliberately turned back to his trudge through the snow. Great. Now I’ve more to worry about… And that was when he started feeling the prickling too.

----
Martius

“Hold!” The imperious command rang out from the cliffs to either side of Martius’ caravan, sharp, angry, accented with the dialect of Shade’s southern regions. “You lot, hold!” The speaker strode out of the shadows ahead, a man clad in a bloody red robe and a burnished breastplate, brandishing a torch and a long sword. A copy of the Prophecies of Immaculus swung at his hip, a holy symbol upon his breast. His eyes were hard and suspicious.

In less time than the telling might take, red-clad men and women with grim, often-scarred faces had surrounded the entire caravan, faces fixed in religious zeal. Martius returned their stare without blinking. He knew men like these, and knew the best way to deal with them was to present a stern, calm face- to act as if they didn’t frighten you. That was nonsense, of course; he knew Inquisitors well enough to realize trying to predict their actions was madness in itself, but…

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

“Are you the master of this caravan?” the Inquisitor retorted, sweeping his torch closer to see the man with whom he was conversing. The zealot didn’t even seem phased by the cold, and his expression was grim, but he didn’t seem ready to attack…yet. In lonely places like these, though, that could change very, very soon.

“Aye,” Martius replied. “We’re peaceful. Carrying medicine to Dammerinthes at the order of local surgeons.”

“So you say.” The Inquisitor didn’t seem impressed; Martius breathed a sigh of relief at having sent Sister Ghadnan ahead. These lunatics might have taken her poorly. “Your name? I want to see papers.”

“Martius Avenon, of Vietzie, Master Trader of the Wayfarer’s Guild of Merchants.” He did not reach for any papers; if the Inquisitor thought he was going to bow and scrape to him!…

The other man mulled over it slowly. “I am Brother-Captain Laertes. You name your purpose as trade in Dammerinthes. Surely you know of the cloud over that unhappy land? What would possess you, a timorous merchant, to enter a land of heretics and corruption?”

“Aye, but the faithful will need succor more than ever,” Martius replied, playing his game. “My caravan and I are aware of the risk.”

“So you say,” the Inquisitor replied suspiciously. He motioned to his men. “You will permit us to search your wagons for suspicious persons.” It wasn’t a request. “Should we find any heretical objects, texts, or persons, you shall be held and put to the question.”

That’s what you think, Martius thought hotly. Still, he let the other Inquisitors approach. What could he do to stop them? “I am confident you shall find nothing amiss,” he said, inclining his head despite the strong temptation to put his fist through the other man’s jaw.

As his subordinates filed through the assembled merchants and guards, Laertes appeared to relax slightly. “Tradesman Martius,” he said in what probably passed for a friendly tone, “you walk into grave danger, body and soul, aye? Are you certain of your course?”

“I am, honored Inquisitor.”

“Then know this. My brethren are within the barony in search of the seed of corruption. Though I shall send word ahead as to your character, I cannot guarantee your safe passage and would not have you walk into darkness without knowing the risks. Had we the luxury I would send one of my men to accompany you, but our mission presses. Perhaps it would be best to stay far from any parties of my fellows, save at dire need.”

It was an unusual statement from an Inquisitor. Martius nodded. “My thanks, honored Inquisitor.”

“No thanks are necessary. I do as my duties demand. Goddess willing, you shall survive to adopt a righteous path.”

Martius supposed he had to say that last part, and decided not to take offense.

----
Cassandra

The man in armor stood before the forest eaves, giving every indication that he had been waiting for some time. He rested comfortably upon a fine sword, half-kneeling, snow having settled upon his black pauldrons, each carved with a raven’s visage. His violet tabard was damp with snow; drifts of it had built up against his armored knees, but he remained still and unmoving as Cassandra’s party approached. Two persons in monastic cloaks flanked him, one on either side, hoods pulled low and heads bowed. Each bore a partisan in gloved hands.

As the first members of the company approached, the kneeling man stood and faced them, eyes darting unsteadily around beneath his visor. It was an unnerving stare- his head remained straight ahead, but his glance was everywhere at once, seemingly unable to focus on anything longer than a few heartbeats. Then he saw Cassandra make her way to the front, and instantly the wild gaze locked onto her. He let out a small chuckle and raised his visor. The angular face beneath had a healthy tan and dark hair, handsome save for his mouth locked into something between grin and grimace.

“Greetings, Lady Cassandra,” he said in a voice that seemed immeasurably tired. His lips moved; his teeth didn’t. Both he and his two companions inclined their heads.

Cassandra halted and drew closer to the strange knight despite her better judgment, fingering her rapier and noticing with a shudder how the knight’s tired eyes never left her body. Few seemed to notice that the strange newcomer Jed shouldered his way up close enough to study the strange knight and his retinue with curious eyes. “You know my name, but I do not know yours,” she replied, steadying herself. “What is your purpose here?”

“I am Franz de Bieris of Dammerinthes, and I bid you welcome in the name of our Master.” The knight still hadn’t moved his eyes or his teeth. “You are known to us though it. We were told to expect you.”

Cassandra’s blood cooled and she tensed, ready to strike at the slightest sign of provocation. Now that she was closer she could see the places where it looked like something had been scoured from the breastplate over the collar. “Indeed,” she replied in an icy voice. “Tell your Master that I do not appreciate its attention.”

“You may confer your feelings to it when you meet,” Franz replied, quirking his head to one side in a disconcerting fashion. “We will be pleased if you could join us at your leisure, but do show enough courtesy to make haste and to take care. The Master would hate for your entourage to be diminished beyond your standing when you request an audience.”

“Do you think me a cur, to beg for scraps from its hands?” Cassandra retorted sharply. “Have a care, fallen knight.”

----

Alexander and Harker

The stranger met them by the side of an empty road, as far into the wilderness as anywhere else in the world. He was clearly making no effort to disguise himself or his nature- a lean, good-looking young man dressed in baggy breaches, a vest, and a cloak, all richly attired. He had a houri’s clear, fine features, lips curled in a cocky grin and glowing triangle markings beneath his eyes, silky black hair cut short and unruly, and dark houri wings of blue-black poking out from holes cut in his cloak. A grosse messer with a serrated blade was slung over his back, a single spaulder that looked salvaged from some battlefield over one shoulder, and a long bracer and gauntlet on his left hand.

He sauntered up to the small group, glancing at each present. His eyes quickly passed over the warbound and the guards, falling to rest on the trueborn. Soft lips parted into a sultry smile as his direction changed slightly to bring him toward the Trueborn.

"Well, you’re here at last,” he purred. “The road is long, but I trust it won't be boring, m’lord..." The houri inclined his head respectfully. “I trust you’re well?”

[yli]

"You were right. Man is untrustworthy, thinks I'm dumb enough, I can't tell the difference between a cleric and a witch." Martius decocked his blunderbuss, sitting back down on the log in the snow, taking care to pop another wad of tobacco into his mouth.

"The difference being..." Ayani sat back down too, not bothering to find a log.

"Difference bein' you're not a witch. I know what a witch is, and what a witch isn't. I've spent my life doin' caravans to loads of dangerous places. I've been attacked by everythin' from Trueborn to Nether Beasts to misguided clerics. You ain't a witch, just like I ain't a bleedin' witch. Only problem I see here is that you aren't a cleric."

"Then what am I?"

"Like I said before, you're a gypsy girl who just happens to get money from the church. Your whole band probably has a vendetta. My question is why you didn't kill him before you got to the caravan?"

"A...a...I don't really know. A twisted sense of justice..."

"You want to see him suffer. I can understand that. He's goin' around, flashin' your jewelry around like it belongs on him."

"Yes...and? He's a thief, murderer of children and, and..." Ayani struggled for the words. There were terms used to describe individuals like Bertram, those without any honor, those who freely violated the hospitality offered by generous hosts, those who did not believe in loyalty to anyone but themselves, "...and, and a monster."

"Not a priestly thing to be sayin' about someone."

"As you just said, I'm not a priest. I'm a gypsy girl."

Marius just chuckled. At least the girl didn't pretend she was anything else.

"Almost nightfall. I should get going." Ayani got up, brushing the snow off her shoulders.

"Go up ahead. See what's on the other side of the ravine."

"I was planning on it... I still say we go around it. We have time." Ayani shook her. The idiot was going to get ambushed, the ravine was a deathtrap.

"Well, we don't have the time, do we?" Martius got up and stretched his aching muscles.

"Suppose not." Ayani leapt into the treetops, then into the rocks scattered around the surrounding hillsides. She paid no heed to the ice under her boots as she cleared streams and gorges with an easy grace. She didn't pay attention to the cold. She had a warm cloak, emphasis on the had. It was keeping a little match girl warm and alive, a better use than keeping a paladin marginally more comfortable.

The washy snowflakes played out against the dark of the sky. Nothing but branches, snow and hills.

And an unfamiliar aura, trudging through the snow. The cloak was nothing short of ludicrous. Ayani kept in the trees and watched. The mist, the night and the oncoming snowstorm would hide her. The stranger didn't seem to require any assistance, although there was a bit of a hitch in his step, one that was brought on by hunger. Otherwise, he held himself up with a good deal of confidence. The question was whether Ayani should have extended a helping hand or not.

Wait. No, why even ask that? She thought as she hopped out of the treetops, landing in the waist deep snow.

The Sirahme, that obscure code of gypsy lore, taught that hospitality must always be extended, even to complete strangers.

"Lost?" Ayani asked, grinning at the traveller, "I can help you if you are."

[AbuDhabi]

Albert was quite relieved to see the inquisitors go. Not that he had anything to hide himself, but people willing to slay you at the merest suspicion of heresy or corruption just made him irrationally uncomfortable. The Brother-Captain's underlings just looked at him appraisingly, found nothing they disliked too much, and went along with the inspection. Just a normal, perfectly ordinary Shaden caravan guard. He really didn't stand out, dressed in a somewhat ritchety fur coat, highly appropriate for the weather.

With one palm under his elbow, and the other stroking his bearded chin, he took some time to think about the current situation. Five minutes later, he arrived at a decision, and proceeded to announce it. "I'll walk about the par--pery-- around us," he informed his nearest coworker, who looked at him boredly and simply shrugged. "See if there's no more ambushes waiting for us." For some reason he just didn't trust the blind gypsy mage to do a very good job scouting, flight or not. You needed proper, well, eyes for that.

Unstrapping his axe from his belt, he slowly began to walk in a circular pattern around the caravan, easily within shouting distance.

[graypheonix85]

Jerrid

He had sensed her above him in the trees first, at least he thought so, smell and sight telling some details, and not others.

‘It seems strange,’ Jerrid mused, ‘that a seemingly blind girl is the one to meet me outside the rest of the camp. Are the people here so stupid that they’d let a blind girl walk around on a dark and snowy evening like this, when it is so dangerous?’

‘No, not so blind at all, I think.’ Jerrid noticed her stance, easily standing in the snow, knowing where to step around deeper patches, and keeping her head pointed at him, despite the blindfold over her eyes. ‘And the smell of blood, it is too fresh…FAUGH.’

The smell hit him. The smell not of blood but In the blood. Nether taint, strong but not out of control. ‘dangerous’ screaming were his instincts, but for another reason than he expected. ‘Ah, that might make sense.’

‘****!’ He flinched, Jerrid realizing he had been staring oddly at her for a short while, “Lost? I am not lost, but found on this night by a possible friend in unfamiliar territory, perhaps in away that I might entertain this eve. But where are my manners, I suppose I must do introduce myself. I am Jason the storyteller, knowledgeable of the history and old stories, and with a little musical talent, I can tell a tale, spin a web of memory, and play and dance a little tune to while an evening. If these are skills needed in this camp, perhaps I could be of use on this journey to Dammerinthes? If not, I am able to provide other skills as needed.”

‘Damnit I was too long winded there, I sounded like a fop! Jeeze, at least I can play along.’

Then something unexpected happened.

The gypsy girl laughed.

It was oddly high, joyous, a pure sound, one not heard in some time, and unexpected to her ears too, it seemed, as she quickly grew quiet.

She spoke. “I have not had opportunity to laugh in some time storyteller. Yes, these are dark days into dark places, but another reliable companion would not be remiss. Join me back to camp, will you? We’ll see if we can provide you with food, I am sure you are tired. Still, it is odd, you do not travel with a horse? Most would do so, even in the snow like this.”

Jerrid knew a lie mixed with truth would work best here. “A horse is beyond my means at the moment my lady, but I can move swiftly as needed to keep up with most companions on horses, in truth. Still, even if I did have a horse, I find most horses are…distressed, when carrying me.” A truth last, as no horse could tolerate him for his beast’s nature, who would carry a natural predator of their species, after all.

Then her scent reached his nose, and he knew he had to ask before they reached camp. “Tell me, my lady, to which group do you belong. Your garb indicates either an affinity to a religious order, or the gypsies, but I believe only one order would need near blind followers, especially one who can see without sight. Are you one of the followers of the Forlorn Path, or a sorceress?”

[yli]

Now admittedly, the Wildkin wasn't that funny, but Ayani had laughed despite herself. Still, to his credit, he said something funny, which was much needed relief in a humorless world. Ayani slowed down to a quick jog as she led Jason back to the camp, making sure to keep the bard close.

"If you're wondering, I'm not much for sorcery", chuckled Ayani, "you know, I've held spellbooks before, and they just didn't work too well for me. I think you're supposed to read them." Ayani pretended to shudder a bit.

"Well, I suppose you are to read the spellbooks. Just be glad it's not wizardry", shrugged Jason as he jogged alongside Ayani.

"That's so dull, most wizards are probably one step removed from being undead. I can't imagine sitting in a room full of books and scrolls, poring over theories and axioms."

"Yes, milady, I would much rather prefer alchemy over wizardry. There's a certain thrill in knowing your next move could cause spontaneous bodily combustion, and I hear that mixing certain chemicals can induce powerful euphoric states. It's unfortunate I have no aptitude for it."

"You and most other people." They crossed an icy stream, skipping off a few boulders. "It takes a special kind of patience, attention to detail and unusually steady hands for alchemy. Many of them would make excellent thieves and assassins."

"But the only parties you must outwit in alchemy are yourself, the All-Mother, and the balances of the reagents used. The risk in thievery and murder are considerably greater, not to mention morally reprehensible."

"I'll give you that, but I was merely pointing out requisite skill sets." In the distance, the screech of an owl cut into the night as the snowstorm slowed to thin, dusty flakes that slowly drifted from the night sky. Ayani slowed down, then came to a stop.

"What is the matter?" asked the bard.

"We're getting close to the caravan. Stay here while I inform the caravan master of your presence...oh...and before I leave, I forgot to tell you my name. I am Sister Ayani Ghadnan, Priestess of the Forlorn Path."

"Ah, best of luck to you then, Sister Ghadnan."

"If all goes well, I'll come get you in ten minutes or so." With that, Ayani leapt into the treetops and disappeared amongst the branches.

~*~*~
"I'll walk around the pary...per...I'll walk around us, see if there's no more ambushes waiting for us." The caravan guard trod quietly through the snow, holding his axe at the ready, he seemed a bit tense, as his eyes didn't work in the dark.

"The word you're looking for," whispered Ayani, "is perimeter."

"AGH!" The guard known as Albert spun around, his axe raised. "You scared the **** out of me!"

"I'm known for that", smiled Ayani, "I'm just checking up on you. Everything ok?"

"Everything's fine. We got stopped by Inquisitors further back but---you ok?"

"Oh....oh nothing." Trickles of blood, warm and sticky, flowed down Ayani's cheeks as she gritted her teeth.

"I..you're bleeding..."

"I'm fine, trust me." And with that, she made her way to the head of the caravan, taking a seat next to Martius.

"So, what's the good news?" asked the caravan leader.

"We've got a visitor.

[AbuDhabi]

The mage was getting scarier by the minute. It's quite another thing to face up against nameless horrors and smash their skull-equivalents, than facing someone who moved with absolute silence, could fly, and whose blind eyes bled without reason to. Albert continued his walking for but a moment longer, before he realized that he wasn't best suited to the task. If the horrific priestess could just up and surprise him like that, he wasn't going to do much good in the realm of ambush prevention.

Grumbling, he came back to the caravan, looking randomly behind his back.

[Skellie]

Devyn politely accepted Cassandra's offer of a short stay in the heated compartment, thanking her as she stepped out into the chill air. The Houri didn't take her seat until the door to the compartment was shut once more, enjoying the cushioned seat and warmth much more than she was letting on. It was a pleasant indulgence, to sit in the sleigh and listen to the material and spiritual music humming around her. Devyn always enjoyed another houri's company, and the Lady's wine (not blood wine, thank goodness) was delicious.

No more than twenty minutes into a welcome break, skittering, jolting, and strained string chords stabbed into Devyn's mind. She recoiled visibly, feeling the presence of a soul crazed, uneven, and sharp. The sounds of Orynn's own flute and clarinet duet and Virgil's cello quartet were buried beneath the jagged melody.

Without a word of explanation Devyn thrust open the door to the compartment and leapt from the sleigh. Her holy amulet flashed brightly and shattered into a whirling halo of sparkling metal and blue-white light; her dress clung to her body and darkened back into leathers and tabard. Shining plates and fine links of golden chain forged themselves from the ether, sacred reliefs rising glowing from the virgin metal. The noise was like a chest full of silver spilling onto silken curtains, a whispering metallic cacophony.

Devyn's steps clanked as she crunched onto the snow, bracing herself firmly against the new weight of her restored plate armor. The houri paladin's jaw was set as she stormed towards the abhorrent presence with her sword drawn, the ugly melody thankfully muted by the weapon's bright, clear hymns.

"Be silent," Devyn declared as she strode to the front of the party, staring down Franz and his two companions. Up close, the sense of wrongness and defiled faith assaulted her, almost like a physical stench. She had to resist the urge to wrinkle her nose as she looked at the other knight.

He had been a paladin, not merely a secular knight; of that she had no doubt. The places where he had scoured his Order's symbols off his armor were still fresh, and the new runes and jagged sigils traced about his breastplate's proof seemed wounds. Formal language leapt to her lips as she glared at the other. Redemption was a virtue, but a fallen brother-in-arms... "Still your blasphemies and blandishments, fallen one," she challenged him. "Face us with honor in battle, or flee yelping to your master!"

[JT Jag]

Virgil had been enjoying the trip, until the All-Mother-blasted bunch of dark knights had interrupted it. He quietly observed the interaction between those very knights with the others in the caravan, and surreptitiously drew an item from the bulky alchemy case settled in front of him.

"Or flee yelping to your master!"

As if timed to occur as those words exited Devyn's mouth, a crossbow bolt from an unidentified location within the caravan, burying itself in the crease between the plates covering Franz's neck and shoulder. In quick succession two more bolts found themselves bouncing off the armor of the dark paladin's companions, striking harmlessly in the chest region.

Virgil rose in the rear of the caravan, the source of the shots. Casually reloading his bow he took aim once more, at the same time quickly sweeping his gaze over the rest of his party as if daring them to challenge his action. After that brief moment, he looked back to the corrupted paladin.

A broad smile, almost unnerving considering the situation, had settled itself on Virgil's face. "That was a warning shot. Leave or the next one goes between the eyes."

[Jetrauben]

Virgil’s bolts played out a sharp rhythm on the three interlopers’ armor, clanks followed by at least one short thock. One of the cloaked figures stumbled back and let out a strange groan of pain, then straightened with visibly pained effort. He had not made a sound.

Franz glared at Virgil and Devyn, but did not move, even as the crossbow wound in his shoulder dripped a thin line of blood. Cassandra had the impression of a chained beast straining at his bonds, and couldn’t help but take a step back, raising her rapier protectively in a hand suddenly steaming with cold. She gritted bared teeth, more to reassure herself than out of any hope of frightening them, willing the nervous fluttering in her chest to cease.

And then, the fallen knight looked away, murderous rage shifting back to his prior chill smile. “Ere long we shall meet again,” he said, wrenching the bolt from his shoulder, a small spurt of gore splattering onto the snow. He tossed it back at Virgil’s feet. “The road ahead is thick with peril, Lady Cassandra. An audience while you and your retinue yet breathed wouldst please the Master.”

He and his companions turned from the company and moved slowly into the trees, away from the road. The shadows seemed to swallow them in moments; they were gone.

Cassandra visibly relaxed with a sigh. The point of her rapier drooped, and she wore a rueful expression. Well, you knew it was aware of your coming, she thought grimly to herself. “Well,” she said, making a passable attempt at a smile, “I have certainly met more…civil heralds.”

They began to move again.

[yli]

"Where did that ****ing dancer crawl off to!?" hissed an imp as he stalked around, his sword caked with freshly dried blood, the same that was running from the corners of his mouth.

He moved through the snow, now a greyish crimson slurry, tasting the air as he moved about the ruins of the huts, not bothering to step over the half-eaten dead bodies of a family of three. Mother, father and infant son had all been hacked to pieces by the imps, who slurped down the choicest bits, usually the livers and kidneys, before cutting out the tender muscles along the spinal column for later use. The imp's comrades, busy finishing off the wounded, ignored their leader as they picked through what was left of the village. This left the leader poking through snowdrifts and overturned furniture, trying to find whatever was offending him.

Fari Ghadnan, the performer in question, was buried in a snowdrift, rolled up in a carpet to hide herself. The rip had happened suddenly as she was passing through. It first started with flames and light bending unnaturally towards the town square, then the sky turned dark red before the imps came pouring forth. The portal wasn't large. Maybe only a few dozen imps at most. But a few dozen imps were more lethal than a tuberculosis epidemic and more dangerous than a cavern full of wyverns, especially when confronting unarmed civilians. What was worse, was that the imp captain was getting closer and closer. She could hear his footsteps. Now would be a good time to start running...

Cold. Very, very cold. Had to take off jacket and cloak. Too constricting. Tabard and tights made out of silk, too thin. Freezing to death. Imp's coming. Face holding in the cold.

There was a blinding, brilliant flash of light as the snowdrift erupted. The imp captain grunted and shielded his eyes, his senses his overwhelmed by the blast. He struggled to open his eyes against the flash burn, to focus on the hundreds of shards of light and heat dancing in his vision. She seemed to run on a trail of sunfire as she made her way towards the treeline.

"Get her! Get the survivor!" screamed the imp captain as he staggered backwards, clutching at his face.

The other imps responded, giving chase to the quickly moving figure, who was wearing a face concealing silver mask, a form fitting blue silk tabard embroidered with gold thread, and white silk tights. Her shoes, made out of thin canvas, effortlessly glided over the blood soaked, half frozen mud. Her dozens of long blonde braids trailed behind her as she darted off towards the woods.

Two lupii, the hunting dogs the imps brought along, blocked Fari's path. She flipped over the first lupus. In the same movement, long, wickedly sharp blades shot out of the hardened leather vambraces she wore on her arms. Without stopping, Fari punched the right wristblade through the second lupus' muzzle, wrenching the blade free with a fluid twist of her arm and cleanly cutting through its brain stem. The second hunting dog whirled around, chasing after her as its imp masters began falling back towards the portal.

It too turned back once Fari put enough distance between herself and the rift.

The smoke and the bent light of the burning village could be seen for miles.

[tr0ck]

Mina Tevan - The Belltower


Mina felt truesky flee, before she looked up to see the vibrant red confirm her suspicions. She crept up to the edge of the rock outcropping that hid her tent and fires from the roads. As she poked her head around the rocks, she saw the twelve imps and two lupii emerge from the rift. From her perch, Mina also was surprised at a thin woman running away from the rift, her head wrapped in linen.

“Ah, to be blessed with flight,” she thought, staring wistfully at the slender girl as she dove into a snowdrift. Mina then watched the imps tear the village apart, as there was no way that she could take on twelve of them and lupii with just her violin. And there it was, painted against the crimson sky, the church, brass bell sitting higher than the rest of the town. She ran it through her head several times, and decided that she couldn't, she wouldn't be able to get past the imps before they mauled her. She trusted that the girl would draw them out to give her the window she needed. Mina hid behind the rocks, checking periodically, and after they had ravaged to their heart's content, the fresh snow running with red, the lead daemon hissed something at his subordinates, and they went searching after the girl.

Mina slowly crawled down the ridge to the town, hoping toreach the church on the opposite end before the daemons dealt with the girl. She saw the woman leap our of her alcove, and tumble over one of the daemonic hunting dogs. Mina crept across the avenues, shedding tears for the fallen, her obsidian knife drawn, etching runes across her arm as she went. Mina shielded her eyes, seeing the woman disappear into a technicolour comet, as the imps gave chase, Mina made her way through the alleys to the old church. The large oak door was ajar, and when she stepped inside she could not believe the horrors that had befallen the priests of the realm. Their mangled corpses decorated the entryway, and she carved for each broken body that she passed through the courtyard, past the fountain as she found the spiral stairs that led to the bell tower. She ducked into the interior of the bell, standing in the snow and straw. Mina took her black velvet case out , carefully opening it and removing a mottled red violin. Another cracked hand takes out the bow. She stands still briefly, moving her violin to her chin and her bow to the bridge.

She draws the bow across the instrument, playing a smooth E-flat, the bell amplifying the note. The entrancing melody gets thrown far and wide, standing under the bell, Mina can see the imps begin to gather, three rushing the slab of oak at the church door. Continuing to play, she sings a C. After all twelve of the imps have made it within earshot, the tune suddenly turns atonal. As the now six imps begin to ram the door. Her hands start to open, blood begins to flow over her bow. Her soft singing becomes a piercing wail, breaking stones of the church loose. The six imps gain entry, the huge door falling with a crash, the brutal Aria rising in volume, aided by the reverberation of the bell. Mina's life drips down to stain the snow red, and Mina becomes blinded by her own blood, her shriek now a gurgling howl. Her wings stained with fresh red, she shrieks the words


“Demons slay me!”
“Thinking that I want to live!”
“Does it occur I'd rather die?”
“On their pain I thrive!”
“Under my knife I will writhe!”
“The glorious sight of crimson red!”
“Bleeding from every pore!”
“Agony greater than any before!”


Mina closes her eyes, the pain from the blood too much. Her voice has been reduced to a shrill siren call. As the song reaches it's crescendo, her white wings begin to bleed, and the piercing wail force the nearest imps to flee from the stairs. The ones that remain are affixed in place by sheer terror at the sound, blood pouring from intricate craftsmanship. The sound of Mina's shrill voice lacerates the aberrations. Carving the scaled flesh of the demons, the dark jets pour everywhere onto the snow. Demons leap up the buttresses to the bell chamber, but they cannot find her standing in the pool of her warm blood. The gurgling siren stops, and seven imps are dead of the eight that were held to ground. The remaining imp looked up at the bard and grimaced.

“You all out of red, s**t? Give me one more!” he shouted, crawling up the walls of the church to the belltower, where he knew his adversary waslurking. He vaulted the guardrail to meet Mina's gaunt figure, twin razors pointed in front of her. She was getting dizzy now from the loss of blood, she needed to find somewhere to shift, she thought.
Then her eyes went dark.

[yli]

There was a sickening crunch as 80 kilograms of steel merged the imp captain's skull with the nearest wall. Hovering a few inches off the ground, each of the giant lumps of metal weighed nearly twice as much as the tiny girl using them. Ayani wiped the flecks of brain out of her face with the back of her hand. Apparently the shrieking minstrel had gotten the worst of it. The Windwalker priestess bent down and removed a crushed eyeball, half a tongue and a golf ball sized lump of grey matter from the houri's open mouth. The chains, moving as if they had a mind of their own, snaked around the enclosed space near the top of the bell tower, seemingly sniffing for a target. With a flick of her wrists, the metal links coiled back neatly around their owner's arms, the spiked steel balls at their ends disappearing in a flash of white light. This left the problem of the rift, still unclosed.

Ayani hopped out of the bell tower, landing gently in the mud below. She felt the surge of energy as she dipped two fingers into the dark, pulsating void, took a deep breath and muttered a small prayer to the All-Mother. The rift shrank to nothingness and the sky slowly began to return to a somewhat normal hue. With the rift closed, Ayani jumped back into the bell tower and made her way back to the houri. Kneeling in the minstrel's sticky blood, Ayani placed her hands on the houri's chest. The tall woman's breathing was ragged, and her skin cold to the touch.

"Hypovolemic shock", muttered Ayani as she shook her head as she began to reach into the small pouch she carried on her back. If only there was some way to get blood back into someone. The Windwalker elevated the bard's legs up on a wooden beam, produced several rolls of bandages and began working carefully, making sure to stem the houri's bleeding. She then scrounged around, looking for something warm to cover her patient with. She settled on the robes torn from the dead priests, plus a carpet found on the ground outside. Because there wasn't a way to put blood back into people, the houri would either regain consciousness, or die in the next couple of hours. The only thing that Ayani could do was clasp her hands together and pray. One of the amulets around her neck, the black crystal, glowed with an unearthly darkness that seemed to suck in the light as she did. Silently, the priestess' lips moved as she mouthed the sacred words, and then at the end with barely a whisper, "by the grace of the All-Mother, amen."

Ayani sat back down besides the patient. And as she sat, there was one nagging question. This houri's aura seemed vaguely familiar. Reminiscent of something...There was a profile quite similar to what this houri resembled. Dark, bloody, some sort of nihilistic heretic. No. Couldn't be. A heretic wouldn't take on a dozen imps like that. Bishop Dolan must have gotten it wrong, which meant that this wasn't Mina Tevan, wanted heretic and affront to the All-Mother and her Church. Mina Tevan was a dark, murderous creature who killed little kids and wore their skins. Mina Tevan consorted with demonic entities in the Nether and enjoyed the taste of pain on her lips and...and...

Heretics. They were all monsters, weren't they?

And in the distance, Ayani could sense the caravan. It wasn't far off.

[AbuDhabi]

"Something is wrong," said Albert, as they entered the outskirts of the town. He peeled back the furs from his face, so he could see better. Nobody in sight, but plenty of blood and gote splattered infrequently on the snow.

"No shít," he heard Marius mutter. "Everybody halt, spread out! Keep your eyes open!" the caravan master instructed his subordinates. "Something terrible happened here, and I don't intend for us to share that fate."

Albert drew sword, and approached the nearest blood-smeared snow mound. Mutilated remains of a villager were lying there, barely recognizable as a former human being. Albert had some experience with wounds like that. His scars began to itch something awful. "Netherspawn," he said in the direction of his boss, standing up.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Cassandra considered the disturbing meeting as her small party made its way through the woods. The ground beneath them sloped upwards, and crags and ridges, dark stone and white snow, rose from the forest beneath.

Putting aside her lingering unease, she thought it had gone as well as such things could. Her companions had neither quailed nor rounded upon her accusingly, so her judgment of their reliability was solid. Lady Devyn’s gallant challenge had been like something out of the romances she still had hidden in the depths of her pack. Still more surprising- and heartening- was Sir Virgil’s abrupt, blunt threat. Her allies were good ones.

It was time to consider what the meeting implied. She pursed her lips in thought. The corruption must have been at least as deep as that found in the von Misthame manor, she realized. Her heart sank. We cannot hope to make an end of the sickness. We can hope only to unmask it, and thus arouse my House and their allies in their fury. But doing so now, in a time of war… The odds were unfavorable.

It would do her no good to fixate upon it, she reminded herself. She had to see the disaster with her own eyes to have any idea of how to proceed.

The young woman rode on near the head of the company, shivering a little in the whistling wind. It was getting colder as the night approached, and she first began to give thought to shelter for the night. Her spirits rose as the tall silhouette of a bell tower rose from the tree line, stark and black against a mottled sunset. Even a small, isolated chapel promised far superior shelter to a tent pitched in the snow, or huddling within the sleigh for warmth.

As they drew closer Cassandra saw the chapel was part of a small, fenced compound constructed within a clearing. It had clearly been created more to service travelers than anything else- in addition to the fair-sized church building there was a small cobbled practice ground of a vaguely military aspect, and a set of outbuildings including a stable, a smithy, and several storage huts. At the rear of the compound, a tall fence and several angelic statues betrayed the presence of a cemetery. But strangely, no one ran to greet them, and even in the thick fog and snow she could see no activity outside. A prickling feeling of unease ran down her spine; her skin crawled. She felt a familiar, and unwelcome, sense of obscure dread utterly at odds with a holy place.

And then the wailing began.

---

Reskeis

Reskeis plodded along behind the mongrel girl, eying the upcoming church with distaste. This posed a problem. He had set foot inside a Lightwalker church only once and not enjoyed the experience. Undoubtedly the gypsy wench would be watching suspiciously. How was he going to keep up his cover now?

Then he saw the girl ahead jolt and nearly topple from her horse in surprise. For a moment he thought she’d lost her marbles, but as she steadied her seat on the beast he saw the gritted line of her jaw. Good. He didn’t have the time to play nursemaid. Still, her next words were a surprise.

“Something is wrong up ahead.”

She didn’t explain it, and Reskeis’s false features wrinkled with irritation. You don’t have to go all cryptic on us, he thought sourly. Just say it, will you? “Yes, m’lady?” he asked in tones of unaccustomed meekness, like one of their peasants.

She nodded. “Search the compound with weapon in hand. This place has seen dreadful things.”

Don’t suppose you could be a touch more specific? he griped inwardly. But there was no helping it; he would have to find a way to conceal the effects on him, or start explaining very quickly, if he wanted this group to be of any use. He spurred his horse forward into a cautious trot with the rest of them and braced himself inwardly for the pain…and found none, as his horse neared the compound. There wasn’t even the feeling of nearness, of heat, that he associated with proximity to one of the Lightwalkers’ shrines.

Unless he’d gone senile, the place seemed no longer consecrated ground.

He dismounted clumsily and looked around suspiciously. There was a watchful feeling to the compound. It didn’t feel empty, though it looked it- he could sense unwholesome magic in the air, and he wagered a meal or two that there were eyes on him. There were lots of places to hide, in the stables or the outhouses, the cemetery, or the large church, doubtless with at least half a dozen rooms alongside lots of nooks and shadowed crannies.

He loosened his swords in their scabbards and stalked towards the wide church gates, studying the structure with an eye towards ambush. The stained-glass windows above the doors had darkened almost to monochrome.

---

Cassandra

Cassandra tried to blot the ghostly wails from her mind. To think that something had roused the spirits into such an unhappy state! Victoria, she called out silently, channeling her power into the spirit realm. I may need you.

She felt her ghostly ally’s presence behind her, the characteristic chill. Victoria’s voice was a soft whisper. Aye, Cassandra? The summoned ghost regarded the compound with glowing eyes that saw the spirit realm as well as the mortal one. This is an uneasy place. Beware.

I had perceived this, Cassandra thought back with a touch of amused sarcasm. Around them lesser ghosts wailed and pawed, testing her measure, and Cassandra whispered the cadences of one of the few spells she had memorized, erecting a warding shield about herself. The ghosts might not be hostile, but she was unsure if calming words alone would still their confused wrath, and the last thing she needed was distraction. Do you recognize the danger?

No, but I can attempt to explore. The spectral woman seemed to think. The chapel is the natural center of the compound and seems to hold the most unease, like a wound in the world. She hesitated, then added in a guilty voice, The feeling is familiar; it feels somewhat like my own manor’s chapel did during our…corruption. Yet it would seem ill-advised for you to join me; the spirits are restless and if a malicious presence truly lies within... Do you desire to see through my eyes?

Perhaps. Cassandra dismounted and drew her rapier. She was not sure what she expected- perhaps more such cultists as they had encountered earlier- but it felt like eyes were upon her. “It would seem wise for us to sweep the grounds in pairs or groups,” she said aloud. “Certainly we should not do so alone.”

[yli]

"Netherspawn..." muttered Albert as he sniffed the air.

"Solved." The voice came from the shadows as a near whisper.

In the dark, with the moonless sky still red as blood, tensions ran high. Someone fired into the dark, the crack and flash of the pistol illuminating the whole group. Then another guard fired, and another and another, plumes of fire and smoke drifting into the night sky as shot and pellets from pistols, muskets and blunderbusses shredded the foliage nearby.

When the whole group paused to reload under the light of their torches, Martius stood with his blunderbuss pointed at Ayani's face, his jaw set in steel.

"You didn't fire", chuckled Ayani, as she pushed Martius' weapon out of her way.

"Sweet ****in' All-Mother, you damn near stopped my heart! Next time, announce your presence, would you?"

"And then what? Even if I was louder, you would have wasted your ammunition. It's dark here, the Nether sucks up the light from your torches." There was a sharp crack as a caravan guard, one of the younger ones, fired his musket. The paladin sidestpped, letting the bullet fly harmlessly over her shoulder.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE! EVERYONE HOLD YOUR FIRE!" shouted Martius.

After a long and awkward silence, there was the sound of weapons behind holstered and throats being cleared.

"Right, so what do we do then?" Martius shifted his feet nervously, staring at the ground, then Ayani, then the ground again.

"Not much you can do...You with your heads full of eyeballs. It's safe to enter the town, I closed the portal, and all the Netherspawn were taken care of. It'll take a while for the sky to turn back to what's taken as normal."

"I'll take your word for it, Sister Ghadnan, but we'll stay here for now, until our heads full of eyeballs start working again."

"Very well then. I'll leave you all alone. I've got a wounded minstrel in the church belfry." Ayani turned to leave, but before disappearing into the shadows, she turned around, "one last lesson, mostly to the caravan guards. Don't fire until you know where the target is. Your haphazard discharges just give your location away."

When Ayani disappeared, the whole group let out a sigh of relief.

[AbuDhabi]

The second time since the beginning of their journey to Dammerinthes, Albert barely restrained himself from making a new hole in sister Ghadan's petite form. Nearly snapping some tendons, he halted himself before he could execute the reflexive swing at the unknown enemy sneaking up on him, and once more he had the urge to curse very obscenely. Problem was, the other guards, armed with firearms, gave a much louder and pointful retort. A pity they missed, thought Albert, as Martius took the effort of conversation upon his shoulders.

Just when he was about to speak his mind to the priestess, she delivered her righteous moral, and left. Albert was left with just feeling a mite angry, though it was a relief, for sure. "Third time's I'm not gonna hold myself back," he muttered quietly. "She said it's all taken care of," he said louder, in the direction of the caravan master. "We going in?"

"Carefully. And do what she said," Martius commanded. "Don't fire until you see something."

[graypheonix85]

Jerid

A lot more time had passed than a mere 10 minutes. More like half an hour. Still, Jerrid had had some things to do to sidetrack his interest in that time.

'Jeeze,' Jerrid thought as he finished shifting back to human form and wiped off his blade, 'the least these Netherspawn could've done was be a little more polite. Now,' he turned his head to the unconscious woman laying against the tree near his back, 'lets see who she is.'

While the young woman that seemed familiar lay there, and Jerrid got his items in order from the cleanup job he had just completed, he thought about the events of the last half hour. How everything got ominous, and then a nether portal had opened nearby.

Initially, about 5 minutes after Ayani had left, Jerrid was standing there minding his own business, feeling the world out around him. The night sky was clear, the animals were, running away as they had been for the last few days, and the snow and cold were typical for this time of year, cold as hell, and icy as heaven. The odd thign was the animals behavior.

'Running away form a disaster I can understand, but even animals wouldn't leave behind their young, what is going on? This is weird even for this area. What is happening...huh?' That's when he felt it, a taint, twisted, dark, corrupting, and worse...intelligent.

Nether taint was always dark and corrupting, but it never thought things through, it was a force of nature, malevolent, but it worked it certain, predictable ways. This feeling, it WANTED to corrupt things and twist them far aside from their natural development.

This was the thought he had when he saw the winged furry snake fall to the ground dead.

"WHAT THE ****!"

So, inevitably, after it hadn't moved for 10 minutes, Jerrid poked it. repeatedly. Hey, what would you have done, he would've said later on. It was weird, he was curious, and

'it's a snake, and this is impossible.'

Still, after about 5 or 6 minutes of this, it got old, and Jerrid decided this would be something to show the caravan when he got a chance.

Then the **** hit the fan when the young woman ran off the road, chased by 3 hounds, she ran headfirst into a tree, and knocked herself unconscious.

'And then the stupid bint had to run into the tree IMMEDIATELY behind me didn't she,' Jerrid complained to himself as he shifted into his feral form, drew his sword, and quickly wiped out the three inconveniences, taking only a few scratches.

After picking her up and walking towards the caravan, Jerrid thought he recognized her, but wasn't sure. Even so, he had to get her some help, a blow to the head was never a good thing. As the torches of the caravan came into view, now moving, Jerrid walked up carefully, as he had heard the gunfire earlier, and didn't want to startle anyone. Walking up to the middle of the caravan, he asked for Sister Ayani. Upon hearing that she was waiting up ahead, he asked if he could leave his charge with one of the wagons, and continue to her on his own. With an affirmation of this, Jerrid ran ahead to catch up to the only person he knew in this entire ****ed up situation.

[EponymousKid]

Then:

Bertram trod along the road bitterly, in his mind running through all the events that led up to his predicament. The way he sees it, the first thing that went wrong with his life was that he was born to the wrong people in the wrong place.

The cold bothered him, but not as much as you might think, given that he was still shirtless save for a vest made of very thin fabric. He wasn't exactly dressed for the weather, essentially. He kept warm by keeping active. When you're poor, you learn how to solve your immediate problems quicky.

The smell of something burning alerted him to something on the road. Investigating further, he discovered something he hadn't the slightest idea how to describe.

A village, or what was left of one. Small as villages go, but it still encompassed a lot of space. Left in ruins, covered in ash... Ash, he thought. Someone started a fire in the driving snow? No matter. Taking cover behind one of the half-demolished buildings, he took a closer look and saw further chaos. The odd imp running around was odd enough. Even more interesting, however, was a large rift in the center of the former village. Looking for all the world like some kind of hole right in the air. At the time, Bertram didn't think of it as a portal, a door. He just saw it and knew it was trouble, and that he would have to get out of here quickly if he were to avoid it.

Hurriedly rushing back to the road, he decided that he should probably report this to that backwards hick caravan leader. After all, Bertram was concerned about the caravan's well-being, too, at least until he got the chance to make his move. Heading back where he came from, he made a new set of tracks along the road as he went.

Now

Bertram had reported the incident to Martius, who probably didn't really listen and would hopefully get eaten by something or other soon.

Soon, a familiar scent came to his attention. Something he's hoped to never encounter again. One of them.

Wildkin. Bertram knew that, strictly speaking, he was a Wildkin himself. But he was far from admitting it, and he knew he didn't look or even smell like one anymore. Catching the other wildkin as he asked to go ahead with one of the wagons, and hearing that Ayani was up ahead, as well, Bertram quietly tucked away into the back of the wagon, took a book out of his pack, and started reading. Finally, he was going to be able to settle things with that woman.

[JT Jag]

Virgil had spent the last several minutes as they traveled examining the one arrow that the lead night had thrown back at his feet. In particular, his focus had been on the sticky gore still coating the arrowhead itself.

After a slightly disconcerting amount of time staring at the arrowhead, he pulled out an empty vial carefully from his trunk, and scraped the arrowhead carefully with a knife. The semi-liquid but mostly-coagulated blood oozed into the vial, which he stoppered and put back where it belonged. He promptly disposed of the arrow itself, tossing it off the side of the caravan into the road.

This tainted one's blood might have different properties then normal. Must investigate.

After that process was complete, he began taking account of his party. Cassandra. In a way, she was the reason why he was there now. It was, after all, the Baron Highmoore himself who had given him the information regarding this mission. That said, she was just a means to an end. She is rather... appealing, I must concede. Maybe if I was 60 years younger.

Jared. Virgil didn't have much to say about that young Shaden at this point. He had been in the background this entire trip. There was something vaguely... foreign about him. Distant. But it was nothing to dwell over.

Devyn had cut a rather heroic figure back there. He was glad she had made the stand when she did. As much bravado as he had displayed when driving off the knight, he questioned his own capability to face off against that thing in a face-up battle. Misdirection was his game, and Devyn had given him a perfect opportunity make a statement. With that said, it had certainly surprised him that a Houri--- peacelovers as they typically are--- had showed that much initiative in battle.

And Orynn. Virgil didn't know much about the second Houri in the caravan, except that she was in the employ of the Lady Cassandra. Like most Houri, she was naturally pleasant to be around. Perhaps it was intuition, or maybe it was something more, but Virgil couldn't help but think there was much more to this one. The airs that she put on reminded him of something--- or someone--- but he couldn't quite pin down what.

The caravan came up to the ruined chapel. A holy place had been desecrated. Virgil wasn't exactly a religious person, but this shook him. He had standards, and appreciating the All-Mother was part of them.

Jared had been the first one to leave, and Virgil took little note of this. He stood, closed and locked his trunk. Lady Cassandra seemed shaken by something, but that wasn't his concern right now. The church was affected by an aura unnatural. Unnatural and fundamentally wrong. It was his specialty to kill wrong things.

As he reached the gates, he heard light steps behind him. His hand innocuously reached deep into his cloak, as he turned to see...

[tr0ck]

Mina Tevan – Saviour
Mina felt her head swim as she lifted it. Turning to the noise that woke her in the first place. She turned to the difficult sight of a blind Paladin praying over her.
“Why do I still draw breath?” rasped the bard to the bizarre woman with bandages over her eyes.
“When can death be preferable to life? All-mother grants many gifts, minstrel, would you rather be dead?” Mina slowly nodded in reply.
“I'm sorry but I cannot grant this request. You are very interested in dying, and apparently killing things, what drives your blood?”
“I am Mina Tevan, I was declared a heretic on no charge, thrown out of any places worthy of sleep and out of company with any worthy of company. And I'm even mocked by the All-mother when it's very Paladin refuses to grant me the only thing I have left,”
“Gee, no charge, eh? What about all of the children that you eat?” Mocked the Paladin as bloody chains snaked around her arms.
“Evil , evil man. Though some of you may possess good hearts still, what lies has he spread of me since my fall?”
“Madam, you have an additional fifteen seconds to finish explaining your charge,” Said the Paladin, turning serious.
“You still don't believe me?” Mina hissed. “Do I look like a slaughterer of children to you, a woman who lies in her own blood from wounds gained in combat with evil?”
“Actions that are unqualified a heretic. I will investigate your claims further as soon as we are done with our quest.”
“What quest? I desire no part in a Paladin's quest to ruin and destroy. No good will come of your quest, only broken dreams and everlasting sorrow,” whispered Mina, her voice beginning to crack.
The paladin just smiled at that, “Mina, you overestimate your position. At this point your choices are to either follow me or force me to bring up your claims with the ground below this fine tower.”
“Well, I cannot argue with that. Since good may yet return to this world, and since I have managed to fail at ridding the world of myself, I shall stay along for the ride, lead. For the purposes of our possibly temporary alliance, what is your name?”
“Mina, that stunt with the bell cost you a lot of blood, it's been a few hours now, but you might still be in shock. Do you think you can stand up and walk? Took you awhile for your to ask 'The Paladin's' name, it's Ayani.” smirked Ayani. “Victims of the All-mother, never fails.” thought Mina.
“My body knows bleeding, this is no different. I am sound to travel, though it may be rather difficult, my wounds are not yet healed, ”
“Then you will come with me to our modest caravan and rest. Difficult trials lie ahead, and if you are to enjoy your freedom you must withstand the journey.?”
Mina nodded. She stood up, letting the black and red ichor drip off of her wings back into the pool that she had created hours ago. Ayani followed, chains in tow.
“I take it that you have a camp somewhere?” she said to Mina, her voice slithering.
“I don't sleep, it's only for show, but I do have a camp, behind the ridge to the south, where is your band camped?””
“We are located north of here. Lead the way, I will help you hide your camp, then you will travel with us”

[AbuDhabi]

"Alright, listen up," Martius said loudly, so everyone could hear him. It didn't quite work the first time. "Hey, you! Stop looking at that corpse for a moment and listen," he aimed the rebuke at one of the guards, who was apparently mesmerized by something that could - with some imagination - have been a human being in the past. "We're not going to be staying here very long, obviously, but I do want a cursory check for anything of interest. All-Mother knows we're going to need everything we can get, by the looks of things."

The ruined town was a mess, and a quiet one at that, giving it an even more gruesome aura - besides the very real aura of a recent Nether incursion, of course. "You, you, you and you," Martius indicated four of his men, "are staying here. The rest of you," he eyed the others, "are going to scout the town. Check for more survivors..." Martius glanced in the direction of the wagon with the unconscious woman brought by the wildkin, "...see if there's something left over we could use."

"Uh, like what?" Albert asked, being among those sent out.

Martius shrugged. "We have plenty of food and weapons right now, but if you find something that looks useful, bring it here. Holy relics, hastily written journals indicating what exactly transpired here, things like that. Use your heads," he suggested, being quite clear that said heads should not only be employed in personal combat.

Among various grunts of acknowledgement, the guards slowly dispersed. Albert took the path leading towards the bell tower, a clearly visible landmark. As he neared it, the bodies of the townspeople began to thin, replaced by bodies of imps. Some were carved up, as if with giant swords, others have been bludgeoned to death - he could not decided which of the two subsets of corpses looked more frightening, not because of the gore, but because of their implications. He knew from personal experience that slaying even a single imp took almost a titanic effort, and was likely to doom the slayer as well, imps never surrendered. He meandered among the streets, occassionally checking the less flayed bodies of Shaden for signs of life. No luck so far.

A literal trail of dead imps littered the way to the bell tower. It looked like the effects of a siege, but where were the defenders? He heard no-one, saw no one. Albert took caution - if something was strong enough to slay these many imps, he didn't want it on his bad side. Instead of venturing closer, he proceeded to examine the area at some distance from the ill-omened tower. As he was passing through an alley, he noticed the carcass of one of the Netherspawn lying there. It was a good thing he did, since if he didn't, he might have had to procure himself a peg leg.

With a shriek, the dead body came to life, clawing at his shin. Albert removed himself from the vincinity of the creature's clawed arms, but not before his boot was slashed and ripped. Axe in hand, he stared at the imp from a safe distance, a couple meters away by the alley's wall, feeling warm blood trickle down his foot. A quick glance proved it only a glancing wound, little more than a scratch. There were bigger problems at the moment, such as the efectuator of said injury.

The imp was in very bad shape. Something big, mostly blunt but with spikes on it, identified by jagged holes they made, smashed into the Netherspawn's chest, crushing flesh and bone, smashing the ribcage and introducing some new orifices. A similar thing happened to the imp's legs, which looked broken in several places. Albert looked up and saw a few black bloodstains on the wall - clearly, the creature attempted some sort of ambush, only to be caught between a weapon and the very wall it was hiding behind. No human could have survived this much punishment, but imps were made of sterner stuff. This one still had some fight in it, despite being so close to death.

"C'mere, you bloody lardball!" screached the imp, gurgling and spraying blacking blood expelled from its mauled lungs. Just about the only things it could move were arms, and they weren't long enough to reach Albert. "******** coward!"

Albert thought nothing of the creature's insults, and was already calming down. There wasn't a danger, at least if he was careful. As the imp hurled profanities at him, he considered what exactly he would do with this situation. "Shut up already!" he screamed at the imp.

"Naff off, idjit!" the imp replied, thinking nothing of the command, and was about to continue the litany of curses, if Albert hadn't just mostly lopped off his left foot. The creature just winced - or at least Albert thought it was a wince. "Was that supposed t' hurt?" The imp laughed condescendingly - or tried to, it came out more as a wheezing gurgle. "My old ma hits harder, ya bloody wanker!"

"SHUT UP!" Albert was getting angry. "You're going to answer me some questions!"

"Like ****! Ol' Yiskel's not tellin' you piss," the Netherspawn looked like it would enjoy some fighting before he died. "Now try that again an' I'm going t'rip out your bloody beater!"

Albert frowned. He knew a little bit about fighting imps, and that knowledge didn't paint them as especially prone to feeling pain. At all. Imps would continued to fight to the death in the face of even entirely crippling injuries - just like in this situation. The only reason Yiskel wasn't leaping to rend Albert apart was because he literally couldn't do it, gravity had some solid objections. "Tell you what," Albert relaxed a bit, and looked directly at the imp. "What say I do like you say and sod off? Leave you here and go away."

This got the creature's attention, its expression one of actual thought mixed with extreme derision - at least that was what Albert thought it was, since it was difficult to read someone of a completely different race, both physically and mentally.

"Yeah," it was Albert's turn to grin. "I'll just leave you here to die."

"That's what you think, ya wanking sod!" Yiskel spat. "I'm going t'get bloody better, I am."

"No, you aren't," Albert disagreed. "Look at you - you're a mess. Even if you survive, you're never going to walk again. ****, I dunno if you'll be able to breathe much easier than you are now. How about it?"

The imp launched into a quick and mostly unintelligible string of profanities. Albert waited until it was out of breath.

"Or I can just kill you," he shrugged. "If you tell me what I want to know, that is."

"Why d'you bleedin' think I'm gonna tell you anythin', wanker?" there was something like uncertainty in the strained voice of the imp.

"It's your choice, you moron," Albert was getting exasperated somewhat. "You can shut up, then I go away and leave you to remain a cripple. Or you can answer some questions, and I send you on your way to whatever gods you worship. Your choice," he repeated.

The imp stared at him, as if wanting to drill a hole in the Shaden man just by looking. Unfortunately, he wasn't a sorcerer. "Fine, you human fatsack, ask your wankin' questions and then we'll see just who kills bloody who."

[Skellie]

It was an unsettling sight, that cemetery. The place was surrounded by a stone wall a little over five feet tall, built from local pebbles up to the last layer, flat tiles slightly wider than the wall itself. The snow covered seemingly everything in a thick blanket, and where it had fallen, no evidence of recent activity was to be seen. The entrance to the cemetery, a rotten thing made out of wood, swung by the wind, suspended on rusty hinges underneath a decorative arch of no notable craftsmanship. It depicted two angelic figures in silent prayer, their shapes vague and their faces indistinguishable due to corrosion.

Devyn entered first, taking a few short steps before stopping to wait for Lady Cassandra to follow. “Looks like nobody’s home except the dead” she noted with a smirk, hoping to start a conversation. The trueborn seemed to notice, but gave no response, instead gazing at something in the distance. The moment of silence reminded her of the creaking gate behind them. It annoyed her, so she closed it. “Oh, did I startle you, Milady?” she met Cassandra’s wide open eyes “My most humble apologies” she said with a slightly theatrical bow. “Let’s look around, shall we?”

“Y-yes, I guess we should…” the young noblewoman suddenly noticing herself stutter. She cleared her throat and added “Something… terrible happened here, the spirits of the place are still fresh and restless”.

“Wouldn’t guess by the looks of it, so serene. Wild even.” To her the cemetery looked like chaotically placed planks of wood engraved with names and holy symbols, sticking up from small snowy hillocks “Still, I can’t shake this feeling of wrongness all over the place. What do you see, Lady Cassandra?”

The trueborn closed her eyes and drew a breath of the chilly air before answering “The graves… offer no rest for these ghosts, their forms“ she shuddered “they are disfigured, butchered and how they scrape by, unknowing of naught but pain.” The knight placed a comforting hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and nodded.

She continued, seemingly calmer “They keep on speaking of a dire avenger, that haunts them in the dark, it would cleanse them of sin until nothing remained. They also speak of fallacy, of abandonment and other such topics that preoccupy the attention of those who suffered violent death. I cannot make out anything specific out of them, but I feel their pain vividly”

“What could possibly haunt a ghost?” Devyn’s inquired, finding the concept somewhat of an oddity.

“I fear we are soon to find out.” Cassandra said grimly.

[JT Jag]

Virgil

As he reached the gates, he heard light steps behind him. His hand innocuously reached deep into his cloak, as he turned to see the young Shaden. Jared, if his memory served right. One of Jared's hands was hovering over one of his two sheathed swords. Just as Virgil's hand had been near a knife in his cloak, though that had gone fortunately unseen.

Virgil slowly retracted his hand out of his cloak as the Shaden spoke tersely. "Why are you following me?"

I wasn't following you. We just stumbled upon the same place. It was the truth, but it sounded too convenient. If Jared had some mild paranoia issues (as Virgil did), then he might start keeping tabs...

"Oh, you seemed to know where you were heading. There's only so many ways into this place, so I came this way."

The Shaden's face lightened oh-so-slightly, as his hand left the sword. "... Fine. You can tag a---" Before he could finish the sentence, the sound of a twig snapping came from further back on the path.

Both Virgil and Jared went back on guard, trying to find this new possible threat--- only to find another fellow traveler, this time Orynn, the houri in the employ of Lady Cassandra.

Virgil quickly pulled his hand away from his weapon--- this time the rapier strapped to his hip. His eyebrow raised slightly, as he moved back to a more casual pose. "Well met, Lady Orynn."

"Something seems off about this place... Lord Virgil, was it?" The houri attempted to look through the grates of the entryway of the chapel. "We should go in together."

Virgil nodded. Drawing the rapier, he turned back to the gate. "Alright then. I'll be the point man. Follow my lead."

He swung open the gate, slipping into the chapel. Closing the gate carefully behind him, he got his first good look at the room.

He dropped the rapier to the floor, and his hands went quickly to his mouth, to suppress a surprised shout and to hold back the sudden wave of nausea. The sight was as if from a horror story told around campfires, but far, far worse. The floor was covered in concentric circles, painted with what looked to be blood. The very room itself stank of rot and decay, but Virgil tried to fight through it.

Runic signs were intersparced here and there along the circles, but Virgil could barely see them, what with the dozen or more corpses that lie dead on top of them. They were clothed in a way that implied them to be former members in the chapel's clergy, and they had died in a way that implied that they had peacefully--- if you could call it that--- slit each other's throats.

On closer inspection, it seemed the circles themselves were made of a combination of smaller runes, and it was only the major runes that the clergymen covered. He couldn't inspect them further, though, as the headache he had been developing ever since entering the chapel did nothing but intensify as he concentrated.

There was more to see, he was sure, but he couldn't stay in that place any longer. Quickly opening the gate one more, he closed it behind him and slumped down, leaning on a nearby column. He cast a jaundiced gaze at the two others in his group, and after a few rather wet coughs, spoke.

"The coast is clear. You won't like what you see."

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Cassandra had set foot in graveyards before. When she had been very young, she had slipped from her bed one night and followed the whispers beneath her family's chapel. She had not known to fear the dim shapes rising from urns and sarcophagi, who laughed and told stories and patted her head with faint, thin hands that gave her headaches.

She still remembered the whiteness of her mother's face when she pushed past the crypt door with a party of men-at-arms to find her sitting on a bier and talking to nothing readily visible in the dark.

It was part and parcel of learning the Art to blunt the normal fear so many felt when dealing with the dead. There had been cold nights on a lonely hilltop plot, when the wind bit like wolves' teeth and the stars were dim. After the first few times she had been alone, listening to the whispers. Eventually they became individual voices, and as she came to know the lingering spirits in their time before they left the world, they ceased to frighten her.

But those had been familiar spirits in a familiar place. They were practically old friends. No such rapport existed in this blighted place. The spirits were as disturbed as any she had ever heard, a clamorous assembly of suffering. And though the words were unintelligible, the confused babble gnawed steadily at her mind like a pack of famished rats worrying a meaty bone.

Cassandra bent low to the earth and examined one of the graves, not entirely sure of what she sought. Perhaps she was merely trying to keep from listening to the sibilant voices. But whatever the case, the young woman's eyes narrowed as she studied the headstone.

At first she thought the stone's holy symbols had simply been gouged out. That notion was disturbing enough, of course, but as she ran a hand along the chill, damp stone, it came away smeared with something vile and black. It looked and felt like oil, but there was something more unpleasant in the sensation than she could easily put a name to. She shook her hand and wiped it clean in the snow, shuddering. Long streaks ran from the script chiseled into the headstone.

She straightened and regarded one of the taller plinths standing high in the growing dark. Were those cobwebs wrapped about the monument? Strange...she reached out and brushed a strand. It was thick.

"Milady Devyn," she said, rather proud of the way her voice kept mostly from trembling. The ghosts' muttering was really getting to her. Victoria, is there no way to still their incessant chatter? "Pray examine one of the headstones. Something has defiled this place..."

---
Reskeis

Reskeis swore inwardly. Damn, but the nosy bloodsucker was good. No high-and-mighty toff ought to move like that. It was almost a relief not to have the man's eyes on him when he disappeared into the yawning door. What's he think he knows? he wondered. His weak, claw-less fingers worked at nothing, itching for the familiar touch of his dague.

He waited while the minutes lengthened. His nerves were like coiled springs. Neither sound nor anything else escaped the yawning void into the building.

"He's been in there a spell," he ventured at length, eying the woman next to him. Not that he expected her to be of much help; all his experience with the wench indicated she was a hanger-on. "Think we should go in after him?"

And just at that moment, Virgil emerged from the blackness. Reskeis tensed, expecting something else to follow, but nothing did. The bloodsucker looked a bit green about the gills, he noted. As the man collapsed against a nearby column, it seemed like even that short span- and it hadn't been too long, Reskeis realized- had drained him somehow.

"The coast is clear," Virgil said at length after a spell of ugly coughing. "You won't like what you see."

"S'no surprise here," Reskeis replied. He advanced on the portal, passing the sickly-looking man without a backward glance. The dark swallowed him as he plunged through the open door.

His first impression was of the smell. The long chamber reeked, and as he inhaled out of instinct the taste was almost as bad. Cloying darkness wrapped itself about him, at first too thick to see anything. He wasn't used to that; nowhere in the Nether was it anywhere near as dark as this noisome hole. It was like he felt its sticky embrace wrapping tightly about....wait...

He paused letting his eyes adjust, and became aware of a sickly illumination inside the long nave. It took him a moment to locate the source of the pallid light, alternatively green and red. When his gaze alighted upon the glowing runes, written in gore upon the stones, his head ached. That's not right.. he thought. Blood never bothered me...

He raised a hand and realized he had walked straight into something like cobwebs, strung from column to floor at random in sticky, thick strands. They had a reddish patina, like bloody bones, and the rank taste hung thick off them. After a few moments of struggling he brushed the mesh off and kept walking. Damn, but his head was pounding. Why is this body so weak? he complained to nothing in particular.

He neared one of the corpses, an old Lightwalker man dressed in soiled robes, tumbled onto the stones in a half-kneeling position. Crimson had spilled from the neat second smile carved into his throat, down his robes and onto the floor; he had left a long trail of blood as he stumbled to this unremarkable corner of the nave. Something- maybe the victim, but it would take a steady hand to march it so precisely- had scrawled one of the strange clusters of runes below him, somehow clearly distinguishable in the midst of the pool of gore beneath him. His eyes crossed and his head smarted as he tried to read it...

It wasn't Lightwalker scrawl. He knew the jagged, angular shapes, nothing like the spidery, embellished script used by Lightwalkers, or even the simpler stuff in their printed documents. But the words...well, there weren't words, nothing he could readily identify.

"Eerie," he muttered, straightening. Why was his head pounding so? And now there was a bad aftertaste in his mouth. Damn this wretched human facade and its weakness!

He looked at the nearby stained-glass windows running along the walls in ranks. They were oozing black and rust-colored slime at the corners. His instincts were yelling at him now, and he knew enough to tighten his hands around his dague hilts.

It disgusted him that they were trembling slightly.

[yli]

Ayani knew better than to argue with success, so she left Albert to deal with the imp. It probably wouldn't reveal too much information, small parties like this only entered opportunistically. But with all the Nether incursions in this area, something big was happening on the other side.

Albert held his weapons steadily in his hands, but would he have the presence of mind to ask the imp about what was going on in the Nether? Probably not. Martius would, but the presence of another human might cause the imp to change his mind. No imp worth his imphood would ever say anything to a paladin. Ayani hopped out of the bell tower, waiting for Mina at the bottom.

"You say your camp is to the south, over a ridge? Would you care to point it out for me?" asked Ayani.

"I'll lead you to it." Mina slowly trudged after Ayani, dragging her feet along.

"On second hand, why don't you stay behind and rest a bit?"

Mina thought it through for a second.

"It's better if I go along with you."

"Stay behind with the caravan, you need some rest, something to eat."

"No, that camp contains all my possessions and supplies. Simply leaving them behind would--"

"Get back to the caravan". Ayani's sentence was punctuated with a dull, heavy thump in the mud. Mina stared worryingly at the giant lump of steel Ayani was hefting.

[AbuDhabi]

Albert hesitated for a moment before beginning the interrogation. Out of a corner of his eye, he saw someone walk by, but they looked human, so he disregarded them. He had more dangerous creatures to worry about.

"Right, first of all... why did you lot come here? Something special about this town?" he began the line of questions.

The imp let out a choking laugh and shook his head. "What're ya, stupid? Wasn't for the shine, I kin tell you proper! Folk weren't even good sport!"

This cause a couple of raised eyebrows on Albert's part. "What, then?"

Old Yiskel licked his lips in an uncomfortably lizardlike manner. "The boss said some fleas been wanking about with the local magic, aye? 'Ave a book he wants, an' what the boss wants, he gets, y'savvy? Been trackin' the bloody fools with their spooks for weeks now, but they almost never come out t'play." He coughed again, bloody spittle spattering the ground.

"And you found them here?"

"I wish!" Yiskel laughed. "Then we''ve had us some fun. No, jus' a bunch of craven bloody sheep!"

Albert scratched his head with his free hand. "But... they, whoever they are, were here?"

"The demons! you're slow, arencha? Why else'd we be here? Better scraps on the Front!"

"Hey, wait a minute..." Albert blinked, "they're going to Dammerinthes, aren't they?"

"Who?" The imp clearly didn't know the name - curious.

"It's, uh, a place," Albert explained. "Where all the weird crap nowadays is going on? I figured you'd know about it."

"Why th'bloody **** would me an' my mates care about another Lightwalker hovel?" Yiskel's voice was becoming thicker, and he appeared to be trying to pull himself along with his hands.

Albert took a cautious half-step back. "No reason, apparently. So lemme get this straight. You were sent here to find some folks and their magic book, didn't find them, trashed the place, and decided to stick around?"

Yiskel's voice was almost a choked whisper now. "Well, somebody give the boy a prize... had to take a look-see, y'know... maybe... make the trip... worthwhile..." The imp glared at Albert, but the hate in his glowing eyes seemed weaker; he'd clearly been hoping for at least a last swipe. "Y'done? I ain't got all day for this." He gurgle-laughed painfully again at his own witticism.

"Yes," said Albert, raised his axe, and swung heavily at the imp's neck.

---

Minutes later, Albert was walking back to the caravan, favouring one leg slightly.

[Caphi]

He wasn't used to traveling with other people - one doesn't get an epithet like "the Walker" merely by making it up. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been noticed.

Now the abnormal circumstances kept him from leaving. Back when Virgil discovered him, the cacophony all around him had just been enough of a distraction for him to slip up and reveal his presence to the Trueborn. At the time he'd cursed himself for it. At least he was still mostly feminine, and the dark shrouded the transformation he'd allowed himself.

The thing was, now that he was close to the chapel, that noise was far more than just an annoyance. He really, really hoped that he wasn't showing any signs of the fear, the pain in his head, and the sickness swimming in his gut. He'd only wanted to watch Virgil, and find out what was up with the man. From afar, unbothered. Now he didn't want to leave the lord's side. Damn it all.

And Jared. Orynn's head was filled with the dark, thorned noise blasting from the inside of the chapel, but he had been in many inns and spoken with hundreds of Shaden. He knew what the Song of one sounded like, and he didn't hear it. He didn't know what Jared's song was supposed to be. Somehow, he knew just one thing. Jared sounded like someone he'd want to have nearby right now.

Orynn had started on this path, as he did all others, wanting to be alone. Now, standing at the end of it, alone was the last thing he wanted to be, and that in itself frightened him.

You won't like what you see.

"Stay together. Something horrible is inside." The last sentiment Orynn ever expected to say, let alone believe. But it was the message in the sound that echoed, thrashing, in his skull.

His small hand gripped tightly to his staff. Its tip dug into the ground.

[JT Jag]

Virgil reached into his cloak, grasping at his belt. He drew out a small vile filled with a deep red liquid, popping off the stopper and downing it. After shuddering briefly, he started breathing normally for the first time since entering the chapel.

"Dove's blood. Mild tranquilizing properties. Keep it on me for this precise type of situation." He pushed himself up into a standing position, and finally realized that he had dropped his rapier back in the room. "Oh well." I don't really like swords anyway.

Virgil drew out his portable crossbow, holding it in his left hand. He then produced a knife in his right hand from places unknown. "I'm afraid it won't work for you, Orynn. I'm sure it's horrible for you, feeling... that." He gestured vaguely into the chapel, and then seemed to remember something.

"Hey, Jared. Jared, you still in there?" After no response, Virgil tensed up. "All-Mother be dam---"

His curse was cut short by a deep rumble emanating from the chapel, and then something else. An unnatural hiss, that cut straight to the bone.

"No, no, NO. I'M COMING FOR YOU, KID!"

And with that, Virgil charged headlong back into the chapel, crossbow and dagger at the ready, totally unprepared for what he was about to see.

[Jetrauben]

The girl was in the chapel now. Great, like that'll help, Reskeis thought. Maybe if she faints on me I can use her as bait? He swallowed, but his mouth was dry. Pathetic. I'm as bad as the strumpet.

That got him angry, and the anger lit his insides like a furnace. He remembered then what he'd survived before. He'd survived the worst the lawless streets could throw at a brat. He'd been in hundreds of scraps, killed enough imps and beasts and monsters that he couldn't even put a number to it anymore. He'd thrust a dague into a demon's blazing heart, laughing and taunting it as it shrieked and thrashed.

That put the sand back in him again, and he gritted his teeth with anger and determination as he heard the wench speak up. "Stay together. Something horrible is inside."

"Well fire an' brimstone, poppet, I hadn't thought o'that," he snarked back.

And even as he was turning to glare into the darkness, letting his eyes adapt fully to the noisome murk, there was a high, shrieking hiss, and a great weight thudded to the ground ahead. Reskeis had barely time to pick out something large and crouched for a spring before it was racing towards him, shrieking in a distorted voice, clicking, clawed limbs eating up the ground.

It was one of those frozen moments, letting the imp get a good look at his attacker. The lunging monster might have once been a woman; her face was still horribly human except for the thin black line running from lower lip to chin, and though it was hard to tell with the beast crawling on all eight, vaguely human limbs, the upper torso was still mostly woman-shaped. But those four rounded, triple-jointed arms ended in fingers like scything spines. Her naked skin was a pallid white, thick on the shoulders and joints with calcified spines rising from her chitinous hide.

A tangle of four mutated legs still holding echoes of womanhood emerged from her hips, bent far enough to awkwardly accommodate the long spidery abdomen that had swollen from her rump. There were nets of bloody webbing left behind in her footsteps and between her elongated limbs, the same color as the long, unrestrained hair flowing halfway down her eight-foot-long body. Her black, empty eyes were looking right at him, and the expression in them was cruelly murderous, hungry for the chase.

All these impressions leapt through his mind, and then the beast was upon Reskeis. She struck with too many hands at once, gashing his clothes, scratching at the pathetically weak human skin beneath. Unaccustomed pain shot through the imp in human form, and he let out a sharp cry, bringing up his blades, kicking and struggling. As the dagues leapt from their sheaths there was a bright green flash, and the monster shrieked, demon-fire kindling webbing and sizzling along the flesh of her arm. Thick, reeking smoke rose about them.

But the flame died, and the monster reared up and pinned Reskeis beneath her mutated form, limbs all pounding, body slamming. Her breath, stinking of blood and fear, was hot on his face. Punishing blows rained upon Reskeis' abdomen, clanged off his jack of plate; one cut a thin line in his cheek. They were a flailing mass of limbs and struggling forms. He managed to get a blade free and cut a gash in the creature's stomach, but the hide was thick, and the hasty blow did nothing more than spatter him with foul-smelling ichor bubbling and frothing from the wound.

The spider-thing shrieked and swore at him in her shrieking voice, and something horrible began to happen to her face. Two tiny creases on her forehead parted to reveal another pair of eyes, and then the line parting her chin split and widened, her entire lower jaw splitting in half, becoming dripping, oozing mandibles. Venom dribbled from her revealed tongue, and the new mouthparts worked furiously. The ghastly sight sent shivers running through him; his mouth went dry.

"Demons' blood!" Reskeis swore, and then the beast struck, horrible maw snapping furiously at his face and missing to strike the stones. She shrieked, an utterly inhuman howl, and then the mandibles closed, the human facade reformed. That was what he'd been waiting for.

As she raised her hands again to strike, the transformed imp roared his fury and followed his street-fighter's instincts, slammed his head straight into his opponent's face. It hurt- the creature's skull was hard, and his sense of pain annoyingly acute!- but the thing reared back, clutching at her face.

Before he could move to exploit the opening, before he could do anything at all, one of his legs felt sticky and wet. He looked down- a tangle of webbing had dribbled from the creature's abdomen and hands, and before he could cut it it the monster seized her tangled cords and swung it, smashing him into the stones and knocking the wind out of him. Again she took hold and launched him far and wide. As she pitched him out into the dark, his dague cut a long, burning line in her side.

Glass shattered somewhere out of sight, followed by a dull thump.

[Skellie]

Devyn’s armor clinked softly as the lady knight knelt down and examined the defiled gravestone. It was clear something terrible had happened here. She had rarely seen anything like the fetid ooze running from sacred symbols, but the ugliness of it almost drowned out the melody of torment echoing faintly all around her. She hugged her sword a little closer, losing herself in the soaring hymn, but even that seemed faintly duller than before.

“Something awful has happened here,” she said. “Something has twisted this place from the All-Mother’s benediction.” The tortured backdrop of Song gnawed at her, and she had to fight hard not to blanch. A paladin showed no fear in the face of evil.

Was it getting louder…?

As the last remnants of sunset faded into darkness, the tainted melody was blotted out by a horrific shrieking noise. Both women reeled, clutching their ears in pain, and the shriek rose higher and higher until it surpassed noise, until it became a thunderclap. Snow billowed, catching faint starlight... not starlight.

Gravestones fell as the earth beneath them stirred, and then black shapes three rose from beneath the snow. They were more than ghosts, but less than flesh, wispy forms like a merger of black cloak and withered bodies. Gimlet lights glowed in drawn, death’s-head faces; lipless mouths parted and let out more of the horrid shrieks. The air around them was blacker than the night, but they seemed seemed surrounded by rotten green illumination. Screaming, the ghastly forms began to circle, reaching out with bony hands, swiping about the women’s heads with rusty blades.

Fear swept through Devyn for just a moment, and then she reacted, grabbing Lady Cassandra and as gently as the circumstances allowed pushing her down into the snow face-first.

“Stay behind me, my Lady! I’ll hold them off!” If Cassandra replied, it was muffled by the snow and lost in that ugly screaming. Holding fast to the saintly hymn of her sword, Devyn rose, and with both hands she swung the glowing blade right as another spectre passed by. There was a moment of resistance, the blade glowing brightly, and then it snapped through the rusty weapon held in defense, passing easily through the wispy form.

The ghost shrieked and plummeted to the earth, dissolving as it fell. Another three passed, and each blade scraped along her plate; even the contact sent a chill through her. One sliced in a gap between plates, and she felt the sting of pain. She started praying then, chanting the catechism of Saint Erasme in a loud voice, as firm as she could make it. Warmth flowed through her, a loving presence, and the air about her and Lady Cassandra began to glow. Ghosts reared back from that light, howling in fury, and though it quickly began to dissipate against the evil of the place, it bought them time.

Three more of them rose, bearing an ancient coffin of rotten wood. When they had risen ten feet above the sundered earth, the bony hands let go, and the coffin clunked to the snow. Where it touched the snow, the whiteness was stained black. The coffin began to buckle, the planks to shiver, as if something of great power sought to burst free. Another soul-rending shriek came from deep within, and then the exploded, planks twisting apart and elongating like foul tentacles, rusty nails like claws. At the center of the hideous protrusion was another withered shape, withered and fouled by decay. She heard Lady Cassandra cry out.

"There is no need to fear, Lady Cassandra!" Devyn firmly assured, eyes fixating on the evil before her. With one last prayer to the All-Mother, she lunged forward, bringing her sword down upon the monstrosity, the blade connecting solidly with one of the plank-tentacles. Instead of splintering like normal wood should, it gave like flesh under her strike, her sword lodged halfway in the writhing appendage as it began to ooze a slimy black goo.

Disgusted, she pulled her blessed sword free and twisted to avoid another strike from the ghost coffin, the rusted nail-claws sparking against her armour. Yet another grasping tentacle lashed out at her, wrapping tightly around her forearm. Tighter and tighter it squeezed, trying vainly to drive it's claws through the plate bracer, the opposing metals creating a horrible screech as they moved against each other. But despite the creature's strong, determined attempts to drag the Paladin in closer, Devyn held her footing, even in the icy snow.

[yli]

"Lieva?"

<You can call me Fari.> I sign, letting the bright green letters sink into the dimly lit air.

"Sure then. I want you to vocalize for me Fari. Don't be afraid." Thomas, the troupe's quartermaster, is an old man with half-moon spectacles and a kindly smile, one he points in my direction. He taps his fingers on a workbench, waiting for me to begin.

I take in a deep breath as the anxiety bubbles up in my chest. What if it's not good enough?

I give it my all...which just about comes down to a thin, reedy gurgle. I bury my face in my hands, feeling sheepish. Thomas nods his head sagely and writes down some notes in a rather thick ledger tethered to the workbench. What now? I tap my fingers on my forehead, on my ocular lenses.

"Please, you have nothing to be afraid of." The reassuring smile again. "Your place in the troupe is assured." Thomas grabs a handful of white powder in a barrel besides the workbench and throws it onto the table.

<It is?>

"Yes, of course. You would have never gotten this far if it was otherwise."

<It's a great honor to be here.>

"Of course. What intrigues me the most is your mask." Thomas was sifting the white powder between his fingers now, spinning the dry powder into solid lumps. "Tell me a bit more about it."

<Nothing much to it... I wear it because people are frightened by my appearance.> My hands skip a beat as I let the letters form in the air.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Your recruitment papers indicated that you're enormously talented." The powder spins faster and faster. "Any mechanical details you can tell me about your mask?"

<Steel, silvered surface. Harmonic binding. The lenses that cover my eyes are harmonically generated glass.>

"Ah...intriguing." The powder spun itself into a whirlwind. Thomas began to whistle. The tune was eerie, frightening and unreal. Sparks of black fire shot from the workbench. All I could do was stare. And then the music stopped. There was a pure white mask, mostly featureless, with the same black lenses covering the eyeholes that my base mask had.

My hands trembling, I try it on. It fits easily, molding to the contours of the mask underneath.

"Go grab a pig from the meat locker next to my office. Take one back here, hang one up on the meathooks besides you."

I nod and head to the meat locker next door. I try to look for one of the skinnier ones, but they're all fat, meaty looking animals. Unhooking the skinniest one I can find, I drag it back to Thomas' office. I nearly faint as he puts a chainmal hauberk on the pig, and a steel plate on it. As I hang the pig up again, Thomas simply nods.

"You're a strong one, aren't you?"

<My body is my instrument.>

"Ah...Well, I want to see if the vocal filters I installed for you work. Just vocalize, aim towards the pig."

I take a deep breath and give it everything. The resulting scream is deep, demonically so. I take a step back in shock.

"Ah...perfect."

There's a deep, linear dent in the steel plate. Thomas removes the plate and the hauberk to reveal the widely split laceration beneath. I can see the pig's broken ribs.

"Now imagine that in an opposing solider." I do. Part of me wants to throw up.

"I'm having a hard time doing...Am I talking?" The words are coming out of my throat, out of lungs. It's a hard-edged, demonic rumble, one that crept down my spine.

"Yes, you are speaking. That's what the voice filters in the dread mask do."

"Mind if I try something else?" I barely know what I'm doing.

"Go ahead."

I take in a deep breath.

You may tremble outside the gates of Hell,
You may watch as the heavens fall
And you may slight the hands of fate
And you may heed the siren's call!

Half the pig slid onto the floor. The chainmail hauberk held up for a second or two, before disintegrating into its component links.

"Excellent. Remember, the dread mask can cause problems for others not in the Masque, so treat it as a weapon."

"But I like talking!"

Without prompting, the steel plate splits down the middle. I take the mask off immediately.

<S, n't k te k?> Half the letters won't form. The ones that do disappear instantly.

"Umm..."

<W's g?!>

Thomas pushes me a quill and a sheet of paper.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?! I write.

"There could be complications with your normal method of communication. It should wear off in a couple of hours.

BUT I CAN'T TALK.

"But what can I do?"

SOMETHING.

"Well...it could be the vocal filters. Sorry, nothing I can do."

OK.

I turn around, I have a uniform to pick up.

~*~*~
I wake up. Pounding headache. The dog smashed me into a pine tree. I'm not tied down. All my appendages are present. None of my weapons are gone, nor is any of of my money.

I feel my face. Both masks still present.

Good.

I somehow manage to stagger out of the back of the wagon, my vision blurry from the impact.

I turn around a corner, and bump into one of the caravan guards.

"And you are?"

<My name's Fari.>

"Excuse me?"

<Fari. That's F-A-R-I. Or maybe you'd prefer Lieva?>

"For the love of ****, SPEAK. Don't stand there in your mask gesturing with your hands to me."

I sigh. I draw a picture of my mask floating in the air. Then I draw a picture of a mouth talking. Then I draw a picture of my dread mask.

"I still don't get it."

I delete the pictures of everything but the dread mask. I draw a picture of the guard keeling over dead, then I point to the top of my head, where I keep the mask.

"So, you're saying...the dread mask will kill me?" The guard takes a step back, his hand going for his axe.

I shake my head. I draw a picture of myself again. I draw a picture of a person talking, then I shake my head.

"You don't talk much?"

I nod.

"Oi, you there, get over here." The caravan guard motions one of the clerks over. "What's her name?"

<My name is Fari.>

"Her name is Fari."

"Well, that's it?"

<Fari Ghadnan.>

"Her family name is Ghadnan....say, doesn't that other gypsy girl have that name, the blind one?"

<Ayani? She's with you?>

The clerk shrugs. "Yea, I guess so."

"****ing circus freaks..." The caravan guard turns around and leaves.

[AbuDhabi]

Strings of weird coincidences appeared to have chosen this time and place to plague the caravan. Barring the mere existence of Ayani Ghandan and her participation in their little expedition, there was the imp-raided town that also housed some magicians with their book that the imps wanted, said imps being summarily slaughtered - all with similar methods - and now some weirdly dressed woman in a mask showing up, claiming to be related to Ayani. It was a bit much, to Albert's mind, and he got back to the task at hand - bringing the report on what he saw and heard to Martius. He looked around warily, but Ayani herself seemed to be nowhere around... not that it mattered much. That bint could fly.

Albert strode up to the caravan master, who was sitting on a wagon and inspecting some kind of book - not that Albert would know what kind, being barely capable of identifying writing when he saw it. "Sir?" he prompted Martius, who merely glanced at him to see who was talking to him.

"Weren't you supposed to be scouting the town?" Martius gestured at the buildings around them.

"I did, sir," nodded Albert. "Found some weird things."

"And what might those be?" the caravan master looked up at his guard.

"I found imps, sir," Albert related. "Lots and lots of imps. All dead and torn up, like something crushed and bashed them to death. I'd seen wounds like that before, but that was in the mines, after a corridor collapsed. I dunno what might have killed them... Then there's those near the church - I think those were imps, but I'd call 'em minced meat."

Martius frowned, putting the book away. "You don't know who did this?"

"Uh, not really, sir," Albert shrugged.

"'All taken care of'..." the caravan master whispered, then shrugged. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Albert nodded. "Found one imp that was still alive. Guy was in bad shape, like the first ones I told you about, but he still managed to swipe at my leg, see?" He pointed to the sorry remains of his boot; he was going to find a bit of leather and try to repair it, afterwards. "Bugger didn't want to talk, at first, but kinda softened when I told 'im that I'd leave 'im there to die slowly."

"What did the imp say?" Martius seemed interested enough.

"That they've been sent by their masters to find some magicians who had a book their masters wanted or something," said Albert. "They trashed the town, but didn't find who they were looking for. I guess they stuck around 'cause they're bastards. That's, um, pretty much it."

Martius massaged his temple. "What are we getting ourselves into..."

"Uh, one other thing," Albert looked in the direction from whence he came. "Some brightly-dressed woman showed up. Wore a mask, and didn't speak, just waved her hands at us. The clerk says she claims to be named 'Fari Ghandan'."

"Not another one," Martius did all he could to avoid facepalming.

[JT Jag]

Ever since childhood, Virgil had possessed a rare talent to get himself into places unnoticed. Sometimes places he shouldn't have been. When he had half a mind to do so, he went unseen and unnoticed.

And when the mood possessed him, no one heard him. Never in his fairly long life had Virgil ever met someone else who had the natural capability for silent infiltration that he did.

And that doesn't even factor in his UNNATURAL ability for silent infiltration. During puberty, young Trueborn didn't only blossom personally, as Trueborn were innately mystical beings. Many began to show early potential as magic users at that time.

Virgil never had. He was a total botch as a sorcerer, but his innate talent was still there, and at first it had manifested itself in random and occasionally violent ways. But a Trueborn's innate trait often reflected who they are inside, and while Virgil once had been conflicted and young, he developed into a man burdened with unspoken regrets and weighed down by many secrets.

This is how Virgil found himself in the chapel once again. After preparing himself outside and watching the others enter, and after hearing the beginnings of conflict within, he snuck in unnoticed and unheard. A cloak of total silence was wreathed upon him, and he kept to the shadows, flanking the faux-arachnid wretch.

His crossbow was already at hand, and he had loaded it as he had snuck around the edge of the chapel. Then, with no fanfare and not even an audible "twang", the bolt flew towards the spot just between where he assumed the thing's first and second cervical vertebrae would be.

[yli]

Martius then proceeded to facepalm.

Another angry gypsy? Probably looking for Bertram. One capable of marching through snowstorms to track down a single isolated caravan. One that was probably going to stab his scout and leave him bleeding out in the snow. Best to play this by ear. He would let this...Fari join up with the caravan for now. Another scout would be nice, but it would be hard to keep Ayani and Fari from scheming with one another, in the way only gypsies could. He would have to try and keep them separate. Yes...

"Why don't you take a break?"

"Well, I guess so." Albert took Martius' advice and left to attend to his own whims.

Martius examined the book in his lap. It was an atlas, a detailed set of maps of Dammerinthes and the surrounding areas, carefully annotated to account for periodic flooding, human structures and other relevant features. This would prove very useful. He'd show the atlas to the scouts as soon as they returned. The other book that the guards recovered was the local priest's diary. Might provide some more clues, but the imp said all that was needed.

It wasn't his job to go find the book, or purge the land of taint. The chruch could do that for him. He had a several wagonloads of medicine, surgical equipment, bandages and water purification tablets to deliver, he had a strict timetable to adhere to, and a guarantee that the goods would be delivered (mostly) undamaged. Martius opened up the atlas again, plotting out the relevant routes. There was the city of Rugensburg, which sat on two rivers. If all went well, he would be there in a couple of weeks, maybe less than that. From there, he could unload his goods and return back to Vietzie, then from there, retrieve his next assignment from the Wayfarer's Guild.

Except it wouldn't go well. It never did. Even the most routine shipment jobs never went as expected, and now with the extent of the Nether incursion in Dammerinthes known, Martius knew that this shipment wasn't going to go well either. Martius had already written off 40% of his cargo before leaving Vietzie. That was standard operating procedure. But with the way things were going, he was going to have to run on bare essentials. The people of Dammerinthes needed the medicine and the water purification tablets more than anything. He called a guard over.

"Yea boss?" grunted the guard.

"When we start moving again, get the medicine wagons towards the front end of the caravan."

The guard looked at Martius like the caravan master was an idiot. "But boss, what if we get ambushed?"

"Most ambushes come from the sides and rear. Least important wagons are filled with guards. Give a nasty surprise to anything that tries to hit us. If anyone starts hitting from the front, they're probably useless gits anyway."

"Great thinkin' boss, I'll get to it immediately." The guard walked off.

~*~*~*~

"His name's Albert." The clerk was a shy looking man, a bit pudgy and probably found himself on the wrong end of his schoolmaster's cane more often than not.

<Albert's not very nice.>

"Just a bit ignorant I suppose. He's afraid."

<And Ayani, I hope she hasn't been causing you too much trouble.>

"She comes and goes. Really quiet. Doesn't shout, but her voice, it creeps up your spine."

<She never raises her voice. Growing up together, it sort of bothered me.>

"It would bother anyone."

<She has problems. Lots of them.>

I draw a picture of Ayani. The last thing to fade away as the image dissolves is the smile. The clerk shoots me a somewhat frightened look.

<Sorry. I think I should introduce myself to Martius.>

"Yes, he's right over there."

Fari walked over to where Martius was sitting. She guessed he could read, because he was browsing through an atlas. He glanced up.

"And you are our new guest..."

<Yes.> I let that single word hang in the air longer than usual. Martius' eyes narrow.

"And you are here because?"

<Basic reconnissance assignment for the Masque of Death. I'm to assess the situation in Dammerinthes and report back.>

Martius' eyes wander to my ankles, to the bits of string I tied around them. "Are you positive?" he asks.

Well. He knows.

"Bertram got the funny idea of wearing your anklets. He's with us too."

<WHAT!? That thieving bastard!> Martius takes a step back because the words I signed float in the air, burning brightly.

"Careful there girl. You damn near singed off my eyebrows. I can make him give them back, your anklets."

<You can?>

Martius grinned a beaming grin. "Of course I can. But you've got to promise me, not to stick a knife in Bertram's back."

I take a deep breath and simply nod.

[Sikon]

Nirowyn took a deep breath and, looking behind at the trail of deep footprints in the snowdrift, pulled her right foot out and put it on a root sticking out of the snow. Standing right next to a tree, she drew her knife out of its scabbard on her belt and, holding it in her left hand, made a cross-shaped mark on its trunk.

No matter how I look at it, the situation is rather grim, she thought, putting the knife back. Alone in the dusk, on foot, and the chapel is nowhere in sight. That Valerian and his shortcuts... Although if the map is to be believed, I just need to keep walking forward.

Sighing, Nirowyn made a few more steps...

...and froze in the tracks, just blinking for a few seconds. Her vision blurred, and she felt a little unsteady on her feet. The feeling was unmistakable: it was not something coming from her physical senses. She just knew. An aura of something horribly wrong, beyond human experience, forced its way into her mind, trying to turn her thoughts into an incoherent mess.

Nirowyn's first, instinctive urge was to step back and stay out of trouble. Perhaps in another situation, she would have done so -- but not now. Instead, she roused herself and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

If it's in the chapel, and the instincts manifested at this distance... Not good. Valerian?!

Overcoming her fear, Nirowyn walked forward with hastening steps, eventually switching to running. As the trees were clearing, however, the unsettling sensation grew stronger, and she had to focus on running -- while barely looking at her surroundings -- to avoid the fear from overwhelming and paralyzing her completely.

Nirowyn reached the clearing and caught her breath. Inhaling cold air at full speed hurt her throat, and she was showing signs of exhaustion under the weight of her backpack. However, the chapel compound was in sight now, and it apparently gave her a second breath. She stopped for a minute, mentally replaying the beginning of an old, awe-inspiring ballad, and then ran towards and through the compound entrance.

With sight alone, the exterior seemed empty -- disturbingly so -- but apart from immediately-noted signs of neglection in the buildings, and portions of the fence having fallen over, there was nothing visibly hinting at an immediate danger.

Nirowyn rubbed her eyes and looked at the other side of the compound. Now she saw an empty sleigh left in the open, its long trail in the snow, and horses standing in front of the stable. Still, there were no sentient beings in sight. If anything, it only increased her feeling of uncertainty.

So there are travelers here... Or were. Someone other than him, he would have come on foot... Still unable to shake off the aura, Nirowyn at least took another deep breath and turned her mind's attention away from her eyes. And then...

Smell of sweat... and decaying bodies... Nirowyn assessed. Those were not her own senses, but someone else's in the near vicinity, someone she had yet to see. Touch of cold metal... likely a sword hilt... and another one, with a crossbow. They're holding weapons. With fear, yet determination, force of will. Wait, that's... in two different places.

There were people around her, fighting... but where? Is Valerian among them? she thought. Is he in danger? Or has he not come here in the first place? I need to get inside and check the wall marks.

Casting an aside glance in the graveyard's direction, Nirowyn walked around the chapel, unsteadily leaning on the walls, before finally reaching the front door. When she took a look inside, however, the sight of the battle going on inside froze her motionless, with eyes wide open. She opened her mouth, but not only words but found herself unable to utter not just a single word, but not even a single inarticulate sound.

[umbralwarrior]

(( OOC: Sorry for the lack of response, been really busy ))

Charoxtre

The Vix moved through the gloom of the buildings, staying quiet, sticking to the shaodws as he searched for other signs of life. His senses alert, his staff held loosely but ready, Charoxtre flitted from shadow to shadow as he checked room and corridor for other signs of life.

He entered what turened out to be the main living area for the priests who should reside in this place but he found very little. It appeared that the rooms had been cleared quickly, yet with very little signs of struggle. Books lay open, candles burned out and other things in place that let the Vix know that the people here had either fled or were killed and removed very quickly and with little or no violence (or evidence of such at least).

Eventually, in one room, he found one corpse of a priest. From the placing of him, he had died quickly with very few signs of combat though the man;s face had frozen into a rictus grin of fear, thwe eys bulged in fear.

As the Vix examined the body, heard a scream from out in the cemetery. It wasn't a natural scream or a noise uttered from a living being but the call of the undead. A hunger filled that cry that made the hairs on the Vix's neck stand up. He turned quickly as he felt movement in the room and teh temperature dropped significantly around him.

As he turned, he saw the apparition approaching, reaching for him with dead, hungry eyes and a reach that the Vix was sure wqould try to reach his very soul if he let it. He swung with his staff which, unsurprisingly, went through it. The spirit did recoil, however; this was no ordinary staff the Vix was using. He struck again and again until the apparition finally dissipated, to be replaced by more. The fight began in earnest in that dark room.

[Caphi]

A bolt thunked into its body, and the cacophony muted. The fear drained out of Orynn's body, and it burned in response.

Apparently, for some, shame begets paralysis. The shame in Orynn's body was adrenaline, an impetus to act.

He didn't even remember bringing out his instrument, but it was in his hands. His breathing was slow, but his fingers flitted about at superhuman speed. The voice of the lyre was bright and sweet as always, but the melody was bitter and cold, like a miffed girl's voice when "you know exactly what you did". The strings bit into his fingertips. It was a pleasant feeling.

Orynn felt the ground, the stone walls, the pillar, and even the defiled altar. He let the lyre roar a chord, and with his spirit grasped the cold foundation of the temple and strained with all his body. A snap, then a rumble, echoed through the chambers. A great stone slab bucked beneath the arachne. The demon shrieked and fell over on its side.

Another chill fell through Orynn's spine, slicing through the warmth of the action. From the shadows. Low, sonorous, shot through with cymbals and the heavy strumming of strings exactly out of sync with his own song of earth.

"There's another one!" A wave of rock pitched up to his left, and thundered towards the shadow where the new music was playing. And the arachne was getting back up.

Please be okay, Jared, Please be safe, Virgil. Both wishes were total denial, of course.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Her words were muffled by the snow, but her eyes went wider when she saw Lady Devyn stand tall against the horrid sight. Coughing, sputtering, Cassandra scrabbled away from the expanding patches of black snow, ducking under another ghostly pass. Victoria! she screamed silently, not trusting the rush of adrenalin to last and desperate to act before the terror seized up her limbs. Heed me! Keep them off me!

It will be done! the ghost replied. Cassandra swallowed and spoke an incantation she had memorized for so long it barely needed any concentration, channeling her own magic into the ghost to give her form and substance beyond the astral realm. She swayed for a moment, fighting a surge of vertigo as the wailing ghosts' screams tore into her resolution, but gritted her teeth and struggled to regain balance, to keep speaking.

A violet shimmer appeared in the air to one side of the young woman, roiling and seething as it fed on streamers and tendrils billowing from runes appearing on the snow beneath. In the space of a few heartbeats a spectral woman bearing a ghostly blade was etched upon the air, throwing herself like a missile at one of the circling black shapes; shards and bits of frozen air sprayed in all direction when the two undead shapes met. Shrieking, the two shapes grappled and fought in the air, rusty blade against a spectral greatsword, kicking and punching.

Momentarily freed, Cassandra stood up straight, chewing her lip in anxiety, desperately flipping through the tome at her hip. Finding a page whose sigils seemed to glimmer with their own darkness she began to recite again, trying to blot out the sounds of battle or the unearthly chill slowly draining the color from her skin. As she spoke other runes glowed on the blackened snow, and from these runes a dark wall rose like a curtain of light-eating flames. The power swept through her veins, vibrated her hands, but she kept speaking, wincing against the darkness pooling about her eyes. Her voice rose in a yell, and then the dark bubble burst outwards. Black shapes fell away from the burning curtain howling, several coming apart as they fell to the snow in a cracking mess. The coffin-monster shrieked and reeled backwards, all its tendrils writhing.

But it did not fall, and new wraiths erupted from the earth once more to take their fallen fellows' places, just as fierce, just as horrible. Cassandra's eyes widened; the ritual of astral flame had drained her. She swallowed and beckoned Victoria back to her, noting the ghost was leaking purplish light in several places like blood and smoke. Their souls are bound, m'lady, the ghost apologized. They are as ravening beasts. It is foul magic!

Then the sword, Cassandra responded, swallowing again and drawing her own nervously. With a yelp she hoped did fair service as a battle cry she lunged forward, stabbing at the coffin-beast. The rapier's shaky thrust bit into one of the tendrils; the grasping limb loosened.

Flailing limbs lashed out, and a tentacle's nails cut along Cassandra's stomach. Pain shot through the young woman and she doubled over, unused to the blow. Droplets of blood dripped to the snow even as the gash gradually closed, leaving a strip of pale skin beneath the torn bodice. Another limb struck for her face and traced a momentary red slash along her cheek; it faded quickly, but Cassandra staggered back and stabbed again at random at the limb wrapped about Devyn's bracer. Again a spurt of ichor burst from the thrust, and gradually the grip fell away, sparks flying as nails ran along plate.

"Lady Devyn! Do you have a strategem?" Cassandra cried.

----

Reskeis

His head was fuzzy, and he tasted blood. He'd bitten his goddamn tongue!

The taste was good, though. Familiar. It cleared his head, sharpened his wits. He growled and pushed himself up from where he'd sprawled on all fours, scrabbling at the stones. Gloved hands closed on bone hilts. Good. He was still armed. Now to teach the ugly thing a lesson or two-

"There's another one!" The wench's voice...

Demons and hellfire! It was right behind him! He spun and leapt aside, raising one dague, but then something like a slab of stones smashed into its chest, knocking it back. It hissed, rushing him now, and tried to strike again, but the hideous limb that would have struck him gashed itself upon the burning blade. It howled, and in the green firelight he saw the creature in a momentary flash, a male full as large, fully as deformed, its hideous limbs and broad shoulders wrapped in bloody rags of webbing and suspiciously pale-looking hide. The face was cruel; its beard was short and gray. It howled and reared back to its full height, four limbs pounding down to smash him into the stones.

Too late. He was quicker; he'd found his rhythm again. As it swung he crouched and slid beneath the distended body, raising his other blade to carve a line of burning pain home. As he passed from beneath the bloated abdomen, the great shape crashed to the floor. An opening! A thin, vicious smile crossed his lips.

"I'll lay you out for maggots, you stinking lob!" The shadows were his ally as he dropped the Mask. The false human shape cracked and splintered away about him in a rush of oily fragments lost amidst the gloom, and the rush of renewed murderous power sent a surge of bloody enthusiasm through him.

The spider-thing tried to rise, but it had no idea of what it was facing. He threw himself atop the ugly abdomen with a single beat of his wings, stabbing in his dagues like climbing pitons. Unclean viscera spattered about him, but it didn't bother him; taking a firm hold of one blade he pulled the other free and launched a frenzied assault. Some strikes caught in the pitted hide, others dug into the softer flesh beneath. Poorly-aimed blows smashed into his shoulders and stomach, but they just knocked the wind out of him.

Reskeis moved to climb further up the beast's body, thinking to go for its neck, but then it started to reach out again. Clawed hands bent around farther than they should have been able, beating him back, striking at his face. Then it had dragged him about to his front and was staring him down, horrible mandibles snapping at his shoulders, drawing blood. Pain. But worse.

The dead eyes stared horror into his mind; its raspy, shrieking voice whispered things that made his blood chill, and for a moment he felt a wave of wholly unnatural fear. The hideous eyes filled his entire world; the voice breathed blasphemy in his ears. "I hear your pulse," it hissed. "Thump, thump, thump. Beating fast now. Sweet blood, chewy sinew, fluttering heart and mind and soul. Do as I say," it whispered, "and perhaps you'll cling to life a moment longer..."

Anger met uncharacteristic fear, and blasted through, and with a jerk he swung for the beast again. It reared back and roughly smashed him upon the stones. He heard bone grate. "Shhh...." it whispered, pressing a finger to its monstrous lips. "It'll only hurt for a few minutes..."

Reskeis gritted his teeth and swung awkwardly again, and this time it tossed him far out for a pillar. He had barely enough time to bring the Mask back up before he sailed out into the open again, cursing and trailing a fading wake of oily hues as he scrambled for his feet. One of his dagues remained in his hand; the other was still in the brute. He heard its limbs clicking and dragging on the stones as it emerged after him.

"'Zat all you got?" he roared, wiping his mouth and brandishing his remaining weapon. "C'mon then, come and get it! I'll rip out your guts an' feed 'em to you!"

It came on, but he had a moment to breathe. The other monster was thrashing for purchase and trying to rise. Something about it seemed slower, but its eyes still stared murder. Two of them still up and coming? Fine.

The wench with the lyre was still up; that didn't surprise him too much. He'd have been surprised if the dainty thing had had the stones to flee or to fight. The toff had his crossbow out; he stood still and rigid against the hideous thing, so at least somebody was thinking clearly. There was someone else standing in the door, but he hardly had any time to account for who or what it was before the male monster was on him again.

[Sikon]

Nirowyn wavered. Her senses were refusing her, and she could not clearly see the fight inside the chapel. All she saw was a humanoid silhouette standing against two huge, menacing silhouettes - belonging to creatures infused with this aura of perversion. She leaned on the open gate. A storm of conflicting thoughts was going through her head.

He's not alone. Who are all these people? They're fighting these... demons.. but should I intervene? And in any case, what can I do? Can I even make a difference here?

And then... she felt the walls shake.

And before she could even hear anything, her fear seemed to step aside, making way for -- as it seemed in her mind -- an approaching vortex of golden threads, reaching for her and drawing her away. Nirowyn narrowed her eyes; the scenery seemed to become closer to her, moving towards her, and calmness and warmth entered her chest.

Song presence? But how? Houri? Here? thought Nirowyn... right as the sounds of a lyre came into her ears, echoing the swirls, which then latched into a presence she could not see with her eyes -- but she knew that the source was somewhere near. And she could already feel the fingers touching the strings, with all-too-familiar determination.

Nirowyn could not read the unseen player's thoughts, but she discerned the intent.

This one has a reason to live.

She made a step back and smiled, rehashing an old memory, but immediately her facial expression turned into concern.

The foundation is weaker in this corner. And the walls... not good. With such carelessness, they could collapse the entire building! No, I must respond to this message of desperation. Singing? No, not with a sore throat... but...

Nirowyn walked away from the gate and, now standing right in the middle of the entrance, and took off her gloves, dropping them right there onto the ground. Her fingers were now freezing, but, not paying attention, she detached her flute from her belt, put her fingers over the holes, and began to play.

She started her melody along the same vein as Orynn -- bitter and melancholic -- trying to lock onto the rhythm and turn this into a meaningful, cohesive duet performance. As she went on to immerse herself, however, she turned her part gradually towards upbeat, heartwarming notes. You are not alone, unknown one, thought Nirowyn, holding the end of the flute tighter with her lips. You will survive here -- or make your death meaningful.

Nirowyn opened her eyes and looked at the monster silhouettes. Maybe if I turned our combined energy against them, we could... at least slow them down enough? Her rational thoughts seemed to be returning. But I'll need the other one's cooperation as well.

[Caphi]

A flute slipped in beneath Orynn's lyre, stepping into harmony. Tendrils of his consciousness extended into the temple walls, into its foundation, into its pillars, feeling them like fingertips. He felt Jared' weight, the monsters', and his own resting on the floor.

He played a short bridge melody to warn the other player. The song was no longer to be bitter or offended. It was an attack song. In control, offensive, advancing. Bloodthirsty.

The notes came, great and proud. If there was a smile in the song, it was fanged.

A deafening crack rang from below. The second enemy leapt to the side, and a stone spike, perhaps three feet long, snapped up, shattering the polished floor and sending another tremor through the temple. The point nicked its leg, and Orynn's head pounded from the scream.

Jared. He slashed his fingers across the strings, and a spike as tall as he was lanced up from the original arachne's left, just missing it from above. Their Song was still messing with him. Fine, then. His lyre cried out again, and another spire sliced up from the female's right. With some grace and some luck, it was pinned. He could feel the blisters ready to form in his fingertips.

An unearthly shriek sounded before him, piercing his ears. He looked and saw the figure of the male skittering at him at a horrifying speed.

[JT Jag]

Before the thing was able to reach Orynn, an arrow cracked into its back, a bit below where he had shot the female earlier. He hadn't had quite as much time to aim this time, but it served its purpose, and the monster turned from its path, repositioning itself in Virgil's direction.

Virgil stood calmly in the monster's path, his crossbow now lowered. It met the arachnae's tortured eyes for just a moment, and there was just a moment of hesitation.

Without warning, the spiderthing keeled over fowards, using its four hands to keep from falling face-first. If only it had been because of the fast-acting sedative that Virgil had tipped both of the arrows with. No, this was how the demon moved on the ground, using all eight limbs to approach Virgil with deceptive speed.

In range, the Lemure swiped at Virgil with a meaty forearm with enough power to shatter ribs. The trueborn dropped the crossbow and ducked the blow, clinging to the limb on its way around and using the momentum to swing onto the lemure's back.

His daggers were in his hands as if by magic. One was sunk deep into the upper shoulderblades near the arrow, the next into the second set, lower on the torso. The lemure, shrieking once more, quickly acted to stop the attack, flipping around with shocking speed for a thing with that girth and trying to crush Virgil with its bulk.

Virgil grabbed the arrow and tore it out, swinging onto the thing's exposed lower torso. He shifted his hold on the arrow, holding it like one would hold a knife underhanded, and stabbed it deep into the arachnae's eye.

The other screams had only been a prelude to this one, and the lemure's rage truly came to bear. One arm came up to shield its ruined face, and the others slammed down, at Virgil, trying to crush him in a bear-hug. The trueborn squirmed away from the attack, and produced a third dagger, cutting open a long and deep red wound down what passed for the lemure's stomach.

He knew that the blow was fatal when the stench of digested offal and rot struck him head-on. This hadn't occured to the arachnae yet. It rolled over once again, surprising a Virgil who had expected it to have been rendered immobile. Gobs of red and brown things, now subject to the law of gravity, fell unimpeded from the spider's stomach onto the floor.

The demon had enough strength to pin Virgil with the two upper limbs--- the bottom two hung useless at its side. It lowered its hideous ruined face towards Virgil, bearing long and deadly fangs.

The lemure made the mistake of leaving Virgil's legs free. His left leg went up kick, kicking the lemure in the head. This particular action would seem desperate and pointless (especially compared to the various ways Virgil had already inflicted damage on the thing), until you consider that he also kicked the arrow further into the beast's eye. The shaft vanished completely into the spider's eye, and the arachnae staggered back in shock.

This was all the opening Virgil needed to slip from under the arachnae's arms. He produced another blade from under his coat, this one closer to a sword then the daggers he had drawn earlier. Somewhere between a sword and a long dagger, he swung it upwards in a perfect arc.

The spider's head fell with a dull thud behind him, and he was showered by the demon's gore. He slid out from under the demon before the heavy body could fall on him.

At least the chapel would be spared of further desecration. Even decapitated, a spine-chilling sound emanated from where the head sat behind him. Before Virgil could turn to see if the head was somehow still alive and perhaps poised to make a final attempt to attack, the body shook as if made of some sort of gelatin, and then... reverted, is the best word, collapsing into a filthy pile of web-like substance.

He rose deliberately, wiping some blood from his forehead (mostly not his) and raising it to his nose, taking a whiff. He made a face and coughed. "All-Mother above, this stuff reeks. And it'll take forever to get it out of my clothes..."

[Skellie]

Devyn fell backwards, not expecting the sudden thrust or her captor's lurching release. She swung a haphazard stroke with one hand. It wasn't a fine attack; Sir Stephan back at the practice yard would not have been impressed. But it was hard to miss a lumbering horror like the coffin-thing with a bastard sword. Holy steel bit and burned into wretched, unnatural flesh.

"Indeed I do!" she called back, nodding gratefully to the girl. Oh, she probably hadn't needed the help, but it would do the Lady good. "In my experience, when you're dealing with things like this, it's usually pretty obvious where the center of corruption is! It's the biggest and ugliest- so kill the coffin-thing!"

She readied her sword once more and charged, bringing the blade down upon the screeching abomination before her. The powerful blow cleaved through one of the many plank-tentacles writhing around it. The appendage thudded to the ground, dark ooze spattering and staining the snow. The paladin quickly retracted her sword to block another tentacle, a quick counter severing the offending limb halfway through. As the coffin-beast thrashed violently, the weakened tentacle snapped and tore the rest of the way through.

Devyn shrugged off another blow from the creature as she rushed forward, driving her sword through the centre of the coffin with a powerful thrust. Ear-piercing shrieks filled the air of the graveyard as the coffin beast began to shudder and buckle, it's remaining tentacles sagging low. Then, in an instant of oily light, the thing exploded, a host of spirits swiftly drifting upwards as wind even colder than the frigid air of winter kicked up around them.

Gradually, the sound of grateful murmurs filled her ears, and she picked up a hint of gratitude from the Song. It set her at ease. The poor graveyard was cleansed of evil. Lowering her sword, Devyn sighed in relief before turning to face Lady Cassandra.

"See?" she said, leaning on her sword and brushing a bit of ichor off her face, "that wasn't so bad."

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra’s shoulders slumped in relief when she saw the lady knight’s onslaught drive the coffin-monster back, then spit it upon her blade. Her sword was so swift and sure, especially compared with Cassandra’s own embarrassingly panicked technique! Then the thing burst in an oily flash, and streaming from the point where it had been were a cloud of spirits, unfolding from glowing lights to pale facsimiles of the departed. Their chorus of gratitude made her give a forlorn smile, even though many of the voices were indistinct; she felt their hands brush her shoulders as they twisted and spiraled about them both into the sky.

To Cassandra perhaps as much as Devyn, the renewed sense of peace in the cemetery was palpable. Stars seemed to leap into a sky now soft and deep blue. Snow was pristine again, the headstones inviolate. The ichor the beast had left faded away. Even the healing gashes on her cheek and stomach seemed to fade quicker and stung less.

“See?” the paladin asked. She turned to smile at Cassandra, resting easily upon her sword. To Cassandra the houri had seemed never to lose her cool, radiating calm and confidence. Her sword glowed softly in the night like a warm lantern. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Cassandra blushed a bit and hoped it wasn’t obvious. She swore her cheeks were burning, and she had to will herself not to stare. “Perhaps not,” she agreed, a bit shakily. She turned away. “Come. It is best we do not waste time here. Syeira and Charoxtre were searching the outbuildings, and I thought I had heard some clamor from the chapel…”

Then she felt a shiver like mountain water run through her, and a sweeping sense of violation that put a dreadful taste in her mouth. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to spawn a horrid foreboding in her mind. She had the sinking feeling she knew what was happening.

----

Reskeis’ lip curled contemptuously when he saw the spider-thing die out of the corner of his vision. Though he’d never encountered anything a few inches of steel and some knife-work couldn’t fix, it was still reassuring to hear the beast’s terrified, agonized screech. “Ya hear that?” he taunted. “Feelin’ a mite lonely now, are we?”

And as the remaining abomination struggled to escape its rocky bonds, it staggered when Reskeis’s tackle took it from the side. Claws skidded on the bloody stones; the monster’s bulk hit the floor with a loud thump. It struggled to rise, thrashing about with its long arms, hissing and shrieking and spraying thick, sticky webbing. Then it arched, clutching at the dague-tip that burst flaming from its chest. A plume of emerald flame seared the edges of the crater and flashed blood and meat to foul-smelling smoke. Visibly slower now, the monster groped for its tormentor.

Reskeis swung about from behind just ahead of the flailing limbs, kicked the charred wound, and wrapped his legs about the thin waist. He drew his offhand dague again from its sheath, and both burning swords began to hack into the creature’s torso and shoulders with all the grace of a man chopping a tree down branch by branch. Each impact drew a thick, meaty sound and a spurt of gore. Despite its thin frame the creature was big and its horny frame tough. He wasn’t really sure where its vitals might be, and it kept one pair of limbs crossed protectively before its sternum, so he settled for stabbing into its abdomen with one blade while he chopped and parried the flailing limbs with the other.

Something like blood spattered his face; blows struck his shoulders and sides, but the monster wasn’t really very good at fighting an enemy its unnatural terror hadn’t gripped. It felt good, he thought. He’d been aching for a proper scrap.

One limb fell away, mangled beyond use. The beast’s remaining limbs thrashed again, punching, and its malformed maw split wide to tear at Reskeis’ face. No stranger to bites in a scrap he didn’t give it the chance. Up came a blazing dague, and as the gruesome face shot forward it met the sword head-on. Flames billowed through its mouth and from its nostrils; hair and skin burned and spread a reeking cloud of smoke. No longer able to scream, just gurgling, the brute recoiled, all defenses lost, not even thinking to close its jaws around the thrust.

Free now, the sword plunged downward, flame and steel carving a path through flesh and torching past bones. The stroke parted first its neck, and then the front of its torso from collar to sternum. Flames guttered through the beast’s body; Reskeis kicked off, lengthening the split down through the abdomen, through the groin, and landed crouched on his feet with one blade held ready. Opened to the crotch the great, hideous shape tottered and came apart in the center, smoke billowing from the glowing, widening rent. It hit the floor with a wet, squishy thud, and then, even as its predecessor had, the twitching corpse seemed to soften and shake.

There was another tormented, terrified scream as if from a great distance, and then the remnants of the beast ran as a molten torrent of liquefied webbing. Although it was all he could do not to give his usual roar of triumph, Reskeis felt no urge to lick his blade this time; something about the blood smeared upon his weapon was repulsive.

The imp-in-man’s-shape straightened and spat, bending a bit to find a scrap of discarded shawl and wiping off his bloody sword upon the thing. “Serves you right,” he said.

“Damnation!” It was a soft young woman’s voice, familiar because he’d heard the strumpet talking no earlier than twenty minutes ago. But it came from the altar, and some of the intonation seemed a little strange, bits of sound not quite matching up. “Honestly! Have you imbeciles any idea how long it takes to create those? The selection process, the acts of devotion, the magic- a single lemures is a masterpiece of magic and mutation and faith. And here you are, just chopping your way merrily through them!” The speaker shook her head and lifted her arms skyward with the air of one surrounded inescapably by fools. “This is manners!”

Reskeis turned and regarded the apparition standing behind the defiled lectern. He had to admit he was a little surprised, although he probably shouldn’t have been. He’d been there when the silly fool had reached out to put her hand on the blasted thing.

“Huh,” was all he said. Mentioning it might not be a wise move; it’d invite questions he couldn't think of any good answers to. “Wilya lookit that.”

Cassandra glared back at him haughtily and put her hands imperiously on her hips. “After that barbaric display that’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?” the voice demanded. Now that he knew what to listen for, the difference was subtle, but clear. It was a damned good physical likeness, he had to admit. The build was right, the face was right, even though the expression upon it was one he’d never quite seen the same way on its rightful owner’s face, and the wrongness in the voice was easy to ignore. In the near-dark he could hardly spot the inconsistencies. "Well? Don't play dumb! After that performance I think I'm owed some explanation!"

Reskeis wondered how the others were likely to take it.

[Sikon]

Nirowyn shuddered as the echo of two painful screams of life suddenly cut short in quick succession -- be it sick, corrupted life, it was no matter -- reached her Song sense. That she saw them defeated with brute force, witnessing each of Virgil and Reskeis's strikes with more than just eyes, did not exactly help matters.

Still, at least it was momentary relief. The echoes gradually faded down, and while her heart was still beating and the sense of ominous presence remained, albeit reduced, at least her life and the lives of these unknown strangers were in no immediate danger.

What were you doing? You should not have got involved in the first place! complained Nirowyn's inner critic, as she put away her flute and licked her cracked, bleeding lower lip. She then bent down, picked up her gloves from the snow and put them on.

And then a new presence entered the chorus unheard, reminding her of the times she heard bards trying to replicate each other's performances from memory: derivative and unconvincing, an attempt to hide and drown other tones below the surface. However, Nirowyn thought this was bad time for unreasonable curiosity, and she made no attempt to immerse more deeply into the pattern.

There are, after all, pressing questions.

Nirowyn stood in place for a short while, nervously laughing off her stress, and looked down critically at her leather vest, now covered in pieces of webbing and goo, and frowned. Taking another deep breath, she stepped into the chapel, listening absent-mindedly to "Cassandra"'s ramblings, and let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness. Her sight then fell at the other houri and his lyre.

Found you!

Nirowyn approached Orynn slowly unsteadily, placing her entire weight on each foot as she moved them. "You -- you were... Who are... Who are all these people?! And what the Nether is going on here?"

[yli]

"Game's a simple one. Kierantsyan Tarot, Masquers wild...in honor of you of course." Martius pulled out a deck of cards from the folds of his cloak. "If I win, Bertram gives back your anklets. If I lose well... there's got to be some collateral."

All six of my earrings jingle in Martius' palm. My hands move up to my ears. They're gone.

"Don't think that I'll be playing with my own money. And before you pull out those shiny **** off knives from your belt and gut me, ask what you yourself would wager."

<What would I give?> My fingers relax on the grips of the baselards hanging from waist just slightly.

"What would you give? Would you really feel good about letting that psychotic sister of yours have her way with Bertram?"

<Well....> I take a step back, apprehensive.

"Well?" Martius grinned. It was the grin of a victor, the same beaming one he always used. "Knew it. You aren't enough of a bastard."

<Enough to want my anklets back.>

"Then enough to play with your money. I'm already doing you a huge favor by playing for you."

<So why can't I play?>

"Girl, you're just not enough of a right bastard to play. Pure and simple."

<And how would you know that?>

Martius rolled his eyes, "You don't even know the rules."

<How did you know that?>

"I didn't."

Martius shuffles the cards, pulling out a few from the pile. "You know, you really don't leave me with many cues to work with. No tone of voice, no facial expressions. Nothing really. You hide from the world behind that mask of yours. How can I trust you? How would I know that behind it, you're not so hideously ugly, you make little kids cry?"

<I do make little kids cry.> Part of me wants to punch Martius in the face right now. <And as for trusting me, that's entirely up to you to decide. If you won't, then give me my earrings back.> My hands migrate to the knives again.

"If you want me to trust you, then you must trust me."

<I could just stab you and take my earrings back.>

"You won't."

[EponymousKid]

Bertram had made my presence known again among the caravan. There wasn't much use hiding anymore.

He sat solitarily on the ground, his massive frame at ease, pouring all of his effort into reading a book. Well, he wasn't actually reading it all that much. He just needed something to take his mind off he inane rabble of the other workers.

The old one, Martius, approached him with look that was all too familiar to Bertram. It wasn't that he knew Martius long enough to have seen this look on him before. But Bertram knew the look people get when they're about to play him for a fool. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm no interested, old timer." Bertram didn't look up from his book, but his posture stiffened significantly.

"I thought you might say that. But maybe you'll change your mind when you hear me out. Kierantsyan Tarot. Masquers wild, naturally."

Bertram couldn't believe this moron.

"I don't play games. Do I look like a child to you?" He turned to Martius with a wrathful glare in his eyes. Bertram liked to think of games as a fool's pastime; Too much risk, not enough reward. The opposite of how he liked things.

"High stakes. Big money."

Bertram's ears pricked up at that last part. "Go on..."

[yli]

"Deal."

"My pleasure."

From my perch in a nearby tree, I saw Martius shuffle the pile and deal the cards right there, 9 to each player. Martius has a godawful hand, not a single major acarna, and a scattering of all four suits. The caravan master's eyes narrow as he considers his situation for a second, then slides 3 of the earrings into the pot. Bertram unclasps one of my anklets and sticks it as well. I sigh. That's 3 earrings gone right there. They show their hands. Bertram quietly rakes the pot closer to him. 3 major arcana and 2 face cards. The cavalier of cups and the chancellor combo beat Martius' 3 queens.

"Well, you got lucky there. Shall we go again?" Martius smirks and throws the other 3 earrings in, Bertram throws his 3 earrings back in the pot. Martius' eyes narrow as he pulls something out of his boot. A small sack of gold coins. Bertram counts them and nods, before throwing in one of the anklets again.

Martius shuffles and deals. Good hand this time. There are several combinations he could make with Death and the Hierophant. Martius debates what hand to play, before combining his 6 of swords and queen of cups with Death and plays his 7 of wheels and 9 of robes with the Hierophant. The remaining three cards he discards back into the deck. The two stare into each others' eyes for a moment, then show their hands. Bertram's 7 and 10 of swords and the Griffin doesn't beat Martius' two trump combo. Martius takes all 6 earrings, his gold and 1 anklet back. Bertram throws the remaining anklet into the pot. Martius deals, smiles and offers up all 6 earrings. They show their hands again.

"Royal chain with Death and the Judge. I guess I win", Bertram's smirked and moved to claim the pot, when Martius threw down his cards face up.

"Masquers wild, remember? I pair the Masquer up with The Earth and the Lady, as well as the house chain." Martius sweeps the pot to himself, smiling.

"And you win" muttered Bertram dryly as he immediately went back to reading his book. I hop out of the tree and walk up.

"This girl, is for you." Martius hands me my anklets and my earrings. Bertram slowly lowers the book. Upon seeing me, an utter expression of rage fills his face for the briefest of moments. Then it dies down. I can only see it simmering in his eyes as he grinds his teeth together.

[yli]

The soaring white gold domes of San Simeon's Basilica glow in the night sky, illuminated by the thousands of oil lamps burning in its three huge spires. On the opposite end of the deserted plaza, the imposing colonnades of the Florian Palace rise up; ten stories of intricately carved granite. The Florian Palace is the city's defensive nerve center. It's here that I join the Masque of Death.

My footsteps fall silent as I approach the the huge double doors under the cavernous portico. I'm in the Masquer uniform; black satin tabard with split skirts and bone white facings, white satin gloves, white silk tights and a white silk sash around my waist. The only things that didn't cost a fortune were the black canvas shoes.

I glance over my shoulder, back at the glowing furnaces of the Arsenal Complex across the causeway.

I step up closer to the gates, a lonely girl in a silver mask. It's so quiet out here, I can hear the pigeons on the far side of the plaza preparing to roost for the night. I take a deep breath.

FULL NAME AS GIVEN PLEASE.

I leap backwards, nearly tripping over my heels. The palace comes to life as stone grinds on stone, mouthing the words.

<Malieva Farishta Ghadnan.> I make sure to write the words extra big in bright orange, hoping they would take hold.

DO NOT SULLY OUR GOOD NAME. BE GONE SUB-HUMAN GYPSY SCUM.

<But you recruited me just this morning! What do I do with this uniform?>

GO BACK TO THE ARSENAL, TURN YOUR UNIFORM BACK IN. NEVER RETURN TO KIERANTSYA.

<What do I tell my family then?>

YOU DECIDE THAT ONCE YOU DEPART, snarled the palace.

I sigh and turn around, heading back towards the causeway, a wave of misery swelling in my gut. How could I have been so stupid? Sure, a company as prestigious as the Masque of Death would accept some hideous gypsy girl like me into their ranks. Of course they would. I'm pretty sure I saw Saint Sophia shopping at the Plaza Di Grigori today as well.

Back to the Arsenal again. I'm halfway there when I hear something.

"Wait! Come back!"

I turn around, someone in a Masquer uniform is waving at me. I start walking back.

"You must be Fari", the woman talking is as pale as a ghost, with white braids down to her knees and pink tinted spectacles. Her voice is beautiful, as soft as down feathers. The large skeletal wings embroidered on her chest marked her out as an officer.

"I'm Captain Pavrani, your commanding officer. But, since we're going to get to know one another quite well, you can call me Suraya."

<Wait...you're a gypsy too?>

"Same kinship even." Suraya smiles, flashing one of her bracelets.

<So...>

"So the palace is lying. Of course, the palace hardly possesses any self-awareness. It would be more accurate to say that Corporal Thatcher was lying."

The palace gates open just enough for Captain Pavrani and me to squeeze through. A Masquer crawls up to the Captain's feet, groveling for mercy, his face hidden in the shadows.

"Dereliction of sentry duty, abuse of company resources, misleading a superior officer. Corporal Thatcher, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"M-ma'am, I was only trying to have a bit of fun. Please, it was only a harmless prank", whimpered Corporal Thatcher as he clasped his hands together.

<He called me sub-human, don't forget that.>

Captain Pavrani just nodded at that comment. "Fari, since you were insulted by Corporal Thatcher, you get to decide his punishment. What will it be?"

<I forgive him. I forgive him and I set him free.>

"Are you sure about that? I would think that you could at least sentence him to beating or reduced rations or something..."

<No, it was only a practical joke Captain Pav--I mean Suraya.>

"Ok, up to you then", shrugged Captain Pavrani as she kept walking, leaving the corporal to crawl away. Suddenly, the dark entrance hall was flooded with light from the polished granite floors to the ceiling high above. A glass dome above enclosed ten stories of covered arcades. Giant chandeliers burned with so much tallow, it would take an entire cattle ranch a day to keep them lit. Hundreds of people were busily moving from floor to floor along the elaborate porphyry staircases, most of them wearing simple black tunics.

<How do you keep all those candles lit?> I wonder awkwardly, not quite sure what to say.

"Take a closer look. Those aren't candles. We have a set a pumps that let the chandeliers draw from a central resevoir of lamp oil. We also have running water."

<I don't quite understand how that works.>

"It's quite simple actually. Let me show you to your living quarters and we'll take it from there."

[JT Jag]

Fighting an enemy who is stronger then you. Outwitting them, hearing their lamentations and then slaughtering them with unnatural ease.

The thrill of victory was almost like a drug. A drug that could become addictive far too easily. This was one of the first things Virgil learned when he started doing what he currently does. Becoming wrapped up in your successes is like being wrapped in a musty old blanket. It grows old and familiar on you, but it encases you in a binding of routine. And growing to enjoy your successes is a recipe for disaster.

Virgil already knew that he was one short step away from becoming just as bad as the people he killed. Perhaps worse. And so he spent every day reminding himself that he was not a good person. The things he does are not good things--- necessary, yes, but not good. He tortured himself constantly, never forgetting that what he did should never be savored.

That is how Virgil came off of his battle high after dismembering the spiderthing. And this is how Virgil came to regard this apparition rationally.

"What are you? What are you talking about?" In Virgil's fairly limited experience with the arcane, he had learned that wraiths were dangerous things not to be trifled with, and so he quietly drew out a skin filled with holy water--- just in case. "And... why do you look like Lady Cassandra?"

The avatar's gaze swiveled towards him, a haughty grimace on its face. "I don't know you. Wait, wait, I do. Would you prefer to see someone else?" And then the image seemed almost to fold in on itself. Contours and features warped; colors ran and twisted, like sea foam dashing itself to pieces on the rocks."

As the spirit assumed a new form, the rationale Virgil prided himself on went straight out the window. It now looked more like a child then a young adult, wearing a dress that perhaps had been good as new until just recently, and had in a short period of time undergone significant amounts of frays and tears.

It was Virgil's sister, straight out of his memories so many years ago. "Hello, Brother." The spirit-Lucia smiled at the dumbfounded trueborn noble, her eyes haunted as if some great injustice had just been visited upon her.

"No. That's not right. You... you aren't my sister." He put away the holy water and drew out a pair of daggers. They were more... personal, especially considering the task at hand. "My sister saw me off just weeks ago. My sister isn't that young, any more. Whatever you are, you have NOTHING TO DO with my sister."

Even with the trueborn stalking torwards her, the avatar remained uncannily calm about the situation. "You never pried into Lucia-dear's past, did you? Oh, the things she hasn't told you..."

"SHUT UP!" Logic and reason had fled Virgil's mind, replaced by naked hatred, and he lunged at the spirit form in a blind attempt to silence this monstrosity that brought up memories of painful events from so many years ago.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

The compound’s main square seemed cleaner now, but the pounding in Cassandra’s head would not let up. She gritted her teeth, narrowly avoiding drawing blood, and struggled onward like a woman forcing her way through sludge. The pressure seemed to be coming from the chapel, now black against the night sky. Then all at once it vanished, and she was almost dizzy with relief.

A moment later, in a manner that seemed straight out of a taproom farce, she and Syeira collided head-on. The gypsy landed hard, blinking and wincing in confusion. She brought her rapier up, intending to strike before the recognition finally found her. “Lady Cassandra!” she said, trying to rise.

Cassandra cringed, wincing and shaking her head to clear the dizziness. "Syeira...are you hurt?" she slurred, hoping she hadn't bitten through her tongue.

Syeira nodded as she climbed to her feet. "Fine, you?" Her eyes scaned the area, looking for signs of attack. The specters she had been fighting had vanished far too quickly, especially as they were winning.

"I must admit times have been better," the trueborn girl replied sheepishly. "We encountered some...difficulties in the cemetary. Something had twisted the spirits to evil purpose."

She brushed the dust off her skirts and tried to rise. "Did you see Charoxtre or the others? What did you encounter?"

"I followed Charoxtre but we got separated," Syeira started. "Then I got jumped by some…spirit-things. I... tried to fight them, but there were too many. They would have had me, but they... they just suddenly disappeared."

“That would be her doing,” Cassandra said, hoping her cheeks and voice did not betray her admiration. She motioned to Devyn, the paladin’s armor glimmering in her sword-glow. “She was amazing, Syeira! She just cut the beasts to pieces!”

Syeira nodded and extended a hand. "We should get moving then, who knows how long we have before they return."

"They shan't return," Cassandra replied. "The spirits at at peace once more. We should hurry, though....I have rarely encountered such evil as I did in that cemetary. There was a feeling of terrible evil coming from the chapel. 'Tis no longer so preferable to a night on the road."

“If there is evil in that chapel, shouldn’t we do something about it?”

"Undoubtedly. Sir Virgil, my lady-in-waiting, and that mercenary were headed inside." Cassandra nodded. "Still, we should make ready to leave as fast as our horses may draw us."

Syeira nodded, but did not sheath her rapier. Instead, she took up a defensive position, ready to escort Lady Cassandra to where ever she wished to go. “Very well.”

Cassandra took a deep breath and reached for her pack. She noticed her hand was shaking a little; it surprised her it was only trembling that much as she drew the tiny red-filled vial from the pack and, as discreetly as she could, removed the stopper and took a tiny bracing sip. Warm, salty delight poured down her tongue and trickled down her throat; a surge of warmth ran through her and she almost shivered. The trembling eased.

It was a moment before she realized Syeira had been watching. The gypsy's eyes were filled with disapproval; it wounded her. At least Lady Devyn had not seen her momentary lapse...“Ah….someone should look for Charoxtre…” she said quickly. Syeira raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

Cassandra turned to the yawning door and called into the dark. “Charoxtre? Are you there?”

----
Reskeis

The false sister didn’t even try to dodge, Reskeis noticed. She just sat there and let the blows come. Oh, sure, she shrieked in pain, and the distortions hiding within the sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Spurts of molten color flew like viscera. But once the other’s naked fury had played out a bit the wounded shape lifted a hand and snapped bleeding fingers, and a surge of force lifted the posh fellow off his feet and hurled him back.

“You’re boring me,” the projection said. It crossed its hands over its hips again. “I have a lot to do- more now that you idiots have gone and traipsed about- and I can’t waste any more of my time on you. Welcome to my country. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

The shape wobbled, and then it shattered like a breaking window. Fragments of fading substance sprinkled to the floor as if they were falling through molasses. Laughter skittered and rang out, slowing down and losing cohesion until it was less a voice than the echo of thunder underwater. Vanishing with it were the blood-runes and the mounds of bloody webbing that had been the spider-monsters, smoking away into nothing.

A chill shaft of moonlight pierced the gloom through the window above the altar. But the building still reeked; the odors of blood and fear thick in the air. The most intense aura of evil had fled, but even Reskeis, no stranger to ugly places, felt a sense of palpable despair and tragedy in the building. He had the feeling nobody would be returning in a hurry.

“Well,” he observed. “That was a mite unsettling. Place's gone all sour, aye?” He turned away, looking to the newcomer. Clearly a woman, and looking more than a little disturbed by these proceedings, she looked no more capable than the other strumpets with him.

Reskeis sighed. “Oh, bloody hell, not another one,” he muttered.

[umbralwarrior]

Charoxtre

The Vix was hard pressed. What was happening outside this room was anyone's guess but he dodged and weaved, rolled and jumped, avoiding the strikes of the undead creatures trying desperately to claw their way itno his soul. He dare not strike them with his fists. He'd realised that they were trying to reach into him rather than pummel him. With a sigh of resignation, he dropped the staff. It was of no use against these creatures, and drew the Spetum off his back. "This should do the trick."

As he did this, he felt and heard Orynn's song. It was a powerful one, as though the man was pourting all his being into the song and the effect of it. The creatures stepped away for just a moment, unsure of this new power. was it a threat? Charoxtre stabbed one creature with the Spetum, a deathly cold seeming to affect the tips of the weapon, however, when the Seelie poured his energy through teh weapon, the creature screamed and shattered into a multi-coloured explosion of energy. The other came on relentlessly.

The second creature caught the Vix's shoulder. The touch was followed by a numbing cold that nearly put the Vix on his knees. As teh creature came in again for another strike, Charoxtre rolled to the right, springing up and over a table to slam the points of the weapon into the creature. Charoxtre felt another pull of ebergy and the creature dissipated in similar manner to the first.

Getting down from the table, Charoxtre immediately went to his bag, pulling out a sealed container. The container was about 3 inches acroos and an inch high. Inside was a firey red paste. Char applied this paste to his shoulder where the creature touched him, rubbing it in. The numbing cold began to dissipate almost immediately, the pale palour of teh undead touch quickly returning to his skin's usual hue as the ointment did it's work.

Cassandra turned to the yawning door and called into the dark. “Charoxtre? Are you there?”

The Vix stepped out of the dark, retrieving his staff as he went and sheathing the Spetum. He was still rubbing the ointment into his 'wounded' shoulder. "I am here," he said more quietly than usual. His face saw also more pale than usual, a clear indication of what the weapon had drawn from him to kill the indead creatures (and what the touch had also taken from him). "I feel as though I could sleep for a week, but I live. If azy have been injured by those undead things this ointment will help fight the Touch of the Grave." He leaned on his staff and smiled (though somewhat wanly) in Syiera's direction, acknowledging her presence as well.

[Caphi]

Orynn hadn't taken his eyes off the Cassandra thing. He made it a point not to turn his back to things he didn't know, but more to the actual point, he was trying to figure out what the dark, quiet bass beneath its melody was. It was dangerous. Ominous. "Ominous" was a word Orynn was getting tired of using, even to himself. Damn it all.

In one action, he turned to the new houri and felt through his pack for a ribbon of soft cloth and the cooling potion he'd learned to mix; it wasn't the first time Orynn's fingers got their own battle scars. He spoke as he worked, ripping the clothes, coating a side in salve, and wrapping it around each finger.

"I assume you're the other bard. I'm afraid you've stumbled into a dangerous situation. What are you doing in a place like this?"

[Sikon]

"I was..." Nirowyn turned her head at Reskeis for a moment. She didn't hear what he muttered, but he seemed obviously displeased.

"I came here... looking for a friend of mine - this chapel is where we regularly met. But I can't find him anywhere, and instead..." Nirowyn looked around, "well, you probably know more than me."

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra
Cassandra climbed the stairs one at a time, determined, but hesitant. Something about the building no longer had her senses screaming a warning, but it was lonely and blasted all the same. She had no real certainty of what she would find inside.

Mustering her courage she stepped over the threshold and reeled from the charnel reek of blood and acrid fear. It was an ugly tableau. Corpses lurked hideously in the shadows; streaks of blood were oily in the gloom. But her heart ceased beating like a war drum when she caught sight of her companions. All three were still on their feet, though Sir Virgil looked drawn and haggard and Jared was veritably spattered in foul ichor. He looked a touch sour, but then she had rarely seen the young mercenary in a good mood.

Orynn looked surprisingly unharmed. Cassandra admitted she had been most concerned about her lady-in-waiting, who, despite her words of confidence, never seemed like the fighting type. Most houri weren’t.

“Sir Virgil,” she called. “Are you all right? What happened here?”

Then she caught sight of the newcomer. An olive-skinned woman, looked tired and a little shocked. Instantly the trueborn’s hand felt unsteadily for her sword. She heard Syeira tense behind her. “Who are you?”

"I'm... well..." Nirowyn stumbled, searching for words, but seeing Cassandra reaching for her sword, quickened her speech. "I'm not your enemy. I'm just passing by - it seems whoever I was looking for either didn't come, or met his end here."

Cassandra’s fingers relaxed and she let go of the rapier. “You are a traveler? You know of this place?”

Nirowyn nodded with noticeable sadness. "I'm a loner, mostly - I keep to myself. This chapel is where I used to arrange meetings with an old friend of mine, and back before that we were invol-- Uh, that doesn't matter now. I found it desecrated - and who could possibly be interested in such a secluded place, I don't know."

Cassandra was about to reply when Jared cut her off. Her face twisted in annoyance; he was uppity, but he should have known his manners! She glared at him. Incredibly, he didn’t seem to care. She made a note to consider docking his pay. “When were y’here last, wench?” he asked, his rough voice, as usual, seeming bizarrely reminiscent. “Place still intact then?”

"A week ago. Didn't notice anything unusual, except with Valerian - he seemed dreamy and introverted, almost out of touch with the world. But I doubt it's related to the... more recent events."

“Figures,” Jared muttered sourly, but Cassandra ignored him.

“It matters little now. I think we should leave.” Her skin was crawling all the same. “Miss, my party heads for Dammerinthes.” Cassandra argued with herself for a long moment. This meeting seemed almost suspiciously serendipitous, but she could not, in good conscience, leave a solitary woman alone in such a place. What to do?

Well, if she proved troublesome, there was always Syeira and Devyn, wasn’t there?

“Miss, where are you bound?” she asked. “Should you require an escort to the city, I feel we could come to an accommodation.” Wait. A warning was necessary. “I warn you, we may encounter some…trouble. We oppose the force that defiled this place, and Dammerinthes seems...plagued by them.”

Nirowyn looked around the building, focusing her eyes on the grim walls and bloodstained floor. "Staying here is dangerous, especially at night - and my home is two days' walk away. Dammerinthes is much farther, but in a well-armed company, that road would be definitely safer. And besides, I might have my own... business there."

“Couldya make it any more enigmatic?” Jared muttered. Nobody paid any attention to him.

The woman bowed to Cassandra, casting a critical glance at Jared. "Nirowyn... Redford, at your service," she said, looking uneasy as she uttered the last name, as if hesitant to spit it out.

Cassandra returned the bow with a formal nod. “I am Lady Cassandra of Highmoor, House Lucaeci. I understand your predicament, miss Redford. You are free to accompany us as you will.”

The trueborn shuddered as she regarded the defiled chapel, following Nirowyn’s gaze. “Now, unless we have business to attend to, let us quit this place. Suddenly I long for the road again.”

----

One week later…
Cassandra walked along unhurriedly, more comfortable now that they were within the city walls. She wore her cloak, merely one more shape in the thick fog swirling along off the river today. The snow beneath her feet was dirty slush in places, stained by soot and dust. But the streets were quieter than she would have expected.

The guards had allowed her caravan within the city walls when they arrived that morning, and they had purchased rooms at a local inn- not too extravagant, not too disreputable. Cassandra now wandered the streets. She had not yet announced her presence to the local lords, but she knew, despite her reservations, that she would have to do so soon. For now, she preferred to learn more of the situation.

Dammerinthes was not one of Shade’s largest cities, but it was one of the oldest. A human city had stood here, in one form or another, for over a thousand years, and before that a proud Tetzal temple-city had risen alongside the quick, dark waters of the Boreal Flow. The influence could still be felt. Some crumbling, windswept ruins still stood near the huge city cemetary, atop a high bluff overlooking the river. Though the houses and shops were generally similar to any one might find in another city, the city’s high cathedral and three smaller churches had a few unusual architectural flourishes: high, tapering spires curving to points; an emphasis on morbid, funerary reliefs and statuary. Beneath the cobblestones a honeycomb of ancient catacombs and sewers stretched beneath the blackness; no one was entirely sure where they began or ended.

Perhaps twenty-five thousand souls lived and worked within the city. It was a religious center, the seat of one of Shade’s great dioceses. It was a border guard against the feared Hasedref raiders, sailing from their homes in the Boreal Sea, passing by way of cave rivers and flooded passes through the Black Reaches to reach the Flow. It was a major trading center for the region, the convergence point of several major roads and wagon trails.

And its history was rich. Here the Seuchennacht lord Greives had dashed his host against the walls again and again for some inscrutable purpose, but never taken the city, allowing the faithful armies of Shade time to mobilize. Here the Winterlord of the Hasedref clan of Vinskaar had been defeated and forced to pledge fealty to the city’s lord. Here battles between lords had been decided again and again; Dammerinthes had often played a decisive role in feudal wars. The battlefield of Black Snows lay in the nearby mountains. Bards, masters of lore, treasure hunters and pilgrims descended upon the city regularly. It was a profitable history.

Why then, Cassandra asked herself, are the streets so empty? The shops have few customers. There is little bustle of industry or manufacture. I see few pilgrims, and not even many refugees. What is happening in this city?

Well, there was a crowd ahead in the square; that explained where some of them were at any rate. Before the mob of artisans and humbler folk, a trio of red-clad speakers stood atop the lip of a broad fountain. Their gambesons were the color of arterial blood, armor glinted on their limbs, and their heads were bare. The air was electric with tension, as it was sometimes before a storm. A loud voice carried from further ahead in the square, harshly accented, and gripped by fierce passions. She could hardly make out the words, but she saw the leader, drawn face alight, brandishing a book in one hand, a sword in the other. “Judgment awaits us all!” she heard distantly, amidst the murmur of the crowd. “You know in your hearts this present malaise is yours to bear! Repent of your sinful ways! Cast out the corrupt, lest the stink of you offend the Goddess! Return to the straight and narrow path!”

This is wonderful, Cassandra heard Victoria murmur in her ear. The ghost’s voice was sarcastic. Looks like affairs have taken a turn for the worse.

Aye, Cassandra thought back glumly. Even she recognized Inquisitors. She flattened herself against the wall and debated trying to avoid the throng. A crowd like that could turn ugly, and her noble birth might not save her.

[JT Jag]

What happened in that forsaken chapel had played through Virgil's head, over and over and over, never giving him a moment of peace during the remaining journey to Dammerinthes. The thought of seeing that accursed thing taking the form of his beloved sister had left him restless, and during the following week on the way to the ancient city up until late the night before last he could count his hours of sleep on his two hands.

He refused to just brood on it, though. He had thrown himself into his studies, running test after test on materials he had gained during the first part of the trip. A small amount of webbing that had been left when that bizarre spider creature had been banished back to wherever it came from. A tiny pebble-sized rock that glowed unnaturally that he had found on the ground where that horrible apparition had vanished. And last, that blood that he had saved after taking on that corrupted Paladin.

That pebble was the most troublesome of them all...

---

Six days ago, morning

Since returning to the caravan, Virgil did not eat or drink a single thing or rest for a single moment until he had taken up most of the rearmost car with his portable laboratory. His respite was brief after that, and he quickly went on to work on the most pressing of the materials he had covered--- that shard of magic.

It confounded his tests, until (after an entirely sleepless night), one of his travelers confronted him the following morning.

"... What'n hellfire was that?" It was Jared. Well, he claimed to be named Jared. Virgil had developed some doubts about this Shaden's identity, but that did not matter. Not yet, at least. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

"It was some sort of... magical construct. That's what it looks like, at least. It left behind some material after it disappeared." He motioned to the pebble that he was examining closely on a trey. The rock was slightly transparent, and seemed to almost fade seamlessly into the air when you looked at its edges, and it gave off a slight purple glow.

Virgil continued: "It... seemed to be semi-sentient. Likely it was some sort of avatar for some... stronger force. WHAT stronger force, I have no clue yet. That's why I'm doing what I'm doing."

"An' you're not sleeping." Jared gave Virgil an uncomfortably presumptuous look. "Y'need some bloody shut-eye."

Virgil looked the young man in the eye, and said firmly "You don't have to concern yourself with my health. Now go, I'm sure you have better things to do then disrupt my research."

---

Jared put up a fair share of resistance after that, but soon enough Virgil was left alone again. But all that early effort turned out to be for little gain: The stone, which had gradually shrunk ever since the moment he had carried it from the chapel, simply vanished one moment when he was looking through his notes. After getting past the initial frustration, he found that his mood lifted a bit afterwards... perhaps he had known deep down the entire time that this one piece of seemingly critical evidence was a dead end. Either way, he looked into the other two items, which seemed a bit more promising. The strange bloody webs came first.

---

Four days ago, evening

"Sir Virgil, you have not spoken truthfully about what happened back there..."

Cassandra. It was her nature to be gentle, even when asking such an intrusive question. In a way, she reminded him of his sister Lucia, before...

... Well, no point dredging up that particular memory. Dwelling on that would just be a waste of energy.

"Your father once told me something interesting, Lady Cassandra. He told me that you had the Sight. That you can see things only loosely tethered to our mortal plane." He smirked, his focus never leaving the specimen on his table.

"I've never been good at understanding those mystical things. All I can do is struggle to think of them in the context of the science that I practice. And in a manner of speaking, that makes me blind to the truth--- in a way, even more so then someone who is entirely ignorant."

He finally turned, looking at the Trueborn noble, meeting her eyes, and his stoic demeanor faltered oh-so-slightly. "What I saw, I should not have seen. It should be have been impossible. I saw a vision of some THING, and what it showed me tore me up inside. Nobody should have known what it knew... more to the point, nothing out there---"

With that he made a sweeping gesture that somehow included the entire world, "--- should have enough power to manifest so corporeal an avatar." He turned back to the webbing. "It threw me around like I was a doll. That's incredible. It goes against everything I know."

With that, the atmosphere in the rear car quickly shifted back into the sterile one that it had been before Cassandra had stepped in. "Don't ask me what happened. You probably already know more then I do."

It didn't long at all for Cassandra to realize that with that, the conversation had ended. And once again, Virgil was left alone.

---

Virgil ended up spending most of the trip working on that strange webbing. After a day or so, Virgil realized that it hadn't been just relief that he had felt after that magic remnant vanished. Like the rock, the webs gave off an aura of unpleasantness.

It was like the wave of nausea that he had felt when he first entered the chapel, but reduced. Instead of a sudden, jarring feeling of the pure unnatural, it was a low-level feeling of discomfort--- like the note that a tuning fork makes, hanging in the air and ringing in your ears long after the fork itself has settled.

It didn't take long for him to realize some of the properties the web had. It fizzled and shrunk like a flame when holy water made contact with it, which (seeing as the same thing didn't happen after application of mundane water) went on to confirm its supernatural origin.

It also seemed to dissipate over time, similar to that rock. The pace of its vanishing wasn't nearly as fast, but it was quick enough to be noticeable.

---

Yesterday, midnight

After running every test he possibly could using the tools he had at its disposal, Virgil burned the remaining webbing at a crossroad, near the outskirts of Dammerinthes. Its rate of disappearance meant that, although it would last for a little while longer, the sample would probably be too small to be of any value by the time he got himself established in the city. Plus, he tired of that constant feeling of wrongness. He hadn't shaken it, not since leaving that blasted chapel, and he had resolved that those artifacts he brought with him were the primary cause.

The best sleep he had experienced in the last several years followed, and when he woke up, Dammerinthes was just hours away.

He made sure not to waste the little time he had. The one item he had left, the blood of that knight that had stopped the caravan before arriving at the chapel, had been neglected too long. Honestly, he didn't expect much to come from it.

What little he knew about the man called Franz de Bieris was all he had to go by. He had been a Paladin once. In the alchemist trade, the blood of Paladins was a rare and very useful ingredient. Some claimed that the blood was "pure" then that of mundane people.

Virgil had tasted Paladin blood once after being gifted a sample at a party he held (the Paladin in question was a retainer of one of the higher-ups in House Lucaeci), and it was eating a dark chocolate for the very first time--- sweet and almost unnaturally rich, with a strange undertaste of bitterness. Virgil hated it. It was just wrong to reduce something so flawless to a mere foodstuff.

Franz's blood was nothing like that. Paladin blood is clear and flawless, but on contact with air clots perfectly, sealing wounds with unnatural swiftness. Franz's degenerated into the gooey mess associated with most normal human blood--- if anything, it was thinner.

---

That was all Virgil had time to work out before they entered the town proper. By then, he had to work hard to pack up his belongings in anticipation of moving them to whichever inn he would be staying in.

That's how he found himself that day, weighed down by two heavy backpacks and carrying a too-large metal-wrought case. He followed Cassandra into the crowd, and followed her lead trying to skirt it--- he preferred to avoid unsavory types, and those that flock to the Inquisition are amongst the worst.

[SMAndy]

--Isra--
-------
Aye, Cassandra thought back glumly. Even she recognized Inquisitors. She flattened herself against the wall and debated trying to avoid the throng. A crowd like that could turn ugly, and her noble birth might not save her.
-------

The building behind Cassandra was old, and damaged. A red cross had been painted on the wooden door, which looked like it could fall in at any time. Had it still been before the Inquisitors had arrived, it would have been a beautiful house, with hanging plants and bright windows. Now it was charred, dim, and the windows had been all boarded up.

"You don't want to be out there." A womans voice said from behind the wooden boards. Cassandra almost jumped, and heard the door open.

"I wouldn't stay out there longer than I had to." She said, waiting for the Trueborn's response.

The inside of the building was sparse, empty for all but the furniture that was literally nailed down. The walls were black with soot, as if the place had been burned. Standing just inside the door was the Wildkin, Isra. Her eyes almost glowed a dim gold colour in the darkness.

A hand that had obviously seen much fighting extended from the darkness, offering a welcome respite from the angry crowd - growing angrier by the second. Cassandra could see the torn leather on her forearm, scratched in only one direction, making the assumption that anyone would in the same situation - An archer.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Cassandra started and almost yelped when she heard the voice from behind her, clamping her hand over her mouth. Her other hand balled into a fist and she spun about, ready to strike and run, but the voice belonged to no Inquisitor. Self-consciously she relaxed- but only a little. She had little experience with wildkin, and knew from tales they could be unpredictable and dangerous.

The speaker was a wildkin, muscular, fierce-looking. An archer. Cassandra tensed nervously. She eyed the burnt-out husk of the house with trepidation; it did not appear particularly stable. Why was it burned? a part of her wondered. Who lived here? Why did the city guard not intervene? Are the Inquisitors grown so bold they stand and preach on the site of a past offense?

But the crowd was there. They would not appreciate her presence at all, and she had the feeling neither her magic nor her birth would save her. Madness, she thought grimly. Strip away our charge over the people, and all the world is chaos.

She slipped in through the door and shut it quickly. Then she looked her rescuer in her glimmering eyes, half tempted to finger her rapier. "What is your interest in this matter?" she asked, quite blunt.

---

Reskeis

Reskeis hadn't quite thought this all the way through.

It was not an easy admission for the proud imp. But he had to make it. He had planned to infiltrate Lightwalker society, search for the Grimoire using his pawns, seize it, and return home. If he could turn them against his enemies it was all to the good. Simple, straightforward. He was a tough lad; he knew how to get answers and squeeze people until they talked. He'd grown from a sprout in the back-alleys and on the rooftops of Xash's Spur, a city fiercer than any of these Lightwalker fools could possibly have dealt with. How hard could it be?

Well, for starters he had no bloody clue how Lightwalker society operated.

Oh, sure, he knew the basics. He knew who to cringe for and who to sneer at. And a lowlife was a lowlife no matter what his skin, a prostitute was a prostitute, a soldier was a soldier. He could fake competence, and he was learning. But he had no solid ideas where to begin. The appearance of the things inside that chapel had told him his quarry had allies- powerful ones. An infrastructure. Pawns to use. Who were they? He knew he could probably find the answers, if he knew where to look! And asking for help, in the midst of these hideous creatures, all cheerfully willing to gut him the moment they learned what he was....suicidal. Who would he ask?

So here he was, away for a few minutes from the rest of the band, lounging inside a Lightwalker tavern he'd seen a few rough fellows dressed like him- hired swords, it looked like- walk into. For the last five he'd been sipping a middling brew and trying not to smack away the young, gaudily rouged-up girl who'd taken one look at him and wobbled over nearby, cooing like a drunken songbird and trying to thrust her jiggling bits in his general direction. Eventually he'd given her one of the few coins the mongrel wench had hired him with just to get her to go away and let him think.

A drunk merchant in rich clothing caught his eyes; really, already drinking so early in the day? Reskeis got an eyeful of ruddy cheeks, bleary eyes. A protruding belly undulated with a sickening motion when the other laughed foolishly at some stupid joke told by one of his cronies. He was really quite far gone, and all the uglier for it. How'd this wastrel survived to get so bloody fat? Reskeis sniffed disdainfully, wondering how the fool had gotten to the tavern by himself without one of those rough fellows swaggering about trying to look imposing- or, more pertinent, one of the quiet, nondescript men whose professional movements had almost instantly screamed thief to the imp- cutting his purse, and, depending on scruples, maybe his throat too.

He craned his head, trying to listen in. "...my old woman said she saw something last night!" the man was rambling. "A monster, she says, ducking into the sewers with an arm- a whole arm- in its teeth! She wants us to leave! I tells her, look, missus, where are we going to go? All our money's here, and between the men in red and th'monsters out in the countryside, how far would we get? Narrr...trust in the Mother, says I. She'll lead the Cardinal t'find an' smite those murderers in the night, don't you fret. In th'mean...pay the Guard extra, aye?"

Rumor. Wonderful. Reskeis slammed the pathetic drink on the table without bothering to drain it and stood up. He spun on his heels and walked out of the taproom, gnawing at his lip. The misty, furtive streets stretched on before him.

Where the hell was he going to go from here?

[SMAndy]

--Isra--
-------
She slipped in through the door and shut it quickly. Then she looked her rescuer in her glimmering eyes, half tempted to finger her rapier. "What is your interest in this matter?" she asked, quite blunt.
-------

"Blunt, and to the point... From what I've heard of Trueborn, that's rare..." Isra replied, almost hinting that she had already judged her visitor. She closed the door behind the stuck-up.... the noble, and turned to face her.

"My interest depends what I find here." She said, honestly. Cassandra was understandably skeptical, and while in close quarters, this Wildkin couldn't use her bow, she seemed like she could hold her own in hand to hand as well.

The cheers of the crowd made it through the weakened walls with ease, half of Isra's attention was on trying to listen to it, while the other half was making sure the trueborn wasn't going to be a problem. The crowd, however, seemed to be getting bigger with every passing second...

"I could ask you the same question though. Are you here for a reason? I saw you enter the city, so I know you're not from around here."

Isra smiled, and leant against a stronger part of the wall. "you won't need your sword, by the way." She added while waiting for Cassandra's response. "I'm not going to attack you."

[AbuDhabi]

Shortly after the caravan settled down for the stay in Dammerinthes, but before those wishing to stay in inns, Albert sought out Ayani's sister, Fari. During the last week, she had offered to teach him how to read - and after considerable difficulties in understanding the offer itself - Albert accepted. A week later, he still couldn't be called really literate, but with considerable effort, he could figure out what she was "saying" - provided the text stayed long enough for a character-by-character analysis.

"Hey," he greeted her, grinning. "Just wanted to say 'thanks' before everyone gets off to their beeswax. Um... Er..." A speaker he wasn't.

[Skellie]

The crowd continued to murmur, huddling about a lit bonfire. They barely noticed the shapely silhouette leaning against the wall,

Devyn watched the preaching Inquisitors with a sour expression on her face that hardly seemed to belong. She hadn’t worn her armor, though her pendant bobbed below the clasp of her cloak, but she had worn her sword. It looked like it had been a good idea. She remained silent, listening to their nonsense a little while longer. "Trust in the Goddess, and the straight and narrow way! Return to the purity you know in your heart, and the shadow upon our city will be lifted!" The lead Inquisitor cried as he waved his arm in yet another sweeping gesture. "And let the first step on that path be to cast out the corrupt and impure!"

Soon, it was too much for the Paladin to handle. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she leaned away from the wall and, as nonchalantly as possible, she walked away. There was no need for her to draw attention to herself. Lucky for her, the inquisitors were so involved in their current... sermon... that they did not notice the houri leave. She had things to take care of, after all, and it was better to leave before things decided to go bad.

With sure steps, the paladin made her way to the local cathedral. Compared to the other cathedrals and churches she had visited in her travels, this one was rather morbid, displaying bone-like patterns and reliefs of reapers amongst the more typical angelic fare. Three high, sharply pointed towers soared above the surrounding buildings, making the building easy to find even for someone that had never before been in the city.

Devyn pushed open the doors and strode into the long, cool nave. Shafts of blue-tinted light cast themselves upon the floor, reflecting images of saints and angels and scenes from the life of Sophia. The pews were mostly unoccupied, but clerics and novices in black and white habits passed quietly through the nave from doors that led into the wings or the subterranean levels. The paladin halted before the altar and knelt formally, her hands moving in the ritual sign of benediction, placing her sword carefully upon the ground. Silently she prayed.

The usual sense of warmth and compassion passed through her heart, obliterating the uncomfortable memory of the Inquisitorial mob. But there was an undertone of warning, and a call to duty. The All-Mother, Devyn knew, saw something very wrong in this city, and she needed her to help cleanse it.

After perhaps five minutes of meditation, the houri rose and bowed formally. Then she realized a novice was standing next to her. “You bear the arms and insignia of a paladin,” he said. He looked very young, and his eyes were bright at the sight of her. “You are here to see the Cardinal?”

“Yes,” Devyn replied. “I am Dame Devyn of the Sanctified Knights Templar of the Lady’s Aegis.”

“She is with another of your calling. However, I am sure she will see you shortly. Please, follow me, lady knight.” He turned towards a door seemingly no different from the others.

Devyn picked up her sword, slung it formally over her shoulder, and walked after him.

[yli]

"I heard you have had a busy morning, Sister Ghadnan. One of the guards at the Wayfarer's Guild swore to Brother Josef that you're over ten feet tall and have the voice of a roaring demon." Cardinal Abigail pressed her hands together, fingers interlocking. "Now, Sister Mary tells me their prices are perhaps blasphemous, but I was unaware we had declared them heretics yet. Am I missing something?"

"Tsk tsk tsk, Abby, you know that people would swear to anything these days if you dangle enough money in front of them. I'm quite sure that the same guard then went on to call me a licentious gypsy harlot, but certainly in a manner more applicable for a man of his station." Ayani leaned against one of the carved porphyry pillars, running her fingers along the engraved reliefs. Some old hag in gold trimmed robes was talking down to her yet again.

"No, I don't believe anyone would mistake you for a harlot, Sister Ghadnan." Cardinal Abigal's voice was light, but there was an undertone of ice and steel in it. She sighed tolerantly. "Ayani Ghadnan, you are a servant of the Church, yes? I do recall that your order swears the oaths of obedience."

Ayani just smirked. "Yes, as a loyal servant to the church, I spared the church from having to renumerate one Martius Avenon of the Wayfarer's Merchants Guild of Vietzie for services rendered. I believe you initially delegated the aforementioned task to the Wayfarer's Merchants Guild of Dammerinthes. However, they were not willing to accede. I merely convinced them that doing so would be an unwise course of action."

"Very good, Sister Ghadnan." Cardinal Abigail gave an almost beatific smile. "And did you consider the fact that a heavilyarmed Windwalker smashing open the vault of the Guild might be viewed...unfavorably in the present climate?"

"They would have viewed my presence as unfavorable under any circumstance. And had I come to you for assistance with this matter, you would have dismissed me as wasting your valuable time. In any event, I believe you failed to provide for a proper certificate of renumeration."

"Tell me, Sister, what do you see outside? Did you perhaps notice the terrified citizenry scurrying like rats for cover? Or the red-garbed fanatics, trying to convince the populace that the answer is to butcher every last wealthy individual or demihuman in the city? Did you notice the distinct lack of, say, armed city guards?"

"Of course, this is a trying time, which is why it's also not the time and place for diplomacy. The guild had already received the merchandise, which I suspect they were going to resell for a hefty profit."

"Sister Ghadnan, I have head much of you from Brother Aloisyus- a fine man." Cardinal Abigail's voice turned cold. "He waxed on your many talents. Unfortunately for us both, I have never heard that diplomacy was one of them. You are a killer, and at times the Church has need of a killer. But there are times when a warrior must know her place, and this is one of them." She did not raise her voice, but that made the icy finality of the statement all the clearer.

The words hung in the air for a long moment.

The Cardinal leaned forward on her desk. "Your services will be invaluable in this desperate time, Dame Ayani Ghadnan. I am glad to have you. But realize this: the Church is the strongest remaining legitimate government in this troubled barony. The Baron and his court hide within their manor; the Guilds are frightened. Even the thieves are unnerved. This is not a time when the Church of the Mother can license you to careen about unattended. You will keep me informed and consult with me as necessary in the future. I will provide what aid I can. We should not be opponents, but should that come to pass you will regret it. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good, my daughter. I am glad to see your obedience in this matter." Cardinal Abigail smiled, and for a moment great weariness was apparent in her face. "You must be tired and hungry. Should you desire to, you may stay here whenever you need. If you require aid or counsel, I will be happy to provide."

"If it wouldn't inconvenience you, you might want to process the goods you sent for. They are 100 percent accounted for."

"A job well done. I'll send some of the novices to collect and account for them."

"You have fun with that." Ayani turned and left the cardinal's office.

What a bitch, Ayani thought to herself as she pushed open the front doors of the cathedral.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Cassandra eased slightly- only slightly. Her hand stayed upon the hilt of her rapier, especially as the murmur of the crowd reached its zenith outside. She regarded the wildkin with no less trepidation. Why must they play games? she thought resentfully (and a little hypocritically, truth be told). It suits no purpose and is needlessly dramatic- Self-conscious, she cleared her throat. Victoria, say nothing.

Of course. It was perhaps for the best that the ghost managed to maintain an absolutely deadpan voice.

"My business in this city is my own," she replied to the wildkin in an imperious tone, subconsciously flashing her fangs proudly. "I have affairs to attend to within this city, but I did not expect the people to be so foolish!" She looked around, trying to find a place to slip out of the burnt-out building without the crowd's noticing.

[SMAndy]

-----
Isra
-----

"I expected as much." Isra replied. She hadn't expected Cassandra to even give her a straight answer, though she did sense an annoyance with the general populace.

"The inquisitors have been like that for days, it's not going to change any time soon." She added, walking past her to reach the windows. She stood on her toes to peer through one of the biggest gaps in the window, watching to see what was going on. The Inquisitor almost seemed to be edging the people towards carrying torches and pitch-forks, ready to burn the city to the ground if needs be.

"Purge the Unclean!" The inquisitor yelled at the top of his voice, followed by cheers from the crowd. It was at that point Isra blocked out the outside. She turned back into the room, but barely looked at the Trueborn.

"I'm here to fight. It looks like you have a capable band, so I'll only step in if you really need it. I'm here for myself..." She explained, walking towards the back of the room. Light filtered in through the back of the building, cracks around what looked like another door frame. A back door facing away from the crowd. Definitely a safer way to return to the outside world.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

"Most gracious of you," Cassandra muttered as the strange woman walked away. "What then was the purpose of this interlude, pray?" She was not being entirely fair, she knew, but the wildkin's vague hints were annoying her. "Of you I know naught, yet you would have my trust? Strange generosity indeed. You would battle the men in red, then? Or is there some other foe you would oppose?"

She peered through the doorway and cracked a rueful smile. "Much as it vexes me to flee from the ignorant and unwashed, better discretion than decapitation. I shall have to inform the Baron's court of such outrages, though this presumes he is not already aware of them."

She slipped through the doorway and cast her gaze across the street, trying not to be revealed against the light. It was an alleyway, dark, quiet, and still. Unoccupied. She distrusted it, but leaving herself exposed was hardly an alternative, nor dared she risk projecting herself in the presence of this unfamiliar woman. She thought she could probably find her way back to the inn quickly enough.

She proceeded down the alleyway, carefully picking her way through the dirty slush. That was when she heard it- a quiet whimper, faint, on the edge of hearing. It skittered down her spine like creaking ice. It sounded like a frightened child.

"Hello?" she asked, her heart sinking. "Is something wrong?"

Even over the smells typical to an alleyway and the icy sharp tang of snow, she could smell the old blood. She could taste it on her tongue. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she watched the slush carefully. Filmy light hung in the air, a slumped form she doubted anyone other than she could see clearly.

Then she tripped over a mound in the snow a little larger and darker than the others, nearly falling over, and the translucent shape whimpered miserably. Feeling a little ill, Cassandra bent over and brushed aside the snow, and then immediately wished she hadn't. She reeled back from the dreadful, mangled shape, gasping for breath, trying not to scream.

The sad little husk of what had once been a young boy lay in the snow. He had not died easily. Its former occupant huddled against the wall, whimpering still, hands clasped over his face as he rocked back and forth.

After a long moment of trying to catch her breath, slumping against the wall, Cassandra knelt in the snow and motioned to the ghost. "Hello there," she said, breathing deeply and smiling as best she could with a mangled corpse beside her. The poor boy... "You seem lost, little one..." she said, kneeling down to his level and drawing next to him.

That was when she heard the crunch of boots on the snow.

[TakeV]

(Just to clarify something, I write things as how Akasois perceives things. Being someone who suffers hallucinations regularly, it might get confusing. If something needs clarification, I'll write it in [brackets] to say what the thing really is.)

Akasois

=======

It had been a terrible day.

First instinct was to meet the local magician, a locally proclaimed expert in protection magic. True to his area of study, the man had a most repellent nature, interrupting Akasois midway through a conversation, spitting some substance or another at the general direction of some brass jug, filled to the brim with similar colored fluid.
By the late afternoon, the meeting had gone sour, when the unpleasant man had discovered Akasois's true nature, and had ran out of his home to fetch the guards, but not before trying his hand at assult via dagger throwing.

Having escaped from a window as the man ran out of the house, Akasois made his way to a local tavern. Having spent 30 minutes convinced that his mug was filled with blood, until the hallucination ran it's course, he found two guards to either side of him.

That meeting had gone rather sour as well.

Now, Akasois found himself before a great cavern, in the middle of the small town. It was dark, secluded, and would make an ideal hiding place to escape from the hostile towns people. The only concern were fresh footprints on the ground.

Yet, there was faint crying.
And the noise caused slight vibrations in his Heart of Darkness.
Someone was in need, and they couldn't be helped by anyone but he.
Without hesitation, he stepped into the cave. The darkness grew around him, but he allowed a faint violet glow to illuminate the way, it wasn't much, but it would have to do.
The first thing he saw was the ghost of a small child, whimpering, leaning against the far wall.
The second thing he saw, was the body of the child.
The last thing he saw, was a female Trueborn. Her blade was drawn, covered in blood, as were her hands, and her face [hallucination].

"Are you a murderer?"

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

"Are you a murderer?"

A strange question, in an even stranger voice. Little fragments of half-sound hissed and whispered about the words, echoes in thinner, more hollow speech she heard from something other than her ears.

Are you a murderer? Why ask me such a thing? She rose, her blade out and ready, peering at the cloaked shape. It appeared to walk like a man; the cowl was drawn over his features, and the violet glimmer about him sharpened the shadows. It was suspicious; the light was familiar.

Cassandra took a deep breath and closed her eyes, whispered a phrase her instructor had cast in steel within her memory. A cold shiver ran through her body, leaving silk and shadows and snow coursing through her veins in its wake. It was a basic technique; when she opened her eyes again she could feel the necromantic energies swirling and flowing about her like dark honey. The little boy's ghost was a shape outlined in swirling night upon the air.

And then she looked at the hooded stranger, followed the swirling violet tendrils to the pulsing heart, and she knew.

The girl took a deep, shuddering breath, baring her fangs, raising her rapier. "Monster," she hissed. "Why have you come?" Her legs trembled beneath her skirt; she hoped it did not show. She had never come up against a corporeal undead creature, never even seen one that was truly flesh and blood. But she knew the tales.

[JT Jag]

Virgil

---

In the crush of the crowd, the others quickly lost track of Virgil Thorne. Vanishing without a trace had been a specialty of his ever since he was a child, and he moved like smoke through the commoners, the hood of his cloak up so as to not attract attention.

Being a well-traveled socialite without scruples, Virgil had developed a far-flung network of contacts in every major city in Shade. And whether the visit was for business or pleasure, he habitually checked up on the people he knew in-town, and see if there were any intriguing rumors to investigate.

His first stop was his legitimate contact within the Alchemist's Guild of Dammerinthes. He caught up with him at his desk as he composed a letter.

"Devan. It's been too long."

The short, balding Shaden almost jumped out of his own skin. Turning to see Virgil, he visibly blanched. "V-V-V--- Lord Thorne, what a surprise!"

His brown hair was peppered with gray, and a cursory inspection would reveal that he was somewhere between 30 and 60 years old. He wore the customary hide gloves and thick smock of an alchemist at work.

If this phased Virgil, it didn't show. "Devan. It's been a while. What are you writing?" The man blinked dully for a second as if he had misunderstood the statement, and then they widened in awareness as he looked down to the item he had written. He wasted no time grabbing it and stuffing it in his drawer. "Nothing, sir! So, er, why are you in town?"

"Social call. I was just wondering if you've heard anything? It's been a while since I've been in this part of the country."

"Er, well, the crime rate is up a bit, and..."

Virgil considered things as the man rambled on. He had gotten a good look at that paper before Devan had stashed it away.

"Friends: Due to reasons beyond my control, I must resign from my post as local chairman of the Dammerinthes Alchemist's Guild.

- Devan Lochiss"

For all his other faults, Virgil knew one thing about Devan: He was a man truly devoted to his craft. The logical conclusion was that it was a personal matter, but for some reason that seemed off to him. Dammerinthes suddenly seemed a little bit more foreboding.

It was late when he exited the Alchemist's guild. The right time to visit his more... under the table associates.

He found the normal contact point--- a lower-class pub that tended to close earlier then most. While it lost business because of it, it didn't matter--- it was one of the local hubs of the Dammerinthes Rogue's Guild, and the pub was just a front.

He tapped on the door with his knuckles twice, paused four heartbeats, then three more times. There was a lengthy pause without a response, and he frowned. Perhaps he had to give the password too?

"Swordfish." That had been the password for as long as he could remember, though perhaps it had ch---

Before he could finish that thought, someone or something barreled into him headlong, and he flew into the door of the building, its hinges rattling. He reached for a dagger in his cloak faster then any human, but before he could fully draw it something heavy struck him in the back of the neck.

Virgil's last thought before he blacked out was a string of curses, mostly directed at himself and his own lack of care in surveying his surroundings for threats.

---

Lucia

---

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Jaena said, smiling out into the dark-blue sky. The second trueborn lady in the room, sitting on the bed, was staring listlessly at a book. "... Isn't it? ... Lucia!"

The other woman looked up from her readings. She was the milky pale of a woman whose skin was not meant to stay outdoors for too long, but was all the more beautiful for it. Her hair was a lighter shade of blond then what would usually be achievable by bleaching chemicals, and though her robes covered her figure well, it was obvious that she would be considered attractive by every meaning of the world.

She looked at the spunky, shorter woman sitting at the desk. The Spire of Seeking, the residence tower of the ranking students of the College of Higher Sciences, had a great view of the moon-lit sky, and this room faced away from the nearest city of Dammerinthes, the view consisting mostly of small buildings and rolling green hills, framed by two of the other four great Spires of the college. "Sorry, Jaena. I just don't have much energy tonight. I have a weird feeling that something is a bit... off."

"Oh, stop being such a downer. We should go out. The night is still young!"

Lucia's eyes brightened at this for a moment, but then she winced and forced herself back into the book. "I'm in the middle of an interesting chapter. Ask me again in a few minutes."

The younger Shaden girl rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. "Nevermind. I'm heading out myself. See you in the morning, Lucy."

The door shut. Although Lucia was just next-apartment neighbors with Jaena Jaqs, they considered themselves to be almost roomates--- largely because they shared a privy.

What's wrong with you? You should be more like Jaena, a little voice whispered to her in the back of her mind. Jaena had the complexion and and mannerisms of the southern merchants that populated the coastal region of the twilight gulf, and she was a foil to Lucia, the more composed and regal of the two.

Lucia ignored herself though, and buried herself back into her novel--- a trashy romance, like always. But that little feeling of wrongness never quite left her.

I'm running out of books. Maybe I'll head into town to see if there's anything new.

[yli]

"I wouldn't say she's a murderer, more of an...unfortunate passer by. And you...you're not a monster. You're just a foreigner. Odd time to be seeing the world, isn't it?"

Ayani sat on a a rooftop over the alley, legs dangling over the side. She had found the boy about half an hour ago, and was waiting for someone to come back and move the body. Until then, she was stuck with sentry duty, and not too happy with it.

"Astute observation." Akasois drew his trusty flask from his cloak, his only friend in the town right now. Taking a deep drink, he allowed the liquor to ease his visions. "Ah, yes. That girl is no murderer. And what would you be doing here, of all places for a guard?"

"Problem is, I'm not a guard. I'm a paladin." Ayani hopped off from the roof, gently descending a few millimeters above the snow. She had a nasty headache and fresh streaks of blood running down her cheeks, where the blindfold didn't do enough to stem the flow. "And you..." the stench of Akasois' liquor stung her nose, "you're drunk."

Cassandra appeared unable to tear her gaze from the paladin's blood-smeared cheeks. Her violet eyes were wide, her mouth open in a shocked O, and her naturally pale skin was even paler. "You?" she breathed at last, "A paladin of the Queen? That..." she swallowed. "That is a strange jest from one so marked!"

Her rapier remained brandished before her, and she eyed the horrifying pair uneasily. The lich, dark-skinned but luminous, colder than the mid-day mist. The girl, scarred and dressed in austere rags, blood streaming from her blindfolded gaze, more predator than knight in her movements. A pair less righteous in appearance could hardly be imagined.

"Oh for the love of..." Ayani cradled her head, a few drops of blood slid off her cheeks, staining the snow a bright red.

"We all have our flaws," Akasois replied, noticing the subtle glow on the hands of this self-proclaimed paladin, black in color only visible to the trained necromancer eye, "Whether they be drinking or... wrath. Yet that is a discussion for another time."He turned to the frightened girl, with sudden relization. Only one trained in necromancy could have saw his true nature so suddenly. "You have talent. Perhaps you will help a young spirit in need?"

"Well, if you could ask any ghosts in the area what happened, I would certainly appreciate it. Kid's still hanging around here, right?" Ayani cocked her head towards Cassie, motioning for her to clue her in on what happened.

Cassandra took a deep, uncertain breath. "Allow me to heed my work, and I shall tell you what I can." She looked suspiciously at the two of them, then bent down and crouched next to the ghostly boy. "You can not speak with the dead, monster?" she asked over her shoulder.

Akasois gave a frown, though his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood. "My kind are the things which nightmares are made of, in the eyes of outsiders. You believe me to be a monster, do you believe the ghost of a murdered child would be less afraid? It is not pleasant to die. It is less pleasant to die brutally and in fear, and worse still to have only your nightmares to greet you afterward."

Cassandra winced and turned back to the ghost. The poor boy's spirit was huddled against the wall, shivering, though he had moved quite beyond earthly cold. She tried her best to smile and avoid looking at the sad little lump in the snow next to him.

"Hello," she half-whispered, in a fashion she doubted the so-called paladin could hear. "Little one, come here. I will not harm you. I want to help you."

Ayani in the meantime, slipped out of the alley. Two novices and a priest were headed for the alley. The novices were carrying a stretcher with them.

"You're late", she sighed.

[AbuDhabi]

Albert has been enjoying himself since his arrival in Dammerinthes, short as the visit was so far. After tying up matters of employment with Martius - renewal of the contract was available, should he show up at least a few hours before the caravan left - he went and got himself a cheap room in one of the many inns. With the money he has so far earned, he could eat and drink his fill so long as he tolerated the taste of watered-down ale and second-grade cooking. This cash would not last forever, however, so he thought it would do to do a little bit of searching for a job while here.

In the afternoon, having just finished lunch, Albert was walking down a poorly-lit street, moving fast to avoid getting frostbite... and possibly muggers. Not that many would have the courage to try to mug a huge, obviously armed gentleman like himself. He attempted to change direction, going around a corner, but luck would not have that. Instead, he nearly collided with someone. The 'nearly' of that was not his doing, but instead the other's - the seemingly common-looking man evaded impact with lightning speed, sending Albert off-balance and into a snow-pile.

Getting up as quickly as he could, Albert noticed that the man's face was distorted with anger, hands raised and in a fighting stance. "Sorry 'bout that," Albert managed to blurt out, trying to look non-threatening. "Didn't see you coming."

[EponymousKid]

Bertram was... frustrated. The caravan had gotten to its destination relatively free of struggle. He had hoped it would have been waylaid somehow, providing the perfect distraction to cover his theft of the cargo. This had... not occured.

His luck had also proven not particularly strong of late. Losing a children's game and coming up short against a scrawny woman. He would have to do better in the future. But before his luck would pick up, he knew what had to be done.

He had sent a message to a local branch of Inquisitors, that they would meet with him and discuss a certain matter of common interest. Normally, Bertram hated working with others, but in this case it was strictly necessary.

As the representative approached him at the specified meeting place, Bertram put his decades of experience as a liar to good use. Adopting a distraught expression and a gentle look in his eyes, he pleaded for help.

"Oh, thank heavens you are here! There is a monster on the loose! She appears a normal woman, but she is horror in its ultimate form! I beg of you and the Inquisition that you should exterminate this blight upon this already damned land!"

"Calm yourself and speak clearly. Who is this 'monster'?"

"She is known as Ayani Ghadan..."

[Jetrauben]

Reskeis

Reskeis had been drifting, aimless, when he nearly struck the big man coming from the other direction. The fellow wasn't much taller than Reskeis was, Masked or not, but he was far bulkier than Reskeis' wiry form, packed with hard muscle beneath his leathers and furs and just as freakishly swollen as any other human. When he looked up from griping beneath his breath, the shadow looming over him, Reskeis' street-fighter instincts took charge. His legs snapped into motion almost by themselves, and the imp in man's shape sprang aside.

His "attacker", surprised by the paranoid reaction, lost his balance and fell into a drift. Snow plumed outwards in every direction. The pattern was quite nice, he thought, even while he found himself raising clenched fists in an attack position, glaring. Wait, he thought a moment too late. Not a good idea. The demons, boyo, he's just a damn passerby! You are on edge...clumsy!

The other, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. Hopping out of the snowdrift and shaking his hair clean of snow, he immediately held up his hands. Not to fight, Reskeis noticed, though he tensed at first; the bloke's palms were out in front. "Sorry 'bout that!" he said quickly. "Didn't see you coming!"

Reskeis winced and mentally kicked himself. Damn stupid of you. "Yeah, well, watch it!" he replied, sounding annoyed. It wasn't hard; he was plenty annoyed. "Way things're goin' round here, I hear ye need to keep an eye out. Supposed to be monsters. Seen any?"

It was a really stupid question. Hellfire, you sound like a moron, doncha?

He lowered his guard and tried to smile. "See, I'm kinda a working lad, an' I need to make a living, ye know? Hear..." He improvised. Lightwalkers didn't fight as a group, did they? They relied on some of them to do their fighting for them? "Hear there's some rewards bein' offered, ye ken? So, seen anything funny?"

----

Bertram and The Inquisitors

The red-garbed man eyed the burly fellow before him with distaste. He hated working with the tainted. It went against the Goddess' teachings to associate with one of the beasts. If this wildkin dog thought he was fooling anyone, well, he was either as stupid as he was pretending, or he had enough brovado to assume he could bargain with the Inquisition. Either way, he could be useful.

"Ayani Ghadnan is a name that means little to me," he said, dropping the credulous act and fingering his blade. "I will need a description so that my brethren and I may bring her to trial and put her to the question. What is her crime?"

Bertram saw the man abandon any semblance of courtesy and felt it would only be fair to do the same. Look at him. Robes. Probably some lush fabric that he could only dream of. That sword, some metal tempered ten times stronger than whatever his own weapon was made of. That face, just begging to be caved in with a solid backhand. Bertram grew bitter, and used the hate to his advantage.

"Apologies," he said. "I'm not the best actor. But Ayani is certain to prove of interest to you. She preaches from a position... contrary to your own, and thinks herself judge, jury, and executioner. Appearances may not show it, but some months ago she had dealt me a beating so savage that I'd prefer to spare the details. She is blind and wears a cloth across her eyes, which from what I can tell are constantly bleeding. Surely this fact alone makes her an abomination in your, ahem, esteemed eyes."

"Fascinating," the Inquisitor said in a distracted voice, hard, aquiline face forming a thoughtful expression. "Bleeding eyes, you say. And yet, if she were in truth bleeding, she would be long dead. Her position?"

Bertram could tell he needed further convincing. And if there was anything Bertram knew how to do, it was convince. "Listen here, maggot, where I come from people listen to the biggest guy without question. It's a system I feel you should adopt."

Bertram didn't really know what Ayani believed in. He barely knew what the Inquisition believed. He knew he couldn't answer the man's question, and as pressure mounted, he reverted to his natural state: anger

The Inquisitor looked up sharply, his thin lips twisting into something that approximated a smile. "No, scum," he said in a voice a few threads above a whisper. There was a glint in his eyes. "This is where your understanding is flawed. In the filth and wilderness where you lair, you may feel your strength is great. Not so, in this time. In this place."

He held up one hand, and three other red-cloaked shapes emerged from nearby alleyways. Two carried swords and bucklers. The third carried an arquebus. They all had the same expression on their faces: cold, calm smiles that were like mockeries of friendship, the sort of smile that said We have you any time we want. Don't bother to scream.

"The Most Noble Martyred Inquisition is many things, beast," the lead Inquisitor said softly. "Your pathetic mind clearly is incapable of grasping them, and so I shall not at this time seek to educate you. But we are not your assassins- to be used and discarded. We may desire to put this woman to the question, but we shall do so on our own behalf- not yours." His voice turned harsh. "You know this woman. What is her position? What honors and office does she hold?! Where can we find her? Speak quickly, or taste cold steel!"

"If you intend to frighten me, it was a valiant effort. The woman feels she alone holds the true Word. As to offices, she mocks and maims the office of Paladin she usurped at every opportunity. She is somewhere in Dammerinthes, and if she's here, I can find her for you. I may want her dead for personal reasons, but trust me, if left alone she will cause the lot of you an excess of grief."

Bertram's expression remained as always; visibly peturbed and clearly just one roadblock away from erupting. These men would either cooperate with him or they would see exactly how difficult he was to deal with.

The inquisitor gave a sharp smile. "Now there, beast, are the proper words. Tell us more."
----

Cassandra

Cassandra tried to shut out the others present as she heard the boy's whimpering voice. It was difficult. Despite her attempt to put on a comforting face and manner, the ghost was understandably incoherent, hands shaking, unable or unwilling to look her in the eyes.

men... the child said at last, in a voice like whispering reeds, men...with sharp things. hoods. deep voices. they were quiet...

The story came out slowly, as Cassandra bent to one knee in the snow, reached out, and took the ghost-child by the hand. She drew the spirit close and listened, running her fingers through sandy hair she felt only as ribbons of cold in the air. When two novices and a priest in his cassock trudged up the alleyway with a stretcher in hand and began to lift the sad little lump from its resting place in the snow, the ghost cried out and shook like a leaf. But she kept stroking his head, and he eased, shivering cold and lonely in her arms, phantom form dripping echoes of blood and tears upon her dress.

"Shh....shh..." she whispered, holding a finger to her lips and looking into the tormented face when his sniffles turned to sobs. The sounds sent a pang through her heart, but she tried to keep her smile. "Poor boy...It is all right. Do not cry. We will take care of you. There is a fine boy..."

The priest mumbled a benediction as they eased the body onto the stretcher, making the sign of the Lady towards it, and the ghost's shivering eased a little. Cassandra noticed how green-faced the two novices were- a maiden and a youth, neither looking old enough to look such an ugly death in the face- and felt a pang of sympathy.

She rose and rested a hand upon the ghost's little head, regarding the body steadily. Ice was running through her veins, and nausea and dizziness through her temples, but she put on the best quiet smile she could as she faced the fearsome pair.

"I will tell you what he said when we stand 'pon hallowed ground,' she said, taking a deep breath. She looked about, regarding the alleyway with disgust. "This narrow place has more than lost what paltry welcome it possessed. The boy's family must also be informed." She sheathed her rapier and held out one hand, looking down and smiling to the sad little ghost. Come with us, little one. I will take you home. Hold my hand.

She felt small, cold fingers wrap about her own.

[AbuDhabi]

"Monsters?" Albert repeated, being relieved that the other guy wasn't about to start a fight. He hated fighting directly after a meal. "Not since I've got here," he said, wiping the snow from his apparel. "On the way, though, a week's time ago - yeah. We run into a totally massacred town, nobody left alive. An' that's not even the scary part, y'see."

Albert paused for breath, and took a good look at his fellow man. There was something strange about him, but he couldn't place it. Not wishing to pursue being suspicious of a total stranger, he continued, being pleasantly buzzed and in a talkative mood. "There were imps, scattered every-which-where. All dead. Someone killed 'em all. We found out they were lookin' for something, but didn't find it. Plenty 'funny', yes?"

"Say," Albert recalled that the man mentioned something interesting, "you said something 'bout a reward?"

[JT Jag]

After what seemed like an eternity, the darkness began to ebb, replaced by a throbbing blur of light and sound.

"Boss, I found ... safehouse near dusk.

Virgil heard voices, but he was still too disoriented to understand where they came from. He tried to open his eyes, with only partial success. Keeping his head down, he noticed he was in some large, mostly empty building. He couldn't see anyone--- they must be behind him.

It was then that he realized the situation he was in. Tied to a chair, his arms and legs bound. He tried to move one of his toes, which took some time but was eventually a rousing success. Moving on from that, he tried to slip out of his bindings, but whoever had bound him knew their knots.

"Dusk? Everyone knows ... night... any more." "Exactly. And... knives on him. Lots of them."

Virgil assumed they were talking about him. Then, it all came back: Trying to meet up with his contact in the Guild. Going to the designated spot at the designated time. Getting jumped by... someone. As if beckoned, the back of his neck suddenly throbbed in intense, remembered pain.

"You think..." The second man's voice trailed off into whispers. The other one, the one he recognized as the person who had spoken first, responded. "That's the only logical explaination, is it not?"

The voices gradually came into clearer focus, and he strained to hear. "We will see. This better be worth it--- it will be midnight soon enough, and I want to get in a quick nip before the formal meeting."

So it isn't morning yet? Good, I wasn't out for long. If I survive this ordeal, I'll be able to get back quick enough for everyone else to be none the wiser...

His train of thought was cut off. "Let's get to it then."

Without warning, a bucket of ice water was poured onto Virgil's head, sending a shock through his system. A man stepped in front of him. "Who sent you?"

Virgil quickly placed the voice as the first man he had heard--- the subordinate. The interrogator was a short, lean, deeply tanned man with a shaved head. He moved with the deadly grace of a snake, and had dark blue eyes that looked almost purple in the darkness of the building, which he now recognized to be a sort of warehouse.

Virgil tried to say something, but it came out somewhat slurred. He redoubled his effort, and tried to sound menacing.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" The short man looked him up and down. "Should I?"

Virgil studied the man's dark eyes, and knew him to be one of the men who had jumped in front of the safehouse. Dangerous. He knew these men would be too careful to leave him any weapons, so he assumed he had been strip-searched already. He wondered how they had reacted when they found he had dozens of knives and daggers and a pair of shortswords on him, not to mention the crossbow. In retrospect, their concern was fairly well-founded.

They had left him his boots, however. At least he had something to work with. He tapped the heel of his left boot on the floor in an almost impatient manner. "I demand an explaination. I came here to see Raian."

"Raian was killed a year ago. That's one of the reasons we don't operate at night any more. Why did we find you using years-old codewords at one of our safehouses, with enough blades on you to to arm an entire squad of city guardsmen?"

Virgil shifted his legs slightly, and heard the oh-so-slight sound of a sharp edge cutting through rope. "Funny story, actually. A pretty long one, too. Decades ago, I happened upon your mother in a brothel---"

A strong, heavy hand suddenly cuffed him in the back of the head, and he identified the until-now-unnoticed man to be the first of the two that had taken him down. "Oh, it's the bull. Didn't see you there."

The man, still out of Virgil's range of sight, made a grunting sound and grew quiet once again.

The bald man rolled his eyes and spoke once more. “I’ll ask one more time, and if you don’t answer we start cutting. What were you doing?”

Virgil was about to make another witty retort, but then the heavy doors were flung open. The shorter man turned away from Virgil for just a moment. “Who’s that?” Virgil could hear the larger man behind him shuffling closer to the door.

Virgil had no idea why someone was intruding on a Guild function, but he didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He had unbound the ropes around his ankles several minutes ago using the spring-loaded knife hidden in his boot. Using the new leverage, he did a backflip in place, feeling his shoulders pop in an unpleasant manner. As pain washed over him, Virgil realized that he had likely dislocated both in the attempt.

The large man realized he had slipped out, and went for the sword he had belted to his waist. Virgil knelt down quickly, and the sword chopped the chair Virgil had been tied to neatly in half.

Virgil took the opportunity to ram his right shoulder into the big man’s gut. The giant stumbled backward temporarily stunned and out of breath, as Virgil felt a new wave of pain as the shoulder was popped back in place. That’ll be sore as hell for a few weeks, he thought ruefully.

Using the large man’s distraction to his advantage, he turned to see what the small man was doing… and he wasn’t happy. He had materialized a pair of daggers into his hands and was slicing at Virgil’s throat with the right one. Virgil got his leg up, parrying the slice with the knife that still stuck out of the front of his boot.

Virgil executed a roundhouse kick, making solid contact with the smaller man’s head. He recovered, glaring at Virgil murderously. Virgil quickly checked his other flank--- the large man had gained his second wind both literally and metaphorically, and was closing in.

“SHE WENT THAT WAY!” Footsteps could be heard outside--- the city guard, no doubt. “Ricken! Brindan! Our cover has been blown, we need to get out of here.”

Virgil’s attention was suddenly drawn to a man in the corner who had totally escaped his attention until now. He wore a silk doublet and was dark of both skin and hair, and he attempted to project the airs of a refined person. Underneath it all, Virgil’s trained eye saw that he was truly the most dangerous person amongst the three Guild operatives in the room, and he opened up the secret door with the lazy grace reminiscent of a wild cat.

“I wasn’t sure until now… but it seems the rumors were true. We’ll be watching you, Virgil Thorne.”

Virgil’s jaw dropped as the apparent leader exited the room, his two lackeys in tow. As the door closed and he heard the sound of it locking on the other side, he suddenly remembered the situation. “I think she went in there,” he heard outside. Dammit, dammit. He couldn’t be found like this, here. It would raise too many questions. He frantically looked for a way out…

[Zizi]

Zizi was a person who tried to look on the bright side of a situation. If someone had asked her, now, as she darted through the streets toward the part of town controlled by the Thieves’ Guild, to find something good about her current position, she... well, she would have needed a moment. After said moment, she would have responded to her hypothetical questioner that at least she had a plan, which was more than she could say for most of her life in the last few years.

“She’s right there! Toward you, Anders!”

Zizi shook long, chestnut-coloured hair out of her face as she zigzagged away from the guard who was presumably Anders. This was probably, she admitted to herself, the worst situation that had ever befallen her–by the All-Mother, they wanted her blood!–but she had a plan. She would manage somehow. She always did.

The wind was her most dangerous enemy now. It cast Zizi’s hair over her eyes and tugged at her torn sleeve, threatening to expose more of her shoulder. It was time to execute the plan; no more running. Zizi strained to hear something useful; the late hour was not her friend. A couple arguing... a child who had awakened from a bad dream...

“... if you don’t answer we start cutting...”

Perfect! Play the guards against the thieves, and she might save not only herself but also whomever they were threatening. She headed for the building where she could now hear the beginnings of a scuffle, making sure to slow down enough so that her pursuers could see where she was going. As she entered the building, she saw a dangerous-looking scuffle... thank heaven! But as the guards’ footsteps came closer, she heard one of the men say, “...need to get out of here...”

She would have sworn if she’d had any breath to spare. They were getting away! An empty building could easily be the end for her. Think of another plan... think of another plan...

But she was so very tired, of running and of thinking. As she ran toward the melée, fate dealt her one more small cruelty: the worn laces of her left boot came untied, and she tripped over them, landing at the feet of the only man left in the room, who was standing near a bisected chair.

Ugh.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Hours later Cassandra sat slumped upon a pew in the nave of the Cathedral of St. Aloysius of Dammerinthes, leaning forward with her hands upon her face. The evening meditations had begun, and the soothing melody of “Behold the Mother’s Triumph” was beginning to loosen nerves that felt as taut as steel wire.

Visiting the boy’s house had been awful. She had a sinking feeling that she would remember the sound of the father’s cry for many days to come. It had rent her heart. Even after she had done her best to manifest the child’s ghost, the father had been beside himself with grief. The mother had been worse; nearly silent, trying desperately to smile and curtsey before a trueborn noblewoman.

She looked up when she heard a soft rustle, and then a sad smile crossed her face. “Hello, Lady Devyn,” she said. “I had been curious where you were.”

"I was attending to my duties, Lady Cassandra." The houri slipped into a seat on the pew next to the young Trueborn. She idly fingered the amulet hanging about her neck, her head bowed as she listened to the hymns and Songs drifting through the spacious chapel. With a slight tilt of her head, her eyes were back on Cassandra. "I also inquired about that fallen Paladin that waylayed us on our journey here, Franz de Bieris..."

"Did you now?" Cassandra asked. "Was he a paladin of this demesne?"

"Indeed, he was. Franz was an esquire of a fief in Dammerinthes who later took vows with the Order of the Lady's Mantle. He was presumed dead after a Hasedref raid." Devyn shook her head and sighed. "As we know, that is not the case."

“Troubling that a servant of the Queen could fall so,” Cassandra replied. She pursed her lips uncomfortably. “As I am sure you heard, I discovered the body of a young boy this day. His life had been taken by cruel knives, and his spirit’s description of his slayers sounded like to men, not Netherspawn.” She sighed and swallowed. “It would appear this city is more troubled than I had thought.”

She interlaced her fingers and tried to smile. “After we brought the boy’s spirit home, I returned to the inn and dispatched Syeira and Orynn to Vietzie once more. It is my hope they can meet with a representative of my House and bring tidings of the situation here. Perhaps the words of a witness to the events in that unholy chapel would be more convincing than a young girl’s fears.”

Ayani leaned her forehead against one of the pews, clutching the ruby warding pendant around her neck, drops of blood rhythmically splattering onto the marble floor as she quietly whispered her prayers in the graceful lilt of the gypsy tongue.

Please. Protect that boy's poor soul. Please protect my soul. Ayani repeatedly uttered that line, until it was burned into her mind. Please protect the sanity of the poor girl whom I sent to deal with the boy's parents. I was too cowardly to do it myself.

Cassandra looked upwards to where the morbid so-called paladin was kneeling, wincing as each spatter of blood stained the floor. "Lady Devyn," she asked softly, changing the subject. "Do you see that woman thence? She claimed this noon to be a paladin of the Queen. I could not imagine it. It defies all reason. What say you?"

Raising her head, Devyn set her eyes upon the woman Cassandra had pointed out. "That woman? A Paladin, you say? I cannot believe it. Never in a thousand years. Her song is..." What was it? It sounded almost as a chorus of voices, all with their own idea as to what was going to be sung. None sounded as a human voice should, some bordering on those of a demon. None of them made any sense, either, just an overwhelming amount of nonsense that made her head hurt. "...Discordant and jarring. And she reeks of the Nether." Her gaze had narrowed into a glare as she continued to watch the gypsy girl, wondering what made her dare lay claim to the title of paladin.

"I will not gainsay you," Cassandra replied, suppressing a shudder at the way the woman's eyes were leaking blood. The combination of revulsion and the tantalizing scent of human blood was not a comfortable one.

"Her attire is grim," she said, then tried to think charitably. "Yet she seems more vulnerable here than before. Surely if wicked she would not be permitted in this holy-"
There was a clamor from the altar, a collective gasp. The leading priest fell away from the copy of the Testament of Sophia laid upon the lectern, blanching and falling to his knees. "Saints preserve us!" Cassandra heard him shout. "Saints and Sancta preserve us! The corruption reaches even to this holy place!"

"Calm yourself!" the Cardinal said in a voice of steel from behind the altar.
She rose from her seat and stared at the Testament, then reflexively made the sign of the Lady. Cassandra thought she detected a momentary tremor in the woman's voice.

Those in attendance within the nave- more than might be expected- were beginning to panic. Some were blanching. Others stood up and demanded to see. Cassandra's heart sank. Would the panic reach even here?

Ayani sighed, lifting her head up. "Corruption?" she asked with mock innocence in her voice, "I could have sworn I checked the perimeter twice before entry. If you would like, I could check again, although I doubt anything's going to turn up."

Now what was the houri thinking? Monster! Monster! What a horrible monster! Probably would try and split her head open. Ayani waited for the collective panicked gasp from the crowd--ah there it was.

Ayani didn't like churches.

She stood up, turned around and left the nave. She thought about making an obscene gesture to the leading priest, but what was the point?

Cassandra could not help but make a face as the gypsy woman walked down the nave. "Nor is her reaction to this calamity fitting for a paladin," she muttered. Then she stood. "Lady Devyn, I do not know if I can approach the altar. What is wrong?"

"One moment, my Lady, and we shall know." With sure steps, Devyn made her way to the altar. She exchanged some hurried whispers with the Cardinal, then looked to the Testament that was lying open before them. With a gasp, she stepped back from the book, eyes wide as she continued staring at the blasphemous blood-dripping text that had replaced the holy words of the All-Mother.

The Cardinal nodded to Devyn, and then recoiled as a long, jagged claw twice the size of a man's arm reached out from the bleeding page and swiped at her. Had it connected it would have slashed her open. The audience screamed in one great voice; the clergy nearby quailed. But the Cardinal was fast and somehow sure on her feet despite her age; she ducked beneath the swipe and responded in a clarion voice.

"Begone, wretched beast! This is a holy place! BE GONE! in nomine Sancta!"

Halfway to the front doors, Ayani froze in her tracks. There was this feeling of...violation; she heard screaming and whirled about in a flutter of motion. She didn't have to wait for the novices or some of the panicking worshippers to come grab her.

Something, somewhere, laughed. It was a voice as smooth and soft as flowing oil, and just as toxic. Other cries came from the audience as hands reached out and struck at parishioners. Some shrieked in pain, others in fear.

Seeing the claws emerge from seemingly every to rake at innocent parishoners, Ayani quickened her pace, sprinting across the nave. Heavy chains, with links thicker than a man's thumb, materialized with a gush of black flames, draping themselves around Ayani's arms. The pillars began to warp, pulsate, move around like living things. Ayani flicked her wrists and the chains snaked upwards, wrapping themselves around the slashing arms before they could take the heads off the parishoners. Spikes began sprouting from the links, digging into the arms as they writhed around. She gave the chains a hard tug, pulling the demonic appendages to the ground. The chain spikes, growing longer, began to dig into the granite floor tiles like metallic centipedes, firmly clamping the arms down, preventing them from harming anyone.

Heartened by this new aid, Cardinal Abigail raised her voice and chanted in the Old Tongue, and the reaching claw recoiled as white flame swept across the corrupted Testament. It fell back and reached for the Cardinal again, in full reach of Devyn.

The Paladin drew her sword and slashed the defiled tome with one swift movement, the blessed blade easily passing through the demonic claw and the testament itself. The blow knocked the bisected book further back from the Cardinal, Devyn placing herself between the Cardinal and the testament as paper settled to the floor.

As the Testament fell to pieces on the floor things seemed to calm for a moment. The Cardinal nodded both to Devyn and to Ayani at the end of the nave. "It would appear the Orders Martial still retain their skill," she said, sounding just a little bit proud. Then she raised an eyebrow and surveyed the audience, eyes fixing on where Cassandra lay huddled protectively atop a pair of children. There were tears in the back of her dress, and rapidly-closing light wounds across her shoulders.

Cardinal Abigal sighed and raised her voice in the quiet, clearly audible over whimpers and moans of fear. "Dame Devyn, Dame Ayani, approach the altar. Lady Cassandra of Highmoor, please do so as well." The Cardinal motioned to the nearby clerics, who fanned out protectively across the nave, raising holy symbols. "And will one of our congregation please fetch the arkaesi currently sitting in the side room in the eastern wing? He must aid us here."

Cassandra rose and approached the altar with her gaze lowered. A sick feeling of guilt and unease gnawed at her, and she did not say a word until she stood before the Cardinal alongside Devyn. Ayani stood up. Not wanting to disarm herself, more sets of chains began to creep into reality, wrapping around her arms as she approached the altar.

The Cardinal's mouth quirked in a wry smile. "Raise that head, girl. I won't bite." She sighed. "You four brought that body of that poor boy into this place. It was the right thing to do, but it appears our enemies have no respect for the dead. I have a terrible feeling the foulness perverting our holy cathedral radiates from him.” She shook her head. “Filth, all of them. Since someone has to do it, and you’ve got the pointy things and we don’t, I charge you with investigating his body. Move quickly. The novices and priest who brought him in were to administer the last rites after the service."

Cassandra winced in a mixture of guilt and fear, but she hardened her expression and made the sign of the Lady. “It will be done, Cardinal.”. She looked right and left. Devyn wore only her usual calm expression, but she saw Ayani's mouth moving. "Oh, **** me," the gypsy said beneath her breath.

Cassandra felt much the same way.

The Cardinal’s lips quirked again. “That’s ‘Oh **** me, Cardinal. Yes ma’am.’” She sighed, and for a moment looked very old. “They’ll be in the crypts beneath this cathedral. You can get to them from the stairway over there.” She pointed to the eastern wing, and a pair of heavy doors. “Be prepared. I would not have you throw away your lives needlessly.”

----
Reskeis

Reskeis cursed inwardly. Well, that had been something of a blunder, appealing to a reward. Then again, the words were very interesting, though he supposed they didn’t tell him much he didn’t already know. “Murdered village, y’say?” he asked instead, hoping to divert the question. “That’s dire news, mate. Th’local high-and-mightys don’t seem t’be carin’ overmuch. Ye tol’ anyone of this murdered village? Or what they were lookin’ for?”

"Sure," Albert answered. "Told the caravan master, he's a smart guy. I'm sure he'll tell people who need t'know." He shrugged. "I dunno what they were lookin' for, exactly, though. Must've been something important."

“Huh.” Reskeis put on a thoughtful expression that was only a little feigned. He decided the other fellow looked a solid sort. Stout lad, strong, seemed practical. As guides went, it wasn’t a bad one. “Listen, I’m not from ‘round here, mate. Name’s Jared. I don’t s’pose a clever fellow like you’s ever been in this town? I heard me some merchant talkin’ bout paying rich rewards fer bein’ a bodyguard, but I’m lookin’ t’find something potent, somethin’ dangerous, hidden by some mighty folk in this town, ye ken? It needs looking after, if y’get my meaning. Y’know where a fellow like me could find some…” he paused, “y’know, working lads in th’ business of this an’ that?”

Albert had some issues understanding all the subtexts, but he got the gist that the man was looking for something and he wanted help. "Weeeeell," he grimaced, scratching his head, "I've never been here afore, but I've been in bigger towns. Don't seem anythin' I can't handle." He paused for a moment. "I do know the other guards who came in with the caravan, but I dunno if any would want another job. Me, I'm lookin' for work, though."

Reskeis smiled slightly. “Look, I’m in th’employ of a…” He had to swallow the words “mongrel” and “bloodsucker” before they left him. “…a trueborn.” What a laughable title! What arrogance! What pompous stupidity! “Nice girl, pays well, but she doesn’t know ‘bout this. I don’t have much money. I’m just lookin’ t’get in contact with the local thieves.” He decided to take a risk. “But seein’ as what we’re up ‘gainst, I’m sure there’ll be some shine t’take here’n there.”

He cleared his throat. “Now, see, both for me an’ my….mistress, I’m lookin’ for the local folk of th’shadows. They’d seem th’best place to start, but she’s too tender t’work with ‘em direct-like. If y’wanna tag along, feel free.” Having a bit of muscle couldn’t hurt. And hey, worse came to worse, the other bloke was a spare target.

They scoured the streets for several hours, as the thin shadows grew longer and the mist deeper. It was only when dusk was coming on that they had a stroke of astonishing luck; Reskeis caught a glimpse of the older toff that’d been traveling with his party. What was his name? Virgil? Odd name for a Lightwalker, he supposed.

Whatever his name, the bloke had been banging on the door of an ordinary-looking pub. There was a murmur of conversation Reskeis couldn’t quite make out, and then in a very-professional-looking mugging the toff was tackled and bashed neatly on the head by two attackers at once. Reskeis tensed at first, then relaxed; he recognized the attacks of professionals. He held up a hand to Albert.

“’ey, he’s one of my fellows. Hold on. Let’s follow ‘em.”

-----

Time had passed. Reskeis and Albert had trailed the thieves with all the craft Reskeis knew; they hadn’t been spotted in the shrinking crowds. Albert had proven an adept study, considering his size and the disadvantages of his ancestry. Reskeis had to admit a certain respect for the solid, unimaginative human’s talent; if he’d been born an imp he’d have probably been one to watch.

Now they were huddled in the darkness of the warehouse. It’d been a little tricky to get inside. Mastering movement in the shadows was difficult for most imps; they tended to think of light and darkness in the opposite terms for Lightwalkers. Few places in the Nether were ever truly as dark as they could get in this world. He still felt a little exposed in the darkness, even though he understood intellectually the effect was the same as if he’d just leapt into a chaotic blur of glows.

The toff was being questioned by a lean, dangerous-looking fellow. Reskeis smirked at his confidence, and the slurred way he spoke.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

“I demand an explanation. I came here to see Raian.” Oh, so he had contacts! Reskeis nodded once. Of course a bloke like that had to have one foot wet. It explained the way he moved, the expertise he showed. Amusing to see one of their high-and-mighty nobles associating with the common riffraff.

They kept talking; the toff quipped and paid for it with a few blows. Reskeis thought hard. He wanted to make inroads in the local thieves’; they’d be useful. Nobody knew the city like a thief. If the Grimoire was here, making nice with the local underworld could be lucrative. But something in him balked at the notion of sacrificing a pawn. He didn’t like to send fellows he’d fought alongside to die. It offended him.

And things were getting uglier. As most of the thieves looiked to the door in response to a sudden stir, the toff leapt from his seat. He moved like a snake, blocking a stroke, taking down first one, then the second one in a vicious little scuffle. Reskeis tensed to spring, motioned to his companion…and the door smashed open.

Guards poured into the room behind a fleeing shape. They moved like men on a mission, stupidly bright weapons bared. Reskeis snarled. He wasn’t about to see this opportunity lost! Already the thieves had vanished while he was watching the door!

“’Ey! Virgil!” he whispered, motioning. Some part of him told him this wasn’t the way he was supposed to talk to a noble. Oh well. Too late now. “Get over here! HURRY! The thieves’re getting away!”

Something else…he thought he heard something else beneath the floor. Where was it coming from? What was it? His instincts were bothering him…

[AbuDhabi]

Albert wasn't quite sure why he joined Jared in his quest, but it seemed very important, and... No, he had no idea why he came along. But come along he did, and he didn't plan on backing out anytime soon. Exploring the city has been pleasant, whatever the pretext for it - in this case searching for thieves, of all things. Seeing him being quite rusty at sneaking around, Jared has even given him a few pointers. It was like hunting with his uncle, only in this case, the prey were people, and they didn't intend to eat them when they caught them. He spoke little, concentrating on relearning the basics of stealth and paying attention to the teeming city.

Now, plastered to the wall, he waited for events to unfold - namely, for the one called Virgil to react. Apparently, Jared knew him. That was enough for Albert, for the moment. Who the town guards were chasing, he had absolutely no idea.

[yli]

The picture of the swordfish was hanging halfway in mid-air when I hear the spring loaded arm of a pistol lock into place. Furiously backpedaling, I erase the picture and replace it with that of a tuna. One guy behind the rubbish pile in the alley. Another guy, posing as a beggar, his spot out in the back of the tavern. He's got a pair of pistols and a dagger hidden in his tattered cloak. Sniper in the building across the street, nice camouflage tarp. Someone sticking a gun barrel to the back of my ne--

Hey, wait a minute.

I put my hands up. No use fighting.

"Password's 'Albacore'. That's a bluefin. You have ten seconds to explain yourself." The voice was rough, angry sounding. But not loud. The man at my back was too professional to have room for bravado. The beggar and the guy hidden behind the rubbish pile all stand up, training their weapons on me with steady hands.

I sigh. The mesh grate in front of what passes for my mouth retracts briefly. I blow through a small groove cut in the bottom. Single note, high pitched, C9. A pair of transparent, ghostly hands appear above my head. Hopefully these last long enough to get the message across.

<I need to use my hands if you want me to explain . I'm not going to go for a weapon.> The ghost hands fade away. If I want them to stay, I have to keep playing. I'm not even sure if they'll let me.

"We don't trust you. You could be one of them..."

I blow again. C9. <One of whom? I'm a mute bard walking around in a shiny silver mask and bright blue and gold tabard. Do I look demonic?>

"Truth...but we can't confirm your identity." The other two bodyguards move in closer. "Disarm her", commanded the voice at my back.

I feel hands sweep over me, unbuckling my sword belt, pulling the dread mask off the top of my head, removing the throwing knives under my sleeves, removing the daggers I have strapped to my thighs, checking the soles of my feet for hidden daggers.

Spending some extra time rubbing his hand between my legs...stealing some of the pins and beads in my hair. Scumbags.

One of the other guards knocks on the door, twice hard, then three times softly. "Marlin" he mutters.

The door's bolts unlatch, and it swings open. I'm prodded in the back. Time to march forward. There's a poster hanging in the back office. Common Sea Creatures. A barmaid scurries out of the way. Rest of the tavern's empty except for half a dozen or so people. One of them, clad in velvet robes, looked like he used to hit people with tree trunks...twenty or so years ago. He could still break out the old tree trunk, but he's slowed down a bit. There's a couple of other guys there, big and mean, with big, mean looking weapons. There were a couple others, quiet guys, the sort who'd knife you in a back alley for pocket change.

With an almost lazy expression on his face, the man in velvet robes raises his hand. I feel the muzzle of the pistol withdraw from the back of my neck.

"Beg pardon for the inconvenience, miss," he drawls in a commoner's brogue. "Bit of a nervous time, aye? An' I've hired nervous fellows. You mus' be the Masque's speaker."

<Speak? You must be joking.> Hopefully he can read quickly enough. By bungling the password twice, I've already made a bad impression. No need to look like I'm mocking his lack of education.

The merchant stifles a rueful laugh. "Didn't mean it, miss." He claps once and seems all business. "So. You've authority t'negotiate with us?"

I arch my arms over my head and pirouette once. There's a flash of light as my clothes dissolve and my uniform materializes over it. Black tabard with bone white facings and skeletal wings emblazoned over the chest. The guards watch closely, some of their hands migrating towards their weapons. <My seal of authentication is on the inside of my sword belt, if you could be kind enough to restore my weapons, and my money, and some of the jewelry that your guards saw fit to palm.>

"See to it, lads," the merchant tells his men. The one holding my weapons hands them over to his compatriot, who tosses them to me. The merchant receives my sword belt, inspects it carefully, then nods. "That's th'signs. Remember them, I do. Pretty hard t'forget a battle where your lads've been through." He looks up and glares at the guard who had my things. "Oh, come off it, boyo. Give the lady all her things so we kin get to business."

I tie the dread mask up onto the top of my head with the linen scarf that normally held it in place, and I put my sword belt, daggers and hairpins back in place. I take care to count my money. Short a few pence. Knew it. I pull up a chair and sit down.

"You been through the streets; I'm sure a smart lady like you kin put two an' two together, aye?" The merchant leans back. "See, there's bad things goin' round in Dammerinthes. Not jus' the city. The men in red are running amok in the countryside, an' worse things- dark things from th'Nether." He spat. "The Baron an' his lot aren't no help- the Baron hasn't been too strong for years, an' now he's huddled up in his fancy house with all his shiny guards clustered about. So me an' the other merchants have to cover our own an' try to bribe the Guard now'n then to remind them we're here too. Y'ken?"

I nod. Bribery wasn't worth it. The more and more people started turning up dead, the more and more the guards would want to hide out behind castle walls, no matter the amount of money offered. <Could you describe to me the nature of these...bad things? Any dead bodies, mysterious occurences, or unexplained events? Has the church been panicking?>

"No, th'Cardinal's been a strong hand. Problem is, there aren't near enough o' her soldiers to keep order, y'see." He leans forward. "That's why we want t'hire some extra muscle for the road. Things're bad enough out in the country. The folk are scared. A lot are too scared- or too dead- to tend the fields. We're gonna have a famine at this rate. We -need- the trade routes to stay open, an' if the men in red or the monsters can seize our wagons...well..."

I make a mental note of what kind of forces I need. Reconnaissance scouts for guarding the wagons, infantry for personal security, Psy-Ops for dealing with larger problems. I might want to call Captain Pavrani up here. I start doing calculations. At least a dozen infantry for personal security, 1 infantry officer, a psy-ops section, 5 or 6 recon scouts for scouting.

<You have a bulk problem that our company can't deal with. We can provide reconnaissance for caravans and personal security for you and other members of the Merchant's Guild, but we can't provide enough forces to prevent attacks from the Inquisition or major Nether incursions. May I recommend to you one of our affiliated companies for such a purpose?>

"We've a few local lads," the merchant says, then shakes his head, "but honest, we can't spare many o' 'em or hire much more. We're pretty low on money as is this time o'year, tell you th'truth- one of the penny-pinchers at the bloody office even tried to keep that old dog Martius from gettin' paid this morning. Some crazy girl with bloody eyes an' flails decided t'break down our vault thanks t'that jackass." He sighs. "Whatever help ye kin provide."

I have to struggle to prevent my head from smashing against the table. Ayani. <I'll have a talk with my sister about getting your vault fixed once this is done. As for money, I'm would love to help you, but the Masque and any other companies will not work for free...however...> I wonder what to say now. The merchant is in a good deal of trouble. <...However, I will. All you'll have to cover is my room and board.>

"Yer sis?" the merchant asks, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He looks shocked, and appears to be warring with himself. After a long moment of thought, he sighs. "Look, miss, I won' have y'work for nothin'. I'll pay for it meself, if th'guild won't cover it. Can't promise a full fee- my ol' woman will have my head- but I'll do what I can, aye? As for th'rest, you're welcome t'stay wherever. If y'need, my house has a spare room. As for th'rest, I'll carry news to th'guild and, Mother willin', we'll sort this out. Me guild's prepped t'hire a score've your lot. Seem fair?"

I nod in assent.

He holds out a hand. "Name's Victor Lichtschtauff."

<Lieutenant Malieva Farishta Ghadnan. But, you can call me Fari.>

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Cassandra took a deep breath and screwed up her courage as much as she could. She set her shoulders to hide the tremor in them and stalked down the nave. Ayani followed her. A few of the parishioners in the seats whimpered as she passed, nursing scrapes and blackened wounds already thick with infection. Here and there a priest or acolyte knelt over the injured, nursing them as best they could. Others were mostly quiet, shivering, some clasping their hands over their ears or huddled tightly for warmth, others mumbling scraps of the Mass.

As she exited the ring of priests and headed for the baptismal font, a faint, soft noise seemed to make its way into her ears. At first she thought it a ghost’s voice, or even just a trick of her badly frazzled nerves. But it grew stronger the further she got from the protective circle about the altar. By the time she neared the baptismal font, trying hard not to look at the way oily blackness seemed to be twisting all about the pool, it was making words.

“You are frightened,” it said, as she bent down, and, trying to ignore the mangled corpse of the doorwarden, searched upon his desk for her rapier and tome. She had left them at the door; it would have been improper to bring cold steel in as a laywoman. “That’s all right. This is not your element, is it, Cassandra?” It was a man’s voice, resonant and melodic, soft, soothing, not young but not yet old either.

“I am not afraid,” Cassandra replied in a grim whisper, feeling her fangs poke against the underside of her lip. The prickling across her skin told her otherwise. She strove to ignore it, closing her hands tight on the sword’s hilt.

“There is no shame in admitting your fear,” the voice replied. Just the sound of it brought to mind her old tutor, and long, slow summer afternoons in a sun-dappled study. “Deny your feelings and you will have no ground upon which to stand firm. These people deserve more honesty in their chosen protector, don’t they?”

“I am honest!” Cassandra retorted. She swallowed, turning away from the font. There was a painful feeling in her chest somewhere, as though she was short of breath. She stalked towards the circle again, passing a glowering Ayani and some still-thrashing pinned arms.

“Are you?” the voice asked. “Cassandra, you should be frightened. You are not a paladin, not a heroine. You are a small, frightened girl. You were taught sorcery, not exorcism. And yet this Cardinal would have you accompany these paladins- why? What purpose do you serve?”

She was trembling again when the four of them gathered before the weighty doors. They looked huge, heavy and imposing, and it took some tugging before she could draw them back. The spiral stairway beyond yawned, a hole into darkness barely lit by flimsy torches. Whispering seemed to rustle from the shadows.

Cassandra swallowed again. “Let us have done with this task quickly,” she said.

[yli]

Ayani turned and walked out of the protective circle of priests, following Cassie. Some of the parishoners, people whose lives she had just saved, still recoiled from her, or tried their best to glare menacingly. The demonic arms were still thrashing around under their metallic restraints. Maybe they'd learn some manners if she let them loose...

No. NO. Don't think that. Petty acts of revenge are unbecoming. They're just scared. They know no better. Just...just ignore them. Ayani took a deep breath. The baptismal fount was giving off a noxious odor; she smelled oil, fear and decaying flesh.

This was shaping up to be a fun day. Getting bitched out by the Cardinal, finding the body of some dead kid. Having to drag his frozen ass inside because because that stupid bloodsucking bitch wouldn't stop whining about dignity. But what if the body was booby trapped? But she wouldn't ****ing listen. At least she was useful for finding the ghost.

"You know you want to hurt her." It was a man's voice, soothing, not quite old, not quite young. "You know she wants to hurt you. You know that the minute this is all over, she'll go back to hating you, she'll go back to calling you an abomination. You heard what she said about you. The Houri too. They don't believe you're cut out for this job."

Ayani froze in her tracks. The voice continued speaking.

"You give and give and give and give and give. You gave your eyes, you gave your childhood, your fame, your dignity, your reputation, your comfort. You stand waist high in sewage and bandage the sores of lepers so that Abby over there can sit in her chambers, being fanned by her servants. It is beneath her to get her hands dirty. You save hundreds from marauding dragons, cultists and demons, and they curse you, they pray for deliverance from you, chase you and your kind away with bricks and obscenities."

And I will continue to give. I will continue to serve the All-Mother.

"They owe you a debt of gratitude and refuse to pay. So what will you do about it? Will you act, or will you hold out false hope that they will one day accept you?" The voice was getting harsher, angrier now.

I will pray that they will accept me, and I will ask that the Bleeding Goddess bring the light of acceptance into their souls.

"Oh, oh the All-Mother. What has she EVER done for you? Take your eyes so that you can live in darkness? This is a beautiful catherdral you know, shame you don't know what it looks like."

I know, the Goddess tells me so.

"After everything else. You'd have to be an imbecile to trust her."

Ayani found herself standing before the doors to the crypts.

"I must be the biggest idiot in the world", she muttered to herself.

[JT Jag]

Virgil, sensing that he didn't have much time before the guards entered, quickly grabbed pulled the girl sprawled at his feet up. Not really taking the the time to see if she had regained her footing, he dragged her behind a line of crates on the west side of the warehouse, towards the human named Jared and a larger man that had apparently tagged along.

They are coming in through the northeast entrance, he thought. They look like they are good at what they do and they might well think that they're walking into an ambush, so they shall spread out and take their time. We have about thirty seconds.

He turned to the girl, speaking in a quiet but rushed voice. "Are they after you?" She nodded wearily, responding alike. "They're the Baron's guards. He... wants my blood. It's not my fault, I promise!"

Virgil scowled. Another charity case. Twenty seven seconds. "If you want to get out of here alive, you will do exactly what I say. Look for way out, fast." She nodded meekly, walking around the corner of the warehouse carefully. There was one secret door, there has to be another. The footsteps were closer. Twenty three seconds.

Both of the other men looked searched the area behind the crates urgently. The girl hummed softly as she looked, and Virgil noticed out of the corner of his eye that her clothing was gradually repairing itself. A bard, then. He would have expended more thought on the topic if he had the time. Fifteen.

"Oh!" It was her again. She had stumbled--- Clumsy, that one. Virgil first thought, as she caught herself on the wall, but then his mind strayed to WHY she had stumbled.

The guards were just a few feet away. Twelve. He didn't waste time, pulling up the mat she had been standing on...

And found an old, seemingly unused trap door. It looked rusted, but with his natural trueborn strength along with the adrenaline pumping through his body at the moment, he pulled it up like it was a piece of light plywood, almost pulling it off its rusty hinges. All three shaden gathered around him.

"Did you hear that?" "Yeah. Maybe it's her, let's check it out."

And their cover was blown. Virgil rapidly changed his time frame. Damned rust. Just six seconds...

"Where do you think it leads?", she whispered. "It does not particularly matter, does it?" He replied heatedly. Then, he realized something had been nagging him this entire time--- "Oh, right." He rammed his left shoulder into the nearest wall--- the corresponding wave of pain and quiet pop sound were testament to its relocation.

Jared rolled his eyes. The bard was shocked. "Did... did you just..." "No time!" The big man Jared had brought with him had already dropped into the secret passageway, and Virgil urgently pushed the bard girl into the trap-door, slipping in right after her. Jared urgently followed, pulling down the trapdoor after him in a hurried yet delicate manner that yielded not a sound... the moment the guards turned the corner.

The three moved away from the trapdoor, hearing as the two guards walked directly above them. By a stroke of fortune the trapdoor had been recovered by the carpet as Jared had closed the hatch, and the guards were yet to notice.

"Let us get out of here." Virgil started walking towards... wherever this passage led, but noticed that the bard girl was still frozen at the entrance to the passage. "I... I could have healed that, sir." "Apologies, princess, but I did not quite have the time to listen to a sonnet," he replied hotly.

He kept walking, and this time he was followed by all three. "Alright. Now, either you tell me why you are being chased by the most influential noble in Dammerinthes or I push you back up there and you fend for yourself." And he looked over at Jared, sparing a brief glance for the bigger man. "And you are going to tell me why you've been following me... and who the hell that guy is."

[Zizi]

Zizi wondered for a moment what she was feeling, before she recognized it as pain: not the pain of feet blistered from running, or of cheeks whipped by the wind, but the pain of being betrayed. None of that, she told herself sternly. She was, after all, used to being treated as a worthless failure; it had been different once and it would someday change again, she swore. No, the difference was that this trueborn man had helped her up before stinging her with his words. Even the person who had cared enough to rescue her felt no affection for her.

None of that, she repeated. She had plenty of friends scattered about Shade. Finn had been her friend, and the nice old lady who had let her sleep at the cottage, and those children from the birthday party. Things were a little bit difficult right now, that was all. So she quenched the anger that was beginning to smolder; she moved her song back to a major key.

“I’ll be glad to tell you whatever you wish, sir,” she said calmly. “I’ll tell it like a story. That’s the best way.”

It was someone else’s story, some other unfortunate girl. She didn’t even have the same name.

There was once a wandering bard. She walked alone, but she was never lonely, because there was always a tune in her ear. She was never lonely, because she could always find a crowd to listen to her sing. What joy could be greater? Singing is, after all, just breathing in joy and releasing it for all to hear. And so this bard was happy, although she could seldom make any money. Still, she managed to get by.

Until she didn’t. Winter seemed to freeze folk’s hearts and wallets shut, and by the time this bard reached the Count’s court, she was in dire straits indeed. She needed money, plain and simple, at least enough money to buy food and a cloak for the winter. Above all, she needed a place to stay, or she ran the very real risk of dying from exposure.

“I forgot something,” Zizi interrupted herself. “This bard was skilled in both music and harmonic magic, but there was one thing she couldn’t do: she could not seem to remember the lyrics of songs. That is why she made so little money.” She studiously kept her gaze to the ground for a moment, then looked up again and regained the distant look that had been in her eyes while she told the story.

When she reached the Count’s court, she knew that she had to risk everything in order to gain everything. So she mended her dress as best she could, spent her last few coins on a room at an inn so that she could bathe, combed her hair until it shone, and made sure to wear her lucky ribbon. It was a very lucky ribbon, after all, for she had gotten this far. Then, like the bold servant girl in storybooks, she requested an audience with the Count and issued a challenge: she would defeat his court bard in a contest of song, and become the new court bard.

The Count accepted the challenge more out of amusement than anything else, though his bard was less than pleased. The next day, the contest began. The wandering bard improvised songs that were an even match for the court bard’s tunes. The entire court declared the two to be evenly matched, so the Count devised a way to settle the score: each bard would sing the Count’s favourite song, “The Silver Swan.”

“And here is how the song was supposed to go,” Zizi said. She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket, and carefully sang the words written on it.

“The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approached, unlock’d her silent throat.
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, then sung no more.
Farewell, all joys; oh death, come close mine eyes.
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.”

As she sang, she stood straighter, her shoulders back, head straight, and while the song lasted she seemed far more lovely than before. Her looks, though, were of little effect compared to her voice; she seemed to capture a gentle, healing light in her song. Though there was a wistful, longing quality to her sound, it was a voice that still managed to soothe and reassure. Before the spell of it could fade, she dropped back into the story.

The wandering bard tried mightily to memorize the lyrics. She was lucky in that the court bard was to sing first; she had no idea whether he did well or poorly, so focused was she on the words. Then it was her turn, and she clasped her hands together and released all of her hopes.

“The silver swan, who looked just like a goat...”

She got no further before the Count stood and roared at her. “You are no bard; you are merely impudent filth! You mock what is true and beautiful! The only useful thing about you... is your blood, and that I shall have as forfeit. Guards!”

And a single tear slid down the bard’s cheek as she fled.

“So that is my story,” Zizi concluded with a shrug. “My name is Mélusine Montmercy, but I am not yet worthy of it, so you may call me Zizi. Now, sir, if you wish, I can soften any pain you might feel in that shoulder as we walk.”

No tears. Not this time.

[Jetrauben]

Reskeis

Reskeis was drumming his fingers upon the wall long before the girl finished her tale of woe. He wasn't really even paying much attention to her, truth be told. He had better things to worry about than some Lightwalker wench's run of terrible luck. But she just kept talking! Damnit, doesn't she have the slightest sense o'time an' place?

She was singing. He had to admit she had a decent voice, if y'favored Lightwalker voices. But he was trying to bloody listen!

"Yeah, very sad," he said when the girl had finished her little ditty. Whole lot of trouble an' a sob story for a damn tune, he thought. Hellfire, why didn' she just start gettin' creative? Any sprout's gone through worse. Wouldn' last an hour in Xash's Spur. He remembered some of his rougher exploits and, despite their dire predicament, couldn't help but grin to himself.

He concentrated, even licked his lips and opened his mouth to sample the air. Damn this facade's puny sense of taste! Still, it gave him a little, and over the smell and taste of filth and distant rot he caught the distinct scent of...home?

Yes. The metallic scent was strong. He tilted his head to one side and furrowed his brow. What's a portal doin' here? Are we this close? Bloody hell, he'd hit a break!

He looked over to the other four. The girl was huddled over the toff, putting a hand on his shoulder and humming something he didn't know, a little song. Strange. He thought he could hear and feel something, a melody, swirling and straining on the edges of his perception. He had no idea what it was doing, having never known much about the bards' magic, but the toff relaxed a bit and mumbled something about her probably wanted to do it to the other shoulder.

There were other noises, now. Cries of pain echoing down the passageway, shrieks and curses and clangs of steel on steel. The acoustics taunted him; it was hard to tell where they came from. He winced and tries tasting the air again, searching for the smell of blood. It wasn't hard to get a general bearing.

"'ey," he said, huddling close. Damn, the the wench's not gonna have any way to defend herself. She'll be fodder. An' the toff prolly doesn't have a sticker. He sighed, muttering a curse, and dug into his pack.

"'Ey," he muttered. This went against his instinct; the girl was probably useless in a fight, and the first thing his father had told him was a weapon you didn't know how to use was more dangerous to your mates. "Listen, y'haven't got a weapon, have ya." He picked out a pair of work knives; they were better than nothing, and handed one first to Zizi, then the other to the toff. "Take 'em; we'll need 'em. Sounds like trouble up ahead where your thievin' mates went to."

He nodded to Albert and motioned behind them. "Cover 'em, mate," Reskeis muttered, and Albert swung about to bring up the rear. "Alright, let's get outta here. Think th'guard will be looking soon."

He had moved ahead, and then he felt a shockingly strong grasp upon his shoulder, spinning him about. Reskeis snarled and instinctively put one hand to his sword belt before he realized it was Virgil's hand. The pale toff was giving him a respectable glare. Reskeis had been glared at by experts in his time; this Virgil was no slouch in the will department.

"I asked you why you've been following me," Virgil said in a tight whisper. "You ignore me. I can't trust you. Answer the question."

Reskeis sighed and tilted his head to one side. Shades, he could feel the familiar energy feeling its way through the labyrinth. Subtle in the extreme, barely a presence at all, but it was there... And here this bloody toff was going to argue minutiae! Damnit, me bloody Mask might slip any damn minute at this rate! He swore he knew his eyes were going all gimlet-glow.

He answered Virgil's glare with one of his own. "I'm the lad who's gonna save your pale hide," he said, his voice simmering with annoyance. "Y'hear that?" he asked, waving off into the dark and its clamor. "Damn nasty scrap up ahead. We either get stuck in, or we wait for your thief friends t'die an' hope like hell the lads tearin' them up don't get interested in puttin' a few worm-holes in us. Damn stupid time to argue allegiances! You know me, y'know I work for the timid noble wench. You gonna stand here and whinge? Or are we gonna do somethin'?"

[AbuDhabi]

Albert did not answer to the demand for his name, since he was far too busy being on the absolute edge. It wasn't the guardsmen, or the thieves that made him so - back upstairs, he kept his cool and managed to move quickly, being the first to go down the ladder. No, it was here that he felt something was wrong. Not a strong presence, but it was there. Something that made his pupils dilate and his hands sweat. This feeling, a memory? It sickened him, and for the first time since the event in the mines, he truly feared. Indeed, he knew what was happening almost as soon as it had started.

He could feel the presence of something lurking behind him in the mine's corridors, just outside the torches' light, hiding behind the corner, out of sight but not out of mind. Albert began breathing deeply and irregularly. He tapped his friend Jack's shoulder, when he was between swings and asked if he... heard something too. Jack did not. The look in his eyes told Albert that he sensed nothing - even though he himself should not have felt it, yet he did. It was maddening - Albert did not have a word to describe what sense he was getting this information through, yet it was as solid as if he had seen it, heard it, touched it.

Then, a clawed hand reached out from the darkness. With strength borne of fear and primal rage, Albert swung the pick at where the head of whatever it was should be. The sound was crunchy and wet. Then, the madness started. Screams came from the lower levels. Unearthly, inhuman howls penetrated the corridors. It became a blur of running, hacking and spilling blood, both human and not. Albert, Jack and a couple of others overturned a couple of ore carts and made a stand briefly in one of the main throughfares. The tide of darkness came at them, for at the time, all who worked below had stopped screaming, forever. They held out a scant few minutes, sustaining casualties and grevious wounds, before they had to retreat, but that short time was enough for those lucky enough to be on the level and above to reach the elevator. There were four of them left by the time they ran, and one fell to the abominations as they did. Three of the fighters made it back to the surface, Albert included.

Albert came back to the present, found himself staring at the darkness and holding both of his weapons in a deathgrip. "Something is WRONG!" he told Jared in a forceful whisper.

Reskeis nodded. "Noticed it, mate. Everybody-"

Zizi looked down at the scuffed toes of her boots. She had been in debt for so long, to so many people. Now, finally, she had a chance to repay someone who had protected her, even if it was with her skill in harmony rather than music. She bit her lower lip as the trueborn man and the one with the green eyes glared at each other.

"Excuse me, please. I have a plan." She looked away for a moment, not wanting to see the looks of doubt that would almost certainly appear on their faces. "I'm going to make all of the enemies very angry with me, so they'll all want to attack me. You may have noticed I'm good at that." For a moment, she almost grinned. "Then, when they go to attack me, you can start in on them. The element of surprise, yes? I'll put a shield up; they should be distracted for at least a few minutes while they try to figure out what it is." She nodded, satisfied, and looked at the knife the angry man had given her. She offered it to her rescuer. "Could you use another one of these? I won't really have a use for it."

"Good girl," Reskeis breathed, a little surprised at her initiative. More'n I'd expect. He patted her on the shoulder, then slipped to the side, licking his lips and idly flipping one dague up and down. The taste was getting stronger, the prickle in the air more intense. He bent low to the ground and craned his head to listen, heard the far-off cries grow nearer. Footsteps pattered on hard stone; he ducked to one side and nestled in the shadows, tightening his grasp upon his weapons.

Virgil thanked Zizi as she offered him the dagger. He felt some relief now that he had a pair of weapons at hand. These working blades were not as sharp or as durable as the ones he was used to utilizing, but they were what was available, and after losing everything in the last confrontation he was thankful he had even that luxury. He lowered closer to the ground, looking over at the one he knew as "Jared" briefly. "We shall have words later," he whispered, soft enough that only Reskeis could hear. then looked forward, focusing on his quarry.

The tunnel wasn't dark anymore. Out of the void ahead crept thin tendrils of luminous neon violet and red, hanging and shimmering in the air like heat during a summer day. Silent, drifting motes of blue radiated from the stones; the shadows seemed to grow sharper in the contrast. Reskeis cursed beneath his breath; it was like standing outside in a thunderstorm. He wasn't sure how long his Mask would hold; he'd never been in a Rip before with one on, and though the percolation was faint he knew there was some kind of small portal somewhere up ahead. Better not be a Shift yet.. he thought, grimacing. Don't know if this lot could take it...

The dark silhouette of a man careened out of the fey light ahead, sobbing for breath and running for his life. He passed Reskeis in the dark without even slowing, and the Masked imp could see the terror in his face. His clothes were rent, blood streamed from gashes to spatter the stones. Though he had a scabbard at his belt, his hands were empty of any blade. Virgil frowned as the man flew past his position, a little nook in the walls of this dank, underground place. They're coming, he thought, frowning. He gripped his second-hand daggers tighter, and focused on the path ahead.

They came up from the darkness after the terrified man. Four imps, dressed in the ragged hide-and-armor of warriors, yelling with the fierce eagerness of the hunt. All bore jagged weapons for up-close wet work; knives, axes, dagues. They were spattered in gore and their faces were alight with savage fires, bounding from the dark almost like hunting wolves.

"N-no...no...no..." the man gasped, trying to find breath from aching lungs and nearly colliding with Zizi as he spun around. "Get away! Somebody! Goddess! HELP!"

"Aw, lissen t'the man," one of the imps spat, licking a bloody knife as he halted for just a moment. "Nobody here t'hear you scream, lad. Why not give it up? Me'n my mates are tuckered out..." Then he saw Zizi standing seemingly alone in the tunnel, and his eyes gleamed with feral hunger. "An' look, dessert! All soft'n tender! At 'em, lads!"

Two of them pounced on the exhausted man, and even hardened Reskeis winced at his screams as he thrashed and tried to fight. The other two raced for Zizi, howling savage hunting calls. The light gleamed off their weapons. Virgil scowled and nearly sprung to the defense of the poor man out of instinct, but crouched back into his hidden position upon receiving a significant look from "Jared". Stick to the plan, Virgil thought bitterly. I won't be able to help anyone if I get us all killed.

Zizi's eyes were on the imps ahead, but she refused to let herself see them. It can't be more frightening than singing for the Baron, she told herself firmly. Throwing her head back, she let out a feral whoop and then sang:

"You bunch of thugs with ugly mugs,
Your noses look like those of pugs!
An awful sight to see.
No lazy wimps who think they're imps
Will get the best of me!"

She wove rage and mockery into the song; the imps would despise her more than any of the people she had previously angered. Even the two savaging the prone man turned and yowled like hunting cats, leaving him to struggle weakly upon the floor, and raced for her with impossible speed. It would take, she guessed, about half a measure of "Starlight Serenade" for them to reach her. That gave her one-two-three, two-two-three, three-two-three...

And, although there were few things she wanted to do less, she closed her eyes to better concentrate on her shielding song. With a practiced gesture, she drew her zither from her satchel and played an opening arpeggio. "Ah-ah-ah... no need for fear, not now, not anymore. Everything is safe now." The words came from somewhere in her mind that was calm, relaxed, the part of her that was made of music and could never be intimidated or hurt. She withdrew into that part of her, shielding her soul as surely as the dome over her shielded her body.

The sight of the imps smashing into the glimmering dome was almost comical. They struck with rippling impacts, pressed against the field, snarling and striking like caged animals. That was when the three waiting in the darkness took them. Virgil's thrown knife struck one imp in the shoulder just shy of his neck, and the creature yowled and staggered back spurting blood.

Reskeis struck the next one in a ferocious diving lunge, howling like a demon with both burning dagues leading. One raked a long bloody line across the imp's chest, another found a niche and dug into the bastard's side. The imp snarled and reeled back, and Reskeis was all over him, punching and kicking. It was an assault that should have dropped most humans outright, an unstoppable rush of rage and bloody purpose.

The imp started laughing, tore the burning dagues from his body, and kicked Reskeis in the gut with clawed feet. Burning pain lit up in his brain, and he staggered back for just a moment. The rage spread through him faster, though, and he gritted his teeth and retrieved a blade. Again he hurled himself at the imp, and the two of them rolled hard, kicking and punching and grappling for the sword.

Meanwhile, Albert joined the fray as well, his simplistic fighting style mandated that he hit the enemy until they stop moving. He struck at his chosen imp's shoulder, and connected with collar-bone shattering force. There was only one real advantage the bloated Lightwalkers had over the redundant ferocity of imps, and it was body mass. Albert's axe penetrated to the nether creature's rib cage, but that didn't stop the imp from fighting back - far from it - clawing and tearing, until the momentum of the big man's attack drove it into the wall. Realizing he had a sword in the other hand, Albert began hacking wildly at the imp's temporarily stunned form.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

Cassandra swallowed and set foot upon the winding stair, fear slowing her pace. The echoes in the still air brought to mind nails being hammered into a coffin lid. Somewhere far below in the darkness a dull babbling murmur rose to her ears alone, rising and falling like the incoming tide.

Cassandra, Victoria's spirit warned, flitting alongside her. Steel yourself. Do not heed their voices. Whatever evil lurks below would pervert the dead alongside the living.

Aye, Cassandra thought back. Stay by me.

Her hands were trembling on the hilt of her rapier. One foot forward. Then the next. Turn. The torches upon the walls seemed hardly sufficient; oilwells had been left unattended. Their flames cowered from the pressing shadow all about them.

This is foolishness, the friendly voice whispered to her. But you are brave. You are so brave... Are you certain of your course?

No, some part of Cassandra whimpered, but she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and descended another step. Blood-smell floated to her nose and salty-sweet trickled in her mouth. It was totally irrational, but part of her said: Oooh...

Smells good, doesn't it? the voice in her head asked. My brave girl. Why don't you have a sip?A reward for your courage. It will help... The tightness in her chest seemed to have returned. Breathing felt queer. Her rapier hilt was slippery with sweat.

And then her feet struck the smooth stone of the bottom. It was clammy in the darkness beneath the earth; the chill of years hung heavily upon the stones. She thought she saw some of the walls glimmering with frosted rime. She'd plunged full into the babble of ghostly wails, flinching away from grasping spectral hands only she could see. For now...

The voice was no longer speaking to her; she heard it rumbling somewhere ahead. A young man whimpered in the darkness somewhere ahead, and an older man's shaky voice chanted prayers of devotion. Clerics. Something inside Cassandra froze colder than the frost on the walls. They were tending the boy's body. They are in peril. Move!

Somehow she found the courage to step forward, racing across slippery stones worn smooth and glimmering with the passage of many feet. The trueborn girl sprang through a high archway and into a vaulted chamber. The ghosts were all around her now, wailing and thrashing from ancient sarcophagi to either side lining the wide chamber. Through other doorless portals she could see tunnels to other such rooms. Lead sculptures stood above the coffins; votive candles guttered in wall sconces. The ceiling and walls had been inscribed with grave reliefs and contemplative paintings. Devotional incense burned in a small shrine at the far end of the chamber, behind a long bier of polished marble.

It should have been a thoughtful resting place. It wasn't.

The air reeked of decay- not the faint smell of ancient remains, but a thick, cloying stench. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, invading her mouth and nose, making the tightness in her chest heave. The warm voice rumbling on and on seemed to form terrible harmonies in her ears and mingle with the rot-stench.

The three clerics were covering against one of the high coffin mounts, swathed in a fading, glimmering sphere of warm light. The girl novice held her hands over her ears, bent over and hacking up bloody phlegm. Her veins stood out in sharp relief to her pallid skin. The boy novice did not move at all; he had fallen back behind the older cleric and was shaking all over, whimpering like a baby. Their leader, the fully cleric, bled from his nose and mouth, but struggled to stand erect and raise a holy symbol against the awful sounds and smell. His crimson-daubed lips formed the holy chants of warding and abjuration with desperate haste, nearly stumbling over his words.

Across from them at the far end of the chamber from Cassandra, a figure stood high and proud before the bier, resting skeletal hands on the clean marble like a lecturer. A terrible figure.

It was wrapped in a ragged, tattered cloak that hung limply off its scrawny but towering form. Fully eight feet tall from clicking bony feet to the tips of its barbed, blackened antlers, it resembled a humanoid form dragged half-decayed from the tomb. But even in a catacomb its marring appeared distinctly unnatural, far more offensive than a mere moldering corpse for the foul vitality and unwholesome strength flowing through it. Strips of skin dangled from the visible, discolored spine that was the only thing connecting its withered hips to its remaining torso. Bony spurs poked from the gaps in the flesh of its arms and legs.

It had been a man, once. The bottom half of its face was rotten and defiled, lip-less mouth revealing blackened teeth and a diseased tongue. Tendons moved visibly in its hollowed cheeks as it spoke, gaps in its throat should have stopped the warm voice but did not. But the top half...was impossibly incorrupt. Handsome, pure, healthy skin and lustrous, vibrant hair. So too was some of the flesh of its torso and broad shoulders. There was no transition between handsome and fouled tissue; it was like the creature wore a mask of someone else's skin. Its three green eyes- two in the normal places, a third gleaming between the antlers rising from its forehead- glowed with intelligence and lively attention, and they beamed as they beheld Cassandra enter the crypt.

Cassandra's mouth dropped open when she saw the horrible creature try to smile at her and beckon with one clawed hand. "Ah. You have made it here at last. Hello, Cassandra. Do join us. Welcome your friends."

The voice... it hadn't changed. Her skin crawled, and more than ever she wanted to run screaming from the chamber. But something hardened in the back of her spine, and even as her skin crawled she took a step forward. "Let the priests go," she grated. Goddess, why was her chest so tight? It felt like something was squeezing it!

"Of course." Wry humor slipped into the warm voice. "They do not seem to enjoy my company." The thing waved a clicking hand at them, partially-scoured phalanges curled. "Do go. Consider what I said."

[Zizi]

Zizi & Reskeis

Zizi wondered, as she continued to sing and play, why all warriors were not trained in music first. Keeping her shield steady and trying to observe her allies at the same time was just like a performance; it was simply a matter of dividing her focus between her musical technique and the audience's reaction. Breathe consistently, don't let your fingers get stiff, keep your soft palate lifted, enunciate, maintain a firm but not crushing grip on the zither, make sure the volume of your voice overshadows the accompaniment but does not overwhelm it, and smile! Indeed, Zizi could feel her face automatically forming a pleasant mien, even as a hot, twisty part of her stomach threatened to interrupt the performance.

The big man was over that way, holding his own, it seemed, although it was almost hard to tell one shadowy shape from another. The trueborn man... where was he? Behind her; she could hear his distinctive steps - there must have been something heavy in his boots. Zizi could only hope he was doing well. The green-eyed man, what of him? She shifted her gaze without moving her head. There he was, locked in combat with one of the imps. Both of them seemed to be struggling for a nearby sword. While Zizi could not distinguish words (at this point she could barely hear her own performance), both combatants seemed full of a strange mixture of fury and wild glee. Someone grunted in pain, and for a moment Zizi's voice caught in her throat; the shield rippled slightly, then returned to its normal firmness. If hiding behind a shield was all she could do, then by the All-Mother, she would do it well.

Over in the brutal melee, Reskeis twisted and rolled like a snake, knuckles almost the same color as the bone hilt of his sword as he clutched at it with one disgustingly delicate hand. His other was trying to hold his enemy's free hand off; his booted feet were blocking counter-swipes. The other imp's claws closed about his gloved palms, tore open long gashes. The damn scratches shouldn't have hurt so much, but his hand was on fire with pain. **** this wretched human shell to hell! "**** you! the Masked imp screamed aloud, scouring his throat with the ragged yell. "'Zat all you got? I can take it! C'mon!"

"Keep talkin', pusbag!" the other roared, and redoubled his assault. "I'll chew your bone t'night!" They rolled, they slammed each other against the walls and floor of the chamber, they struggled for the sword. Reskeis' grasp began to slip on his weapon. The pain...damn the ****ing pain! His ribs were pounding out an unaccustomed tempo of white lightning in his chest; his gut ached; his cuts and gashes burned like fire. What the hell was wrong with these bloated people? They had no right to keep breathing, they were so fragile.

He couldn't do half the things he would have done. His Mask didn't have horns so he couldn't headbutt. The toes were clumsy, short, and free of claws. His teeth were too damn blunt. All his skill was wasted, and this pup, this hateful little bastard he could've taken with one hand tied on a good day...was beating him. He felt his fingers, slippery now, losing their hold on his sword...

A line of searing pain in his shoulder. Then he felt himself falling back, blood welling through the gash in his armor. The other had his sword. His sword. Damnit.

Forget this secrecy crap. It'd just get him and everybody else killed at this rate. They'd just have to deal once he'd saved their miserable hides.

He ducked as the other imp lifted his dague to throw. The smell of burnt skin was intense as flames licked the rejected wielder, but the other imp didn't seem to care and tossed the sword anyways. Green flame lit up the passage in a long, searing line that flashed like demented lightning for an eye-splitting moment and was gone. The thrown sword clattered as it bounced off the stone wall and came to rest flaring in the dark. In its harsh emerald light, the oily curtain of a vanishing Mask seemed bits of flying stained glass.

The attacking imp pulled a spare pair of hatchets from his shoulder bandoleer, blinking away the harsh flash, but he was too slow. Reskeis didn't vault this time, didn't throw himself into the grapple. He skittered low on dextrous clawed feet and ducked the first instinctive blow, sweeping up the nearest of his dropped weapons as he passed, and whirled to kick the other imp full in the face, slicing up his cheeks. The follow-up slash cut a burning line across the enemy's torso and left shoulder.

The wounded enemy fell back, and Reskeis, breathing hard, smirked at him, switching from left to right side emphasis as he stood with sword held low. Somebody must've been on his side, because the pain had slid away; his injuries were just trickles of adrenalin and a little discomfort now. He felt good, damn it. Ready for a tussle.

"Huh," the enemy imp mused. His bloody face looked surprised. "Weren't 'spectin' that."

"Yer damn right," Reskeis growled back. "Still got the belly fer knife-work?"

"Bring it on, y'pissant," the imp hissed. "I got me some shine t'win wiv yer skull."

"Right'n propa," Reskeis agreed, and lunged.

Once more, Zizi's shield faltered, enough for a claw to almost brush her ribcage, but some part of her snapped back into the song as the rest of her stared incredulously at the green-eyed man who was now... an imp? He's betrayed us, was her first thought, but the logical part of her couldn't accept it. There was no reason for an elaborate ruse when he could have simply joined his fellow imps in their gory spree of destruction. No, he was still fighting the other imp; somehow he was still on Zizi's side, and he was injured. Enemy of my enemy...

Zizi took a deep breath and drew her song into a thrilling modulation, strengthening the shield. Little crackles of light danced across it as she made her way, the shield moving with her, toward the two fighting imps. There was no time to think about the last imp, the one who was still trying to claw his way through the shield. She waited until "her" imp (as she had begun to think of him, for the sake of convenience) and the other stepped back from each other to catch their breath, and then paused the song for the merest hemidemisemiquaver. Just that moment, and then the shield was back, covering Zizi but also "her" imp. She edged close to him, though it made her shudder - she was going against all instinct. "I'll let the shield up in six beats," she sang into his ear, or as close as she could get. "Then give it all you've got!" Hoping he had heard, she sang for six beats more, then once again paused in her singing and playing, letting the shield vanish.

"Y'kiddin' me?" Reskeis snarled, but he'd taken his eyes off the other imp too long, and then the one closer to the bard darted in like a striking snake. Cursing and thinking fast he reached out and kicked the dague upon the floor at the charging imp, and it cut the bastard's leg out from under him in a shower of flying sparks and fiery plumes. The downed lad howled in genuine pain, the flames feeding on his agonies, and toppled, hamstrung.

Even as he dropped the charging interloper for the moment, the other wounded imp charged in and grabbed the silly little girl with one clawed hand, raising a hatchet menacingly. "Alright, me boyo, hold it!" the bastard rasped. He brought it close to the bard's slender neck. "One step closer'n she'll be a bleeder! Hold it!"

Idiot, idiot, idiot, Zizi thought. Her mind was too paralyzed to sort out whether she was referring to herself, for getting distracted instead of re-shielding immediately, or her imp ally, for not taking the opportunity she had risked her life to give him. She was shaking so badly it was a wonder she could even stand; indeed, the imp's grasp on her throat was probably all that was keeping her upright. She found herself actually leaning against her captor for support, even as the claws at her neck tightened. She could smell blood, feel it soaking into her dress. Whether it was hers or the enemy's, she could not tell, and she was far from caring at the moment. The zither had begun to slip from her sweating, trembling hand; her breathing was so shaky that she could no more sing than she could fly. She waited for "her" imp to snort in derision, to use the moment it would take her to die as an advantage to his attack on the imp holding her. Even Zizi was not foolish enough to expect two rescues in one day.

"Right," Reskeis retorted to the other imp. "See if I care, mate. Jus' met 'er, really." The other imp's grasp on the hatchet began to tighten as he'd known it would, probably for a strike just to put the bard down anyways. He studied the other's stance, watched his expression change. He saw the lack of trophies on the other's clothes, thought about how he'd taken the hits... "Y'were the stupid one in yer band, weren'tcha. Prolly a charity case, huh? Or did they jus' take y'in for arrow fodder; izzat-"

The other threw his hatchet as Reskeis knew he would. Honestly, sometimes the lads were just too damn predictable, 'specially the younger ones with something to prove. It was a pretty bad throw, made on the spur of the moment, and he simply ducked under the flying axe. Before the imp had straightened, had had time to throw Zizi aside, Reskeis was in his face and his sword was driving through the other's flimsy leathers, thrust through the sternum in a flying stab. Blood, black in the off-light, sprayed.

"S'nothing personal, boyo," he said in a quieter voice, pushing the gasping imp to the floor. Boyo was right; the rookie couldn't have been very old. Would've been a damn shame if he hadn't been trying to kill him, really. "Y'jus' weren't good enough." Then he pulled his dague free and made it quick.

Zizi collapsed to her knees, transfixed by the horrible scene, until she noticed the imp on the ground crawling toward "her" imp's back. It had picked up the dague previously used to wound it. With a momentum borne of desperation and adrenaline, Zizi hurled herself at the crawling imp and bashed it on the head with her zither. She heard a sickening crunch, and knew that the cheaply made instrument would henceforth be unusable. "Oi! You! Look!" She wished, for the first time, that she knew her allies' names. The imp under her started to move again; again she brought the zither down on its head to the sound of snapping strings. "Watch your back!"

"Sonova-" Reskeis whirled, but the zither's repeated strokes had done their work. Imps were tough and strong, but the instrument was sturdy enough, and the lad had already been in pain. A few bashes of the zither and the hamstrung imp lay flat and still, groaning. The little bard seemed to have a good head on her shoulders after all. He flashed her a fierce grin and brought up his dague, then drove the blade through the stunned creature. There was a fleshy thock, and a surge of heat, and the enemy imp lay still.

"Y'got good eyes for a Lightwalker," he said, tugging his weapon free. The dead imp was already burning. "Proper spirit too. Almost starts t'makes up fer th'way you look."

Zizi frowned, more at how her vision was starting to blur than at the imp's comment. "Thank you." Had she started to spin or was that the rest of the room? "Wait, do I really look tha-a-a-vrng." Her face retained its puzzled look as she collapsed again, this time falling away from her conscious mind, away from everything...

[Skellie]

Devyn's steps echoed and reverberated off the stairwell walls. It seemed laughable that the beast would not know she was coming. She sighed and cradled her great sword in both hands, comforted in the noisome dark by the holy weapon's quiet radiance and soaring hymns in her mind.

As they progressed further down the stair, she noticed a rank smell in the air, faint, but growing stronger as they continued. A faint voice was also flickering in and out of her consciousness. It was hard to tell much about it as it kept cutting in and out, the paladin only catching fragments of sentences at any given time. The only thing she was sure of was that it was a man's voice, warm and comforting. The closer they drew to the end of the frosty stairway, the more coherent the voice became.

"A knight's sword," the voice said. "Symbol of her honor. Her loyalty." Devyn just ignored it and continued down the stairs with Cassandra and the Gypsy woman. The trueborn girl had raced foolishly ahead, so she quickened her pace. But the voice did not relent.

"But this is not merely a sword, is it?" the voice asked. "It is shield to you as well. Shield from your foes, or yourself, I wonder?" It gave a warm laugh that still seemed strangely off. "

"What do you mean?" Devyn blurted before she could stop herself. Stupid, stupid, she thought immediately. Though she had never encountered one before she knew the creatures of darkness spoke only lies; their words were not to be trusted. A fine knight she would make, so clumsy!

"You shield yourself from their pain. Is that just?" the voice asked. "'Heed always the pangs of conscience'," it quoted. "'Let the dictates of your heart guide you, for in it is found the Mother's love.'" The voice made a thoughtful sound. "It would seem an abuse of Her gifts to evade the guilt."

Devyn didn't answer, though she couldn't help but feel a little gnawing bite of guilt. Any more would be idiocy.

The Songs about her as she entered the crypts were sharp and tortured, the deep bass tones of underground and the soaring hymns of faith above overwhelmed by Songs like screams in chorus. Even over the sword's hymn it was painful, clawing and biting at her soul. Things...had been done here, were being done here, that were a stain on the Music, on life itself. The wailing notes stabbed into her like sharpened knives. And at the epicenter...

The only way Devyn could describe was by allegory. There were libraries in the melody, and churches, the high steeples of places of learning. Ancient scrolls with beautiful script, cunning melodies with layer upon layer of meaning. Poetry and song...and then...doubt, anger, raised fists and scorn. Decay. Foulness. Rot. Parchment yellowing and turning to flayed human skin, steeples crashing down, libraries burning, poems flying out of rhyme and meter, symphony turned to cacophony.

All those sensations and images sculpted into music, flashing through her in a steady awful realization as the corrupted melody built again and again upon itself, rising into a hollow, tinny, vainglorious jangling tune. It was poison in the ears, empty, vapid, and toxic. She shuddered.

There then was the speaker.

The three clerics she passed seemed to brighten as she drew close. They looked exhausted. The blood puddling down two of their faces shocked her; it even sounded foul. Instinctively she raied her sword to ward off the evil stink, the wailing Song.

"Lady Cassandra!" she said in a warning voice, seeing the girl stand before the rotting beast. She looked so small and frail and frightened... "Stay back!"

[yli]

Ayani was choking on the stink of decay as she followed the girl down the stairway. Her chains snaked and twisted on her limbs uneasily; worse yet Devyn kept nervously trying to make Ayani was choking on the stink of decay as she followed the girl down the stairway. Her chains snaked and twisted on her limbs uneasily; worse yet Devyn kept nervously trying to make eye contact. Dark hung all about her like a tangible shroud.

Three fading auras waited below. The stupid bloodsucker threw herself into the dark catacombs; Ayani and Devyn followed behind.

Mother****er.

The wet, clammy air clung to Ayani's skin, and the thing...breathing down there, slobbering almost. Ugh. The metallic stench of blood, mixed with foam and respiratory fluid caused Ayani's throat to close halfway up. But it kept talking, a swirling morass of blackness oozing from about the hideous sight in her awareness like filthy slime. The three-eyed face wore a corpse-grin.

"Come, my girl. I don't like to see you setting yourself up for suffering. Do you really think you don't see this coming? The mockery won't stop. Do you still hope to win their loyalty? Why not just go home? You haven't seen your mother or father in months."

SHUT UP!

It didn't. "It seems very unfair, you know. You're supposed to be helping your family. Your tribe. Instead, you go gallivanting about Shade helping people who don't want to be helped by you. You've done so much...it's enough. You don't have to do everything yourself. Don't you deserve a rest?" The warm voice hardened. "Shouldn't you be with your family, where you can actually do some good protecting them from those as would abuse them, instead of wasting your time fruitlessly out here? It's all right. Lay down your arms for a while. I'll let you go. This isn't your fight."

Ayani wanted to stand there and argue with the voice, but it would have been fruitless.

The three eyed, antlered monstrosity grinned.

What Ayani was most afraid of was that it had a point.

[TakeV]

To be kept in a small side room, with but a bed and desk inside, Akasios was used to it. He had been so for the last fifty years, staying inside his home, the only contact from the outside world being those who had come to him for help, or to bring him their dead.

He was much less used to being somewhat of a prisoner. There was no order that he couldn't leave the room, yet he knew that he would not be welcome outside of the church. Even leaving the tiny room was not much of an option, as the main chapel made him terribly uncomfortable.

Yet the priests had not been unkind to him, to his surprise. Except they took away the flask.

He needed that flask.

The walls dripped around him, melting into faces that laughed, as he sat there alone. The candle had formed into an exotic Warbound dancer, which disturbed him immensely. The door was knocking on it's own, harder and harder, until it became a pounding. Only after a few seconds did Akasios realize that there was indeed someone at the door.

"You there, Asrkarious! Something dire has invaded our church, something foul and dead. You are a nec..."

Before the priest could even finish, Akasios was running towards the main chapel...

Something was wrong. Yes, the holy nature of the church unnerved him, that was to be expected. No, the... feeling was much more sinister. He felt it deep down, in his Heart, being pulled towards the center of this tempest of wrongness.

And he heard the voice, kind and gentle: "What are you?"

[JT Jag]

Virgil
---
As one imp went down with a dagger to the neck, out of the darkness ahead hurtled two more with savage hunting calls, brandishing their weapons. How many of the monsters could there be in this narrow labyrinth? Swiftly skirting the combat, they came for Virgil.

Two imps at once? And me, with naught but a single gardening dagger? He smirked. It's almost a fair fight... for them.

They did not reach him at the same time. The first of the pair was armed with a long, ugly dagger worn from use and stained a rusty color that Virgil recognized to be long-dried blood. He was coming from Virgil's right flank--- out of the corner of his eye he could see the other approaching from his left, perhaps four or five seconds away. He didn't have much time.

Facing the combat, he planted his foot on the natural rock wall. His boot made an odd 'thunk' sound, from the multiple pounds of metal hidden in what appeared to be mundane if oddly thick leather soles.

Virgil's body a tightly-coiled spring, the imp confronted him in the narrow bit of path that Virgil did not occupy. Because of the way Virgil was bunched up towards the other side of the wall and the way his head was tilted towards the other imp--- two seconds away from being in range, now--- he gave little heed to his defense, wildly lashing at Virgil's ribs with the dagger.

His head was suddenly crushed against the stone walls, struck without warning by a flying kick that was powered by a mighty leg thrust off the wall Virgil had seeming been just leaning against.

As the imp collapsed to the dusty floor like a pile of rags, Virgil suddenly felt a noticeably unique pain in his lower abdomen. The kick had forced him into the awkward position of forcing his legs into a close facsimile of a vertical plane. He just hoped that nothing down there had torn like his shoulders had when he had done a similar thing to them not a half hour ago. With some difficulty, he shoved the pain away into a neglected corner of his mind for the moment.

He was forced to do so, because the other imp had arrived. Upon seeing this pathetic lightwalker seemingly dispatch his comrade offhandedly, his rage was doubled, and doubled again because he would have been able to stop it if he had just gotten to the fray a split second earlier.

Virgil was caught utterly unprepared for the speed and ferocity that the imp attacked with. He wielded a long dark sword, obviously better-maintained then that dagger had been. Virgil might have taken this to be a mark of him being a sort of elite or commander, had he not been totally dedicating his thought process to avoiding disembowelment.

In short time, the sword finally found its mark, slipping around Virgil's guard with his dagger and cutting through the leather and chain that made up his military-issue trousers and into the muscle of his thigh.

He was grimly aware that with his dagger, he'd be extremely limited in his ability to slow the cut. The wound would be severe, and even with time to heal it might leave him with permanently hampered mobility. And given the current position of the sword's edge, it would be cutting up to a location that was already recently injured and, even without that, would ideally be kept far, far away from blades in the first place.

Bracing himself and preparing himself for the counterattack opportunity he'd gain from the imp attempting a finishing blow, he suddenly realized that the sword had extricated itself from his leg. The imp swiftly spun around, forced to block a wide-arcing broadsword swing from Albert that would have sheared the imp's head off cleanly had he not attended to it. The imp had underestimated Virgil, thinking that like any normal lightwalker, he'd have been too shocked and slowed by the fairly minor injury to do anything of worth until enough time passed in which he became able to turn back and re-engage in the fight.

He never gained that opportunity, and suddenly found Virgil's remaining loaner dagger plunged straight through his spine, into his heart. He died quickly, befuddled, wondering what had killed him.

Virgil leaned on the wall heavily, finally taking a deep breath for the first time since the fight had begun. He'd allow himself a few moments to recuperate, and then he'd scavenge for some weapons and reengage in support of the others. He exhaled, exuberant in his success--- and found himself unable to inhale again.

Hands, powerful hands, had wrapped around his throat, and he was jerked close to another. Blood dripped on him from above, and the skin was rough and dark---

It was the imp he had dealt with moments ago, the one whose skull he thought he had crushed to innumerable smaller pieces when it had found itself between his boot and the wall.

But that's impossible!, Virgil thought. He had FELT the thing's skull partially cave in... heard it. He glanced up and saw that the left side of the imp's skull was now shaped... fundamentally wrong, and hot blood flowed from it freely.

“My face, ya bastard!" The voice was hideous, even by imp standards, choked and raspy. Every word was spat out alongside a gobbet of blood. "I'll crush you to flinders for what you done to me and my mate there!”

Virgil grabbed the imp's arms, wildly pulling at them, trying to buy himself purchase--- but they didn't budge. He didn't even bother trying to break the grip with physical strikes--- the imp was already likely so concussed that it was incapable of feeling any pain beyond what he already did.

And things began to grow hazy. For the first time in years, Virgil Thorne felt true fear--- No! Not like this--- it can't end like this! Down here, in this barren goddessforsaken hole!

He stared into the dark, looking for something that could help. Albert had stepped forward to hold the passage against any more attackers. The little bard was sprawled on the floor. And Jared--- where was Jared?

Everything seemed to burn red, it became harder to think, and Virgil knew he was going to die. And, despite all his reluctance, he accepted it. Maybe it was punishment for everything he had done wrong with his life. And it was a punishment well-deserved.

I'm sorry, Lucia...

And suddenly, two things occurred to Virgil. The first, and most immediately noticeable, was that he could breathe. The second was the a sensation of sharp, painful, somehow fervid heat, close to his shoulder. It was present for only a moment. Then the rough weight behind him toppled, collapsing to the ground sporting a ragged hole in the part of its face that wasn't already entirely ruined. Virgil rose slowly and unevenly, trying to find his savior--- and did.

And then he knew where Jared was... no. What the thing that had claimed to be Jared was.

If it weren't for the situation, and if Virgil wasn't so quick to jump to conclusions, he would have been unrecognizable. But his rough, barbaric clothing had a bit of the same cut as Jared's had, and he wielded the same weapons he had seen Jared using just seconds ago. The problem was that this thing, kneeling down to thrust its short burning blade into the body once for good measure, was not human. In fact, it was not dissimilar to the two bodies that lay slumped around him.

Jared was an imp. Everything fell into place. He had been used--- this entire time, Jared had been manipulating him to participate in some insane power struggle with his own brethren. Why he had decided to spare Virgil was something to be considered later.

Virgil knew better than to confront the imp now--- he was too weak, too wounded. Goddess help me, Albert, Zizi... get out of here while you can, but I can't help you now.

He pulled himself up to his feet, pulled the dagger from the back of the fallen imp and carefully cleaned the blood off on its clothing. He then, with utmost care, picked up the discarded dagger long forgotten by the imp that had nearly suffocated him, and discovered that it didn't burn, as he had once heard that evil enchanted weapons did to those who were unprepared. It was mundane, and he slipped it into his belt.

He then limped away from the battle, down the pathway, and found himself feet away from another entirely separate pitched fight, between more imps and a bunch of humans he had become well-acquainted with earlier, whom he would have rather seen again on his own terms rather then appearing in front of them as an easy target.

I just can't catch a break today, can I?

[Jetrauben]

Reskeis

Reskeis glared at the toff as he bent down and put his blade through the fallen imp once more for good measure. Talk about gratitude. He’d figured the prissy bloodsucker had a solid gambler’s face; he wasn’t too disappointed. But he could feel the horrified fascination in the other’s stare. He knew it would be there. It’d been in the mongrel girl’s eyes when she’d seen him, hadn’t it?

The rejection didn’t hurt, because he’d been prepared for it. Because working with folk he knew hated him was normal. Not one bit. Not that he gave a good goddamn about a bunch of flabby Lightwalkers. Even if it was hard to scrap with a mate an’ not feel a bit of kinship there. Fighter’s spirit an’ all that. The pounding ache in his side was just the ragged wounds inflicted by the rookie imp’s attacks. Goddamn Mask. The wounds were worse than they should’ve been. Bad enough to feel them a bit.

He nodded once to the toff, all chill business and crouching menace, as the other turned away. Bloody hypocrites, the lot o’em. “Sure,” he muttered beneath his breath, “act all shaken. Nevermind that y’guzzle folks’ fluids like grog. Y’should be afraid, but for cryin’ out loud, ye’d think I was th’monster here.”

He nodded once and turned away from Albert and the toff, bent down low to the unconscious girl. She looked fragile, more fragile than any proper lass he’d ever run the streets with. He’d known ladies with hellfire in their bellies, wicked mischief in their eyes, girls who were all sinewy grace and daring. Nobody like this bard would’ve lasted a day in the streets. ’Less somebody felt sorry fer her.

Debt’s a debt, he told himself, and bent low. What was probably a few cracked ribs and the long gash all skittered across his senses, tiny flickers of alarm. By something’s grace it wasn’t like the human pain, no white lightning and harsh cold burning. It was more a dull heat in his body.

That was going to change soon, he knew. It was going to have to.

Someone gibbered in raw terror in the dark behind him. Oh, bloody hell, he thought. The thief was still alive? Some familiar spirit’d clearly looked after him. Annoyed and surprised he skittered over to the prone fellow, lying whimpering in the dark. When the thief saw Reskeis’ imp features he went absolutely still, terror locking his limbs tight. Reskeis was honest enough to admit his amusement.

“Oh Goddess, you’re going to kill me,” the man blubbered. He held up a knife like a warding symbol, but the trembling in his hand let Reskeis know he could take it any time he wanted. Even the imp’s duller sense of smell caught the stink of urine. “Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess. Take it. Take anything you want. Just-“

Reskeis lifted a clawed finger to his dark lips. “Shh.” His expression twisted in scorn. “’Zat how y’wanna go out, mate?” He sighed. “C’mon, y’gotta show more stones’n that.” The other whimpered and tried to hold the knife steadier. Reskeis gritted his teeth at the incompetence. A nasty urge to terrify the other further was pushed aside. “Lucky fer you, mate, I’m not gonna kill ya.”

The terrified thief went very still. Reskeis grinned as he pictured the mental gymnastics, saw the other’s face turn into an expression of relief so strong and baffled it seemed like horror. He’d seen that expression before.

“No profit init fer me,” he continued, “an’ a whole mess o’ unwanted trouble. Frankly, I could care less ‘bout yer city or yer guild.” He bent low and slapped the other’s back, leaving tears in his clothes. “So buck up, matey. Y’get t’live today. Jus’ a tip, y’might wanna get outta th’tunnels an’ into someplace with nice thick walls, or maybe y’wanna go save yer mates. Either way seems like it might helpy y’ grow a bit more’a a spine next time.”

He turned back to the unconscious girl, looked around. Now what? Can’t be leavin’ this one here in a scrap, an’ I gets th’feeling the toff might want t’have a long, pointed conversation wi’me. He sighed. Great. Get her- an’ me- to safety. Nothin’ like a vulnerable trek through dangerous streets at night, wounded w’luggage in tow. Hrm. Just like old times.

He reached down and as gently as he could lifted the small girl into his arms in a rough carry. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he had. Inspiration. He turned back to the prone thief, who had now worked his way into a kneeling position. “’Ey, coward, do a lad a couple favors. Let th’bloody toff know Jared’s ‘spectin’ him for a sit-down; he kin find me with th’girl bloodsucker. An’ do tell, any ideas on an exit? Nice an’safe-like?”

The other’s lips worked soundlessly for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. Then he swallowed hard, licking his lips. “Bit down that way. Ladder of sorts. Comes out in a side-alley. We been usin’ it as a bolt-hole.”

“Yer a diamond, mate.” Reskeis bared his teeth. “Don’t go getting y’self killed jus’ yet. ‘Ta.”

---

The lid would have clanked if not for the pile of dirty snow it landed in.

Reskeis’ head and shoulders emerged from the hole at the end of the alleyway, followed shortly afterward by Zizi’s body. He lowered her to the ground carefully, trying not to make too much noise. The imp could feel danger in the nighttime air. He hadn’t lived this long by ignoring his instincts, and he’d grown up on lawless streets. It was not a good time to be out and about.

Especially not wounded. His steps left a thin trickle of blood, black in the hazy darkness. Absent from the Nether-infused air below, he felt something very much like thirst.

And it was going to get worse. Reskeis knew that. He closed his eyes and swallowed. The prospect of subjecting himself to that white-hot lightning of human agony was not a pleasant one. It might drop him where he stood. It might leave him empty and weak on the ground, easy prey. (It might also have left him and the girl to freeze to death in the night.)

How can the damn things take so much pain? Weak. All of them, weak. It’s a damn miracle they’re still around.

No help for it. He gritted his teeth, touched the unseen points of his tattoos, and muttered a hissing phrase in a language that meant nothing to him. Black and prismatic light swirled about him, oily and shimmering, and the Mask engulfed him in a whirlwind of magic and a feeling like being plunged into deep, thick water.

There was no sense of transition. He was just back in his human appearance after a very confused moment. Then half his chest decided all at once to let him know just how thoroughly unhappy it was. Fire lit up across his body; lightning jolted through his brain. The breath whooshed out of him all at once; he stifled a hissing cry of pain, and then his legs decided it was time to relax.

Reskeis gasped as he stared up at the stars high above, passing through swirling clouds. He held out a hand to his eyes and saw the fingers twitch. Too pained for even a creative obscenity, he gasped and planted a hand on the ground. Then another. He tensed, gritted his teeth against the sting, and sat up.

His torso let him know it was doing this under protest.

Then he stood. Swirling lightning danced in his vision and the fire in his chest redoubled, but he managed to go mostly upright, cursing all gods, demons, or generic powers that happened to be listening in at the moment. Sucking in breath, the wounded Masked imp stumbled towards the prone Zizi, leaning against the side of the alley. His hand left little bloody smears on the wall.

And there was a crunch at the head of the alleyway. Feet in the snow. Someone approaching. With him stuck handicapped, the girl unconscious…

Gods and demons damn it.

---

Cassandra

Cassandra’s knees shook, but she did her best to hold her ground. The monster, for its part, made no hostile move. Its hands remained steady upon the bier. But the wailing of the spirits around them both continued, even as she heard the clatter of oncoming footsteps. Cold filled the crypt- not the clean, whistling chill of the open winter air, but a clammy frigidity, dreadfully still and somehow thick. She heard the ghosts shriek. Even Victoria at her side whimpered with quiet pain, muttering nonsense. Cassandra did not want to think of her ghostly attendant’s pain; Victoria’s guilt was far harsher than hers. But for the longest time she could not move a muscle. Even breathing was an effort.

Welcome your friends… She locked gazes with the creature’s three green eyes. They sparkled like emeralds, clear and bright and glimmering in the oppressive dark. Torches and candles were no match for the genius there. But something dark pressed at her more and more the longer she watched, something corrupted and rotten. Even as she stared into the curiously fascinating gaze it was like she was struggling to swim in thick, cloying oils.

You know you have no business here, my girl. The voice again. Not spoken. Whispers in her mind. Are you a defender, then? Would you try your hand at heroism? Most unwise. What will your parents think?


If I must... she replied. Even in her mind her voice sounded unsteady. It is only right. The ghostly wails about her rushed and surged like the tide, scrambling her thoughts. Failure would poison my charge. My parents…will understand.

A proper response for one of your breeding, the voice replied thoughtfully. Green eyes lowered; she felt them tracing their way to her pack. And yet you are unprepared. Like the lowest-born of serfs you wish to run. Do not lie to me, girl, it interrupted, as she tried to respond. You have no experience in this. You have hardly begun to blossom into womanhood. You are not the people’s shield. You are a frightened teenaged girl, led astray by gallant tales. Yours is neither the body nor the soul of a heroine. A heroine would never have fled from the Misthame fief. A heroine would have endured her pain and stood unafraid before evil. You yourself know this to be true. If you truly love the people you would abdicate your status, for you could never live as your ideals demand. They surely deserve better than you.

Hot tears cut down her face because she knew the voice was right to say so. I do my best. Why could she not look away?

Do you, now? It hurt the more because there was no overt malice in the voice. Yet you fail at every opportunity, it seems. I know your heart, Lady Cassandra. Bony fingers flicked towards the straps of her pack. You need the support of sanguine potions. You indulge in a nectar drawn from human veins- and more than you should. We both know this. Your path is not an ascent to virtue. Why should it be? This “virtue” brings you only pain and fear. Should you persist in this foolishness you will spiral down into Impropriety. Dare you risk that? It laughed again in its warm voice. Or is it not perhaps such a risk? Is it not instead an opportuni-

“Lady Cassandra!” she heard from behind. A surge of warmth swept through Cassandra’s veins, and the sudden power jolted her attention away from the green eyes. She took a breath she had not known she was holding in, stumbled backwards. The rich smell of her own blood wafted from her lips and face. “Get back!”

Lady Devyn and Sister Ayani burst into the darkness like a meteorite and its corona of flame. Dark Sister Ayani stood, a little uneasy on her feet, but coiled chains bobbing and gleaming with a strange darkness that rose and bobbed like flame, purer than the murk around. Cassandra could not have imagined being glad to see the disfigured woman before, but now her presence was an ominous threat against the monstrous beast that somehow put steel into her back. And Lady Devyn stood like a tower of defense, sword glowing with pure, gold-white light. It cast back the darkness; the ghosts nearest her stopped their wailing. Others hissed in tortured voices and seemed to swirl with darkness.

Cassandra swayed on her feet for a moment and steadied. Horrified realization swept through her. She had known the creature to be deadly and foul. She had seen its disgusting, twisted coil. And still its voice had whispered warmly to her. Still its words seemed to have the ring of truth and friendship. It was terrifying, all the more because despite its malice they had not solely been lies…

She gritted her teeth. The monster repulsed her. No more about heroes. No more about duties to church, land, people, or Goddess. Unaccustomed hate smoldered in her veins as she raised her sword again.

The creature had ceased to bother with her for the moment, though. It was grinning at Ayani, not speaking. From the sick expression on the dark woman’s face, the twisting of her lips, Cassandra could only guess it was speaking to her. Much as it had to Cassandra herself.

“Leave her in peace,” the young woman said. The words left her lips almost before she knew she was speaking. Her fingers turned white on her sword. “Leave this place.” Words were tearing from her lips even quicker; she bared her teeth in challenge. “You stain the ground. You torment the dead. Your presence here is an affront to all. Back to the Hell that spawned you, wretch!”

The maignyu looked to all of them, now. Its rotting lips held an oily grin. “Ah. I see you are in no mood to converse.” It sighed. “Never inclined toward discussion. This constant predisposition towards hostility wearies me. This is the weakness of your Church, I am afraid. She closes your minds. Blocks off avenues of discussion, of inquiry. Small-minded fools constraining the great from fear of their triumph.”

“Be silent!” Cassandra cried in a voice that was almost a scream. It sounded hysterical even to her. Her chest ached with the exertion. She raised a hand to her face and was shocked when it came away from her nose and cheeks bloody. “You…” her voice caught as she tried to breathe, “you rotting corpse! Your words are empty!”


“Rotting?” The creature did really laugh now, and the reverberations made Cassandra’s head hurt. “Ah, but we are all rotting, my dear. Corpse? Am I not simply more honest?”

“Be silent!” She raised a hand and bade Victoria attack. It took a great effort; the ghost herself was shaking. Cassandra was only grateful her vassal’s resolve had not broken yet; she could not possibly last for long. But the screaming, frigid spectre launched forth like a missile…and the monster waved a hand once. The howling ghosts about it were tugged, painfully, from their lurking and knitted together into a black bubble upon which Victoria’s assault shattered like glass. The ghost flitted back, unsteady, and the monster really did laugh now.

“My friends,” it said, and it made the words sound twisted. “Do restrain our guests. It would appear their etiquette is lacking.”

A sarcophagus’ lid shifted and fell aside. A bony hand, tattered with bits of withered flesh and ancient rags, pushed itself free, followed by the hideous death’s-head, the ravaged body. As it rose to its full height it gave an empty howl, and the air shuddered. Nearby ghosts were drawn shrieking silently into its decayed chest, not just one but several. Soon a shifting river of darkness flickered and writhed through its form to replace lost muscle. Too deftly for its rotten limbs the gaunt form pulled itself free from the sarcophagi and advanced on the little huddle of the living, gaining substance and surety as it walked. Its jaw worked hungrily; its eyes burned with an ugly flame, and the ancient reek of it filled the wide chamber.

Cassandra was by no means a master necromancer, but she had paid attention to her lessons. She knew what the abomination was. They rose sometimes in places of great sorrow and evil, and when wicked men used forbidden, ancient methods to bind souls to rotting bodies. Even the far-off Imperi, that land of the undead, shunned such unholy things. Church and sorcerers alike sought to destroy the lore of their creation wherever it had risen.

The creature had raised one almost casually. And other sarcophagi were shifting now.

[SilentWasteland]

Chreef

Chreef let out a sigh as he shifted the pack on his back. He was having trouble getting some of the enchantments to work right together, and the pack had a tendency for its weight to settle on one side or the other. It was particularly annoying when the weight would shift without any warning at all. Still, it was something he could deal with until he reached the nearest city. With that thought, Chreef set off towards the city he could see on the horizon.

---

Chreef had long since moved to the road. While he preferred to travel cross country, guards were understandably suspicious when you walked up out of the woods. For this reason, he was at a loss as to why the guards here were on edge. Still, he kept a smile on his face, while he dealt with their questions.

“What did you say your business here was, traveler?”

Chreef quickly spun a story. After all, most guards weren’t willing to let someone in who was actively seeking Nether taint. It tended to give a bad image to cities if people knew that the Nether had been there recently.

“Well, I’ve got an aunt back where I come from, and she’s always wanted to come visit Dammerinthes, but she’s about to die and so she sent me instead,” Chreef responded. “See, I’m supposed to find her something that will prove I’ve been here, so that will make her happy.”

“Alright, we’ve heard enough. Where are your travel papers?”

Chreef reached into one of his pockets, where he kept his travel papers. He handed them over to the guard, and started to another stream of nonsense.

“Thank you so much for letting me in. She’d be so crushed if I couldn’t – “

“I’m not interested in your sob story, as long as you aren’t here to cause problems.”

“Oh, I would never cause problems, sir. I just can’t – “

“Do you ever shut up?”

Chreef quit talking, glad that the guards were passing him through. The letter he had received indicated a sense of urgency, and he couldn’t afford another delay trying to sneak into the city without getting caught. Once he received his papers back, he walked into the city as if he didn’t have a care in the world. However, the deeper he got into the city, the more he could feel the Nether taint. No wonder the guards had been so on edge, even if they didn’t know why. There were too many people to find the source of the taint right now, though. He’d have to explore later.

---

While darkness approached, Chreef busied himself with double checking his equipment. He carefully inspected both his rapier and dagger, making sure that the enchantments hadn’t started to break down yet. Once satisfied that his blades would not fail him, he cleaned them and returned them to their proper place at his side. Chreef then pulled out his alchemy equipment, confident that he had enough time to brew another potion before he explored.

---

Later that night, Chreef slipped out his window. While there wasn’t specifically a curfew, the atmosphere of tension he’d sensed indicated that it would be wise if a person new to the city was not known to be wandering the streets. He made his way down the side of the wall, and then continued to walk towards where he could sense the Nether taint.

Chreef perked his ears up as he cautiously approached the alleyway. Mere minutes had passed since he’d felt a sudden surge in the amount of Nether taint. He’d been required to back track through the snow covered streets to gain access to the alleyway, but he should be able to gain more knowledge from the source. With any luck, he would be able to find what had caused this latest incursion, and report back to his superiors.

However, that would have to wait. As Chreef rounded the corner, he fought to keep the dismay off his face. Chreef’s eyes flicked between the two people he found in front of him, carefully taking in the details. One was a man, obviously in serious pain, holding himself up by the simple expedient of leaning on the alley wall. Behind him lay a Shaden woman. Her clothes were torn, as if by a blade, and her blood seeped out to mix with the imp blood that Chreef could see splashed liberally across both of them. Behind them, he could see a manhole cover on the ground, leaving an open hole leading to the sewers. From here, he could tell that the Nether taint was strongest coming from the sewers. Before he could investigate, he would have to see what information these people had.

“What happened to you two?” Chreef inquired of the man.

[Jetrauben]

Reskeis and Chreef
The Masked imp had his hands on the hilts of his weapons when he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in that peculiar way it always had around the bloodsucking girl's tame fox-man. He didn't relax, exactly, but some of the deliberate tension left his arms. Say what you would about them, they were pretty damn unlikely to hold much truck with the Nether. And from what he'd learned of...the tainted in this wretched world, they didn't seem the crowd most seelie would fall into.

He sized the other up as he approached. Rather short even by the standards of his kind, simply dressed, barefoot even in the damn snow! Carried a one of this land's skinny blades and a knife, looked like he knew how to use them both. And then he opened his mouth. "What happened to you?"

Clearly not the brains o' the city. "Well, what th'bloody 'ell do y'think? Ye a bit slow? We were in a damn scrap down there!"

Chreef paused, carefully considering his next words. The man appeared to underestimate him, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. On the other hand, people rarely shared valuable information with a simpleton. "It's quite obvious you were in a fight. With imps, if my nose is telling me right. I meant I was curious as to how you happened to run into a fight. In the sewers, no less."

Reskeis paused, his mind whirling to provide an excuse. This was old hat to him, really. Only half a lie's stronger'n a full one. He cleared his throat. "Well, see, me an' me mates were chaperonin' an aristo- tall chap, proper, seems t'know his way around. Dunno why the toff wanted t'come down t'the rougher side o'town, maybe he's doin' it for a lark or thinks he's some kinda bleeding hero. 'E seemed outta his depth, y'know? S'pposed to look out fer him. He's meetin' with a couple o' his contacts an' suddenly th'bloody guard comes a-callin'. They aren't in a listenin' mood, if y'catch my meaning, I think they took us for whomever's been killin' on the streets. We had t'call a runner, an' there was a trapdoor nearby."

He paused to let it sink in. "Anyways, we're down in th'dark when the damn things come boilin' out of the tunnels, screeching like hellfire. Was a sight t'see! Next thing we know we're all split-up like an' running every which way. Dunno what happened t'me mates or th'aristo. Th'girl's with me; she took a hit. The damn things gave me one hell of a work-over, but me blades saw me through it, neat as neat."

Chreef considered the man's words. There was nothing about them that he could certify as a falsehood, but he was getting an odd feeling from him. Still, until something happened he would proceed on the assumption that the man was at least friendly. It wasn't like he could be much threat in the condition he was in. "Well, I happen to be something of an alchemist. Healing is not necessarily my forte, but if the lass behind you is hurt, I have some emergency potions that should be able to help her."

"She could use it," Reskeis agreed carefully. Damn, his chest was smarting. A puny part of him wanted to speak up about it; the rest of him ganged up on the weakling and beat it into sometime next week. He stepped carefully aside and let the seelie pass. Despite himself he couldn't quite relax all the way, though. Something about the air around the fox-man. It was like a thunderstorm-energy vibrating the air around him, an ozone-ish taste on his tongue.

Chreef glanced sideways at the man as he passed, and barely stopped himself from pulling his rapier on the man and demanding an explanation. The blades at his waist were clearly dagues. While it was possible that the man had picked them up as a trophy, he had no other blades on him. His mind whirling with the possibilities, Chreef walked to where he could keep an eye on the man while he tended to the injured woman. He carefully felt around where he could see bruises forming, and where there was blood. She seemed to be relatively unhurt, except for a lack of consciousness. While he was examining her, he glanced over at the man and asked, "So what's your name? And you look like you could use a potion as well."

Chreef then pulled out his two potions that were designed to accelerate the natural healing process. He tossed one of them to the man, who was still leaning on the wall. The other he poured down the woman's throat after he cautiously rolled her onto her back.

Reskeis didn't like the way the other looked at him. He caught the potion carefully, wondering for a moment if the fox-man's strange aura had extended to his work in alchemy as well. His hand didn't burn, though, or even smart. Perhaps the modified Mask protected him. He carefully unstoppered it and took a swallow. There was a tingle and a bit of the burning lightning vanished in his chest.

"Name's Jared," he said. "Seems only polite for a fellow t'ask his new mate th'same."

"Chreef." He paused, wondering if he really wanted to drag his worries out in the open now. After a moment he decided if he was going to continue helping them, he needed some answers. "Care to explain why you are carrying a pair of dagues?" At his feet, the woman started to stir as the potion took effect and roused her.

Damn... Caught. Reskeis wondered if it was worth trying to lie. "Lost me sword in a scrap; damn thing was melted." He shrugged. "Damn eldritch crap, aye? Picked 'em up a while ago," he said, which was not strictly speaking a lie.

The girl was stirring. The situation promised to get more interesting.

It was cold. It was wet. All things considered, Zizi decided she might have preferred to be unconscious. She automatically opened her eyes before she could worry about what she would see. It was dark out, but she could make out a face leaning over her, the face of... could it be...

"Finn?" she managed to choke out; her throat felt awful, but a tiny, hopeful smile illuminated her face. It was the smile of a lost child who thought she finally spied, from a distance, her home.

Chreef looked down at the woman as she muttered a name. He glanced up at Reskeis, but the look on his face was equally confused. He looked back down as his face twisted into a frown. "Sorry, lass. I'm not your friend. Just a passing traveler." Chreef put his hand on his belt and pulled out a third potion. This one was designed to help a person ignore pain, and it should help the woman clear her head. "Here you go. This potion should help with any pain you are still feeling."

After handing the potion to her, Chreef stood back up and looked at Jared. "No Shaden I know would ever keep a pair of dagues. Even if you wanted to, no one would want to associate with you. So, the truth now. Why do you carry them?"

Questions went throuh Zizi's mind faster than any trill. Where was this? Who was the seelie? Was it safe to leave with him and get away from the imp (somehow, he looked human again, but the dagues proved to her that she had not been dreaming) forever? And yet... the imp had saved her, and apparently brought her out of the catacombs. A debt was a debt. "Please, sir," she gasped. "Could... could you help me out of the snow?" She coughed violently. "It's so c-c-cold." She didn't have to fake the stammer; her teeth were indeed chattering. "I can vouch for..." Damn, what was his name? She coughed again, stalling. "For my companion. He s-s-saved my life down there." The cold stung at her eyes, bringing tears. Good.

Chreef glanced down at the woman. This was a complicated situation. He didn't trust the man in front of him. And if the woman was with him, he wasn't sure he could trust her either. Still, he needed answers and these two were his best lead. Making up his mind, Chreef stepped to the side. "Fine, we can table this discussion until we're somewhere you two can recover. I have a room at a local inn that has enough room." He looked over at Jared. "But you can carry her. I've no mind to tie my hands up."

Reskeis looked over to the prone girl and gave a very small nod of thanks. Quick thinker. He hadn't lost any respect for the girl yet. She was a scrappy sort. Now just to consider how to escape from their present predicament... He had no illusions that things could get very dicey very soon.

"Whatever you say, mate," he said quietly, and bent low to raise Zizi carefully in both hands. Pain twinged all throughout him again, but he gritted his teeth and shifted her slightly. He wouldn't show it in front of the fox-man. Best not to show weakness.

[Zizi]

Zizi

The wind passed right through Zizi's snow-soaked dress; that was a given. What rendered her incapable of stopping the shivering was the way the cold seemed to seep through her skin as well, right into her very marrow, and whatever might be deeper than that - was there something deeper than marrow? She couldn't remember; the lessons had been so long ago.

The only source of warmth was the Masked imp's body. He felt human enough, although Zizi wasn't sure if she was a good judge. She half expected to feel bumps and shifting points in odd places, as if he were wearing a suit of skin. This was the first time in years she had been in such close proximity to another person. And she hadn't been carried since she was a child; a part of her had wanted to insist that she could walk on her own, but she ultimately decided that trying to walk and falling flat on her face would be even more embarrassing than having to be carried. Still, she could feel the imp - how she wished she knew his name; it was so awkward not knowing who anyone was! - wincing as he walked, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

But why should she feel guilty, she asked herself, for causing an imp trouble? Everyone knew imps were monsters, evil through and through. But he saved you. He saved you from the other imp, and he got you out of that place. And not a word of complaint from him the whole time. When's the last time any Shaden treated you so well?

Zizi frowned. How much did people really know about imps, anyway? Could there be another kind of imp, a good kind, that people didn't know about because it never attacked? Maybe he was another kind of imp. Somehow, he wasn't evil. He couldn't be. Could he? And he's hurting. Go on and sing a pain-easing song for him, you fool. She started to sing quietly, letting the words come from wherever they lived in her head. Whether or not he could hear the song, she had no idea.

"Take a breath, let it in.
Feel the pain start to thin.
You've gone through so much worse than this, you know.
Relax, just let it go.
You'll forget it all when trouble starts anew;
That's how it goes for you."

The Masked imp beneath her tilted his head to one side. A sardonic smirk crossed his face, and his voice, when it emerged, was sharp and sour. "Hellfire," he muttered, in a tone quiet enough it barely reached her ears. "'Zat what passes fer a good shanty round here, li'l bird? Y'folk are worse off'n I thought. Puts a lad t'sleep. Can't carry a good beat t'it, no edge..."

Zizi blinked more stinging moisture from her eyes. Goddessforsaken wind. "If y'want an edge, mate," she winced inwardly at how she was picking up his way of speaking, and distanced herself consciously, "I would be perfectly willing to oblige with a song that gives pain instead of relieving it. Now, we oughtn't quarrel in front of our benefactor." Stupid imp. Or - Zizi suddenly wondered - had the song not worked on him? Did magic work differently on imps? What if she really had caused him pain? But she couldn't ask now, not with the strange seelie man about.

She was glad it was too dark for anyone to see her blushing. How silly could she get, mistaking the stranger for Finn? It wasn't as if all seelie men looked alike. No, this vix was clearly someone else entirely, and she wasn't at all sure he could be trusted, even if he had probably saved her and the imp from dying of exposure. He was such an odd mix of threats and generosity. Obviously, he could tell that her companion was not what he seemed, but why was he taking the wanderers back to the inn with him instead of just killing them, if that was his aim? She wondered for a moment if it wouldn't be wiser to seek shelter elsewhere, maybe away from both of the men - let them fight each other if they were so eager to do so. But the thought of a warm room, a fire, possibly even a bed, was too much to resist (and however cruel the imp was, a little voice reminded her that she owed him her life). So she simply sighed, and without thinking rested her head on the imp's shoulder, closing her eyes. Naught to be done now.

[yli]

There was a reason why the gypsies had a standing policy on burning their dead. There was a reason why Ayani tried to see as many souls firmly to the afterlife as she could.

The rationale stood in front of her, hissing through its fleshless lips. The thing crawled...no skittered across the floor tiles, letting out a feral scream as it lunged on all fours.

Ayani batted the thing towards the nearest pillar with a sweep of her arm, the spikes on her chains gouging holes in its chest. The creature clung to the pillar, scurrying up it and onto the ceiling. It tensed up, waiting to strike again. To make things worse, the other sarcophagi began to slide open.

********************************!

Cassandra gritted her teeth and raised her sword in defiance, testing the monster’s resolution with a hissed incantation. Black tendrils sparked and seethed against the shadowy bubble of wailing spirits, but though the shield darkened it failed to penetrate. Cassandra hissed a very unladylike curse.

Maybe this was a sort of courage- simply being too angry to be afraid. It could not be called strictly heroic defiance, no, but…

“Do you hope to best me?” the creature asked aloud. Its warm voice sounded delighted, but something evil seethed beneath the surface. “That’s positively precious…”

“Be silent!” Cassandra cried. Pain stabbed deep in her chest as she cried out, and a little trickle of blood fell from her lips. “I wish to hear no more of you and your lies, you husk of carrion!” She staggered, coughing painfully. Tearing ragged gasps of breath from the air, she held her side with one hand and nearly fell."

Devyn turned her eyes to the next nearest sarcophagus, it's stone lid grinding open. Ugly, ravaging noises swirled in the already-awful Song of the crypt; it made her teeth grate and her eyes smart to hear the Music rent like that. What was coming into existence was purely evil, purely wretched; it deserved no pity or mercy beyond a swift dispatch. The monstrosity inside slowly rose, soon pushing the lid fully away. It fell to the floor with a heavy crack, dust and other materials billowing up into the air. It hissed at the Paladin, who was quickly upon it with her sword, the holy blade easily hacking off an arm. Another swift blow, and her sword had cut from it's neck to the hip. The corpse slumped back, half hanging out of the sarcophagus.

The paladin took a few steps back from the fallen abomination and returned to Cassie's side, wrapping a steadying arm around the injured trueborn. The other woman was hurting terribly; she felt her pain and fear like discordant snapped strings in the girl's usual Song. The monster's words, no doubt; even Devyn felt an ache within herself. She raised her sword and chanted one of the Maiden's prayers aloud in a clarion call, and the noisome mirk fled from before them both. Warmth filled her, flowing into the other woman she held tight by her side, the lifting words of her prayer helping to fight off the vile, deceitful words of the monster. A maignyu, she recalled from years-old lectures, a lemures in service to the Dark Powers.

Cassandra jolted in her grasp and the girl went rigid for a moment. Warm light flared from within her mouth, held open in a startled gasp, and then the girl relaxed. From across the crypt she heard the maignyu hiss for the first time. It turned and looked straight at the paladin, and Devyn felt its evil green eyes grasping and clutching at her soul. Her faith shuddered, her mind laid bare for a moment to the beast. Pain swept through her, terrible pain, as she was exposed to the fully ugly horror of the other’s Song. It was a twisted, jangling thing, almost rending at her to hear, a wound so deep the Music screamed to be near it. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes in prayer. Comfort and warmth slipped into her, much as it had with Cassandra, and she felt the inane urge to dance a few steps despite the dire peril they were in.

The Maiden had given her strength. She whispered another prayer, narrowed her eyes, and drew the sword closer to her hollow-seeming chest. Her prayer rose higher, drowning out the agony, replacing the shrieking skirls of the other’s Song with the deep beauty of faith. She opened her eyes again and glared at the maignyu.

"A pretender," it hissed, tensing against the sound of prayer like it had wounded the creature and though the sound of its voice was kindly the words jabbed at her like blades. "A girl formed of lies and self-deceit, and you dare to call yourself a servant of the Mother? She does not love you, you know. She only pities you. She sends you, malformed and sick of heart and mind, to cleanse the messes her favored children make. You are nothing. A cast-off outcast, your womanhood a thing of rags and ashes."

Seriously, Ayani thought.. That thing needed to shut up. Her lungs too were beginning to ache painfully.

Devyn met it with a cool glance that almost completely hid the earlier unease still hissing around her resolve. "I am not afraid of you," she said, fighting to hold her voice steady. Defiance helped. "I pity you. You, who are nothing more than the rotten husk of a man once held wise. There is no wound greater I could do you than you have already inflicted upon yourself. Destroying you would be a mercy. But in the spirit of charity I offer you this one chance. Flee back to your master, and tell him or her that the Mother may yet be merciful. But we will no longer allow you to defile this place."

The maignyu hissed, and something in its voice was like the buzzing of carrion flies. "Proud words. Pride before the fall, my dear." It reached outwards with one ravaged hand, and other sarcophogi began to stir. Ghosts shrieked soundlessly as they were pulled in.

The first of the abominations dropped to the ground and lunged for Ayani's back, clawing and snarling. Its fingers left black trails in the air. But it underestimated the Windwalker. Ayani whirled, dodging the rush, and punched one chain-swathed fist through the beast's ribs. Her fingers closed with iron strength around its spine as it thrashed and bit the air, trying to reach her, and the flesh of her arms felt like it was being plunged into cold, slimy oil. It scratched and tore at her skin, and even though the mutations upon her body warded off the worst of the injuries, she felt as though it were tearing at her soul, leaving venom in its wake. Fighting revulsion she sent a burst of holy energy through her arm; the chain partially uncoiled and tore through the undead monster's chest. The abomination howled and fell back, thrashing as a second spin of the barbed chain, this time infused with darkness, burst its ribcage asunder. Its oily not-flesh burst outwards in a sudden white halo, and she heard the stupid bloodsucker gasp as the remains disintegrated.

Another howling snarl behind her; old, blunted jaws in her shoulder. The gypsy shrieked in rage and pain and stumbled forward, clawing at the wound. Then she spun around, smashing the attacker with a booted foot in the head with such ferocity bits of its shattered skull bounced off her cheek and cut small scratches that stung beyond all reason. The creature, half its skull caved in, in pulled itself to its feet and lurched at Ayani. The gypsy reeled backwards out of reflex, but her hand shot in and closed around the withered neck. Again, the cold slimy feeling assailed her; black ooze seemed to crawl up her arm towards her chest. Repulsed, she tightened and got a firm grasp on what was left of its head.

With a desperate jerk, she tore its head clean from its shoulders in a spatter of ooze. The unholy life left its eyes; the torso collapsed to the floor and again burst in that strange white halo, leaving nothing behind at all.

Please stay dead, thought Ayani as the thing collapsed to the ground. Other sarcophagi began to open, their lids falling heavily to the ground. She was halfway choking on the stench and the blood that was beginning to pool in her lungs. That stupid trueborn girl, why did she let her bring the body into the cathedral? In this war for souls the very people they were supposed to protect would panic. Without a place of sanctuary they would abandon the church and run right into the arms of the Inquisition.

"So valiantly you fight to avoid your deaths," the monster called out, and its words left pain in their wake. All three women coughed, one after the other, but Cassandra's rasping cough was the heaviest. The bloodsucker reeled, clutching at her sternum and half doubling over. She closed her eyes and squeezed them shut. Again her shrieking ghost-ally darted in and was repelled. The creature seemed unfazed. "Why do you fight so hard to avoid being united with the Mother you claim loves you? Do you perhaps fear the outcome? How could she ever love a collection of rotting coils like us? Death hisses and wheezes in your breath; you stink of the unclean processes of life walking steadily toward the grave."

The surge of evil was terrible; it cut the strength from her legs. Ayani dropped to her knees. Every hacking cough hurt; she tasted blood in her mouth. Swallowing, she clawed her way to her feet and swung a long chain across the room at the creature. The barrier hissed and reeled, and the beast flinched, but the head failed to penetrate. The maignyu smiled its half-rotten smile, green eyes gleaming in the dark, and spoke again. "See? You're halfway there. Forget your battle. Why fight for a Church that scorns your people and a Mother that leaves you to the wolves? It is the path of folly."

"Not...church..." gasped Ayani. Another of the rising abominations leapt at her as tugged her flail back. Its dirty claws raked along her arm; she smashed her elbow into its brittle chest and felt pieces of its sternum and spine burst free. As it reeled and moved to strike Devyn's glowing blade took in the spine and clove it in two, the pieces burning gold-white. Ayani gasped for breath and exchanged a glance with the other paladin. "**** the Church!" she called out with all the force she could muster. "But **** you too! You're just an ugly, hateful, child-killing prick!"

"Vulgarity is not a reply," the beast said, and then it staggered back a pace as a hissing cloud of screaming forms battered its shield. Its eyes widened. "Futile, little girl!" it called to Cassandra, standing half-slumped over with arms outstretched.

The trueborn turned back to the two paladins, eyes alight with curiously distracted thought. She did not look healthy. Streaks of crimson daubed her mouth and her skin was unhealthily pallid; she swayed on her feet as she fumbled for her pouch and found a vial. "Lady Devyn!" she croaked. "Lady Ghadnan! I..." she swallowed, trying to focus. "I have...devised a strategem." She motioned to a gaggle of more undead forms, rising from their coffins alongside whispering black spectres. "D..Destroy these monsters. Keep them from harming me. I...I know what to do. Just...free the spirits this monster has entrapped, and I shall do what I can..."

"Aye aye cap'n", muttered Ayani as she crushed the skull of yet another...thing. "If we die, maybe they'll be kind enough to put up a commemorative plaque, or maybe a statue of us. But, chances are, the only thing they're going to remember is that we were ripped to shreds by some mutant zombies." She cough-sighed, raised her flail, and started to pummel the beast before her.

[SilentWasteland]

Chreef

Chreef kept a wary eye on his new companions as he led them back towards the inn. The man, if that’s what he truly was, seemed to be rapidly adjusting to whatever had wounded him in the first place. Truth be told, Chreef suspected that the man’s injuries were not as severe as his posture had first indicated. Jared was visibly moving easier as they walked, even with the burden of the girl in his arms. Either the man’s injuries were not as severe as they looked, or he was simply unaccustomed to dealing with the pain of being injured.

Chreef flicked his ears as the girl in Jared’s arms started to sing. A simple ditty, and yet he could feel the magic laced throughout the words. A bard then, and a highly talented one at that. He could feel the power lingering in the air, even after the girl’s last note faded. He wondered if she knew of Jared’s true nature. Chreef pondered this unpleasant thought, before finally deciding that it was unlikely. His years of study and training regarding the Nether led him to believe that Jared was likely some form of Netherspawn. If the girl had any inkling that she was being carried by a creature from the Nether, she would most likely have run screaming, despite the pain she was obviously in.

Chreef realized that his thoughts had managed to carry him and his companions almost to the threshold of the inn. He could see the glow around the corner that indicated the dining room was still occupied by patrons, but they were fortunately still out of sight. He held up a hand to halt them, “Right. The inn I have a room at is just around the corner. The innkeeper doesn’t know I left. You two wait here, and I’ll get back in, and spin a story for him. Hopefully I can keep him from noticing the injuries you two managed to pick up.”

Jared gave Chreef a suspicious look. "Ye haven't been'n this town too long, have y'mate? Seems there's some kinda bogeyman walking the streets; it'll cut yet throat soon as look at ye. I think th'innkeep'll know that." He tilted his head to one side. "Come t'think of it, I think this jus' may be th'place I'm stayin'....me employer's got a room or two for us little folk." His tone was sardonic, but the look he aimed at Chreef was blunt and said Are you tracking me?

Chreef nodded his head at Jared’s words. “I just arrived this afternoon. I’ve got my travel papers on me if you require proof.” He paused, looking at the girl still clasped in Jared’s arms. “This might actually makes things easier for us. What’s your name, girl?”

The girl lifted her head from Jared's shoulder. She seemed half-asleep already. "It's Zizi. And I don't believe I caught yours."

Chreef sketched a short bow to the woman, “Chreef, at your service, ma’am.” He grinned at his slight attempt at levity, despite the tension that everyone could still feel. “I’ve got a spare couch you can have, if you don’t have a room already. I’ll just say I felt like a nice walk, and found you half dead. Couldn’t bear to leave you there, just broke my furry little heart. Might be able to lend you some clothing as well, although they might be a bit small on you. Jared, you can come in later. Just wait long enough that we don’t appear to be together. My room’s on the second floor, second to last door on the right.”

"Be lookin' forward to it," Jared replied in a distinctly unenthusiastic voice.

[Zizi]

Zizi & Chreef

Zizi's face and hands tingled as sensation began to return to her skin. Although she was nervous about Jared - at last, she knew his name! - getting into more trouble, she couldn't restrain a contented sigh at being warm and dry. It was good to know she could walk, too, although she had to lean on Chreef to get up the stairs. It had, she concluded, been a very difficult day, but think how much kindness people had shown her! She had been aided past guards, imps, and the dangers of the outdoors. Maybe knowing that there were people willing to offer so much help made all the trouble worth it.

If only there weren't this problem of Chreef being suspicious of Jared, this would be wonderful, she thought as Chreef opened the door to what was presumably his room.

Chreef used his free hand to pull out the key he had been given to his room. Fortunately, the innkeeper had not been suspicious and he didn’t have to fend off any awkward questions. With a slight click, the door was unlocked and he put the key back into his pocket as he shoved the door open with his shoulder.

The room was well furnished, if worn. Directly ahead of the door was a fireplace, situated to keep the occupant of the sole desk in the room warm while they worked. Immediately behind the door as it opened was a small set of chairs and a couch. To the right was the bed, small but comfortable.

Chreef maneuvered Zizi to the couch and gently laid her down. “You rest here. I’ll go brew up a potion to help warm you up. And get you some dry clothes.”

"A fire," Zizi murmured as she gazed at the fireplace. In her mind, she could already see flames dancing, hear the crackling of the logs. She longed to ask her host to light a fire, but she already owed him too much. Instead, she gathered up the locks of her tangled hair, darkened from being wet, and tried to wring some of the melted snow out of the thick, wavy mass. She did her best to aim for the floor instead of the couch. Tired as she was, she no longer felt like sleeping; the warm, dry room made her wet dress and hair feel all the more uncomfortable by contrast.

Chreef moved to his backpack first, and pulled out his largest tunic and breeches. Fortunately, Zizi wasn’t the largest Shaden he’d ever run into, so she should be able to fit into his clothes. He tossed the rolled up bundle of clothes at her as he turned to his alchemy equipment. “I don’t have a room where you can change. I’ll just keep my eye on my brewing, let me know when you are done.”

Chreef ignored the shifting sounds behind him as he fired up his alchemy equipment. He needed to know how much Zizi knew about her companion, and the quickest way to do that was a truth potion. He’d combine that with a warmth potion; he hadn’t lied about getting her that. With the precision born of years of experience, Chreef poured one his warming potions that he had handy back into his set, and started adding the ingredients that would be necessary to compel Zizi to speak the truth.

Zizi was all too ready to shed her wet clothing. She didn't even worry over whether Chreef might watch; even if he did see her, she knew that the years of harsh living and scant food had stolen whatever sex appeal she had once possessed. I suppose my face is still pretty enough, she mused sourly, but no man is going to have lustful thoughts over me even if he sees me completely undressed. She shook her head, scattering droplets of water, to rid herself of the unhappy thought. Who cared about how she looked? She was warm, and dry, and had a place to sleep. And soon Jared would arrive, and they would all be safe at last. She wriggled easily into the tunic and breeches; they fit her awkwardly, the wrong cut for her shape, but it was infinitely better than the snow-soaked dress. "Finished," she said softly, a little nervous that her voice might disrupt whatever the alchemist was doing over there. Ah, right. Warmth potion. She smiled.

Chreef turned the burner down, grabbed the vial of combined potion off the heat and turned around. One of the first enchantments he had learned was how to keep items at a constant temperature, and he had applied that enchantment to his brewing vials. “This stuff can have a nasty taste to it. Would you care for some tea to wash it down with?”

"Oh, well, if you were going to make some for yourself already, I'd be delighted to share." Having good manners helped Zizi feel better about being in a position where she needed to accept so much help. In truth, she wasn't sure she even needed the warming potion now - only her ears and the tip of her nose were still numb; she had cautiously removed her boots, which did wonders for her frozen toes. Still, she could hardly refuse something Chreef had brewed especially for her.

Chreef turned back to his burner, and quickly heated up some water. He reached over to his backpack to pull out some tea leaves and then walked over to the couch with the ingredients. He set them within easy reach of her and then sat back in a chair. “Feeling better now?”

Zizi blinked, realizing that she'd been staring at the fireplace again. "Oh! Yes, much better." She picked up the potion first. "Um, cheers!" She grinned, rendering the expression on her face once she tasted the stuff even more starkly contrasting. The seelie man hadn't exaggerated about the taste. Still, a gift was a gift, and she forced herself to drink all but the last drops. It did, at least, make her feel warmer; the numbness was all gone now. She prepared the tea as quickly as possible and then sipped it, ignoring how the hot water burned her mouth - anything to get rid of the taste of the potion. The tea soothed her feelings, too; she found herself feeling much more relaxed.

Chreef watched Zizi carefully. He could see the tension leaving her face, and watched as she settled even deeper into the couch. He took a sip of the tea that he had brewed for himself, and then asked, “If you don’t mind my curiosity, how did you and your friend end up in the sewers?”

Zizi laughed a little bit. "Actually, it's a bit embarrassing. You know the Count? The one who rules all of Dammerinthes? He's sort of under the very mistaken impression that I mocked him in front of his whole court, and he wants to drink my blood now. I had to exit without a curtain call," she laughed again, "and then some Trueborn man helped me get away from the guards, and we ended up in the sewers. I'm not sure how he knows Jared and the other fellow. I hope they're not dead; I don't know how the fight ended - I fainted after Jared saved me." She paused and shook her head. "I fainted. Isn't that ridiculous? Don't tell Jared, all right? I'm hoping he forgot. I do want him to think well of me, since he saved my life and all, even if he is one of the rudest people I've met this week. And yet, you know, after almost getting killed, there's something sort of comforting about plain old rudeness. At least it's a, what do you call it, a known quantity, you know?" She stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. I'm chattering like a magpie. It must be very tiresome for you."

“It’s not a bother. You’ve been in a very trying situation.” Chreef paused, digesting the information that he had just received. “Who is this other fellow you mentioned?”

"Oh, I don't know his name. I didn't even know Jared's name until you said it. Do you suppose that's his real name? Not that it's any of my business; going by a nickname is just as bad, really. Or just as good. 'Jared,' though, you'd think he'd choose something with a bit more snap to it, wouldn't you?"

Chreef pounced on the discrepancy he’d heard in her comment. “He’d choose something? Wouldn’t it be his parents who chose his name?”

Zizi shook her head more emphatically than the situation really warranted. "Not if it's a false name. Although, I don't know, maybe imps do choose their own real names. I've never really thought about it before. I could ask him, but he'd probably say something unkind, and I'm really trying to keep him to 'mildly snarky' instead of 'utterly cruel.'"

So she knew he was a Netherspawn. That’s interesting, and it certainly changes things. I wonder what his motives are in this. “You speak as if you know him well. Have you been traveling with him long?”

"Only a few hours," Zizi replied, barely concealing a yawn. "I just feel like I've known him for a long time. He's a lot like other people I've met, considering he's an imp, although maybe the good imps act the same as humans, I don't really--" And suddenly it caught up to her. What had she done? "Oh no. No, no, why did I say that? You're going to kill him now! I have to warn him!" She sat up so abruptly that her cup of tea fell over, spilling all over the couch. She struggled to control her breath; she knew she would have to use her voice to save Jared. Oh, by the Godddess, if she had to watch him die... "Don't try to stop me, or I'll sing a tune you won't like!" She ran to undo the bolt on the door. "Jared!" she called frantically. What if he was approaching even now, not knowing he was headed to his death?

Chreef dove for the door and positioned himself in front of it. Oh, this is not good. I underestimated her devotion to him. “Calm down, girl! I already knew he was Netherspawn before I got you two back here!”

She steeled herself to pay no attention to whatever excuses he might make. "I'm giving you one more chance. Let me through, and Jared and I will leave, and never trouble you again. If not, I'll be forced to take drastic measures." A shielding spell might work, she thought, to trap him in place, at least for enough time for her to unbolt the door and get out and running.

Chreef kept his position in front of the door. He needed to know why the sewers reeked of Nether taint and the girl and her friend were the best lead he had. He couldn’t let them walk away. “Listen to me, girl. I’m not going to kill him out of hand.”

"I don't care if you use your hands or not! Now step aside." She took a deep breath, preparing the shielding song in her mind.

Chreef tensed himself. If even the first hint of a melody came out of her lips, he’d have to stop her before she could get it all out. Still, he tried again to calm her down. “No. I have some questions for both of you. So calm down, because I don’t want to kill him.” Unless he’s just manipulating you went unspoken.

Zizi wished she could believe him, but... well, even if it was true, she couldn't take the risk that it wasn't. She had to warn Jared and get out of here. "Ah-ah-ah..." she began, as the threads of the shield began to shimmer into existence.

Chreef darted forward and slammed his fist into her solar plexus before more than the first few syllables could be sung. He shook his head as the girl crumpled at his feet, out of breath. It was clear to him that Zizi had never been in a fight before, standing so close to him while she started to sing. “I said, I don’t want to kill him. I haven’t even threatened him, so why do you assume I want to kill him?”

There were a million answers, at least, but Zizi couldn't stop to respond. She had to focus on breathing. "Not... going... stop... me..." she gasped. "Ah-ah-ah..." she could barely manage sound, but if she kept trying, it would come back. Stall for time. "He... saved... me... hafta... protect... won't... stop..."

Chreef just looked down at the girl in disbelief. He could barely hear her, and the threads of power she tried to weave in the middle of her comments snapped as soon as they formed. She was certainly determined, he’d give her that. Still, he couldn’t have her leaving. With a brief sigh, Chreef reached to his belt and pulled out another one of his alchemical brews. He squatted down on the floor and pinched her nose as he poured the liquid down her throat. She sputtered, shaking to try and get away, but Chreef held her firmly as the magic in the potion took hold. After just a few short seconds, Zizi passed into unconsciousness for the second time this night.

This is going to be awkward.

Chreef picked Zizi up and laid her on the couch. He pulled the tunic up to examine where he’d hit her and saw the dark purpling of her skin as a bruise was already starting to form. I’ll ask if she wants something for it when she wakes up. Maybe it will teach her not to stand too close to someone when she’s trying to pull something like that off. Well, I should at least make her comfortable. Gently putting the tunic back in place, Chreef went over to the bed and pulled one of the blankets off. He then took the blanket back to the couch and laid it over Zizi.

With another sigh, Chreef sat down in the chair nearest the door. He carefully shifted his dagger so that it was easy to pull out, and propped his rapier so it was within arm’s reach as well. Zizi may have trusted the imp, but Chreef did not. Just because he didn't want to kill someone didn't mean he had to trust them, after all.

[Jetrauben]

Reskeis
"'Come in later,'" Reskeis muttered mockingly as he saw the two humans disappear around the corner. "Right, sure," he snarled, "if I don' get me damn nadgers kicked in out on me lonesome. Bastard."

He leaned against the wall, fighting off the bitter cold and the residual bite of his injuries, and asked himself seriously if he wanted to go inside. It wasn't like he owed the girl a damn thing, really. Since she'd dropped herself in his lap without so much as a by-your-leave, he'd been stuck with keeping her and her soul on speaking terms. It was irksome. Oh, sure, she'd shown a bit of spine, which was refreshing, but he'd still been responsible for most of her continued breathing.

And a seelie. A seelie who clearly knew too damn much for comfort. Reskeis was not fond of those. The half-beasts gave him the creeps. And he'd seen lads with the marks of their touch. Being seared in the same way was not a pleasant prospect. Really, the prudent thing would be to hightail it. Find a new angle, maybe. Perhaps Alveus would make some mistake that let him in; he knew how the bastard thought, didn't he? Really, the quest for the Grimoire had always been a long shot anyways.

And yet...

"Damn place's got me jumpin' at shadows," Reskeis muttered. "An' bein' more craven'n I ought t'be." No way, he thought. There was something...fishy about this damn city. 'Bout Alveus' specific attacks upon the area. He had a niggling feeling something had pushed his old comrade to treachery; the sickly imp had been a conservative, cautious sort, which was he had been useful. Why take so many risks? Even supposing Reskeis could take his throne back and make an interesting mural of Alveus' viscera, what then? Where would that leave him? In the proverbial fire, that it would; the other warlords would demand an accounting...

He sighed. No, he thought, nothin' fer it but to take the leap. Hellfire, you expected to be revealed eventually. You're smart. He's jsut a Lightwalker. So he tries t'be threatening; big deal. Nothin's changed. They're pawns, nothin' more. Maybe it's a decent way to break the ice if I've got a character witness t'speak for me...

He figured he'd given the two of them enough time, and stalked towards the inn's entrance. Cold wind rustled about him as he laid a hand on the door and pushed it open. It would've been a nice dramatic entrance, but neither of them were in the common room. Instead, a collection of Lightwalkers of varying shapes and status paused from their loud chatter and turned to stare at him. One of those simpering changing wenches stopped her caterwauling and blinked. There was a moment of silence.

Oh, he thought. All the blood. Right. Damn.

"Don't worry, lads," he said, putting a hand to his side for effect. Well, not just for effect. It hurt. "Got waylaid by some'o yer blasted cutthroats. S'mostly theirs."

The innkeep, pale and shaken, blinked a few times and struggled to find his words. "Will y'need assistance, my lad?" he stammered at last. "I mean, it's perilous in these streets at night lately. You want us to notify the guard?"

"Y'kiddin?" Reskeis asked. He put on a weary smile. "Look, me man, I'll be worlds better when I kin have a change o'clothes an' some washin' done. Got a mite of experience with knife-work, y'ken? Don't be troubled t'bother the Guard about it; s'not like they're like t'come away from their cups at this hour anyways."

Most of the folk in the room turned back to their tables; the music resumed. Feeling a little out of sorts, Reskeis tried to reassure the innkeep with some more platitudes, inwardly itching for them just to leave him alone. In Xash's Spur if a fellow came in wounded and told them to leave him be, the keeps there would've taken care of him nice an' quiet. Making a fuss was an excellent way to lose customers.

He mounted the stairs and stood soon before the room where the vix had bade them come. He paused for a long moment. Last chance....no. Jus' get the damn thing over with. Fingering a dague, he nudged the door open with one knee and entered the common room. It was one of those rooms meant for an entire party, not a single; he wasn't surprised. The vix hadn't seemed that wealthy.

The girl was asleep. Huh. That seemed...odd. And the vix was sitting, waiting for him. Reskeis studied him carefully, looking for the bulge of a crossbow, blade, or hidden gun.

"Y'wanted me," he said without preamble. He strode in and shut the door tight. "Well, here I am, mate."

Chreef looked over the imp as he came in. The imp was still favoring his side, so apparently the potion hadn’t been as effective on him as it would have a normal Shaden resident. That would come in handy if it came to a fight. “Go ahead and take a seat. I have a feeling this conversation is going to take a while.” Chreef paused as Jared settled himself gingerly in the remaining chair. “I’ll be blunt. I know you’re an imp. I also know that doesn’t make you evil. What I want to know is what your interest here in Dammerinthes is, and what the girl means to you.”

Reskeis tilted his head to one side as he sat down. He did not hide his weapon or his tense stance. "What's it t'ya?" He paused. What's he know? "You don't seem surprised."

Chreef chose to respond to the imp’s comments in reverse order. “And why should I be? Imps aren’t known for subtlety, and keeping your dagues on you is a big clue even to an uneducated Shaden. As for what it is to me, I’ve made it a habit of studying the Nether. Frankly, it fascinates me at the same time that it abhors me. I could sense the taint when I got into town, and am curious what the source of it is.”

"No clue, mate, but I don' think they're here for skittles an' grog, if y'catch me drift." Reskeis lay back in the seat and gave a cool smile. "Surprised y'want t'talk, though. The lads huntin' in your town're no friends o'mine, so I couldn't tell ye what they want. Curious 'bout that meself."

“That’s something that we can pursue later then,” Chreef mentally tabled his curiousity about the Nether in favor of his more urgent questions in front of him. “You still haven’t told me what you are doing here. Or what your interest in Zizi is.”

"Zizi?" Reskeis blinked. Then he motioned to the girl. "Oh. Y'mean the urchin? None, honest by me lucky stars, mate. She jus' dropped in me bloody lap. Seems she ticked off one'a the high-an'-mighty, if th'guards were any indication." He closed his fingers over each other. "Bold girl, but she could use a bit more grog." The coverlet upon the couch had been stained slightly; a small, foul-smelling potion lay nearby. He raised an eyebrow dangerously. "Any reason fer her bein' all horizontal?"

Chreef nodded. The imp, no, Jared could be lying, but Chreef didn’t think he was. He wasn’t getting evasive answers the way he first had when he had first started questioning him in the alley. “She’s awfully attached to you. Seemed to think I was going to kill you once I found out you were an imp. I had to knock her out. But before I bring her back around so she can see you’re safe, I’d like you to tell me what you are doing here in Dammerinthes. You know why I’m here, after all.”

"Couldn't tell y'meself, mate." Reskeis shrugged. "Been hanger-on t'a bloodsucker girl. We've met, but she don't know it's me, ye ken? Strange activity 'round here. Seems somethin' o' my people may've been nearby, an' some of our enemies. So I'm looking."

Chreef wasn’t entirely comfortable with that answer. He didn’t know the imp’s motivations yet, and that made him nervous. He switched to more direct line of questioning. “What is so important to you that you stay here, Masked, with a Trueborn who might start noticing you periodically leaving to get back to the Nether so you don’t die?”

"Been here for a couple weeks, mate. I'm fine'n dandy." Reskeis shrugged. "Seriously, mate, it's me business, an' no threat t'you. Y'wanna hear 'bout it? get in line."

“It’s not often an imp bothers to come to Shade for any reason other than raiding and chaos. You can understand my suspicion.” Chreef sighed. “Still, I’ll let it go for now.”

Chreef straightened out of the chair and stretched. “Now let me brew something to wake Zizi and we can decide where to go from here.”

[Zizi]

Chreef, Zizi & Reskeis

Chreef stood at the desk, his alchemical equipment bubbling in front of him. There was a slight chance that a person with too many potions in them would have an unintended reaction, and he had to take that into account to wake Zizi back up. The fastest way to wake her up would be to flush the potions from her system, so he started pulling out the ingredients necessary to make an inert potion. It would attract all the remnants of the potions he’d given her, and prevent them from being reabsorbed into the body. The only downside would be a need to use the chamber pot in a short while. That, and nothing would be suppressing any of the pain she would undoubtedly be feeling. Humming to himself, Chreef started the process. He sighed. This mission was making an awful dent in his supplies. Hopefully it turned out to be worthwhile.

There was a terrible, bitter taste in her mouth, even worse than the usual feeling of waking up after having eaten nothing the night before. There was something wet on her back, and her legs, and - wait! Chreef was going to kill Jared! Zizi forced her eyes open. She was back on the couch somehow... and there was Jared, not looking particularly happy, but definitely alive. "He knows!" she gasped out. "I tried to warn you, I tried--" She struggled to a sitting position, then wished she hadn't; there was a sharp, shooting pain in her chest. "Ow." It was so tempting to lie back down. "Ow." The pain forced her to pause for a moment; she noticed that Chreef was nearby, and no weapons were drawn. "Um... am I to presume no attempted killing took place, then?"

Chreef rolled his eyes at her. “How are you feeling? I’m out of general pain potions, and they take some time to create. But I do have an emergency salve that should at least help the pain on your chest.”

"I think ye'd notice if we'd had a scrap," Reskeis added. He looked tense.

Zizi bit her lower lip. She really wasn't sure what to feel about someone who had given her tea, a place to sleep... and a punch to the solar plexus. And, of course, plenty of potions. "No, there's no need," she replied. Interesting... she was no longer babbling everything she thought, like she had been doing ever since she... oh. Could it be? "I think I've had enough alchemy for one night. Your concoctions seem to have some unexpected side-effects... like the warming potion that made me tell you everything I knew about Jared." Her eyes narrowed. She had heard of truth potions; there had been one used in the famous Interrogation Duet from the opera some of her schoolmates had performed. Maybe it was a truth potion that had warming side-effects, she mused. If this vix was willing to take advantage of her trust in him, clearly there could be no more trust. Not until she knew what was going on.

Reskeis tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, staring meaningfully at Chreef. Surprisingly, he didn't seem particularly angered. "Truth potion, aye?" He grinned. "Smart lad. Seems y'been seasoned a bit." He assumed a thoughtful pose. "Name's Reskeis, by-the-by."

Chreef shrugged at the accusation. He’d done what he felt was necessary, and he wouldn’t apologize for it. That didn’t mean he would admit it, either. “Head wounds can have interesting side-effects. I didn’t lie to you about the potions that I gave you.” Well, Jared certainly understands necessity. That should make it easier to work with him.

Zizi was, for the moment, distracted. "I knew it!" Her stomach growled as if in fierce agreement. "I knew your real name wasn't Jared. You don't seem like a Jared at all." She smiled, glad that her instincts had been correct. "And since you're not dead, there's something I want to say." How to thank him? If she seemed too sentimental, he would only reply with something cruel. She had to say it the way he would. "Reskeis, ye really pulled my fat out'f the fire. I couldn' ask f'r a better mate in a scrap." Imitating his manner of speech was easy; she had always been a quick mimic. "Jus' wanted t'get that outta the way an' all."

Reskeis tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. "Th'...hell you doin'?" he asked her, snickering a little.

Zizi shrugged her shoulders. Well, making him laugh is a good thing, isn't it? "I'm trying to express my appreciation in a way that won't provoke a negative response from you. Don't make me sorry I sacrificed my zither to--" It hit her harder than Chreef's punch had. "My zither." She sank back onto the couch, completely blank-faced. "I broke my zither using it as a club on an imp who was about to kill you." Somehow, if she recited it like a story, she could handle the facts. "And now the pieces are down there in the catacombs, and..." she trailed off and shook her head. And she couldn't be a bard anymore. Without accompaniment and a way to get her pitch, how could she hope to perform well enough to earn a living?

Chreef watched as Zizi collapsed backwards onto the couch. The despair in her voice was obvious. He wasn’t sure why though’ surely she could get another zither? “Lass, you can still get another zither.”

She couldn't look him in the eye; it was too embarrassing. "I... don't exactly have the funds for that right now." What did she have left to hide? "I'm not a very successful bard. I have my voice, and the clothes on my back. Well, they're on the floor now. But what I mean is, that's all." Damnit. She couldn't let herself get mopey; it wouldn't do any good. "But... it's better than nothing, right?"

Reskeis raised a hand and cleared his throat. "Uh....question?"

Chreef raised an eyebrow. He’d have expected the imp to jump right in. “Yes?” His voice had an odd duality to it, until he glanced over at Zizi and realized that she’d spoken at the same time as him.

Reskeis cleared his throat. Politeness wasn't really common to him, but even he recognized a moment for minimal tact. "...th'hell's a zither an' why're you lookin' like a lass who had t'put down a lupus pup?"

For a moment, Zizi almost laughed at the awkwardness in the Masked imp's tone. "Remember, down in the catacombs, when the fellow you hamstrung got up, and almost got you in the back, and I hit him with a wooden thing about this big?" She held her hands apart to demonstrate. "That was a zither. It's an instrument, and I... I can't really be a bard without it." She frowned. "And what's a lupus pup?"

“Lupus is the term used to refer to the Netherspawn equivalent of wolves. Imps sometimes tame them.” Chreef rubbed his temples as he paced back and forth. This situation was getting more complex by the minute. “But that’s beside the point. You have no way to earn any money, besides being a bard?”

Zizi hoped she didn't look too grim. "I don't want you to worry about me. Something's sure to turn up. I've come this far, haven't I?" She had to make herself believe it.

Chreef stopped pacing, and looked straight at the girl. “Zizi, I may not have come to this city looking to help you, and I may not be able to help everyone. But after helping you tonight, I’m not just going to turn my back on you.”

Reskeis scoffed quietly beneath his breath. "Quick t'pledge, aren'tcha?"

Chreef's sharp ears caught Reskeis' muttering, and he turned to him. "Oh? How many times have you saved her life now? And how long have you known her?"

"Don't mean I'll swear fealty t'her," Reskeis shot back, amused. "Girl's got spirit; I'll give 'er that, but immediate devotion? that's all you, mate."

Zizi shook her head. She was almost glad they seemed to have forgotten about her in their arguing. "Reskeis, I'm sure he just means he'll offer me a place to sleep for the night and some food." Even the thought of food couldn't quite cheer her up. "That's hardly devotion, and I don't expect such."

Chreef glanced to the window. He hadn't quite realized how late it was. "I think we've had enough conversation today. Things will look better in the morning. Zizi, you're welcome to the couch or the bed, whichever you would prefer."

Zizi wriggled slightly, again aware of the wetness on her clothing. "I'll just take the floor, actually. I'm afraid I spilled my tea all over your couch." She started to worry. "Will the innkeeper be angry, do you suppose?"

"Don't you worry about that. I can probably whip something up to take care of it before we go." Chreef could see the girl was not used to hard living, and probably wouldn't get any sleep if she stayed on the floor. "Take the bed, actually. I've got a pad I use when I'm traveling cross country in my backpack that I can use.

For a moment, she felt incredibly guilty - she had accused him of drugging her, and he was offering her the bed? - and then, thinking of the pain in her solar plexus, and the fact that he probably had drugged her, decided that maybe it would be polite to accept his offer, just for once. "Thank you. I just hope the tea on my clothes, I mean your clothes, doesn't stain the bed." She looked at Reskeis. "I'll see you tomorrow, right? We still have to find out what happened to our allies from the catacombs."

"'at's the plan," Reskeis said, and gave Chreef a hard look. "You know where t'find me."

Zizi was vaguely aware of Chreef setting up his bedroll as she made her way, stumbling a little, from the couch to the bed. She knew that sleep would come quickly, and was grateful for that. "Good night, Zizi," she murmured to herself, as she always did. The words were barely out of her mouth before she fell asleep.

[Skellie]

Devyn spun about when she heard another shriek. It wasn't a moment too soon; a cluster of five hideous abominations faced her, shrieking black spectres like those back in the chapel graveyard a week ago swirming around the foul monsters. All in a rush they fell upon her. Bony hands thrashed, burning with black fire and leaving deep scores in her breastplate as they sought her life. Rusted blades swept out, and in an instinctive response she raised her holy blade. The sword blazed like white flame, and the first ancient sword simply snapped apart, its wielder's ghostly shape cloven in two. The three and their cloud of captive spectres fell back, hissing against the brightness.

Gritting her teeth, Devyn clenched her blade tighter and lunged forward, yelling "In nomine Sancta! In nomine Erasme!" at the top of her lungs. Bringing her weapon up and across in a crescent she swung at the crowd. A spectre screamed as it collapsed and broke apart under her first strike, cleanly decapitated. Others shot forward, blasting into her and around the white flame of her sword like a flood of fouled water; she felt shocks of pain as their onslaught tore open gashes in her undersuit and into white skin. Blood, her blood, dripped to the stone floor; spectres circled her like sharks, licking at the droplets.

She snarled and shrieked her battle cry again, and this time the white light of the sword was joined by the coruscating light of her Aegis. Spectres and abominations reeled, blasted backwards as if a bomb had gone off in their midst. She had only a moment; she used it. The muscles of her legs tensed as she lunged, and her white sword took the lead abomination in the chest. It howled and staggered backward. White and silver fire lit it up from within, opening cracks in its black, dripping ghost-flesh that dripped foul, reeking ichor to the floor. The beast struggled, but she pressed it hard. "Be gone!" she yelled. "In the name of the Mother, be gone! Return to dust!"

The abomination cringed, threw out its arms, and let out an unearthly cry that sounded like it came from many throats. Then the fire cracking it apart burst forth and consumed it utterly. An eye-searing explosion lit up the darkness; she heard even the maignyu at the end howl in bestial fury. Not even slime was left of the impaled abomination when the holy fire died, only a light pattering of ashes.

The second abomination stepped forth, its flesh alight as it stepped through the vanishing blaze, and seized her by the arm. Her aegis sparked and sizzled, light fluctuating, and the monster reached through, forcing its way through her aura. Its hand clenched and she felt her forearm ache; the thing's strength was inhuman and impossible for something so withered. Another stumbled forward, drooling, and reeled as she swung at it; the blade burned as it cut deep. The wounded beast staggered back, and then another hand seized her sword arm and forced it wide out.

The first monster leered down at her, light gleaming off its broken teeth. Its eyes flashed bright, and she couldn't help but shudder. They were [i]hungry. Then it bent inward, forcing her arms wide out, not even caring as her sword sliced into its body. Its jaw twitched, forced open, and it retched.

Oily, thick ooze rained down on her, running down her shoulders and dripping in streaks. Her blessed armor steamed and smoked; it stank, it burned. Pain. She felt holes open in her armor and flesh go cold and stiff; blisters formed on exposed skin. She shrieked, kicking at the thing's knees, trying to force it back, but the motion just pulled her in closer. Change tactics. Focus. Whistling, cold carrion-winds swept around her as the creature's corpse-fire eyes burned brighter. Hurry. No time left... She closed her eyes and whispered beneath her breath, fumbling for the syllables in the Old Tongue. Sancta, help me...Sancta, your daughter has need of you...Sancta, deliver me from the evil present in this place...

"You've lost already," she heard the monster at the end of the crypt call out. "Disappointingly incompetent. Perhaps the Mother is not with you after all, lady Knight." Devyn coughed, and she felt the wrongness in it, trying to keep going. It hurt to breathe; her head felt feverish. It was hard to think straight as she felt the abomination holding her lean in to bite. Its cold breath was thick on her neck...

She opened her eyes and glared at the abomination, and her voice cracked once like thunder. "In the name of Sancta, she who sits in judgment, submit to the justice of Heaven!" she yelled. There was stillness, then a flash of light like a falling blade of star-flame, brilliant in the dark crypt. The abomination holding her stumbled backwards, impaled through the chest by a brilliant shaft sharper than a knife. It shrieked, fire blazing all along its body, and fell backwards, knocking one of its foul brethren off its feet as it toppled.

Devyn leapt forward, raising her sword. Gold-silver light flashed as she raised it high, washing away foul, fetid ooze from her ravaged armor, and she snarled in elemental fury as she brought it down. One of the pinned abominations shrieked. One of those still standing launched a stream of black from one of its arms, but she blocked it and turned the parry into another brutal smash. Again. Again. Over and over her blade rose and fell, held one-handed or two-handed, swinging in brutal arcs. Blows struck like falling meteorites until the burning remnants of her two victims were strewn about like bits of rubble and the floor before her was scored with cracks blazing with holy fire.

Fiends feared few things in this world. But the three still standing hesitated when they saw her stalk out from amidst the consecrated blaze. The air around them flickered white with ghost-fire and black with corruption, preparing attacks. Devyn let out a wordless yell and lunged forward, sweeping her great blade across in a horizontal arc.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

She hurt.

Cassandra tried to step forward with all the boldness she could muster. It wasn't much. Her gait was nearly as unsteady as the fiends swarming in the crypts; her slow advance upon the maignyu behind its bier weaved from side to side as she swayed on her feet. She heard the monster mock her protectors, felt the sweeping surges of malevolence as it spoke, and even though they had not been directed at her she shivered and felt a surge of pain in her chest.

The maignyu laughed at her as she took another step forward. "You can hardly stand!" it said, sounding delightedly amused. Evil rippled outwards like the tide. "This course is madness. Is truth so terrible to you that you would rather die?"

Agony blossomed in her lungs as the blast washed across her. She gasped, hacked, and tasted foulness. Terror fluttered in her heart. It was hopeless folly. She could never draw close enough to this creature to attack effectively. Even if she did, what could she possibly do? She was just a frightened little girl, playing hero. She should have bowed before it for mercy, because nothing else could possibly save...

A low snarl escaped the girl's pale lips. She took another couple steps forward, swaying on her feet, keeping hold of her sword only because her fingers were curled white-knuckled about its hilt. Her teeth clenched tightly, and Cassandra took another deep breath, raising her unstoppered vial again towards her mouth. Her shaking hand spilled some of its contents, but the rich, salty taste pooled in her mouth and flowed slowly down her throat. Bracing vitality burned away sickness.

The creature laughed again, but anger simmered in the sound. "This is POINTLESS!" it hissed, like a sword scraping out of its sheath. Wicked, oily power whipped out from it in a dizzying swell. All friendliness left its voice. "You are NOTHING! You have no courage and no conviction! Were it not for the vial you hold you would cower before me, dead or broken! Persist and it will be your destruction and the destruction of all who stand here! Will you have the stain of those lives upon your soul?"

The creature's voice crashed upon her like the tide, and there was no mercy whatsoever. The frail girl stumbled to one knee, coughing violently. Red ran in teary streaks down her cheeks and fell in droplets to spatter upon the floor. It was as if she were drowning, foundering in a rising sea of insensate white-red. She tried to speak, but for a moment it was like she had forgotten. Her lips worked uselessly.

Slowly, the worst of the liquid agony sloshing around in her brain began to evaporate bit by bit. Her breath rasped in her throat. Her vision cleared, though dark flickers lurked at the corners of her eyes. Shaking in every limb, fumbling for purchase, she rose slowly to her feet, swallowing. Her hand was empty; the vial lay in shattered splinters upon the floor. The realization almost stopped her frantically beating heart; every pulse ached as though it would burst her chest.

Perhaps twenty feet from her the monster stood behind its bier. It might as well have been on the other side of the moon.

The monster gathered its strength, its green eyes flashing bright behind its shadowy barrier. "Still you persist!" it laughed. "This is not courage!" It raised its arm and black swirled about the rotten limb, collecting at the fingers in a growing sphere. "This is more selfish than simple suici-"

There was a low, throbbing groan, like many voices chanting at the very depths of hearing, and suddenly the crypt's shadows stood out in stark relief. Runes so black they were like holes in the darkness flashed into existence, tracing a flat circle. Then the floor at the epicenter let off a pallid glow, and a shaft of gray-white light like a dying star stabbed skyward, dragging fragments of shadow spiraling up as it did. The maignyu reeled backwards. Its protective shield was scarred by a wide, closing gash; black, discolored weals had opened in rotten flesh.

For the briefest of moments the flash provided Cassandra a clear view of a robed and hooded figure flitting through the air, hands weaving in intricate patterns. From within the folds of his wide robe she caught a lurid violet gleam, the flash of inhuman skin. The lich, she thought. A powerful necromancer, clearly...He has come to aid us. She had feared he would abandon them. But even as she spoke she saw the maignyu's black-coated hand point aloft, and umbral missiles scattered outwards. Like darting fish the black streaks swooped towards the lich. She heard his voice, doubled as ever, chant out an incantation of warding, but a shield of green and blue had barely begun to form before the punishing counterattack landed. Akaisios' protective bubble flickered and shattered, and the arkaesi went flying, hitting the stones with a thud and an echoing grunt.

A nearby fiend shambled towards him, but the lich had already begun to rise, and a burning wave of violet force shot outwards from his chest, bowling over the monster. She heard it shriek, felt a peculiar sensation like the backwash of heat. Akaisios' chanting continued and he drew a sharp, frightful sickle. He had bought her moments' time, and the maignyu looked as if it had felt that powerful attack. Perhaps the beast's shield was not so invincible...

He had bought her moments' time, but though much of the sickness had receded,her head was swimming. Beside her, she heard Victoria's half-sobbing coughs, an eerie counterpoint to hers. Her ghostly ally was clearly feeling the brunt of a second assault, one not spoken in words her mortal ears were meant to hear, and her manifestation made it obvious she was not enduring it easily. Rents had opened in her ghostly form, phantom wounds and empty eye sockets. Her arms and legs appeared to be melting in slow motion, and her body was increasingly shapeless as substance puddled and flowed down. It was perhaps the first time since her living body's ghastly demise Cassandra could ever remember Victoria appearing dead.

Victoria, Cassandra whispered silently. Strange for her to fear for a ghost's health in a time of such danger for herself. Do not seek to protect me. You will endanger yourself...

The ghost's voice was a ragged, molten thing. But it sounded almost as though being spoken to gave her strength. Do not concern yourself with me, Cassandra. There was a flash of phantom teeth in a wobbling face, the ragged echo of a smile. Should you fall we shall both be at this miscreant's tender mercies. The ghost laughed weakly. I can recover later.

Cassandra swallowed again, scrunching her eyes closed. She let her mind drift and listened, ignoring the next surge of evil intent from the monster ahead. Welcome, somehow comforting cold billowed up around her and soothed the sickly burn inside her body; her pain and fear were blown away on the phantom wind. And she felt the presences all about, little guttering lights like votive candles in the darkness. They seemed weak at first, but she felt their numbers growing with every foe dispatched by her allies. Devyn, Ayani, and Akaisios were like darker silhouettes among the paler ghosts, striking down fiends one by one.

Devyn's assault was like fire in the night. Her onslaught tore down an abomination and lit it ablaze, and then the paladin seized her burning foe and clove its chest open with her mighty blade. Fire flashed and the thrashing monster fell back gutted, plumes flying off to ignite the monster's remaining kinsman and captured ghosts flying free. The abomination kept struggling, but much of its strength had left it. With a grand sweep the houri paladin knocked its burning companion off its feet and stepped forward, smashing her boot into the dropped creature. Its strokes flailed at her, tearing long scars in her armor, but she ground her foot lower and stabbed down into the prone monster. Ghosts erupted from her disintegrating victim.

Ayani's attacks were even more brutal; she moved like a whirlwind of whistling chain and crunching bodies. Her weapons swung in great circles, pulverizing lost spectres and decking abominations, and every time they struck darkness flashed from their links. The gypsy paladin seized one abomination by the chest and hurled it into another, then raised an arm and hammered her dropped foes again and again and again. Red light and black sparked with every impact. Those of her enemies she did not destroy she maimed, sending them careening into Devyn's attacks or in Akaisios' direction.

The lich necromancer fought more subtly. He kept on the defensive, between the two paladins, for his swordsmanship was not terribly refined. Instead he directed foxfire and black missiles, like the ones the maignyu had launched at him but purer in hue, into wounded foes. When enemies drew too close, or launched splashes of foul blackness, he threw up barriers or warped gravity to his call. The three of them formed a tight knot, the remnants of a full dozen foes at their feet already. They would be overwhelmed eventually- the crypt was ancient, and there were many bodies to raise even in their weakened state- but if they could stand...

My friends have prepared the field well, she thought. I must not betray them.

She had only an academic understanding of how to craft the new spell, and would never normally have relied upon one untried in such a deadly situation. But danger aside, it was as meet a trial as any she could have devised. The spirits were willing, the ground appropriate...and so she whispered, a beckoning invocation, and shaped the deathly chill into a vortex centered on herself. It was hard going, and she had to fight the urge to panic every second of the way.

Spirits rising from sarcophogi or shattered undead fiends responded predictably, seething with anger and desire for righteous retribution. Like ships upon a maelstrom they fluttered in the phantom wind, drawn closer and closer to the young necromancer, until she could feel their cold presence and their lifeless breath upon her neck. Whispers and encouraging mutterings surrounded her and filled her ears as the power grew, and her heartbeat slowed as erebus and astra and cyrries rippled and coursed about and through her body. Colors dimmed before her eyes. Let it think it battles a weak girl. Let it confuse the instrument for the agency of its demise! She could hardly tell if the thought was hers, or if another had set it there.

The surge of grim emotion was not merriment, but she laughed anyways, and it had edges like her blade. Dark, wild excitement surged in her beating heart, putting the lie to her body's weakness. The fear remained, bubbling in her chest. But she could not be frightened any longer, and was no longer alone to be frightened in any case!

The maignyu's three-eyed head swiveled back towards her. She could feel its malevolence, but thought she detected a note of surprise in its half-rotten face. It had last looked upon her unsteady and faltering. Now, though the body was the same, it could not have expected to drift forward upon a visible wind of inky black and pallid white, or the wisps of ghostly flame like half-formed shades swirling about her.

"What is this? Am I to be frightened by this new paltry magic?" the beast demanded. "I lived in the time of your ancestors, mortals, and you have not a fraction of their merit! I fought giants, heroes, and I am unafraid of their degenerate whelps! You are lesser scions of queens and kings, and no amount of borrowed grandeur may mask that!"

Cassandra felt her lips curl contemptuously. That, some distracted part of her wondered, is most unlike me. "And so it should be," she said, and she heard fragments of many voices hissing beneath her own. "I shall allow you to face them once more."

Before the creature could reply she bent forward and she screamed. The sound of it was like lightning and torn steel and howling gales and the sundering frost exploding frozen trees. From sheer heights it descended lower lower than she could cry out, and dropped until it was a shock of rippling silence. Frost and darkness and air alight with ghost-flame swept forward in a wide cone, and there were shadowy indistinct shapes flashing through it. Ice caked the stones; cracks ran through the marble bier.

The maignyu staggered backwards, raising its shield instinctively. The black barrier withstood some of the assault, and then it snapped apart. The remainder washed over the lemures, ripping through it with merciless force. The creature stumbled, strained against the deathly wind, and fell backwards, frozen bits of rotten flesh blasting from its bones. It screamed, but its voice was lost in the wind.

The maignyu did not quite fall. Its tattered shape was entombed in dark, shifting ice. Growths shaped like grasping hands ensnared its limbs and wrapped about its body; jagged icicles like thorns and nails dug into blackened flesh. Steam rose in clouds from the trapped monster, and its eyes burned with elemental hatred, but though it shook it was trapped fast.

Cassandra collapsed to her knees. “Strike now!” she gasped, almost unable to speak. She need not have bothered. All three of her allies moved, one after the other. They would never have a better opportunity than this.

From beneath his robes the lurid glow of Akaisios’ heart flashed bright, and a jagged violet shockwave burned outwards. The fiends threatening the trio fell backwards shrieking, bowled over by the blast, dead flesh sizzling. Swarming Lost fell to pieces; abominations reeled and stumbled low. Bright knight and dark gypsy swung their weapons into prone forms, beating the monsters down; a circle of flames and purified shadow rose about them. The lich’s hands flashed, and a bolt of dark lightning snapped out to strike the frozen monster full in the chest. Ice cracked; the beast let out a muffled shriek as sparking arcs struck again and again.

The two paladins closed one after the other. Ayani was less encumbered and reached the beast first, her flail whistling. Devyn’s charge struck next. Both weapons smashed again and again into the frozen beast, and light and dark burst when they hit. The trapped creature had no defense and no chance. Gold fire, tinged with black, gutted from massive rents, and there was a high, hate-filled cry that trailed off into nothing.

Pulverized, rotten bits fell in frozen splinters and chunks to the floor and smashed. Incredible charnel-reek filled the chamber for just the barest of moments, and then it faded. Of the maignyu nothing was left but blackened slime and melting ice. The air seemed immeasurably cleaner; a terrible weight left Cassandra's chest.

The young noblewoman fell backwards and lay there gasping for breath. She heard the few surviving fiends wail in rage and pain. Without the maignyu's evil to defile the crypt, the sanctity was assaulting their impurity. Lost screamed as they dissolved; the one or two weak abominations left standing fell over thrashing, engulfed in holy flame. Soon, the crypt was silent and still once again for everyone but her. A chorus of grateful whispers were filling her ears, ghost-song and phantom presences. Beautiful...

Cassandra closed her eyes and fainted dead away.

[yli]

I need a ****ing change of clothes, a ****ing bath, a ****ing meal and a ****ing vacation.

What I don't need is a ****ing reason to kill that bloodsucking bitch. I've got plenty of those already.

Ayani dropped to her knees and vomited up what had to be a quart of blood, the metallic tang of hemoglobin washing over her tongue as her stomach and diaphragm twisted into a knot and wrung themselves out. She stood up, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth as well as from her hollowed out eye sockets. Gingerly and attempting not to cry out in pain, she stuck her fingers into her cheek and pulled out a bread pence sized fragment of zombie skull.

"Get the bloodsucker upstairs," motioned Ayani as she approached Devyn, "get a couple of medicaes on her. You're her stooge, make sure she doesn't wake up and start biting. I'll let the Cardinal know we're still alive." Ayani was halfway up the stairs when she turned back around towards Akaisos. "And you...I don't know what the **** to do with you. Go get drunk or something."

Ayani painfully managed to drag herself up the stairs.

Try not to collapse in front of the congregation, it makes you seem like a weakling.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, we're alive and well. Ok, not well, but alive. You might want to get some medicae and some...cleaning crew down in the crypts. Meanwhile, if I could request the presence of the Cardinal, I would be most grateful."

There was a small pile of chains in the main nave of the cathedral where a demonic appendage had been a short time again.

----
"And, if you look here, and here, there's plenty of residue left. You might want to get someone to study this stuff." Ayani kneeled down and pulled a glass vial from the small pouch she kept around her waist. "I'm going to take a sample for the other Windwalkers. Meanwhile, take a look at this bone fragment I just pulled out of my face. It's from an abomination."

The Cardinal didn't blanch, although Ayani caught a faint wince. "Dreadful things," she said, in a tone that led one to believe she might have had first-hand experience. She nodded to a nearby scribe. "Let it be known."

The older woman cracked the faintest of smiles. "Your new adornment matches your older ones," she said. "Would you like to have it treated, Sister Ghadnan? It would be unwise to let it fester."

"No need for that, I'll take care of it myself. So, getting down to business, it's obvious that you have a cult problem. It's just that I'm not quite sure what that entails, nor if we can learn anything from what we dig out of this Lemure slime." Ayani tried to take stock of everything down in the crypt. Most of the bodies of the abominations disappeared, but there were plenty of smashed sarcophagi and any competent necromancer could ask the ghosts what happened.

"You know, Sister," the Cardinal replied with another dry smile, "I had begun to notice that myself. Would it surprise you terribly if I informed you it was, in fact, dark outside?"

She bent low. "I must congratulate all four of you on your remarkable valor- ah, here we are." Reaching out with one gloved hand she carefully plucked an amulet from amidst the slime. "Would you look at this?"

Ayani ran her fingers over the amulet. Weird. "Well, not from around here. Writing is..." she rubbed her thumb over it in a circular motion, "ancient. Got anyone that can read this?"

"I may," the Cardinal replied. She looked to her scribe. "It does not appear to be the sort one wishes to learn..."

"That's not going to help me. Eyeballs, why don't you tell me what this is?" Ayani tossed the amulet onto the bespectacled scribe's clipboard.

The cleric had the pale skin of one who very rarely spent all that much time outdoors. His eyes widened as he caught the amulet, and then immediately went cross-eyed. A very uncomfortable look crossed his face.

"Th-this," he stammered, "it's Tetzal script. Ancient, ancient script. Th-the structure is all wrong, but the script is Tetzal!"

Ayani couldn't even think of the proper curse words to use. She just groaned softly, every bit of strength seeming to leave her.

"The common script used by followers of the Dark Powers, yes." Cardinal Abigail laced her fingers together. "Perhaps an incantation. I will put a sorcerer to work on this. Maybe we can track the amulet's progress."

"Seems like a good idea. In the meantime there any known Tetzal ruins nearby?" asked Ayani.

"Why, yes there are. You may have caught sight of them," Cardinal Abigail replied. "There are some on the bluff, near one of the city cemetaries. Tomorrow night, they may be worth investigating."

Ayani nodded. "Bluff, cut off from the city center, plenty of helping hands nearby. Ever since the trouble started, nobody's going to be caught wandering around a cemetery, especially at night. Pretty sure if anything's happening there, it's going to happen after the sun goes down. How fun."

"Is there anything else you would like to say?" asked the Cardinal.

"Yeah, I want a ****ing bath."

[SilentWasteland]

Chreef and Zizi

Chreef stretched as the morning light slanted through the air to strike his bedroll. Standing up, he glanced over at the bed to see how Zizi had fared through the night. She was curled on her side, hands clasped in front of her as if in supplication. Her hair, now dried to its usual chestnut colour, obscured her face and most of the pillow. The blanket over her was barely wrinkled; apparently she had moved very little during her slumber.

Crouching back down, Chreef swiftly rolled his bedroll back up and put it away in his backpack. He then carried his backpack to the desk, and started packing away his alchemy equipment. The clink of glass on glass as tubes were removed from racks and the rustling of cloth failed to awaken Zizi. She must not be a light sleeper. Once he finished packing away his equipment he removed two sets of clothing from his backpack. A tunic and pants would look awkward on Zizi, but it was the best he could do for her. He quickly changed into the other set, and then grabbed a small comb out of his pack. A few minutes was enough to have him looking presentable again. With a swift look around the room, and his morning preparations done, Chreef realized he was ready to leave if necessary. The only thing left to do was the wake up his guest.

Chreef strode over to the side of the bed. It had only been a scant few minutes since he had awakened, and Zizi hadn't so much as stirred. He wasn't sure if she'd appreciate being woken up or not, but there was nothing else to do. Reaching out to her shoulder, he grasped it and gave her a gentle shake at the same time that he called her name. "Zizi, wake up."

She shifted slightly, although her eyes didn't open. "Bu' how'm I s'posed ta pay you back if you break my fingers?" she mumbled, sounding rather annoyed.

Chreef was a little worried by that sentence. Were the girl's problems even more serious than she'd admitted last night? Still, he'd told the imp he didn't mean to abandon her, and as much as it surprised him at the time, he did mean it. It would be best just to press on and see what happened. With that thought, he shook Zizi slightly harder and spoke louder. "Wake up, Zizi. You're dreaming."

"Ngh." One eye opened slightly; the other was covered by her hair. An eyebrow rose, then lowered. The eye closed. "I only dream when I'm lying. Lying. Get it?" This time, both eyes opened, and she looked straight at him. "I'm sorry! Did I wake you up? I talk sometimes, when I'm asleep." She seemed to be adjusting fairly quickly to being awake.

Chreef chuckled at Zizi's confusion as he released her shoulder and stepped back. "No, you didn't wake me up. I've been up long enough to pack all my things, save the clothes you are wearing. I laid out an extra change of clothes for you as well. It's not much, and it'll be awkward, but it's the best I can do."

She smiled cautiously, as if it were something she were trying out, not sure if it would go well. "Oh, I can just wear my dress. I'm sure it's dry now." She half sat up, supported by her elbows, and looked at the dress on the floor. "Oh, right... the blood." With a sigh, she lamented, "I'm actually really good at fixing clothing. Maybe it's because my... I mean, probably from practice, you know? But I've been fixing this dress for so long that it just keeps falling apart again, and if I try to get the blood out the whole thing might fall apart." She pursed her lips, trying to decide which would attract more attention: the blood-stained dress or an outfit that was obviously borrowed.

Chreef watched the obvious thought process going on in Zizi's head. There was a third option that it didn't appear she'd considered though. "Well, what about doing something to change the shape of the clothes I have?"

"Well, yes, that wouldn't be hard - your tunic is almost long enough to be a dress for me anyway - but, well..." she scrutinized the floor. "I'm not sure I'd be able to change it back."

Chreef shrugged. "Zizi, I wear pretty simple clothing. In fact, most of my outfits are fairly similar. One more or less won't bother me."

The girl looked worried. "I can't just take your things. I haven't anything to give in return." A reluctant look crossed her face, and she sighed. "Well, that's not true. I have this." Zizi gestured to the green velvet ribbon tied around her neck. "I don't know how much it's worth anymore. But it's all I have left now, except..." Practicality and sentimentality warred within her. Before her heart could get the better of her, she slid out of the bed and hurried to her backpack, which looked almost as warn as her dress. After kneeling and taking something out, she beckoned Chreef to come over and see. It was a drawing in coloured ink.

The girl kneeling on the floor and the girl in the picture were clearly the same person, but a great change had been wrought. It wasn't merely that the girl in the picture was slender rather than scrawny, well-dressed rather than ragged. The deceptively simple drawing conveyed dancing eyes and a carefree smile, a cheeky sense of humour combined with an unstudied elegance. She stood as proudly as any noblewoman, yet with no arrogance; she was simply surveying the world from the giddiest heights of joy. How far she had fallen was all too easy to observe.

"That's - that was me."

Chreef looked back and forth between the girl in front of him and the girl in the drawing. She looked ready to break down at the reminder of what she had once had. With a sigh, Chreef knelt down next to Zizi and put his hand on her shoulder. "Zizi..." He paused. Very few people knew what he was about to tell her. It wasn't that he tried to hide his own origins, but some people tended to look down on him once they found out. However, he didn't want her thinking that she had to pay him back for everything he did. He was doing it to help her, not because he was trying to get something from her. Drawing a deep breath, Chreef began speaking again. "I was born a fox. It was a passing alchemist who took an interest in me and helped raise me to become a Seelie. That's a part of why I live so simply. It's what I'm used to, and I don't need any more than I have. So if I offer you something, I can easily live without it. And I don't need payment for it."

She blinked a few times. "But, I... it's not right if I can't... I owe too much. If we're going to start explaining things, I should tell you... I sort of owe some people money. Just, you know, here and there. I never mean to, but things don't always work out how I mean them to, and, well, there are rather a lot of people who are probably angry with me." Looking away from him, she continued, "I wouldn't want to make you angry too. You've been very kind to me, even if you do throw quite a punch." A tiny snort of a laugh escaped her.

"And part of that kindness is telling you that you don't owe me anything." Chreef shrugged. "Especially not for something as cheap as that outfit."

Zizi composed herself and nodded. "Thank you. I'll do my best to make something really nice out of it. Is it all right if I use this tunic," she gestured to the one she was wearing, "and the one you left out for me?"

Chreef opened his mouth to tell her to quit asking if it was all right, but stopped himself just in time. It would probably just upset the girl, and not change her behavior. "That's fine. I'll just put the pants away. Do you know how long it will take? And what are you planning on doing with your dress?"

She picked up the second tunic and headed swiftly to the corner where she had changed the previous night. "I'll try to be brief," she called as she turned to face the wall. "And my old dress? I can put it in my bag to use for a pillow."

Chreef turned back to the window in order to watch Dammerinthes while Zizi worked her magic. "If you like, I've several compartments in my backpack. I can put it in one I'm not using at the moment until you can get the blood cleaned out of it."

"Yes, that'll... just a moment..." she couldn't help being a little bit distracted by the project she was about to undertake. Zizi was glad that her chemise and bodice were now dry; it would have been highly unpleasant to put them on otherwise. She pulled her stockings on, careful not to rip them further, then drew one tunic down over her head, following it with the second one. This part would be easy. The two pieces of clothing were so similar that it only took a moment and a simple tune to harmonize them into one thick layer. The next part would be more of a challenge. She hummed rather forcefully to make the garment stretch longer, cinch in at her waist, flare out into a skirt. The sleeves refused to budge at first, so she modulated her tune slightly, increasing the tempo as well, until they flowed down over her wrists in a bell shape. She let the torso stay loose, giving the illusion of a fuller figure, then gathered it in at the neck and shoulders. It fit! She looked in the mirror, absently attempting to comb her hair with her fingers. I look like a person again, not just a bundle of rags... I almost look like me again. It wasn't a long dress, barely skimming her knees, but the material was thick and warm. "There," she declared, unable to hide a hint of pride. "Now if only I could do something about the colour..."

Chreef wasn't sure she had accepted his offer, but he decided that she'd stop him if she didn't want him to hold onto the dress. He turned as he heard her finish and walked over to the dress laying on the floor. He quickly stuffed it into one of the separate compartments in his backpack. While he was doing this, he moved onto the next topic of conversation. "You look ready to go. Is there anything else you want to talk about before we head down and get some breakfast?"

She stopped her humming. "What was that? Sorry, I was trying to... but I guess it didn't... oh, look!" She gently touched the edge of one sleeve. The light brown fabric showed just a trace of a rich plum colour. "Maybe I can do it after all." She then did another double take. "Did you say breakfast?" Her stomach reminded her exactly how long it had been since she had eaten last, yet she wanted to look as much like her old self as possible when she went down among the public.

Chreef grinned, unabashedly amused at her childlike delight in manipulating the simple cloth. "How about I just wait until you aren't distracted anymore?"

"If you're not too hungry to wait," she sang, apparently unaware that she had mixed her response with her song. The colour change was very slowly seeping through the dress, in fits and starts, sometimes receding before moving forward. "I just have to concentrate," she continued singing. She had never been very good with time, so she wasn't sure how long it took, but after fixing several patches where the colour had simply refused to take, the dress was finally finished. "I did it! I've never done that before." She smiled at her reflection. "Now I just need to comb my hair, and then I'll be absolutely delighted to go to breakfast." Just the thought of a good meal was enough to fill her with energy.

"I assume Jared will meet us down there then. The meal is covered under the room cost, so you don't need to worry about it." That wasn't strictly true, but she wouldn't have the chance to refuse if she didn't know. Chreef had already figured out that it would just be easier to help Zizi out without telling her about it. "Let me just grab my backpack. I don't think we'll be staying here any longer, so you should grab your bag as well."

"Certainly." When she was sure he was looking the other way, she twirled once, just to watch the skirt swirl, then took her comb out of her bag. A new dress and a meal - surely, this would be a much better day.

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra

For what seemed like an eternity she drifted uneasily through surreal, uncomfortable nightmares. A woman's beautiful, haughty face rotted before her eyes, slender hands sloughing off flesh to grasp at her with sharp phalanges. Wailing children grasped at her legs with dead, cold hands. Leering imps sprang at her out of curtains of fire with bloody faces, snapping their teeth as they savaged her soft skin. Soft, eerie voices crooned lullabies into her ears while the stink of plagued carrion filled her nostrils.

She felt some vague relevance to all of them, but in the way of dreams very little of it made any sense. It was a relief when something shook her gently back to wakefulness.

A blurry mass leaned over her, gray on top, pale and white below. She blinked a few times, trying to purge the fuzziness from her vision, and gradually the mass resolved itself into the aged face of Cardinal Abigail. The older woman wore a tired smile. It was an expression with an edge; despite herself Cassandra couldn't help but wonder if it boded ill for her. "Welcome back, young lady," she said. "I must say it's good you've decided to join us."

Cassandra shivered a little and realized she was lying beneath simple blankets. The mattress beneath her was small and simple, a novice's cot. Quiet light filtered in through a high, narrow window. She brushed the coverlets aside, inclined her head respectfully towards the Cardinal, and tried to rise. Cotton filled her mind for a moment when she made the attempt. Her hands were trembling. "My lady Cardinal," she said, nervously licking her lips and hoping she did not sound overly foolish. "Your words flatter me."

"Sister Ghadnan would agree with you," the older woman replied. Her smile twisted a little. "She spoke to me- at length, I may add- on your foolishness and incompetence. I do believe those were most likely the kindest words she had for your actions. Had she her way I would most likely be ordering you to undergo penitence. She would have it that your bringing the boy's body here recklessly endangered all our lives and gave the Enemy a great victory."

Cassandra lay still for a long moment, her face caught between expressions. She swallowed her immediate impulse and knitted her hands together, trying to choose her words. One of her station did not speak to a Cardinal of the Church in anger. "Forgive me my presumption," she said carefully. Doubt gnawed at her, and it made her chest hurt again for some reason. Had her actions prompted innocent deaths? "I had spoken with the boy's spirit. It seemed appropriate to bring him to consecrated ground, and ground well-protected."

The Cardinal held up a hand. "You acted in good conscience. I cannot condemn that. Who can say what would have occurred had the body been moved elsewhere?" She drew back from the bed, allowing the young noblewoman to rise. "Indeed, your actions may have provided us with an opportunity. I have made your valor known to the city's guilds- in circuitous language, of course. I chose not to alarm them as to the specific nature of the foes you faced. It serves us little to panic the folk of the barony."

"Rumors are flying thick," Lady Devyn agreed. The paladin stood in a corner. She wore simple white garb, vaguely ecclesiastic in cut, a tabard marked with the symbol of the Church, gloves and soft shoes, and a pair of breeches. Something about the way the outfit sat on the lady knight seemed strange, though. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, attempting to place the sense of oddity. Lady Devyn smiled wide. "If this keeps going the way these things usually progress, I'd expect word from the Baron's court soon. The idea of someone else showing some spine might make him seem cowardly; hiding in his manor is not exactly chivalrous."

"I should say as much," Cassandra muttered. The idea of one of her people cowering like a frightened rabbit did not sit well with her. "His cowardice shames us all. In such times the masses look to us for strength- as they should- and it is not in keeping with our standing to hide." But the sharp words rang a little hollow in her ears. She felt she had only faced the beast the prior night out of a sense of obligation. How could it be considered bravery if she was compelled to do it?

The unappealing thought prompted a dizzy headache and another sharp pain in her chest. She blinked and winced, gasping aloud. The other two in the cell looked puzzled. "I am still unwell, I fear," she confessed.

"You are lucky to be merely unwell," the Cardinal replied. Abigail turned towards the door. "Lady Cassandra, it would do you well to attend the morning Mass, I suspect. You and your companions have been in contact with beings of blackest evil, and those marks cut deep. Communion with the Mother may be a better cure than poultices or remedies. I will hope to see you there shortly, and we may continue our discussions."

The aged woman opened the door and passed through the threshold. Devyn and Cassandra were left alone. The young noblewoman shifted a bit in her bedding and made to stand, putting one foot upon the ground. Someone had undressed her, and she was wearing her nightclothes. Blinking, she realized that her dress hung from a hook on the wall, neatly cleaned of its hurts and the foul stains of corrupted blood upon it. I must thank them for that, she thought. Blushing a little, she cleared her throat and looked sheepishly at Devyn. "My lady, would you be so kind as to avert your gaze for a moment?"

Lady Devyn grinned. It was a more worldly expression than Cassandra might have expected. "But of course, m'lady." She swiveled about, picked up the sword leaning against the wall, and began deliberately inspecting it for nicks or stains. As she turned about and Cassandra rose from the bed, reaching for her dress, she once again studied the lady knight's clothes curiously, trying to place the sense of strangeness about the way they fit the houri's body. The lady hadn't adapted them much; there were small slits in the shoulders for her currently-retracted wings, but that seemed all...Still, they fit her...oddly. Not badly, simply oddly.

Cassandra blushed a little again, embarrassed of her attention. Then it struck her. "Pardon my impertinence," she said, "but are those a man's breeches?" A tiny practical part of her supposed it made sense. Breeches were hardly normal garb for female novices of the clergy...

Now it was Devyn's turn to blush. "Ah." She cleared her throat. "Why, yes. Yes, they are." She cleared her throat. "Old habit, sorry. I've never quite gotten accustomed to skirts." She waited, while Cassandra quickly slipped into her dress. "It looks a little silly, doesn't it?"

"No!" Cassandra said, quickly. "If I may be forgiven my presumption, you look quite comely, Lady Devyn." She gave her best smile. "I was but surprised; that is all. Shall you be attending the Mass?"

"Yes," Devyn replied. "It's about time for me to do so today. I like the anonymity, too, and I doubt they'll ever call me up to conduct services."

The two of them left the cell, Devyn holding the door wide for Cassandra to leave first. Another curious gesture, but it was chivalrous enough. She hung back and allowed the paladin to lead as they walked down the corridor and entered the nave. The cathedral's central hall was once again filled with folk kneeling upon the pews at the opening benediction. Cardinal Abigail herself was once again conducting the service. But there were some small changes. This time, white-clad church soldiers and mercenaries stood at the corners and doors of the room, and a collection of shimmering protective sigils had been carved into the floor. They were consecrated spells, too; clearly the church had decided that a show of strength was in order.

The third change was that when the two women entered the room, there was a quiet murmur and heads turned towards them both. Cassandra felt many eyes upon her and blushed once more. Though a noblewoman and thus used to the attention of common folk, she had never before been notable enough to draw more than surprised glances and either quiet resentment or respectful nods. Several of the nearest folk seemed to even be making the sign of the Lady towards her; one of the nearby mercenaries saluted without speaking. Cassandra looked to the Cardinal, and thought she caught a wry, knowing wink from the older woman. Then Abigail raised her hands. "My brethren, please," she called. "This is the Lady's time, and before Her there is no other authority. Valiant and fearful, young and old, fair and homely, all are subjects in spirit."

The service gradually resumed, the gazes shifted back to the altar, and Cassandra and Devyn sank into boxed pews relegated to distinguished folk. It permitted them slightly more privacy than seating in the common pews. Cassandra smiled a bit ruefully. "I was unaware we had made such an impression 'pon them," she confessed. Then she tried to concentrate on the service, bowing her head in prayer and humming along with the choir as she had done from an early age. It took longer than usual to fall into a meditative state. Residual doubts kept gnawing at her, breaking her concentration. Something odd was happening to Devyn next to her; her eyes kept wanting to draw themselves in that direction.

There was a quiet, faintly liquid noise, and a fainter whispering. Out of the corner of her eye, curious now, she peered at the lady knight. Though Devyn appeared lost in earnest prayer, the tall woman was shrinking dramatically. The statuesque proportions of her body shifted fluidly towards charmingly winsome, compacting here, swelling there, beneath her shrinking mannish clothing. Her hips widened while her shoulders shrank inwards. Devyn's long hair twisted and tousled, locks of hair severing themselves at mid-neck and vanishing in green motes of light. Her cheeks turned rosy and a light dusting of freckles appeared. A sort of mischievous mirth crept into her eyes, and her nose arched pertly. The perfectly-formed romantic heroine had become...cute, like an impish barmaid. There really was no better word for her new appearance. Cute.

Cassandra realized at some point she was staring with her mouth hanging open like some rude peasant. It was not the first time she had seen such a thing happening, but it was, as always, surprising.

She blinked, shook her head, and turned back to the service. The Cardinal knew how to preach well, and the choir's voices rose high and clear in the morning air. Cassandra smiled and sang quietly along, and gradually felt the warm presence of the Queen upon her. It was not overt- it was never overt, of course- but she felt a great weight seem to leave her shoulders, and the slightest easing of the ache in her chest.
----

Reskeis

The Nether was rarely ever really dark. Odd, really. If he gave it any thought he had to admit that the very word "lightwalker" was utterly ridiculous for folk of this world. Light was an exuberant visitor in Mundi, inescapable in its presence but as tumultuous and capricious as the weather. It slunk in like a thief, flaunted its wares like a street girl, and then reluctantly went to hide in the gathering dark. His world was sharp and effulgent. Every surface, every shape, was master of its own fuzzy light, a collection of luminous forms against the cool blackness.

He still hadn't gotten used to dawn or sunrise yet. The subdued, pale gleam in the sky, quiet and smoky against the velvet clouds, reminded him of a distant storm, and it had awakened him when it filtered through his window. It gleamed off the polished surface of his dague as he held it up, plunged it into the snow, and then pulled it free. There was a strange smell in the air, beneath the soot and smoke and the distant smell of dirty alleyways and polluted pools that was inescapable in any city. It wasn't quite the bitter tang of fear, but it wasn't content either. He was certain he smelled old blood in it.

He shivered in the cold and went back inside. His wounds may have mostly closed, but they still ached in the chill. Made a lad feel insecure, and his muscles hadn't cared for practicing in that clammy mist.

It was a mercy his Mask had held all night. He'd been concerned; it was a public bunk and no matter how much he bunched the blankets around himself he was worried it wouldn't have disguised his basically nonhuman shape. His head was a little fuzzy, but he felt it more secure than before. The light-headedness he remembered from venturing in this world without the protection was still gone. Good.

A few fellows and one or two lasses filled the common taproom. A sleepy-eyed girl wobbled over to him, offering a drink. He took it and passed her one of the lightwalkers' simple coins, leaned back in a booth. He wondered if they served anything decent for breakfast. Probably porridge, he thought with a shudder. Wouldn't give me thralls porridge. No wonder half o'em don't have any fire in their bellies. What's a lad got t'do t'get some bloody meat in this place?

He heard a thump on the stairs and looked up instinctively. It probably made him look guilty, but old habits died hard. The girl and the fox-man from last night were descending the steps. The girl wore a cheery grin; she even waved at him. Reskeis groaned. Hellfire save me from optimists.

[Zizi]

Zizi, Chreef and Reskeis

Zizi noticed a pained look on Reskeis' - no, he was Jared in public - Jared's face, and comprehension dawned. She made her way to his booth as quickly as she could while remaining inconspicuous, motioning to Chreef to follow her. Sliding into the seat opposite the Masked imp felt oddly natural. "G'morning Jared," she chirped, then lowered her voice. "I take it you could use another song? The ones for pain wear off rather quickly." She gestured to her solar plexus. "I had to refresh mine in the middle of the night." She idly wondered if Chreef would sit beside her or Jared; she had vague memories of that being a difficult choice, when eating with friends, long ago.

Chreef was slightly amused at the slightly imperious gesture of Zizi's. As if he couldn't see Jared sitting there waiting for them. Still, no point in causing a scene, so he meekly followed Zizi to the table and slid in beside her. He'd rather sit where he could keep an eye on Jared.

Reskeis tilted his head to one side. "I bin worse," he said in a neutral voice. "Don't waste y'trills on me." He cracked a weak smile. "Think th'stuff they 'spect me t'eat fer breakfast is more dangerous'n those scratches."

"Oh, what kind of food do they serve here?" Zizi made herself sound interested, but in truth she couldn't have cared less. It had been a full day since her last meal, and she'd been too nervous to eat properly then anyway. Any food would do. Her concern for Reskeis didn't completely vanish despite his refusal of help; he definitely seemed the type to endure physical pain rather than be perceived as weak. She could understand reluctance to ask for help, but to reject an offer freely given was just foolish. Exasperating, really. She hummed under her breath; if she worked subtly enough, he wouldn't even notice the pain receding.

Chreef heard a subtle sound beside him as Zizi started to hum. He elbowed her sharply in the side. If the imp wanted help, he'd ask for it. It wasn't wise to aggravate him now when she might need his help later.

"Ow!" The bard winced. "Sorry; I must be taking up too much space. I'll slide over." She squeezed herself all the way toward the side of the booth, and started humming again. She had a bad feeling the elbow had been entirely intentional, but if Chreef needed to convey something to her, he could speak to her directly. And if it involved Jared, as it likely did - Zizi suspected that Chreef's interest in helping her was likely related to studying the imp - Jared could hear it himself.

Chreef barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he shifted inward to cover up Zizi's excuse. Then he heard her start humming again. If she's going to be that stubborn, she can deal with the consequences when the imp leaves her.

Reskeis made a face and raised his spoon. "Yer folk is mighty fond o'grains an'leaves, aren'tcha? No wonder y'got so many of yer lot wastin' about waterin' plants." He swallowed a mouthful and made a face. "Canno' b'lieve y'eat this'n stead o' good propa meat."

"Jared," Zizi muttered, "Careful what you say around here. Do you really want to proclaim exactly who you are to the general public?" She shook her head. "Goodness knows what you're even doing around here. Does your employer know?"

Reskeis scoffed. "You kiddin'? Her 'ead's too high'n the clouds t'look down'n spot me." He smirked. "Known 'er for a couple weeks, an' trust me, she don't seem th'observant sort. Don' think she's spoken wi'me more'n a couple times."

Chreef raised an eyebrow. "It's far more likely that you being here is so unlikely it never even occurred to her."

With a shrug, Zizi hummed one final cadence. "Well, I'm certainly not going to get my head snapped off asking you to tell me about what you're doing here. This is going to be a good day." She forced a smile. "Zither or no zither. Perhaps I could win some money at cards... I do have my lucky ribbon." Her fingers brushed it instinctively.

Reskeis smirked. "'Zat so? Well...we'll see." He spooned another bit of porridge into his mouth with great reluctance.

"You know," remarked Zizi, "You could just ask for meat. The meal is included in the cost of the room; Chreef said so."

Chreef grimaced. Hopefully Jared wouldn't correct her. He had a feeling she'd not like him lying to help her.

Reskeis looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he caught the expression on Chreef's face out of the corner of his eye, and winked slightly. "Guess me employer didn' feel it needful t'spend on her employ, eh?"

[JT Jag]

Virgil, Reskeis Zizi and Chreef

---

As the three of them had their heads low in conversation, the door to the tavern banged open. A youthful novice dressed in white strode in, looking winded. He caught his breath, leaning on a nearby booth, and straightened after a moment. Then his clear voice cut through the background murmur of conversation.

“To those in association with Lady Cassandra Highmoor of the House Lucaeci, she and Cardinal Abigail Strauss of the Sacred Cathedral of Dammerinthes send greetings.” He paused for breath, allowing Reskeis to quietly slap his hand over his face and mutter about asinine ceremonies. Fortunately, it didn’t carry to the novice, who continued. “Furthermore, the presence of the Lady’s companions and those within her employ is requested by the Cardinal in a matter of great import. We know that as true sons and daughters of the Church you will attend as soon as possible.”

With the kind of officious self-importance so endemic to teenagers and bureaucrats low on the hierarchy, the novice went stock-still. He gave the impression that he would cheerfully wait until the Flow froze over if he did not get an answer.

"Sonovabitch," Reskeis muttered. He gave the door an idly shifty look, seemingly calculating if he could get out in time. "An' I doubt they'd listen t'me not bein' a churchgoin' lad."

Zizi blinked. "That's your employer, then?" She sighed. "I suppose if it's important, you'll have to go. Will... will we see you again?" It was vital, she knew, not to sound like she cared too much.

Chreef turned from his study of the messenger at the talk between his two companions. "An...interesting choice for someone of your caliber to work with, Jared." The tone of voice and choice of words left no question as to Chreef's true question. Why is an imp working with the Church?

The sound of the inn's front door opening was heard by those at the table, the light of the morning filling the dining room. No one payed any heed to it.

"'ey, don' lookit me," Reskeis replied in an annoyed voice. "Could've done nicely without th'attentions o'the high'n'mighty, thankee much." He cursed quietly. "Wonder what th'strumpet's gotten 'erself into now..."

"So the good Lady Cassandra is a strumpet now, is she?", came a familiar voice from directly behind Reskeis.

The imp turned around quickly, his hands darting into his cloak as he came eye to eye with Virgil.

Virgil looked... tired. He was now sporting a new button-down shirt and breeches, both a color of dark blue. He still wore the leather gloves and boots from the day before. His cloak was the same one he had worn last night, and obviously needed tailoring. Virgil himself more resembled the cloak than the new clothes, looking even worse for wear than he did when they had parted ways. There were bags under his eyes, some uncleaned dirt visible on his face, and he walked with a slight limp.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at the imp, showing a casual disdain out of proportion with his apparent current physical condition. "We shall have words later, you and I. You know what about." He then started heading over to the stairs. "I will be resting. Do not disturb me for an hour unless the inn is burning down."

Zizi tried to slide out of her seat, but only succeeded in bumping into Chreef. "Um. Sir! Sir... I don't know your name..."

"I am far too tired to care about the formalities at the moment... so just call me Virgil, little bard. I shall speak with you later as well." And without another word, he headed up the stairs to his room.

A bright smile crossed Zizi's face for a brief moment. "He remembered who I was!" She turned to Reskeis. "So, um, he knows your employer, and he knows... about you?"

"Don' think y'got the choice, mate," Reskeis called out as Virgil began to climb the stairs. He ignored the girl for the moment, and didn't hide a cocky grin now. All the nervousness was gone. His discovery was all but ensured, anyways, right? Might as well get in a few good digs afore they try'n stab me in th'back. "Y'hear the boy in the dress over there? They been callin' for all th'girl's nearest'n dearest! Sounds like that means y'too, like as not!"

Virgil in paused in mid-stride halfway up the stairs as if considering something. And then he continued up. "Like I said. One hour. Inn on fire. No other exceptions." And seconds later the conversation was ended entirely with the sound of the door to his room shutting.

"Well." Zizi looked concerned. "I... I don't think we should bother him. Don't you have to go to the cathedral, though, Jared? Or do you think you have to, um, go visit relatives in another town now?"

Reskeis made a face, as if he had just swallowed sour fruit. T'would seem t'be the smart decision t'skip town now... Though he didn't move in any other way, the way his fingers drummed rapidly upon the table probably betrayed more anxiety than he wanted. Damn it. Trapped. Bloody churches... Game'll be up then, won't it? Then again, runnin'll look bad too, an' I'm back to square one...

"Dunno," he found himself muttering aloud. He blinked. He hadn't meant to do that.

Zizi bit her lip and looked at him worriedly. It didn't seem like him not to have a plan. "Is there any way I can help?" she asked softly. "I do owe you..."

Reskeis shook his head fiercely. Weakness... He kept drumming his fingers rhythmically. It was bloody contagious, it was. This wasn't like him at all. He'd been in binds before, but he'd never given any real thought to running away. He'd walked right into a bloody demon's den by his bloody lonesome with a single blade to his name! He'd slipped into the Rock of Xash's Spur with half the damn garrison looking for him and the other half getting ready to comb the city! And here he was all shivering in his britches because some bunch of jumped-up fleshbags in stupid-looking dresses and shiny armor were inviting him in? Idiot! he raged against himself. Thinkin' like that y'don't deserve t'be warlord! Man up, by hellfire!

"Well, I been invited, ain't I?" he said aloud. "Well, sorta. Only propa t'attend, y'think?"into

Zizi looked at Chreef. "Uh, Chreef. I... I'm not hungry anymore." Her stomach, thankfully, did not betray her. "I think I'm going to have a look at the cathedral; I hear it's nice. You want to come along?"

Chreef leaned forward at the table, glancing back and forth between Jared and Zizi. He didn't know either of them well enough to be able to determine their intentions as well as he might want. Still, maybe he could get some more information. "I think we should wait for your friend who will join us later. And then, as long as this Lady Cassandra or this Cardinal doesn't object to me being there, yes, I do think I'll join you."

Reskeis made a face. "Hangers-on, eh? Figures." Inwardly, though, he grinned. The more there, the less they'll pay me any mind. An' the girl seems all taken wiv me for some reason. Could be useful...

---

Virgil finished locking the door, and then went about re-setting the traps that had automatically gone dead after he had used his key to unlock, re-lock and unlock the door once more.

It being one of the suites, it had the luxury of a nice overstuffed chair. Collapsing into it, he uncorked a specialty mixture of red wine and blood and poured a moderate amount into a glass.

He rubbed his temples as he thought about last night, and the events that went on after he had split ways with the others.

I could really use some rest right now, but it seems like they want me to come to the cathedral. Unfortunate. The imp will be coming as well though, I'd expect. I was hoping to kill... it, after recovering some... but at least I'll be able to keep an eye on it. He took a drought of the mixture and smirked. The little bard seems to trust it. Maybe that means it's not so bad after all. He chucked to himself at that. It was fairly obvious that the bard who called herself Zizi was kind-hearted, and kind-hearted people are often too trusting for their own good.

He set the glass down and slouched slightly in the seat, not allowing himself to fully go unconscious however tempting it may be. The imp might try to break the door down after all, and in the off chance that it survived the spring-loaded knives, poison needles and the swinging sword trap Virgil would have to be ready to finish it off.

---

Forty-five minutes later, in the decidedly humbler common bedroom serving for those of lesser means, Reskeis rifled through his simple pack. He slid a simple curved-bladed knife from a hidden pouch and into his boot, then plucked out a small pouch that clattered with the sound of stones clicking together. He pulled a particular rune stone from the bag, the stone of his night cloak; way things were looking he might need it. Satisfied, he shouldered the pack and shrugged it into a comfortable position. Best to be ready to move.

He clumped down the stairs and stood by the door.

Zizi was waiting, having finished her breakfast. She bit her lower lip. The two people to whom she owed her life seemed to be on less than friendly terms, and now perhaps Virgil would tell this Lady Cassandra the truth about Reskeis. With whom was she, Zizi, expected to side, if things got messy? What happened to this being a good day? she wondered. Still, she put on a cheerful face for Reskeis and Chreef. She would figure something out; she always did.

[Jetrauben]

After some time, Virgil finally came down from his room. He was now dressed in a rather fine-looking black doublet, and slacks of the same color. It meshed well with his still ragged-looking cloak, though the black leather gloves were nowhere to be seen. Formal clothes, then.

"Well then. I apologize for making you wait." His eyes roved over the party but briefly settled on Reskeis as he spoke. "Let us be off now, then."

Zizi smoothed her hair back, uncomfortably aware of how simple her dress was now that there was a presumably wealthy noble in the room. "You know the way to the cathedral, then, sir?"

"I have been to Dammerinthes a few times in the past, so I should be able to find it." Virgil strode over to the front door, pulling it open and making a sweeping gesture towards the outside. "Ladies first."

A deep blush crossed Zizi's face. "Sir," she said quietly, "I can't tell you how long it's been since anyone has treated me like a person, let alone a lady. If the Baron is the worst a noble can be, you are the best." She curtsied quickly and hurried out the door, pausing in the doorframe to suddenly smile. "You should give our friend," (she gestured to Reskeis) "a lesson in manners."

"Oh, la de frickin' dah," Reskeis muttered. "Is 'e gonna say please afore he nips into ya, lil' siren?" He snorted derisively.

After a brief pause, Chreef raised an eyebrow and exitted behind Zizi. Reskeis pointedly looked at Virgil, and then made for the door as well--- only to be met by Virgil's arm, stretched out to bar him from going forward. "I intend to, little bard."

Virgil's other arm grabbed the substantially thick wood door and closed it before either of the two outside could react. Kicking Reskeis (more to create space between the two than to attack), he pulled the thick wooden bar--- intended to lock the inn at night--- and shut it over the door.

Due to the time of day, the dining room was mostly cleared out... except for the bartender, of course, who saw everything. "Hey!" He yelled angrily. "If you two are gonna fight, take it outsi..." Something silver caught the lantern light, and immediately found itself buried in the neck of the bartender. It was a little needle, roughly the size of one used for sewing. "... What the he---", the bartender started, right before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed behind the bar limply.

Reskeis stared at Virgil, mouth slightly agape. Virgil smirked as he reached into his cloak. "No need to fear for the old man's safety, monster. The substance on the needle was mostly harmless. He'll wake up in thirty minutes and not remember a thing of what he saw." He drew out a moderate-sized short sword from somewhere under his cloak. "So... let's talk."

Reskeis didn't bat an eye as the short sword rose before his face. "'zat supposed t'scare me, mate?" he asked. His chest was smarting again. The mongrel had a good kick. He still didn't move for his weapons, fixing a cocky smirk upon his face. His hands remained still. Better to let the other make the first move. "Whatcha plan t'do?"

From outside the inn came a series of high, trilled notes, ascending the major scale. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" With each "no," part of the glass in the window shattered. Through the window walked an enraged Zizi, her boots crunching over the broken glass. "What do you think you're doing? I thought you two were allies!" She slid up the scale again, producing a translucent wall between the two. "You'd-both-better-calm-down-right-now," she sang, holding the last note.

Not moving from his stance in front of Reskeis, Virgil smoothly drew out a fairly small, gray-looking capsule out of a pocket in his vest with his free hand. "Give me one good reason why I should not hit you with this pepper bomb right now, little bard. I do not want to, but you are standing between me and the justice that must be carried out."

"You'll have to forgive me, sir," sang Zizi, maintaining the shield, "but I see no justice here, only the tragedy of one man who saved my life about to hurt another who did the same. How can I let either of you harm each other when I owe my life to both of you? You saved me from the guards, sir, and Reskeis stopped one of the other imps from killing me. Surely you know that he's not like them! He's the one who warned us all of their presence."

Virgil's sword faded slightly from its until-then static position pointed at Reskeis from behind the barrier. "... So you know?" Virgil frowned as if taking something into consideration, but then the sword was back up to where it had been before. "Not good enough. He has tricked you, just like he tricked me before. I have thought there was something wrong with him for weeks, but now I know." His shifted the free arm with the pellet, prepared to pitch it. "Last chance, little bard. Convince me that the imp isn't just using us for his own ends."

"Oh, c'mon, by hellfire, o'course I'm usin' y'lot for me own bloody ends, guv'nor!" Reskeis hissed. He clenched his fist and raised one threateningly. "Any fool kin see that! An' you'll be doin' the same wi'me. Don't mean I'm gonna stab y'in th'bloody back. Dead pawns're no good to use. Ask yer bloody strumpet, an' she'll tell y'true I saved 'er oversized rear back'n the bloody manor time back!"

"Please, don't make me choose between you," Zizi sang. A harsh note of stress crept into her voice. "I'm sure Reskeis has his own reasons for helping us, but who among us doesn't have some goal? You deceived me, Virgil, back in the doorway; are you a monster too? Please..." she walked slowly forward, toward the pair of combatants. "Listen to me, sir. I am no one these days; I am nothing. I told you as much before. How could saving me possibly serve any useful end? Yet you did it, you helped me, and so did Reskeis. Everyone has a motive, it's true, but we also all have the capacity to do good... just because." She shrugged her shoulders. "Throw your pepper thing at me if you must, but give Reskeis a chance. Please, sir?"

The corner of Virgil's mouth twitched slightly as he considered the situation. The moment seemed to stretch out into minutes.

"... Fine. Consider this little talk concluded. But I want to know, little bard. Do you trust me?" The short sword didn't waver, but he replaced the gray pill into his cloak. "Drop the shield, and I will put the sword away." His eyes met Reskeis', and they were entirely unreadable.

"You have given me little reason to trust you, with that stunt you pulled at the door," Zizi sang. Then she spoke normally. "But if we're going to trust each other, it might as well start with me." The shield dissipated instantly.

The moment that Virgil held the sword still pointed at Reskeis' neck felt much longer than it actually was. Then, with a flourish the short sword vanished into his cloak. "Well. Glad that is settled." His eyes never left Reskeis'. "Consider yourself under probation. Don't slip up... the little bard vouched for you."

He then walked forward and around the imp, toward the still-unconscious bartender. "Well, let us clean this up and head to the cathedral. This was a grand waste of time." He pulled the needle out of the bartender's neck and slipped it somewhere into the cloak, and then set the bartender onto the nearest stool so that he would think he just fell asleep when he woke up. "What is your real name anyway, imp? I won't be calling you by your fake one when I can avoid it, but I do not think that calling you imp all the time fosters a proper trusting environment."

Reskeis snickered. "Trustin' environment?" He lowered and unclenched his fist. "Who said y'should trust me? I wouldn't trust you." The notion appeared to amuse him greatly; at last, shaking his head, he smirked. "Name's Reskeis. It'll do fer now." He pulled open the door and made a deep, obviously mocking bow. "After you, me lord, lil' siren. I think I'd prefer t'walk behind you, though, sir."

"I do not care about not being trusted, especially by someone like you... Reskeis. It is not something I come to expect in my line of work. But... I'm willing to accept your condition. At least this one time, you deserve the chance to get the jump on me. And it is only my fault if it turns out I overvalued the opinion of..."

Zizi cleared her throat. "I'm sorry to bother you both with something so trivial, but... I think there's some glass in my foot." She sighed. "Knew that boot was getting thin in the sole..."

"I'll get you a new pair later, little bard. Not that is not technically your own fault." Virgil looked at the damaged window Zizi had used as her point of entry and sighed. "Will probably have to pay for that too..." He stuck a thumb at the bartender. "He'll be waking up soon. We're already late... I'll deal with damage control when I get back."

[Zizi]

Reskeis, Zizi,, Chreef, Virgil, Ayani, Devyn, & Cassandra

When they first entered the cathedral, things went more or less as Reskeis expected them to have gone. As his cheek pressed against the stones and sharp spear points dug a little into the skin of his back, piercing his jerkin, he wasn't sure how he felt about that, in retrospect. On the one hand, it was good to know that the world operated as he'd expected it to. On the other, he considered, as a pair of guards kicked him repeatedly in the chest and tried to aim for his nadgers, it would have probably hurt less to have been wrong now and then.

The lil' siren was screeching, of course, yelling protests and flailing about. That was helpful. So too was the fact that most of the cathedral's main hall had cleared out after their nonsense service was good and done. If it hadn't been for the others, he wasn't sure if the guards would have let him live. He certainly hadn't expected the reinforced purity seals upon the floor of the nave.

His Mask hadn't really been able to deal with that. His shadow was clearly inhuman for any fool to see, and the light stung his eyes and made his head smart. It was just a mercy he hadn't gotten any closer to the altar. That would have hurt.

Chreef stepped back, keeping himself away from the ruckus. He hadn't expected a number of people to be here. Best to keep quiet and see what he could learn. He still had his mission, even if he seemed to have recently gained a companion. Actually, if she's a wandering bard that could be a very good cover. I'll have to start testing her suitability.

Zizi clenched her hands at her sides. "It is not your job to kick people! Or even imps! It is your job to take us to the Cardinal and the Lady Cassandra, and I think you'd better do so right now! I'll have you know we have an important person with us." She looked at Virgil imploringly. "Talk to them?"

A rough laugh ripped through the still air of the cathedral. "Actually, that's precisely their job. It's what we paid them for." The speaker was a ghastly shape, a lean, ethereal woman, blonde hair worn long and braided and dressed in a coarse tunic. Her face was marred by a bloodied cloth across what looked like sunken or empty eye sockets. Little trickles of red creased her face. Her voice, though quiet, cut violently into Zizi's thoughts. "Maybe I'll talk, maybe I won't. Why don't you tell me why you decided to bring an imp into the cathedral, little idiot?"

Zizi's eyes widened, but she stood her ground. If she could just talk to someone reasonable, she was sure she could manage something. "You are not the Cardinal," she said mildly. "It is she to whom I wish to speak. And if you think this whole thing was my idea, well, all the more reason we need to sort this out."

Virgil looked at the woman intensely, examining her features and especially the cloth around her eyes. It was fairly obvious that she was blind... but he was equally sure that somehow she would know his attention was on her.

"Normally, the wind walkers keep away from cities this big... and for good reason. They usually are not... people people." Although seemingly he was explaining things to the party, his focus never left the woman. "Why are you any different, paladin of the Bleeding Goddess? I'll have you know that at the moment, the imp is under my custody. He shall be treated as I see fit... not you. Now step off."

The muscles in Ayani's arms twitched. Killing a trueborn, no matter how annoying he was, would be in a bad form. Especially in a church. A gypsy killing a trueborn? In a large city? Bad idea.

"Alright dickweed, help yourself."

The trueborn in question smirked. "I am very glad you know the score, girl." He turned away from Ayani, looking at the stained glass windows and standing at attention with his hands clasped behind his back. "I have friends in the church. Is it true that excommunication by a high priest of the All-Mother strips a paladin of her powers?" He gave his most withering gaze to the guards, trying to get the message across that they should retreat behind their mistress.

With a practice born of years on the streets, Zizi somehow managed, while barely seeming to move, to wedge herself in among the guards and crouch on the floor next to Reskeis. "This probably sounds rather foolish, but... don't worry. I'll get this sorted out soon enough." No matter what, she continued silently.

The guards didn't budge. Ayani hopped down from the window ledge near the ceiling that she was sitting on, coming to a perfectly silent stop a few inches above the ground. "The Cardinal shall arrive shortly." Ayani smirked. What did the bloodsucker know?

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Devyn rose from her seat in the pews. She had long since returned to her accustomed tall, dark, and striking self. "I'll go get her now, actually. At the rate this is progressing, someone will get hurt before she does." She firmly glanced around the room, a silent warning against further provoking. With a few steps, the Paladin was gone.

So they were left to wait, Reskeis lying pinned upon the floor. He spat out a droplet of blood from a bitten tongue and grinned cheekily at the nearby guards. "Yer new t'this, aren'tcha mate?" he said, stained teeth flashing. One of the white-clad church soldiers glared, but Reskeis didn't take the hint. "See, y'go fer the nadgers, right'n proper, but y'gotta be measured 'bout it, aye? No good to bash a lad who's too far gone t'feel it."

The guard raised his boot again, looking irritated. Zizi managed to interpose herself between the boot and Reskeis. "Don't listen to him," she sighed at the guard. "Really, it'll be better for your peace of mind if you just ignore everything he says."

"Aw, lil' siren, you ruin all me fun," Reskeis complained.

The next few minutes were an awkward silence, each of them staring warily at the others. Ayani shifted back and forth upon her feet and regarded the Masked imp with disgust. Zizi sood there, looking nervous. Reskeis lay back, trying not to move from the smarting of his aching sides. Chreef still hadn't said a word. Perhaps he felt out of place.

After what seemed an overlong time, a white-haired older woman strode into the nave from one of the side doors. She wore a simple necklace and a set of richly decorated clerical robes. Her lined face was tight with annoyance and anger. Devyn trailed behind her, hands held demurely before her and sword slung over her shoulder. Further behind still trailed the Lady Cassandra, looking quite subdued. The older woman was obviously the cardinal. Few others would move with such strength of purpose and confidence in her domain.

"What is this I hear?" she demanded. Her ringed fingers were white-knuckled with suppressed anger. Cardinal Abigail Strauss was clearly not pleased. "An emmissary of the Nether here in this sacred cathedral, surrendering itself to our mercies? And some would have us spare the creature?" Her mouth formed a hard grin. "There is clearly a story here and I would have it now. But if this is another attempt by our enemies to subvert this holy place, I warn you now, I shall not be merciful!"

Virgil shifted from his position admiring the stained glass and started to speak, but was cut off when Zizi drew a shaky breath. "I would speak for the imp, Your Holiness," she began. "He's saved my life twice now, from other imps, and I... I think it's right that I speak for him." Virgil shrugged and turned back to the stained glass. This isn't my battle.

The older woman's eyes narrowed as she studied the bard, taking in her poorly-fed form, her frightened stance. Then she looked down to Reskeis, and her eyes narrowed further, becoming as hard and cold as ice. The imp in man's shape smirked up at her, but it became more of a grimace as the stare drew out. She was clearly not impressed by what she saw in him. Her stare seemed to linger long upon his shadow. Then, without so much as a word, she reached down, grabbed his hand, and slammed it down upon the edge of one of the consecrated circles.

Reskeis yelped in surprise, shock, and not a bit of pain. His hand came away burned, and the enchanted human form had cracked apart from the wrist to the fingertips. The clawed impish hand protruded from the human arm unevenly, looking strangely incomplete, and cracks glowing with oily green light ran through the forearm.

Cardinal Abigail raised an eyebrow. "It appears you are speaking in earnest, and this is not merely some poorly-conceived prank. Is this miscreant one of the beasts besieging our city in the night?" Her voice grew slightly gentler, though the intensity remained on her face, and she added, "And why would you, girl, dare the ire of the Church by speaking for a damned monster? You must have attended your sermons. You know these creatures are wicked and crafty. Yet you, and not the nobles or folk of greater standing, would speak for him? Explain."

Zizi limped over to stand between Reskeis and the Cardinal. "This man - er, this imp - Reskeis, he is sorely lacking in many areas. He has no tact, no manners, no sense of gratitude, and no appreciation for music. What he does have... is valour, wits, and my unwavering loyalty. Whatever I must endure, I will let no harm come to him." She turned her head to give Reskeis a weak smile and muttered, "Don't worry; I'm ready to shield if it comes to that." She turned back to the Cardinal. "Your Holiness, I am a bard, and I am going to prove that Reskeis is not a creature of evil. I only need a few minutes, and some quiet. That means you too," she directed the last part at Reskeis. Then she took his clawed hand, surprised at how rough his skin was, and Listened.

The imp shut up, although his lips quirked once or twice. The guards nearby tensed; the Cardinal motioned for them to be still. Devyn's ears twitched and she seemed in turn to be listening for something. For a few moments the cathedral was all but silent in actual noise, but for the distant murmur of the choir practicing a hymn.

For Zizi, a hymn similar, but greater than the distant choir filled the air, a high, soaring melody, warm and pure and comforting. Against that pristine background Reskeis' own seemed strangely out of place. His Song was the deep, brooding tones of an oboe and the mournful wail of a dikduk, interwoven with metallic percussion. She felt the fire that burned deep in the imp's heart, a burning ambition to succeed, to win, to overcome any obstacle. Smoke and battling forms mingled in a strange tapestry; the hot taste of a foe's blood in her mouth was an uncomfortably predatory sensation. But there was warmth there too, of a sort. There was the memory of intense camaraderie, the sharp tang of excitement and fears overcome in common cause. There was a strange, shadowy affection for family and friends. There was rough kindness, gifts given and received, and a seething defiant frustration at the limits of his power to help friends and vassals. There was loyalty like chains upon chains upon chains, and there was a strangely inarticulate desire for change. There was, too, old melancholies and bitterness, memories of hardships endured and witnessed and defied. It wasn't like the music that she was used to hearing, but as she breathed deeply, letting herself figure out the meter and tune, she found a certain majesty in it. Reskeis had been through a lot and come out the stronger for it, and so had Zizi. She would make that her starting point. This would be her first time with this technique, and it felt... strange. She could feel her very bones changing, her body stretching. One of her stockings split at the seam.

Virgil spun around. He had never been a talent with arcane magic, but he had a minor natural ability to remember how certain bits and pieces of magic felt as they were cast. He had felt what Zizi was doing once before, when a particularly talented bard had shown the ability to change himself. Bards called the technique Mirroring. But Zizi didn't have that kind of talent... right?

As she hummed alternating lines of Reskeis's Song and her own, slowly blending the two together, a flickering image of Reskeis appeared behind her - or was it in front of her? Perhaps it was somehow lodged in her. Zizi's own form began to grow transparent, and then the two shapes seemed to fade into one another, until there was only one being where Zizi had stood. It was an imp - her coloring was similar to Reskeis's, but she was clearly female, and noticeably smaller. Her wingspan was smaller, too, but her gaze was just as intense. She turned it on Reskeis and practiced a feral grin like she had seen him use. "Well?" She was surprised to hear her voice sound different, slightly distorted.

Ayani bristled when she sensed the new imp, and her hands went up, clenched into fists and crackling with flame. She glared, and seemed as though she would attack. Devyn stepped forward and put a hand on the other paladin's arm, murmuring "Peace, Sister. We can always hit her later." Behind them both, Cassandra's mouth gaped open, and she shivered, recalling old memories.

Memories were coming back to Virgil too, for entirely different reasons. The spell had taken an entirely different turn towards then end than than what he remembered of that old performance, and it vaguely reminded him of another aura... one not belonging to a bard at all. A spellcaster's aura that he knew as well as the back of his hand.

The guards tensed and leveled their spears instinctively, and even the Cardinal took a step back, reaching for something beneath her robes. Only when they realized this did not seem a threat and that the new imp made no moves to attack did they halt. For his part, Reskeis blinked a few times as he gaped at Zizi's adopted form. This was something entirely beyond his experience. He looked, for one in a very few times, openly surprised. In his distraction, the cracks spread further across his Mask, and most of the human facade disintegrated in flashes like shattering stained glass. Revealed more or less for what he was, he took a moment and shook his head once, looking her up and down several times. His black lips formed a grin, and he muttered, quietly but clearly to Zizi, "Nice ass, lil' siren."

Zizi had to stifle a laugh as her grin turned genuine. Then she rolled her eyes. "It figures," she muttered, "the one time a man finds me attractive, he's an imp - and so am I!"

For the first time the Cardinal's thin lips twitched as if to snicker. Then she cleared her throat. "As impressive as this demonstration is, I must cringe at the melodrama. Clearly, the tales the bards are spreading these days are dreadful. Could you not simply have asked the lady paladin to Listen to him as well?"

Zizi shook her head, still adjusting to the feeling of being an imp. She felt tough, confident, although she was still trying to figure out how to move in this new body. "I didn't think of that, Your Holiness. But if you'll spare his life, I don't care if you consider me the worst bard in the world."

"I have no doubts as to the skill you display, young lady," the Cardinal said with a tolerant wince, "merely at your dramatic taste." She took a long breath. "Lady Devyn?"

"She has no evil in her Song, m'lady Cardinal," the paladin responded quickly. "And the imp's Song, though...troubling, bears no malice toward us." She relaxed her stance slightly. "I believe we may question him as to his purpose further."

The Cardinal sighed. "Any others among you who would care to speak of the creature's...character?"

There was a delicate sound as Cassandra cleared her throat and raised a hand. "Your Holiness?" She looked both timid and angry, and the expressions warred peculiarly upon her face. "Might I speak?" The Cardinal nodded, and the trueborn girl stepped forward. She glared at Reskeis, who gave her a cheeky grin and a mocking whistle. Then she eyed Zizi. "Did you say his name was Reskeis?"

"That she did!" Reskeis said with a cackle. "'ello there, strumpet! Been a spell since we spoke like this, aye? Y'ain't lookin' any thinner!" He waved cheerfully with a clawed hand. "Betcha thought I was done wit' you, aye?"

Cassandra's reaction surprised even herself. She quite deliberately raised a boot and kicked Reskeis daintily in the side. It was surprising how strong she actually was, Reskeis thought as hr kick lifted him from the ground and smacked him back down again, wincing a little. Then, quite deliberately (and trying to hide the angry flush in her pale cheeks) she turned back to the Cardinal. "This is he, Cardinal Abigail. I can vouch for him, no matter how little I might desire to do so. He is not to be trusted, but he joined forces with us once before for common benefit. It is likely he seeks to do the same now." She put a bit of an edge into her next words. "As it stands he is without title or territory, and his vassals are few, so he poses little threat to us. His quarrel lies back in his foul home."

"Missed y'too, strumpet," Reskeis shot back.

The Cardinal sighed. "All right. I suppose this merits some consideration." She turned back to Zizi. "Young lady, please do drop that appalling shape. And you, imp, on your feet. Resume what you can of that glamor you used to appear human. Guards, escort him to the library study. Should he cause trouble, do make sure it stops. We'll be frightening the lay folk and the novices with him out and about. The rest of you, I and the Mother Church would take it as a kindness if you would accompany us as well, so we may take council about our course against our common enemies."

[Jetrauben]

The study was a large room intended for novices or local children in their weekly catechisms. It was handsomely appointed- not in gold, jewels, or silken curtains, but in beautifully decorated dark wood paneling and shelves full of religious and historic literature. A wide lectern before a throne-like chair sat at the head of the room, and lesser desks and chairs had been arranged facing it. Tall candlesticks rose from sconces upon the walls, and a fireplace had logs piled neatly before it. Colored light fell in shafts from the stained-glass window upon the eastern wall, devotional images reflected onto the carpeting.

Cardinal Abigail pulled herself into the head seat and regarded the others in the room warily. "Very well," she said quietly. "This is an unusual situation, and there seem to be many features of it that I do not understand. Lady Devyn and Sister Ghadnan are servants of the Church and I can guess readily enough at their purposes here, but I do not understand the concerns of the rest of you in this matter. Few, I guess, are natives of Dammerinthes. Therefore I would know your connections to this matter, so we might better gauge our enemies' capabilities and the danger they pose."

Chreef walked with the group into the room. He glanced around at room and then walked to one of the chairs, which he proceeded to drag over to the wall. Sitting with his back to the wall, he felt more comfortable answering. "I just arrived in town. Ran into the imp and the girl, and both were wounded. I decided to help the girl out."

Zizi looked around with worry at the other people in the room. Some she knew, others she had just met, but she wasn't sure (despite what she had told Virgil) that she could really trust any of them. "Your Holiness, to be quite honest, there's a lot I myself don't understand about what's going on. I've only been here for a few days. I ended up fighting some imps in the catacombs because I was trying to... well, there were some people chasing me, for complicated reasons.” She paused for breath.

“And so Virgil over there," she gestured to the trueborn man, hoping he wouldn't look at her and see where the imp wings had ripped through her dress, and her split stocking, "helped me get away, only we ended up getting away into more trouble. I think he and Reskeis already knew each other. Since then, I've just been trying to stay alive... and trying to repay my debts." She looked up at the Cardinal imploringly. "May I sing to ease Reskeis' pain, please? All except that from Lady Cassandra's kick, that is. I feel he quite deserved that one."

Virgil sat at attention at one of the desks facing towards the lectern, taking in the room--- especially the Cardinal, Devyn and that odd wind walker. "I am simply here to accompany the Lady Cassandra, your Holiness." He spared a quick glance in the young Trueborn's direction, and then returned to the discussion. "Once upon a time, I was in charge of the security of the good House of Lucaeci. Her father knows me from then, and entrusted me with her protection."

He steepled his fingers, looking over them now directly at the Cardinal. "I also have some other personal matters I intend to take care of while I am here, none of them having to do with those who threaten your city. For one, my sister currently resides at the Arcanium not ten miles from where we sit. I intend to speak with her, as it has been about a year since I saw her last. Also," he said, seemingly growing much more light-hearted, "I heard they will be throwing a rather lavish ball here soon. I make a point to attend some of those. I DO have a reputation to uphold."

The Cardinal nodded once as each of them spoke, and then shifted her intense stare towards another corner of the room. The young woman seated in that chair quailed a little under the scrutiny, but lifted her chin. “That brings us to you, Lady Cassandra. What is your involvement in this matter?”

Put abruptly into the center of attention, Cassandra licked her lips and tried to hide her nervousness. “A strange circumstance, Your Holiness,” she replied after a moment’s fumbling for her words. How to explain it? “Nigh on six and a half months prior, I had been dispatched by my father to Vietzie- to visit several acquaintances of our family. Upon the High Road, my entourage and I were victim of an ambush by Netherspawn. I cannot explain why they targeted us; perhaps we were merely unlucky. My captain of the guard demanded I flee, and so I escaped into the wood.” She cringed to admit that past cowardice.

It was a moment before she could continue. “So far as I am aware I was the only survivor. After wandering in the woods, I found myself in the vicinity of a fief off Lake Erasis, reigned over by the von Misthame family. I knew them well enough and expected shelter. But when I arrived I found the fief in a state of fear and no sign of the reigning lord or lady. That night I was attacked by Victoria von Misthame in my inn room and compelled to follow to her manor. Accompanied by diverse others I chose to investigate.” Another deep breath; an involuntary shudder passed through her when she remembered that ugly night.

“The manor and its inhabitants were in the throes of corruption, I fear. Victoria and two of her brothers had been corrupted- the youngest, Erich, appeared to be the head of the conspiracy- by a malign artifact, and they had crucified their kin. From subsequent conversations with her spirit Victoria tells me that Erich had found a strange tome in the market and brought it home. The tome was a wicked artifact. I can only presume it to be of the Nether.” She took another breath. “That was also where we met….him.” She pointed to Reskeis. “He said he desired the tome- he calls it the Grimoire Anathema- as well for his own purposes, and offered alliance. Whatever his faults, I can say he was a formidable ally. That night we slew the corrupted nobles and would have destroyed the tome, but when we moved to do it vanished before our allies. You have since heard, no doubt, of what has befallen that unhappy fief.”

The young noblewoman sighed. “I put these events aside when reached Vietzie. I know now I should have reported them in depth immediately to not only my House but to the Church as well. My House put little stock in my tale. But two weeks ago an apparition of the Grimoire appeared before me and spoke of your land. It said it had gained power here. That night an assassin sought to end my life. I remembered my duty better that time, and decided to investigate myself. If you wish to hear more then you will have to ask the creature, for I suspect he knows more of our foe than I.”

Everyone looked meaningfully at Reskeis. The imp, lounging fully revealed beneath Ayani’s hostile watch in one of the more comfortable desks with his feet up, took the scrutiny with good grace. He spread his hands.

“What?” he asked. “Y’think I’m an expert? ‘Fraid not; I’m workin’ off rumors an’ hearsay an’ a whole mess o’stories. Can’t say f’sure how many of ‘em are true, but seems th’talk o’ the damn book havin’ a working thinker is real enough. Now’n then some lad gets a hold of it an’ it starts givin’ him ideas an’ assistance. Rare magic. Ancient clues.” He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Y’kin see how any sort o’enterprisin’ fellow gets real big for ‘is britches with know-how an’ help like that.”

“I can imagine,” the Cardinal replied darkly. “Yet you do not speak the whole truth. What is your interest in this artifact?”

“S’not obvious?” Reskeis snarked back.

“Of course not.” Abigail’s voice cracked like a whip. “You are a guest in a place normally forbidden your kind. Speak quickly and decisively or I shall have you put to the question more uncomfortably.” She stared the imp down, daring him to defy her. After a long moment, he tilted his head to the side and sniffed derisively.

“Fine,” Reskeis replied. “I been a lord o’ the city o’ Xash’s Spur an’ a fair territory besides in me own land. Ye lot’ve probably ne’er heard o’ it. I didn’ want t’join in with this Crusade madness me kind seem so enamored of. Every time it ‘appens, me loremaster told me, th’bloody thing slides to pieces an’ brings the adherents down while th’demon-priests get the swag’n the glory. Seemed stupid t’send me folk an’ me city t’ruin for some vague prize o’blood, magic, swag, ‘n honor. So I told me counterparts where they could stick it.”

A bitter smirk crossed his face. “Ye kin imagine they took that nicely. One o’me mates, lad by th’name o’ Alveus- sickly fellow, took ‘im in when we were both sprouts o th’street- seemed not t’like me buckin’ tradition. ‘Ventually, give it a week o’two, he cornered me in me chambers wi…” he paused for just a moment too long and moved on, “…well, s’not important. Had a handful o’allies…dark sorts, they were, an’ a thing I didn’t quite see right that I felt th’badness rollin’ off. Wanted me t’give up power.” He lifted a finger and rubbed the tattoo around his eye. “I said no. ‘E didn’t like that. Worked me over good wi’ some strange tricks, tossed me an’ me loyal mates out t’die. Couldn’t kill me public-like too much scrutiny, an’ ‘e didn’ play by th’rules, ye ken? So ‘e had t’dump me. I had t’think fast, so here I am, lookin fer an edge.”

He smirked. “Been shadowin’ th’mongrel girl in ‘er employ for a spell now, after I heard tell from me lads in me own land ‘bout Alveus’ lackeys lookin’ for something special here.” Cassandra’s shudder at those words seemed to amuse him, and he grinned toothily at her. “Found ourselves a nasty place on th’way here. She kin tell you more ‘bout that. Anyways, took an interest in this ol’ toff here an’ shadowed ‘im into th’catacombs. Sensed a portal there. Some lads w’Xash’s Spur’s colors on ‘em been combin’ the place fer somethin’.”

“Fascinating,” the Cardinal replied dryly. “I presume you would say they seek this book as well.”

“’At’s my guess, yes.”

“Then we would appear to have a common enemy,” the Cardinal said after a moment’s thought. “I suppose I might give you leave to be within the city- but secretly. You will behave accordingly and you will be watched. Should you betray this unprecedented trust I will have your head on a pike at the city gates. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Reskeis shot back. He smirked once again. “Guess yer stuck wi’me, arentcha lads?”

For the next few minutes Cassandra and Virgil explained what had taken place on the road and at the deserted chapel. The Cardinal’s face turned sad, and then filled with foreboding. “This is not the work of simple Netherspawn,” she said at last. “This is not their sort of action. I myself smell cultists’ hands at work.”

There was a knock at the door, politely quiet. Cassandra’s gazed fixed upon the same young novice as had entered the inn that morning. He was breathing hard and holding a letter in his hands. “Your Holiness,” he called out. “A herald from the Baron. I told him Lady Cassandra was in confessional as you requested. He bade me leave this invitation for her.”

“An invitation?” Cassandra asked. “To where?”

“To the Ball held this evening,” the Cardinal said. Her lined face wore an enigmatic smile. “I predicted as much. The Baron must at least appear to care for affairs in the city. His cowardice thus far means your ‘heroic’ actions last night-“

“They were no more than what my honor demanded of me!” Cassandra said quickly, blushing pink. She was still entirely unready to cope with the terrors of the previous evening. Her tongue begged for the soothing taste of blood, but she could not indulge before the Cardinal. And to be called "heroic", even in rumor... She closed her eyes. “But nonetheless, it might present an opportunity for us to study his court.”

“Indeed. I doubt the disturbances in the city- and this does not have the smell of Netherspawn alone- are without connections to the aristocracy. It’s sad, but they often do. He must invite you and the Lady Devyn, as token acknowledgment for your valor.” The Cardinal looked Ayani up and down and her smile turned wry. “Somehow I do not suspect Sister Ghadnan is on the invitation. Noble folk are so unfair in their judgments.”

[yli]

<I'm not going to steal anything. I'm not a Petulengro.>

Again with awkward questions. Victor Lichtschtauff's wife is a small, nervous looking woman, whose eyes are constantly darting back and forth. The silverware somehow found itself under lock and key, and I'm expected to believe that the household possesses nothing of value that can be easily carried away. I notice that the house is very, very clean.

"You're welcome to stay in one of the guest beds," she says quickly, trying to flash her best smile. It's feigned. She's obviously frightened, if perhaps a little reassured that protection, even a gypsy, might be under her roof. "Or perhaps Andrew's bed. He doesn't need it anymore."

<Thank you very much ma'am.> I'm feeling a bit awkward just being here. She keeps staring at me, leaving me to wonder what the next awkward question is.

It comes quickly enough. "My husband hired you. Is that why you came to this city?"

<Yes, the Merchant's Guild of Dammerinthes hired me, my job is to protect this city's commercial assets from undue damage due to Neth--> I catch myself in mid sentence. The woman looks a bit dodgy in the heart, among other things. No need to worry her more than she is already.

"Oh." She looks relieved. "Oh, thank goodness. Victor is a dear, but he didn't want to leave! I kept telling him we needed more protection..."

<Has your family been getting any threats of the personal nature lately?> I ask. I'm not sure if they need any more protection, there has to be at least ten bodyguards in and around Victor's house.

"No, miss, nothing personal at all!" She looks nervous again. "That's the whole problem. They're random deaths; people just vanishing on the street. Sometimes folk have been attacked in their houses in the night, and nobody has the nerve to check until the morning."

I nod. Nether. Probably cultists, rifts opening up every which way. No real reason, no real cause. I turn back to the merchant's wife. <I do not believe I have had the pleasure of introducing myself, Mrs. Lichtschtauff. I am Second Lieutenant Malieva Farishta Ghadnan, of the Masque of Death.>

She hesitates for a moment, but her politeness seems to overcome her prejudice and eventually she extends a small hand. She does not have a very strong grip. "It's good t'meet ye, Lieutenant." She's clearly more comfortable around a mercenary than a gypsy, even if their reputation can be just as bad.

As I sit in the drawing room, waiting for Victor to come back from his morning meeting at the Merchant's Guild, I look around the room. A lot of swords, shields, captured suits of armor. Victor must have been into the business of smashing heads back when he was younger. I wait. Then I wait some more. Then I find myself hanging from the second floor balustrade working on my arched front and back lever progressions.

"Practicin'?" It's Victor's voice; the tone makes me think of a sleepy bear. He's certainly almost as big as one. With a better notion of what he must have once done, I notice the old traces of muscle beneath his stoutness. "Never can sit still, can ye?"

I land quietly on the carpet. Well this is awkward. <I guess I can't. So, any news at the Merchant's Guild?>

"Mixed," Victor replies. He makes an indecent noises. "Pardon me fer sayin' this 'bout me fellows, but th'Guild's Master is a penny-pinchin', cotton-headed fool wi' the heart o' a rabbit an' a brainpan full o'nightsoil! 'E still wants t'dither an' would rather simply protect our guild house and workshops then go'n strike down the bloody creatures rendin' folk in their beds! Coward." His sigh is a low rumble. "But th'Mother's with us. The rest of me brothers an' sisters were a mite more accomadatin'. Seems your mates'll get their contract- for hunts, not simply for guard duty."

<And of course. I'll notify my superiors at once. Anything else?>

"Well, see, th'bloody Baron's havin' hisself a ball t'night." Victor grunts disdainfully. "Damn fool. Some o' his family 'ave their heads on straight 'nuff t'see this situation's a mistake, but he doesn't want t'take a stand. So he has his bloody balls and his fetes. I've been invited as th'Guild's rep. Y'mind shadowin' me as a bodyguard? Think y'kin swim amongst some gilded fishes?"

I arch my back and spin around. My Masquer Dress Uniform, with its subtly laced patterned black silk brocade, gold trim and dragonbone buttons replaces my Masquer combat uniform. More gold threads and carved amber beads appear in my hair, the thinly etched lines in my mask glowing with a soft light. <This works?> I ask.

He smiles. "That'll do, Lieutenant."

[Zizi]

Zizi

Zizi slid out of her chair, crouching a little to hide her split stocking and trying to keep her back to the wall so that nobody would see the rips in her dress where the imp's wings had been. Wings! It had felt amazing to have wings. It had felt good to be an imp. With these unexpected thoughts, she awkwardly made her way over to Reskeis.

"You'll see, I'm as good as my word," she said to him. "All the pain will be gone except for that from the trueborn lady's kick." She began to hum, quietly so as not to disturb the others. In particular, she did not want to draw the attention of the blind paladin.

It was a shame that Reskeis was evidently too stubborn to show whether it had helped him much. That clearly would have violated his mystique. Nonetheless, he waved a tiny motion of thanks to the bard. "Always appreciated, lil' siren."

Zizi blinked twice, in rapid succession. Had the imp just thanked her? I suppose a cathedral is as good a place as any for miracles, she thought with a giggle. "Now, please try to stop agonizing - I mean antagonizing - people, especially the nobility, so this sort of thing won't happen as much, y'ken?" She sighed. "'Course, I could give myself the same advice, I suppose. But I don't do it on purpose!"

Seated in her chair, Cassandra pursed her lips in thought. She raised a hand. "Your Holiness, Lady Devyn's escort will be a marvelous privilege. Nonetheless, I fear we have but one dilemma. I require a lady-in-waiting if I am to arrive at the ball in respectable form. I sent mine as a messenger to my House."

"Is that so?" The Cardinal shrugged. "Well, we've a bard. She should be suitable enough." She looked at Zizi. "Isn't that right, young lady?"

The bard's head whipped around to face the Cardinal. "Wait, what? Lady-in-... me?" Her voice squeaked slightly, and she had to take a moment to compose herself. "'Twould be an honour, Lady Cassandra, only... the Count and I are not on the best of terms right now. He thinks I insulted him, and he doesn't seem inclined to listen to my explanation. I would have to be disguised, I fear."

A quiet smile crossed Cassandra's face, and she tipped her head. "I suspect, lady Zizi, that you would have little trouble being disguised. Who pays the lady-in-waiting of a noble lady regard beyond her title? I assure you, a cur like this Count would seem to be will have seen little beyond your standing." She turned towards Zizi. "And as for disguises, why would that be a concern to you? You have only recently demonstrated your proficiency in such things, did you not?"

"You mean Mirroring?" Zizi's eyes widened. "If I could use it to become an imp, then, yes, I suppose I could become... I could be your cousin, or someone like that! From one of the humbler branches of the family, of course." She looked at the floor, blushing. "I would just require... something to wear..."

An uncomfortable look crossed Cassandra's face, a strange mixture of acknowledgment, incredulous, and affronted expressions. Gradually, she tried to force it down. It was clear the notion of a peasant impersonating a noble offended her on some level. But she nodded slowly. "That might be sufficient, yes," she said. "It was not my intent originally, but it would put you in a position more suited to learning information."

"Bold plan," the Cardinal agreed. "And many nobles would not expect that. For some reason many seem to find the notion abhorrent. It is almost as though they do not see commoners as equally the Mother's children." Her tone was mildly chiding, and Cassandra blushed with embarrassment. "It is not a plan I would normally espouse. The aristocracy are charged with certain duties- but nobility is earned, and the Count has made a mockery of it. I will issue you an indulgence later, young lady."

Over the past three years, Zizi had grown to know awkwardness very well in its many variations, almost like colours and flavours. Luckily, that had given her some skill at dispelling it. "As a bard, I shall be happy to play whatever role necessary. I daresay it will be more comfortable than the 'costume' I put on in the nave!" It was a slight fib, as she had enjoyed being an imp, but hopefully it would do the job. "Just instruct me as to what you need me to do, and I will oblige however I can." A little part of her trembled at the thought of facing the Count again, but it seemed that something of Reskeis remained in her, for most of Zizi remained bold.

Cassandra flashed another embarrassed smile and turned to Zizi. "How then will this be accomplished? I have brought my things from the inn."

Zizi took a deep breath. "Well, I will first need to borrow something to wear, I'm afraid - perhaps one of your simpler dresses? - and I'll probably need to pin my hair up, for a ball. Then, I can Listen to you and turn into... someone who resembles you somewhat."

"Let us go aside into another room, then," Cassandra replied.

Zizi followed the noblewoman, keeping a respectful distance, into a side room probably intended as a changing and storage room for robes and other clerical clothing. It was a small, tight place, lit only by a single sconce and a narrow window slit. She glanced at a trunk, partially open, tantalizing bits of fabric peeking out: silk, velvet, even something that looked vaguely metallic. "Whichever you think would be suitable," she said quietly. "If... you have anything... green... I think that would work well."

Cassandra smiled quietly and beckoned to the trunk. "Why should I restrict you? Choose what you will. They are only clothes."

Zizi's hand trembled as she reached into the trunk, very gently moving fabric aside until she saw something green. Even more gently, she removed it and unfolded it. "If I may borrow this..." she looked at Cassandra as if afraid that the other girl would snatch it back. When nothing of the sort happened, Zizi mumbled, "I'll just go into the corner and change." With that, she moved quickly but without scurrying - You have no reason to be ashamed! You are not a thief! - to the corner, and reverently put the dress on.

The bodice of the dress was a dark green velvet that matched Zizi's lucky ribbon almost perfectly, certainly well enough that no one would suspect that the two did not belong together. The sleeves, which puffed out below Zizi's shoulders, were of something lighter green, and shiny - Zizi guessed that it was satin - as was the skirt. This draped gracefully to Zizi's knees in the front, and cascaded to her ankles in the back. As she smoothed the dress over her, something fell from the skirt. Upon examination, it proved to be a small bag containing matching stockings and a few hairpins with green ornamentation. Zizi felt her eyes water a tiny bit as she availed herself of these. "I-- I have to ask Sir Virgil something, if you don't mind, Lady Cassandra."

"Of course." Cassandra's smile seemed strangely wistful as she looked at Zizi in her borrowed finery. "It fits you well," she added.

"Oh!" An expression of shock briefly washed over Zizi's face. "Th-thank you, Lady Cassandra!" Still unshod, she hurried back into the study where the others were still talking. "Sir Virgil!" Zizi blushed brightly. "It pains me to ask you this, but if you really did mean to buy me a new pair of shoes, might I have them for this evening as the boots that were damaged would look quite out of place?" She paused to take a deep breath. "Please pardon my rudeness. I wouldn't mention it if I didn't think it important."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Already asking for favors, little bard?" At the look of utter embarrassment Zizi produced, Virgil smiled. "Just a little joke. Of course you can have your shoes."

Zizi sighed in relief. "Your kindness is paralleled only by your sense of humour, apparently. I won't need them until this evening. All I ask is that they don't look out of place with the dress."

Virgil nodded. "We shall go together. I intended to have a little discussion with you anyway, so that's a good time."

Cassandra had followed Zizi back, only a slight twitch in the corner of her lips betraying her apprehension. Zizi hoped her own was hidden better. "All right then," the bard said. "I'm going to, um, change into Aurelia now, if you don't mind me calling her that. Lady Cassandra, if you would just stand quietly..."

Zizi closed her eyes and Listened. To her surprise, the Lady Cassandra's Song was, in many ways, not so different from Zizi's own. The vulnerability she heard was what surprised her the most. There was even suffering: not the weary ostinato beaten into Zizi by a years-long descent into disgrace, but more recent unhappiness, still sharp and stinging. A gentle elegance - gentle, but by no means weak - floated over the rest. It was this last part, more than anything else, that Zizi attempted to combine with her own Song.

As had happened in the nave, Zizi could feel herself - not just her physical being, but her very identity - fading, becoming somehow intangible; she had to struggle not to be lost completely before the two Songs finished merging. She could feel a tingling sensation on her skin, and tickling at her scalp alerted her to a change in her hair. Very gradually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she felt herself expanding, growing several inches taller, and slightly fuller in figure - just enough to dispel any worries about the borrowed dress failing to stay in place, though she had laced it tightly. The least comfortable part of the change was what she could feel going on in her mouth. Zizi was not in the habit of thinking about her teeth; they were simply there. Now, her mouth felt strangely crowded, and she made a mental note to avoid biting her lip.

After a deep breath, she looked in the mirror. An exquisite (she felt justified in using the word, since it wasn't really for herself) young trueborn woman stared back... with one eye a gold-flecked green, like Zizi's own, and the other a luminous violet, like those of Lady Cassandra. "Well, that's interesting," the new trueborn murmured, in Zizi's voice but with a noblewoman's accent and inflection. So this was Aurelia. Her hair, swept up in a twist, was darker than Zizi's chestnut tresses, but not quite the raven shade of Lady Cassandra's. The skin had the trademark silver sheen of a trueborn, and seemed to refine Zizi's features. Aurelia was by no means identical to her "cousin," but there was easily enough of a resemblance that a stranger would believe the two were from the same family.

"Lady Cassandra," she said solemnly, "I have no illusions about my station. I understand that this is only a charade. But while I am Aurelia, I shall do my best to act in a manner befitting House Lucaeci."

Cassandra blinked a few times. Her mouth hung open in an O. After a moment of deadpan stare, as if trying to recover her wits, she nodded a bit shakily. "A most...impressive guise," she said, almost leaning against her chair for support. "You are talented." A mischievous smile twisted her lips; it was the first time the bard had seen her new "cousin" smile. "I am sure you will."

Aurelia cautiously smiled back. "If nothing else, this ought to be an interesting evening." She turned to Virgil. "I'm ready to go whenever you are, sir."

[JT Jag]

Virgil and Zizi

---

Virgil strode down the streets of Dammerinthes. This wasn't the most traveled walkway in the city, but it was one of the cleanest and possibly the most fashionable. He occasionally looked in through the windows here and there, but his heart wasn't in it. Instead, his attention was focused on the trueborn girl walking just a bit behind him and to the left.

"So... Aurelia. From your troubles, I do not think it would be presumptive for me to guess that you are without a noble patron to sponsor your talents."

Aurelia tilted her head to one side. "I myself do not need a patron. You would not be wrong, though, to guess that a certain bard we know is lacking one. Her unusual difficulties make her... less sought-after than she might be otherwise." She was looking through windows in much the same manner as a child might look through the windows of a row of candy stores. Even such things as teapots seemed to enthrall her. "Just tell me when we get to an acceptable shop..."

Virgil smiled. "It is... good that you know who you must be. I am pleased that we do not have to go through a few years worth of etiquette training in the little time we have until the ball. As for the shop, choose what looks appropriate to you. You may want to select a couple dresses as well--- it would not be comely for you to keep borrowing Lady Cassandra's dresses."

As Aurelia looked into the windows with a renewed enthusiasm, Virgil continued speaking. "As for our mutual friend... you should inform her that I am willing to assist her in finding a sponsor. As a matter of fact, I am actually willing to let it appear like I am her sponsor until we can find her an appropriate one."

In rapid succession, Aurelia appeared incredulous, offended, and wary. "Are you teasing me again?" She seemed to have, for the moment, dropped the pointed separation between herself and Zizi. "Or is this something about... Jared?"

"Jared?" Virgil put an odd emphasis on the name, as if he were chewing it like an old piece of meat and found it a bit too tough for his liking. "This has nothing to do with him. I... just feel I owe y-er, our friend. I would still be in traction if she had not dealt with my injury last night." He then pointedly changed the subject, implying that he didn't appreciate this line of discussion. "Just make sure that she understands that my resources are fairly limited--- especially here, outside the power base of my House. All I can do is spread her name around and see if someone is interested."

"Our mutual friend," Aurelia said carefully, "is far more indebted to you than you could ever be to her. From what I hear, you saved her from a rather gruesome fate. She would think nothing of risking her life for you, were such a thing required." She blinked in a way that rather suggested she was holding back tears. "I see no reason for you to feel you owe anything to some little urchin you chose to help. Merely buying her a pair of shoes is more kindness than she's accustomed to."

"It does not really matter. Tell the little bard that she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." He turned away from Aurelia, so she wouldn't see his frown. "Consider it the act of a good samaritan. It won't cost me much anyway, and... I have debts of my own to pay."

From behind him came a deep breath, then, "I will tell her. I'm sure she'll be very grateful, especially if you let her buy a dress or two. We should pick out something simple for her, yes? I'm sure you don't want your bard appearing overdressed." "... As you say. You know her better than I do, so pick what you would think is appropriate."

"What I think is appropriate?" She made a small "hmm" noise. "I will try not to select anything too gaudy, then, but I'll make sure her appearance reflects well upon you. Oh, look at those shoes!" She touched Virgil's arm gently, and pointed, with the other hand, to a pair of pale brown dancing shoes with green trim. "They would match the dress so well... but they might be expensive." For a moment, the look of apprehension on her face was pure Zizi.

"Stop worrying about it and just try them on. If anything is too pricy, I shall tell you. Now go, get." He smiled and made a vague shooing gesture towards the changing rooms, and sat down on a nearby bench. "We have a schedule to keep, after all."

[Jetrauben]

With Aurelia and Virgil's departure, the study was quieter. The Cardinal rubbed at the corners of her eyes with her fingers. "While our glittering folk are paraded before the court, it would seem foolish for the remainder to sit idle. We have another lead- Sister Ghadnan, do you recall the tetzal script 'pon the amulet we dug from what was left of that beast you and your companions slew?"

"Yes, and you mentioned the ruins outside of town. Should I go investigate those?" Ayani was still somewhat bitter at not being invited to the ball. She wanted a crack or two at the Count too cowardly to leave his manor. Teeth had to be harvested.

"Unfortunately, I fear that is indeed the case." The Cardinal's smirk said she knew what Ayani was thinking. "We shall have to consign the vision of your wearing a refined dress to our imaginations. However, you would be foolish to go alone, and the Lady Devyn has been explicitly invited." She snapped her fingers. "Imp, the thought of you at a ball horrifies me. This would appear more appropriate to your talents." She peered at Chreef. "Sir, you appear perceptive and intelligent. What did you say your trade was?"

"Wait...what about the Imp?" asked Ayani. What was the cardinal trying to get at?

"Did I stammer? He's going with you. This would appear more to his talents anyways."

"WHAT?" Reskeis snarled. "Are ye bloody well kiddin' me? Me wit' that bleedin' harpy-"

If Ayani had eyes, they would have widened to the size of dinner plates. "Yes, as the Imp suggested, are you out of your ****ing mind?"

"Do be quiet." The Cardinal didn't even raise her voice. She peered at Chreef. "Well, sir?"

Chreef thought it over a second. A Cardinal in the Church might well be familiar with the organization he worked for. If that were the case, letting her know who he was would be an enormous advantage. And yet, there were too many people here to say anything. Best to tell a part of the truth, and explain more fully if the choice presented itself. "Not a trade as such. I dabble in alchemy, and that's enough to let me travel as I wish."

"Is that so?" the Cardinal replied, looking amused. "And yet you travel without laboratory or wealth? Fascinating. I would suggest that you are quite capable of taking care of yourself, yes? Would the request of Mother Church for you to accompany our two children and keep them from coming to blows be onerous to you?"

Chreef grinned at the woman. "That would all depend on if I'm allowed to spank them when they misbehave."

Ayani just sighed. Abby, what exactly is going to stop the Imp from slitting fuzzy's throat right here? What exactly is going to stop me from doing it?

"I shall grant you an indulgence if necessary," the Cardinal replied, "and the gratitude of the Church." She looked to those still assembled. "Perhaps we might send the lich along with you. He seems a capable sort, when he's not having a spell of fits." She directed a chilly glare Ayani and Reskeis' way. "I presume I can trust you to behave yourselves? Because if I can't trust a paladin of the Mother and a lord whose continued survival is solely at our own whim to not irritate me by fighting each other pointlessly, I shall be very put out."

"That you should. Of course, don't you think asking an imp to accompany me is a tad unreasonable?"

"Unreasonable to ask you to do your duty to the Mother and not gut him simply because he annoys you?" The Cardinal motioned to Reskeis, who was glaring at her. "Honestly? No."

"My dear Abby, I hear there's a nice asylum for the insane in Dammerinthes. Do reserve yourself a room there." With that, Ayani got up and walked out of the Cardinal's office.

Chreef's eyes followed the paladin as she made her haughty exit from the office. After she left, he turned back to the Cardinal. "She seems to have quite a large issue with imps. Will she be able to calm down, or am I going to have to watch my back the entire time?"

The Cardinal sighed wryly. "That girl could perhaps use a visit to cool her heels in one of the nearby monasteries..."

"Let me know what you decide then. For now, I'm at your disposal." I'll have to send a message to the order. I need to know if she's one of our contacts. "If a room could be provided, I would be very grateful."

"Of course. Make your preparations."

[Sikon]

Nirowyn

Far away from the cathedral, relatively unhindered by the buzz surrounding the catacombs incident, ran a relatively peaceful street, one end of it stopping at a market square. Relatively - as peaceful as it got in Dammerinthes these days, with citizens clinging to walls, practically hopping around even innocent-looking shadows, and looking around with fearful eyes.

On one of the benches sat a poor-looking old man in ragged clothing. Nothing special about him - a grey woolen tunic with a rip on one side, and similarly grey loose pants supported by a simple rope. He was playing a flute, a copper plate to collect alms lying in front of him, and the only thing that seemed off was the unusually high skill he displayed in his slow-paced, sorrowful melody, although he was clearly trying to hide it, sometimes intentionally playing off key.

It's not that the rewards were that scarce, but people seemed clearly reluctant and wary. A guard passed by, looking menacingly into the performer's half-closed eyes, but since he in no way resembled any criminals at large he knew, he was soon left alone.

After waiting until the street cleared, the pauper took the plate, tossed his earnings - a handful of dusty copper coins - into a small bag on his shoulder, and walked into a narrow alleyway. As he looked around again and made sure nobody was looking, his appearance started changing. His long beard shortened and thinned out, eventually disappearing altogether. His hair shortened, at the same time going from white to brown and eventually black, as the wrinkles on his face flattened and his back straightened. He grew in height, too, and kept getting younger with every moment until stopping at the appearance of a rather handsome lad in mid-twenties at most.

The now-young man smiled at his reflection and casually walked back onto the wide street. As he passed one city block after another, however, his smile faded, and his face assumed a dark, cynical expression.

All right, Nirowyn, he thought. You knew you'd regret getting yourself into this, right? You left with an equation with one unknown - now there are at least three. Charyn, Valerian, and this... this Cassandra and her merry band of misfits. Already they're causing fuss, and if there's anything I hate most-- Not to mention the imprint of this city. Something is wrong here... very wrong.

Nirowyn hasn't had any semblance of inner peace ever since the incident at the lonely chapel. At the moment, his Song-sense, still not having fully recovered from back then, was not doing much better here. As if someone ran a dirty hand through a delicate, arranged weave of threads and turned it into a tangled mess. And he still was not any close to finding any trace of his friend - visiting Valerian's old contacts in the city yielded nothing.

He stopped eventually as he reached the outskirts of Dammerinthes. In front of him stood a rugged one-story house with a fenced garden - it wasn't possible to discern how well-kept it was, though, since all that was there in these winter days was a few bare cherry trees and blackcurrant bushes, all without leaves. If only I was doing the planning, I'd rebuild everything fron scratch here... he thought before knocking on the front door. It opened, and a kind-looking old lady in a brown dress welcomed him in.

"I've brought the payment for two days, grammy," Nirowyn said, struggling to maintain an upbeat look. "I'm... not inconveniencing you much here, am I?"

"Ah, by me, live as if a hundred years, if a good lad," said the house owner, sitting down to begin knitting. "Mayhap I could help me out with the house a bit, you young - my husband, may'e rest in peace, did nothing but lie o'er there and drink. Sad times now, bad times, everyone hiding at homes now."

"Used to be different?" asked Nirowyn.

"Oh I remember, back last year, we had a la-a-rge feast for Jason's seventy, right 'fore he kicked the bucket. Now no one cares about ol' Marlene, enough hassle on their own. Nah, city's not as it was now, mind my words. You alone here to joy my eyes... there, taste, lad," she pointed at a plate of unfreezing cherries on the table.

"It's yours, I can't..."

"Ah, not much use for my ol' mouth now," said the old lady, grinning. Half her teeth were missing, and the rest looked yellow and decaying. "Gathered them in the fall, but no use really, I can only sell so much. Like today, brought for once a bucket of these to the market for Erin downtown, know what she said about those, you know... adventurers?" She frowned upon speaking this word.

Nirowyn sat down onto a rug on the wooden floor, blinking at the sudden change of topic. "Adventurers? You don't mean..."

"That trueborn girl, what's her name... Cassandra," grunted Marlene. "You know what they say, while the Count's out there feasting in his safety, she charged down there under the cathedral, with battlecries so fierce they could be heard from two blocks away, and with her, they say, a holy warrior lass, so beautiful it burns the eyes, not seen them myself, think it was tall tales from a lad thinking with the wrong head as usual..."

Cassandra's bunch had a venture in the cathedral? Fighting? What exactly, I wonder, thought Nirowyn, clenching his flute with his hands, and said aloud, "They seem to have a good sense for trouble, it seems."

"Aye, 'm sure they're sung about on the streets already, heard the Count's inviting them to his ball too, having fun at this time, ol' slacker. Random heroes doing the guards' job, who'd have thought?"

"I didn't mean they're heroes. I meant, when there's trouble, they're suspiciously close b-- Ball? What?" Nirowyn widened his eyes and tilted his head to the left.

"Aye, big ball, right over there at his place, soon half the city will gossip, methinks..." The old woman blinked as Nirowyn suddenly stood up, peering into her traveling bag standing on the floor nearby. "Something wrong, lad?"

Said lad hurriedly walked out through the backdoor and pulled a carefully wrapped bundle of clothing out of the bag...

[hr]
Half an hour later, a light-skinned blonde girl with waist-long hair carefully wrapped in twin braids approached a quiet shop with a needle and thread on its sign. Her facial features were recognizably similar to Nirowyn's in her usual form; she wore a short-sleeved bluish-white dress, with jewels scattered over its covered chest and open back. This Cassandra sounds like a troublemaker, she thought, no wonder she needs Miss Sunshine for a keeper. There is something fishy about this band - maybe they know more about Valerian than they reveal. And last time I walked past the manor, the Song was practically screaming me to go away. Perhaps I could pass as a singer or dancer, after applying some decorations to this outfit. And then...

[SilentWasteland]

Chreef

Chreef followed the brightly garbed young man who had been assigned as his guide. He was grateful for the assistance, as he doubted that he would have made his way through the warren of the Cathedral without some help. After several twists and turns, the man stopped in front of an oaken door, and pulled a key out.

"Here we are sir. This room has both a study, and a bedroom. If it's not to your standards..."

"No, the room will be quite fine, thank you," Chreef interrupted. He then walked into the room and took his backpack off. "Could you be back here in a little while? I have a feeling I may need to talk to the Cardinal."

"Of course sir. If not myself, then one of the other novices will be sent to guide you back to her." With that, the novice nodded his head and shut the door as he left.

Chreef looked around the room he had been put in. There was a well appointed desk in one corner, and a door leading to a rather small bedroom. He felt comfortable here. With his inspection done, he walked over to his backpack and pulled out a box inscribed with ornate runes and parchment and quill. Setting the box to the side, he sat down at the desk to write a message.

Suspected Nether incursion at Dammerinthes has been confirmed. It appears to be confined to the sewers for now. Have met an imp named Reskeis who is travelling under a Mask. He has made no hostile moves, but am keeping an eye on him. Is there any information in the archives regarding him? I also need to know if the Cardinal of the church here is a contact of ours. I've been asked by her to assist, and if she already knows of our organization, this will makes things easier.

The brief message written, Chreef folded the paper and brought the box in front of him. The box was made of oak, treated to be receptive to magical manipulation. The runes on the outside sat quiescent for now, waiting for the signal to be activated. When he gently removed the top of the box, a faint scent of burning wood came to his nostrils and a quiet hum could be heard by those with exceptional hearing. Flicking his ears in satisfaction that the box was in proper working order, Chreef laid his message inside the box. He replaced the lid, and set his finger in the upper left corner on the activation rune. Slowly, his finger appeared to sink into the lid, and then he felt a sharp pain in his finger. For a brief second, the runes flashed a brilliant white, lighting up the room, and the previously barely audible hum became deep enough he could feel it in his bones. Now to just wait for a response.

He didn't wait long. A few minutes later, the runes on the box activated. Opening the box, Chreef read the message within.

The Cardinal is aware of our organization. The imp Reskeis is not in our recent records. We will search deeper and send you any information that we find.

Chreef flicked his ears in satisfaction again. This would make his mission much easier. Chreef then carefully placed the box back in his backpack, and then withdrew a cloth. He moved the chair back from the desk and pulled his rapier out of it's sheath. He carefully laid his rapier on his knees, and set to cleaning it and checking the enchantments to make sure they were holding.

[JT Jag]

Zizi, Virgil and introducing Lucia

---

Aurelia continued to try various things on, but Virgil had little patience for shopping. After instructing her to find him whenever she decided on what to buy, he headed over to the bookstore just a few hundred feet away from the boutique. An ancellary reason Virgil had decided to come to Dammerinthes was that the local alchemists guild had produced a rather important new publication. This Encyclopaedia Hermeticum had been a very limited printing--- Virgil understood that the total number of books that had been circulated was just in the double digits.

This particular shop had a reputation for being a bit of a specialty store and having some rare pieces in stock, so it was worth looking around. Failing that he could always go to the Guild itself, but he didn't have an especially good reputation amongst the purists in charge of the local chapter. Some of them thought he flaunted his rare natural skill with alchemy just to get enough funds to support his lavish, Trueborn lifestyle--- and that was a good thing, for he had been developing that very reputation for years to take the focus away from his real duties. They'd give him a copy, of course... but it wouldn't be a pleasant visit.

After concluding that the shop did NOT have the book in question, Virgil decided that he didn't want to waste his effort, and browsed around for some interesting literature. When he saw an interesting little book claiming to be a treatsie regarding the effects magic have on alchemy (and vice versa), he wasted no time grabbing at it--- it was the only such copy in the shop.

Unfortunately for him, a female hand grabbed the book at the same exact time. Virgil rolled his eyes. He didn't care about the book that much, but he had a reputation to maintain. "Listen, my lady." Virgil said as he turned. "I should let you know that I saw this interesting little book before you... did..." He caught sight of her features, and his objection lost all steam. "... Lucia?!"

The woman who currently held the disputed book was...well, stunning. Her skin was like flawless porcelain, her hair even lighter than Virgil's. The two looked quite distinct in face and body, but they shared the exact same eyes. Good cheer seemed to radiate from hers now, and filled the sound of her voice. Though she was simply clad in a modest journeyman sorceress' robe, it could not entirely hide the remarkable body beneath, which seemed rather unnaturally shapely- lovely yes, but almost sculpted-looking.

"Virgil! Brother!" The two embraced tightly. "I heard you were visiting soon, but you never gave the an exact date!" She kissed him on the cheek--- it wasn't much of a feat, being that she was just two inches shorter than him normally, and in her fairly modest heels actually seemed taller than him. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Well," he began slowly, but before he could elaborate the door clicked open and Aurelia stepped inside the small shop.

"Virgil, sir, I need you..." she said, but trailed off as she caught sight of Lucia and how natural Virgil seemed around her.

Lucia smirked slightly at the prospect. "Ooh, Virgie-poo, you're on a DATE? What has it been, five years since the last time?"

And for the first time in recent history... Virgil actually blushed. "Not at all what it looks like, Sis." As he said 'Sis', he shot a glance at Zizi, attempting to kill any false presumptions on that end. "... Oh, let me introduce you two. Sister, this is Aurelia. We can talk more about her when we get to the inn I am staying at. And Aurelia, this is Lucia Thorne."

Lucia held out her hand and smiled. "A little friend of Virgil's is a friend of mine!"

Aurelia looked amused as she shook the taller woman's hand. "I think calling me 'little' runs in your family. Your brother will never let me forget my height, or lack thereof." Her face grew thoughtful. "I was ready to purchase the dresses, Virgil, but if you and your sister wanted some more time to talk without interference, I could gladly look at the books for a while. It's been... quite a long time since I've had an opportunity to read." Her different-coloured eyes roamed the bookshelves, then shot back to Virgil. "I chose three dresses - two for every day, and one for formal occasions - but if you think any of them unsuitable..."

"No, no, Aurelia. That sounds just fine. Also, I know of a nice little store a couple blocks away that sells some sturdy clothing for our mutual friend. We can stop by after you finish looking around... and then we shall head back to the inn." He looked at Lucia. "There is a ball coming up, Sis. You won't want to miss it."

---

An hour and change later, Virgil sat in the common room of the inn with Lucia and Aurelia, who looked none too happy to hear Virgil divulge her secret to his sister. "And that is the story," he said.

Lucia arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "So you're saying it's just a coincidence? Being held in a nondescript warehouse like that, and she just happens to run in?"

Virgil shrugged. "It really is no more of a coincidence than both of us being at the same store, grabbing at the same book at the same time," Virgil said with a smirk. He started to continue, and then paused. "... Did you buy that book, Sis?"

Lucia blinked. "... I thought you had it." Virgil smacked himself lightly, and shortly the room broke into laughter.

Minutes later, Aurelia had decided to head upstairs, seemingly to get some rest, but more likely to allow the Thorne siblings some privacy, and Virgil had stayed down to catch up with Lucia. As the room cleared, the topic moved to more serious matters.

"I assume she doesn't know," Lucia started.

Virgil shook his head. "No. Of course not, none of them do. Not even Lord Highmoor's child, who is ostensibly the leader of the expedition. But I haven't done a very good job of avoiding notice."

Lucia nodded. "The imp, right? It really is sorta hypocritical of you, Virgil." Her tone lightened, but the conversation did not move away from the serious topic. "You've always snapped at those who hide their intentions and use you for their own personal gain. But... that's what you do for a living."

Virgil groaned and stood. "We've had this discussion a million times before, Lucia. You know why I do what I do. And you know why I think like I do. You cannot convince me to think otherwise on either matter." He turned, and strode to his room. "It is getting late. The ball is tonight, and we both should prepare."

[Jetrauben]

Cassandra
The afternoon passed slowly.

Once their impromptu council had been adjourned, Cassandra spent more than an hour before the altar, trying to compose her thoughts in prayer. It was still difficult to think too hard about the events of the previous night. Every time she did so she seemed to hear the ugly whisperings of the monster they had destroyed, taunting her, and a faintness swept from her heart to her head and made her dizzy and her chest ache.

Folk were calling her a heroine now, she thought with a touch of bitter self-reprimand, but they had no idea how frightened she had been. Or still was.

Her solitary meditations brought a measure of comfort to the young woman. She felt the Mother's presence much as before, easing the memories, but there was only so much She could do. Cassandra knew in her heart that she would have to face the memories sooner or later, but what she bore already seemed too much. She shuddered, brushing over the awful images again in remembrance, and was left shaking on the pews.

Stumbling from the nave, she threw the great door open and emerged into the winter sunlight, leaning against the cool stone of the facade. Her feet were wobbly, her muscles seemed to have no strength, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. It was enormously hard to force the breath through her throat.

She could not look like this. No one could see her breaking down so. That was of course why her fingers curled around the glass neck of the vial and removed the stopper. There was no selfishness, no cowardice, involved when she drained the little vial dry and swallowed, shivering with the return of sweet, languorous pleasure.

None at all. And the feeling she was being watched was just her imagination.

----

Chreef
It was less than an hour later that a white-clad novice returned, a girl whose face looked haunted and drawn and whose complexion was still a touch sickly. Her voice trembled as she bade Chreef to follow her. "The Cardinal desires to see you," was all she said.

Chreef nodded his assent as he replaced his rapier in the sheath at his side. Standing up, he followed the girl as she retraced the path that he had taken earlier in order to reach the room. Shortly, he recognized the area they were traveling through, and the girl came to a half in front of the door that led to the Cardinal's office. She knocked and then announced, "I've brought you the Seelie that you wished to see, ma'am."

The door opened, and the Cardinal waved her hand for Chreef to enter the room. "Thank you, Celeste. You can go now. I'll call for a novice when I am done talking with him." The girl took a moment to process it, but gave a short curtsy before she left, shutting the door on her way.

The Cardinal moved behind her desk and sat down, gesturing for Chreef to sit in the chair opposite her. "You mentioned when you were led to your room that you might need to see me. What can I do for you?"

Chreef relaxed in the chair as he spoke. He wasn't sure how long this conversation would take. "Yes. I wasn't certain at first, but I'm glad you called me, because I do need to speak with you. Tell me, please, how familiar you are with the Society of Nether Investigators?"

The Cardinal raised a pale eyebrow, an an amused expression crossed her face. "A question fraught with pitfalls. Some would say this rumored organization is heretical."

Chreef smirked. "And others, wiser in their experiences, would say that such an organization could do a large amount of good in the world."

"So they would." The Cardinal paused for a long moment. "Cardinal Abigail Strass of course knows nothing of such a group, and would advise them to submit to the authority of the Mother if they desire to serve the folk of Shade." She leaned upon her elbows.

"Lady Abigail Strauss, on the other hand, has long been known as a friend to the Society." Chreef smiled at her. "Now, as enjoyable as this dancing around the subject can be, I'm sure you would like us to move to the ruins as soon as possible. And as you've likely already realized, I am a Society member. My main purpose in coming to meet you is to let you know that we are investigating here. And possibly to gain some support, or establish a better rapport for the future."

"Quite fortunate," the Cardinal replied. She pursed her lips in thought. "Your presence here is serendipitous. I would ascribe it to the Mother's grace. We will be happy to possess your expertise in this matter." She closed her eyes. "What are your thoughts on your companions?"

"I'm more worried about the Paladin than I am the imp, to be honest." Chreef shrugged. "I don't know his motivations, but he did help the girl Zizi before. The Society is looking to see if we have any information on him. If we do, I will of course, share it." Chreef rubbed the hilt of his rapier in nervousness. The Cardinal had asked for his opinion, but he was still saying that an imp was more trustworthy than a member of her Church. "The paladin, on the other hand, worries me. She's violent, unpredictable, and completely unable to set aside her personal feelings in order to judge a situation on its own merits. That may make for a good warrior, but for someone who is investigating a mystery, she's likely to be more of a hindrance than a help."

The Cardinal scoffed. "As someone who knows her by repute, let me assure you that Ayani Ghadnan has a....reputation. Your concerns are my own. But you trust the imp more than her? Do you believe she will be a problem?"

"I don't trust her not to kill the imp and then me, in order to cover it up. Were the imp not here, I would have no problems with her. I'd almost rather leave Reskeis here, but quite frankly he will probably be more useful on the investigation than the paladin."

The Cardinal sighed heavily. "Your bluntness is troubling, but I'm afraid you may have a point. I can do no more than invest you with my personal protection. If the Sister chooses to violate her oaths further, and you survive, I will expect you to tell me. Ayani Ghadnan is a troubled soul; that much is clear. I have no stomach for stripping her of her title, but if she is to misuse it she will be a danger to all, including herself. Keep an eye on her, but do not precipitate conflict." She paused. "And watch the imp. I may have allowed him leave, but I do not share your trust of him. He has an agenda of his own. I will be depending on you, Chreef."

Chreef laid his ears back along his head, somewhat frustrated. "It's pragmatism, ma'am, not trust. I know full well what he's capable of. I've fought imps before, and won. There's no one else I'd trust to watch him, and he may prove useful in the field." He straightened his ears, and stood up. "As for Ayani, I understand. I only have one request remaining then. If you have any alchemical ingredients in stock then, I would appreciate having access to them."

"The cathedral is under contract to the local Guild," the Cardinal replied. "Feel free to purchase what you need, and so long as it is used in defense of this city we will cover the bill." She gave a wry smile. "I shall expect receipts, however. No brewing love potions on our funds."

Chreef bowed. "In that case, I will take your leave. I have some shopping to do."
----
Cassandra

When sunset had begun to tint the sky red, Cassandra stood in one of the dressing rooms, donning her most elegant dress, long gloves, locket and her signet ring. Her bared shoulders were a little cold, but she felt she fit it as well as she ever had. Impressions would be important.

She turned back to the Lady Devyn and cleared her throat. She hoped her face looked confident enough to impress. "Well?" she asked, dropping into a curtsy. "Will I meet expectations?

"You look stunning, Lady Cassandra," Devyn replied, grinning. The houri had already donned her own dress, an elegant red affair of Nualan silk with a slender waist, flared skirts, significant bared portions of the shoulders, and a corset-styled bodice with a neckline cupping the top of each breast. Cassandra was shocked the other woman chose to wear something so relatively risqué.

She felt a pleased flush touch her cheeks at the compliment, though. “You mean it?” she asked, the formality unusually absent. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Devyn replied. She reached out and took the young noblewoman’s hand. “You must have more confidence in yourself, Lady Cassandra. Why should you be afraid?”

Cassandra felt her blush recede a little, and she straightened. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. Then she blushed again and cleared her throat. “Ah, Lady Devyn, might I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” the houri replied. “I have no secrets.”

“Er,” the trueborn fumbled, “how did you so quickly acquire such a marvelous dress? It fits you beautifully. You look born to it.”

Devyn shrugged and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It was my sister’s,” she replied. “She always did love red. But I cheated.” She winked. “You see, your folk must find a dress that fits you well. We have other options. When I find a dress I like, I simply mold myself to fit the dress.”

Cassandra laughed back. “How dreadfully logical.” She let out a sigh. “Well, our companions will be awaiting us at the threshold. We must not keep them waiting.”

---
Reskeis and Ayani

Reskeis leaned against the back entrance of the cathedral, instincts taut like wires. He was fully armed- a brace of knives in his boots, both dagues on his hips, and an extra throwing blade for luck tucked into his left sleeve on a sheath strapped to his forearm. The rune stones in his pouch were selected for stealth and quick bloodshed, and he had spent some time stretching, trying to work himself into peak condition. Though Masked, he already held himself like a predator.

He turned his head to one side and regarded Ayani and Chreef steadily, but his manner and his words were insouciant. "Ah, I see y'decided t'come after all. Was wonderin' if I had t'do this on me lonesome."

Ayani sighed. I will not kill the imp. No matter how idiotic this seems, I will not kill the imp, I will not use the furry's severed head to perform oral s-- Ok Ayani, what did Captain Pavrani say about those intrusive thoughts you really shouldn't have? Besides, there has to be a reason why the Cardinal's decided to go through with this. Right? I mean Aloysius still thinks she's sane, right? Or has Brother Aloysius gone soft on the order? Because if he has, I'll ****ing hang him with his intestines. Ok. Ok. Chill out. What you really need is a good night's sleep and maybe a warm bath and a hot meal, and a vacation. You know, Shera's baby is due soon, you need to be home for the baptism, you don't need to be in this ****hole city helpingthe bloodsuckers live one more day to open up the arteries in your neck and....and...

"Me? Leave you alone?" chuckled Ayani, "how could I leave you alone in the same building as the Cardinal? You know who gets blamed if she dies? No, no, we're going to the ruins together, far, far away from any senior clergy you'd probably see as your next meal."

Reskeis scoffed quietly. "'Zat how this's gonna be? Then you go first, mate. I don't plan fer any knife-work 'tween us, but I ain't givin' you a chance at me back." He grinned back, and it was all teeth. Even in a human guise the Masked imp made it look predatory. "'Sides, y'know the way to these better'n I do. I'm jus' a newcomer."

"How about I stick furry here in between us? That way, if you feel your homicidal instincts to be overwhelming, the alchemist's death rattle will at least serve to warn me of your treachery."

There you go again Ayani. What did Chreef ever do to warrant getting stabbed in the back by an imp? Next thing you'll know, the netherspawn's going to be crawling into a sewer grate with fox boy's liver in his teeth. Nice going Ayani. You ****ed up again. How does it feel to be worthless?

"Up t'him, mate," Rekeis replied grimly. "Like as not, we're stuck wi' each other. Worked wi'mates I couldn't stand before, so le's just get this over with, shall we?"

"Oh **** it, we're wasting time here. Let's go." Ayani motioned to a nearby avenue, the road taken when bringing bodies to the cemetary upon the high bluff. Against the setting sun, the ancient spires of the ruins next to the graveyard were like black daggers, weathered but still sharp enough to cut.

[SilentWasteland]

Chreef and Reskeis and Ayani

"****, we're not all alone, aren't we?" Ayani sniffed the freezing air as she approached the ruins, there was the smell of sweating, anxious human bodies and the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. "Stay quiet, move in the shadows, and for the love of the Mother, watch where you put your feet."

"Thanks, darlin'," Reskeis drawled, crouching low. He snickered, tilting his head a little, and slunk forward in the long shadows of sunset. He was still amused by that. Hiding was different here and no mistake...easier, really. "Wanna tell me how t'stick the sharp end in the fleshy thing next?"

Chreef rolled his eyes from where he followed behind the paladin. The entire trip she'd been treating him as if he was an inbred yokel who didn't know his left from his right. This would be a good time to show her at least a little of what he was capable of. Slipping into the shadow beneath a toppled stone pillar, Chreef withdrew a potion that he'd been able to get the ingredients for under the Church's tab. He pulled out the stopper, and poured a small portion of the bitter liquid into his mouth. Replacing the bottle in his potions pouch, Chreef felt his body begin to react to the potion. His limbs almost felt as if they were melting away, and the brilliant colors of the world faded out to shades of grey. Glancing down at his body, it appeared as if he was one with the shadow of the pillar. Perfect. Now all I have to do is stick to the shadows and I'll be practically invisible.

They passed beneath a huge, crumbling archway, entering a vast atrium with open balconies and catwalks on all sides. The ruins were not, as with human towns, a collection of clearly delineated buildings. Rather, while there were multiple structures, they were almost always linked by covered walkways, catwalks, and bridges, and the gaps between were enclosed courtyards rather than squares. Though the structure had stood for over a millenia, and the weathered black stones bore the marks of erosion, they looked still structurally stable, glossy, and fundamentally intact. Reliefs and tiled mosaics had been laid into the walls, and the images were often morbid. Reskeis fancied he could see an oddly familiar oily shimmer in the air here and there.

The river wind howled through the gaps and bare windows, like the breathing of some vast beast.

Things always went wrong at about these times. Too many spots too perfect for ambush. Ayani engulfed herself in black, shadowy flames that seemed cool to the touch as she made her way along the broken black stones of the ruins. The musty, decrepit smell of long dead hedonism wafted into her nostrils, as did the decay of thousands of bodies in the nearby cemetery. The stone, ground to a fine powder, made her skin itch. Ayani could sense the unease of the imp and the seelie, every hair on their bodies standing up. May the Mother help them. Neither looked like they could take on a group of angry cultists and demons. The seelie was soft, and the imp held himself as if though he wasn't in pain. And by the goddess, it was cold. The wind cut right through Ayani's bones.

Chreef perked his ears up. He could hear voices speaking in low tones ahead, but he couldn't make them out. He tapped the paladin on her shoulder, and put his hand on Reskeis' chest to stop him from stumbling forward. "I can hear voices. I'll scout it out, and come back. If I'm not back in five minutes, something has gone wrong."

Ayani nodded and waited, listening closely. Problem was, if Chreef could hear the cultists, the cultists probably could hear them as well.

Reskeis mirrored her, but did nothing more. He settled back, leaned against a stone, and his tongue flicked to taste the air. Smells like blood, he mouthed. Unease. Excitement. Seems there's been some knife-work done 'ere.

Chreef waited a few seconds for his companions to say something, and then slunk off. He moved even more cautiously, avoiding even the tiniest patches of light. He paused when the wind was quiet, and moved only when the noise picked up so it would cover even the slight noise he made as prowled forward. He kept his attention focused on the voices, alert for any change in tone that would indicate they might have detected him.

Chreef saw the flickers of firelight, odd as they appeared in his distorted vision, reflected on the worn stone in front of him. He drew his rapier and dagger, preparing himself to fight if there was an exceptionally alert sentry around the corner.