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[Drayden Calamyr]

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A fierce storm was brewing off the coast of Drayden's tower that evening, causing large waves to crash into the shoreline below. The drow stood atop the tower, looking out over the ocean, wind blowing his silvery hair. Sometimes, when he felt the chaos within him stir as such, he came here to think. The view from atop the third floor was spectacular, the clouds every so often being illuminated by lightning.

His evening had been rather cut short after a routine trip to the Vesper bank. Shortly after he arrived, the dark elf noticed that there were a few dark robed individuals on horseback; seemingly patrolling the streets. An even bigger cause of alarm for him was when one demanded a tax for non locals. The idea was ludicrous. Was new law and order stepping to this town of peddlers and fences?

That seemed so this time. The Dark Knight himself stood before Drayden that night. In Vesper, as a conquering leader. He had only heard vague rumors of this through his connections in his alliance. He had heard of some Militia uprising in the area, but not the cause. This seemed to be the piece of the puzzle he needed and the piece that stood before him.

After brief chatter with Lord Tarothin, Drayden trying to make the man continue on with his duties, rather than continuing the useless banter and attempts at questioning.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that rode in before him that night.

Alessandra rode forth proudly wearing the colors of the Dark Order. And stopped beside Tarothin. Shortly after, Tarothin departed to his own. Leaving the dark elf and his old apprentice and lover alone. "I never expected to see you here. How have you been?" She asked the question with such emptiness.

"So, you've taken to wearing the robes of the dead?" Drayden scowled as he said these words. It sickened him to see this woman, and elf no less, serving man as one of them. They had dealings with the undead, for all he knew some of them were undead themselves. He whispered curses quietly in drow tongue as he turned. There has to be a reason.

It was after a small silence that a friend of hers had arrived and the two left via moongate. Drayden made his way home by the winds of magic. He knew of one that would assist in this matter, one he had crossed before, but now...their side was the same. Their cause and enemy the same.

He had a plan, one that would benefit the Militia's cause, as well as his own conscience. He quickly pulled a quill from its well and began writing to the one elf that had been a hated enemy. But now, was the only shot he had.