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Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

Deminatza sat on the bed, her head in her hands recalling the morning’s events. Her intention was only to help Alisiea recover from her unknown slumber. But according to Gaius, it seems she helped bring the one called Hawk near her. Demi couldn’t remember exactly how or why it happened, but it did. Gaius told her he was a vampire. Maybe he used his vampire powers on her. Vampires, she knew nothing about these beings, only what Scar had told her. They do not like the sunlight. Why can I not remember his face, his stature? What was it Gaius said? Hawk must have smacked her, causing her to hid her head and wound her.

“He could have drank from the wound” The words echoed throughout the vault of her head. Demi didn’t understand the implication of this, but she knew that once Gaius told Jolicia and Judas, with all that happened the night before coupled with this, it would be the end of their friendship. The thought broke her heart. Her eyes travelled to her nightstand where parchment and quill lay. Deminatza quickly penned a missive to Thraxas.

My Lord Thraxas,

I know I should have asked your permission, but tis better to ask forgiveness than permission in this particular situation. There is a woman named Anna. I offered her sanctuary in the room you offered to me within your castle. I gave instructions to the steward to provide anything she needs. This woman came to us Judas and Jolicia for aid, and I offered your home to them. I wanted to inform you that they may enter in and out of your home to check on the woman. I humbly beg for your forgiveness, but there we needed to act quickly. I can be found at the Abbey should you need me.

*~*~Deminatza~*~*

Demi folded the note, opened her door and handed it to a nearby monk.

"Please deliver this to Thraxas, overseer of Yew." The monk bowed and went on his way.

She shut her door and the sound of a lock clicking rang throughout Deminatza’s room. She blew out the only source of light, lay down and pulled the covers over her head to shut the world out.
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Anna Evanovich · Visitor Joined: 21 Aug 2012 Posts: 18

Anna Evanovich stared at the bit of roast meat balanced on the end of the fork. She wondered to herself if perhaps this time she would be able to eat. Four days. Four days without food or water so bitter and sour had they tasted in her mouth. Perhaps this time it would be different. Slowly she took the bit of cooked meat into her mouth. The roast Boar was warm and flavorful on her tongue and for a brief second, hope sprung within her, but then …

Never in her young life had she tasted anything so bitter. Her throat immediately seized shut in a reflexive act of self-protection. The tongue could not manage to hold the bitterness and she spat the meat out onto the plate. A dozen such plates of unfinished meals sat unattended around the small room. Stabbing the fork into the table she screamed. She did not care who heard. She did not care about anything anymore. Knowing she needed some form of nourishment she had, over the past four days, forced herself to drink small amounts of water. Closing her eyes she would pour entire goblets into her mouth and, fighting the reflex to gag she would get small amounts of the incredibly sour liquid into her body before retching. Wine was worse for, although the wine did provide some nourishment, the fermented liquid made her dizzy and dehydrated.

Already she had lost a fearful amount of weight. Her body seemed to have turned against itself and was devouring itself from the inside out. Her body was growing gaunt and her skin took on an unnatural pallor. She knew in another few days she would be too weak to stand and it would not be long after that before her body would give out completely and she would die. She would die in a stranger’s home, in a tiny room, unclean, unblessed, and unknown. Despair flowed over her like a wave of warm surrender. She stumbled to the small bed and collapsed. She had harbored so many hopes. Her life on the Island of Nujel’m had been a good one. A fine house and the respect of the locals. She had no wants or worries. As Comptroller to Lady Isilian’s business investments and estates she was handsomely paid. She wore the finest gowns and ate the finest foods. Men tipped their hats to her and watched her walk away as she passed them by. Ladies eyed her with envy and jealously and wanted to know the name of her tailor. Now, she lay here alone in a dark room in a dark corner of some stranger’s castle dying and filthy. She lay here devoid of pride and vacant of hope.

Perhaps Michael Hawk had been right. Perhaps she was naïve to the ways of the world. She certainly was unschooled to the ways of his kind. How long had the Lady Isilian been … “alive?” Two, Three hundred years? Longer? And what of Michael? He seemed proud to be what he was. What happened that he would break his oath as a Paladin in order to serve such a woman? Did she seduce him with lies as she did Anna, or did he give himself of his own free will? Was it possible? Could such a creature actually feel love? The thought caused her to shiver and she crawled under the covers to keep herself warm, but even warmth escaped her. Perhaps this is how such creatures felt. Endlessly hungry, eternally thirsty and cold. Perhaps this curse was placed upon her to teach her how to be …

... Like them.

Anna sat up. Perhaps there was a way to survive this curse after all. She was going to die regardless of what happened or who tried to help her. That fact was beyond dispute. Would it not be better to live on after death than to enter that eternal darkness alone and without hope? Her head swam as her brain wrestled with the dizzy implications of these truths. She could live on. She could cheat death and still …

But would she become as twisted and as evil as the Lady Isilian? No. She had been raised in the Holy City of Trinsic and she had prayed every day of her life. She was devout, pure, and chaste. She was a virgin. She could control her desires. With prayer and penance she could still be a force for good in the world. Perhaps even undo what harm the Lady Isilian had caused. She could use the vast wealth at her disposal to make right what had been wronged. She could earn a place heaven by fulfilling her destiny. Perhaps it was her destiny to suffer in this manner so her path would be made clear to her.

Rising from the bed she moved to the table and sat down. For a long moment she stared at the middle distance without a thought passing through her mind before picking up a serrated knife. She stared at her wrist and grimaced as she made a small incision along her forearm. A thin line of blood welled up and began to flow down her arm. She watched, enthralled by the deep, rich color and coppery scent of the thick liquid. Her stomach growled like a hungry wolf as she raised her arm to her lips. Her tongue accepted the warm, rich taste of the blood; her blood. Incredibly she was able to swallow and could feel a strange sensual warmth begin to flow through her.

Anna Evanovich’s eyes rolled back as she drank her own blood from her own arm. Relief from the gnawing hunger, thirst and unfathomable chill in her bones began to ease as she took more and more of the healing liquid into her body. She drank her fill then calmly lowered her arm to the table. Opening her eyes she felt stronger and more alert. The hunger and thirst was gone. In its place was the knowledge and realization of what must be done.

She knew now what path she was to follow.
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Judas D'arc · Journeyman Joined: 27 Nov 2011 Posts: 140 Location: Yew

Knock Knock Knock. There was no response, so Judas repeated himself. Knock Knock Knock. After another half minute, he cautiously glanced around the hallway of Vesper's Ironwood Inn, and then unlocked the door with a small key that had previously been provided to him.

Squeak Squeak Squeak. The noise reached him before he had time to comprehend the sight that awaited him inside of the room. Cubbins, short and round and bald as always, was dressed in strips of dark leather and trying to strangle an elven youth, handsome and hairless and nude, lying face down on the bed. Squeak Squeak Squeak. But then before the bard could react, he came to realize that the fat merchant was not actually attempting to harm the elf. It was something else entirely. Squeak Squeak Squeak.

Judas cleared his throat to announce his presence. Squeak Squeak Squeak. They had not heard him. With no desire to continue as a witness to this event, he boldly shouted, "Cubbins!"

The next few minutes were among the most uncomfortable that the bard had ever experienced in his almost three decades of life. The awkwardness when Cubbins and his activity partner finally noticed they were no longer alone. The sound and scent that accompanied the disentanglement of their sweaty bodies. However, the worst of it was when Judas observed that he was previously unaware of the merchant's tastes.

"We's all vices," Cubbins replied. "My's 'eartwood."

Once the young elf was gone, and the fat man had exchanged his dark leather ensemble for a large, red robe, the two proceeded to discuss business.

"'ope i's good reason," the merchant muttered. "Tha' elf ain' cheap."

The bard tried his best to refrain from insulting. "I need a message sent to Shelley."

Cubbins narrowed his eyes. "'ow I know yer tha' real 'udas. I's a trick 'haps?"

Judas sighed impatiently. "Are you really going to make me do this?"

There was a whistle of laughter through missing and rotten teeth. "I's tha rules."

The bard shook his head, and then quickly rolled up the right sleeve of his tunic, revealing the image of a small emerald tattooed upon his shoulder. "Satisfied?"

"Yer mes'age?"

"I know Shelley is busy, but a meeting must be arranged immediately," Judas began to explain. "There are also three items of importance she needs to be made aware of. First, Alisiea's demon troubles have become worse, and it appears they have human worshipers. Secondly, I require information regarding any deaths or murders that have recently occurred in Serpent's Hold. Will you remember these things?"

"Aye," Cubbins nodded. "An' tha' thir'?"

"I think it is time," The bard stated, pausing to consider the consequences of his next words. "Tell her it is time that Gaius learned the truth about Jolicia, Alisiea, and myself."

Hawk · Visitor Joined: 22 Aug 2012 Posts: 5

*A young boy of seventeen enters the tomb of the nobles; with torch in hand he moves to a private section where he presses a secret stone, opening an inner chamber. He enters and kneels before a standing stone coffin and speaks*
My Lord, there is a man in the streets inquiring of you, a fighter calling himself Gaius.

*The lid swings open with only the slightest sound, the armored form of the paladin Michael Hawk steps forth. He looks down at his trawl.*
Thank you, you have done well, I shall deal with him myself.

*The young man bows his head as Michael walks by, his cloak brushing the young man on the way out. Upon the surface, Michael slips into the shadows of the place where his servant works, spotting Gaius, he watches and observes. After several hours of questioning locals, Gaius departs the city of Trinsic and heads for home, unaware of the shadow that follows him.

Upon arrival, Michael slips beneath the apple tree and watches the coming and going of the humans inside; listing to their conversations.*
So the expectant mother dwell within *he mutters in a hush voice*

*The front door opens and a lady in blue appers, she walks down the path to the steps and stands in front of the home looking down the road as to choose which way to go. Michael steps from the shadows, stepping on a transfer pad by the steps activating it and quickly steps off heading for the front door. The lady in blue sees him and follows. He reaches the front door and is ready to knock when the lady in blue speaks*

“Excuse me!”
Michael turns to her and speaks; “yes!”
“No one is home!” she fidgets.
“Oh?”
“Would you like me to give a missive when someone is?” she asked
“The girl no longer slumbers?”
“Who?” see exclaims
“The young girl!”
“What young girl? “Might I inquire who you are?”
“Does she still slumber?”
*she nods*
*Michael looks deep into her eyes* I am a…..Friend.
She looks at him blinking, unable to look away. “A Friend…”
“I wish to see her!”
“Ahh...by all means, come.”

*He steps aside into the flowers allowing her to pass. She unlocks and pushes the door open, walking in a trancelike state. As they move to the second floor and approaches Gaius’s room, Michael reach a hand up towards the door and whispers sleep and continues to follow the lady in blue up the stairs to the third floor.

With a blank expression she opens Ali’s door and speaks; “Alisiea, a friend is here to see you. Come in milord friend.”

Michael enters the rooms and stands at the foot of the bed looking down at her. The lady in blue moves to the right side of the bed looking across the room into the void.

“Who cast her to slumber?” Michael looks at the lady in blue. In a voice devoid of emotion; “I do not know milord?”

Michael looking at the lady in blue raises his hand and speaks “sleep!” She crumples to the floor hitting her head on the dresser on the way down, opening a gash on her left temple.

Michael looks down at Ali and places his hand on her belly and smiles, he feels the baby stir
.
He sniffs the air, catching a whiff of fresh blood.

He speaks not in common; Vas tu no da vos o gorta, Fe vas da so KO.

The in common he speaks; in three days’ time you shall wake, be refreshed. Sleep now in peace! *touches her head* *Alisia moans softly*

Michael moves around the bed and looks down at the lady in blue. He kneels and leans over her, using his finger to wipe the blood away, he licks his fingers clean. Then speaks; Obsu Vulni. The wound heals.
He then looks at the lady in blue and says; vi tor e so no for a, I was not here!
And disappears!

Anna Evanovich · Visitor Joined: 21 Aug 2012 Posts: 18

REPRINTED HERE WITH THE PERMISSION OF THE PLAYER OF AINGEAL

With just the torches and lanterns lighting the abbey the monks called home, Aingeal stumbled down the hallway, trying to stay focus and fight the overwhelming need to close her eyes. Bumping into into a passing Monk knocking the scrolls he carried sending them flying in all directions, "Oi girl watch where you’re going you dirty drunken thing!” "Drunk" Aingeal offered as the only reply as she just continued to walk towards the doors that lead to the outside. Yelling back, "Yes I wish I was drunk you old fool, dead we’re all going to die... DIE!" clawing at the door trying with the last bit of her strength to open it, only to fail miserably. Squeezing her eyes tightly only darkness and star bursts would appear, she pulled once more. Nothing, the doors refused her. Leaning against the wall sliding to the corner, the coolness of the stone seemed comforting; Aingeal slid to her knees crumpled facing the corner and began to cry.

Once again the battle was lost.... She succumb to sleep...

...The woman with raven hair held her hand leading her from the garden towards the opening that gave way to the vast library, her face turned down to the child, her facial expression soft, she spoke to her with a smile, "Why can I not hear her?” The child stopped her hand slipping from the woman's as she walked into the doorway the room was aflame, the woman disappeared into it as if there was no effect on her

Smoke filled her eyes, rubbing them appeared the buildings, the smoke stung her eyes. An orange and yellow glow illuminated the night sky and could be seen miles away as a soft pulsing glow on the distant horizon. From that distance it looked as if the town of Ashencrosse was in flames for, indeed, it was. Aingeal, standing at the edge of the forest, could feel the heat as the fire engulfed the entire town. The palisades that once acted as a shield against the evils of the world now crumbled into ash. The Grand Hall threw its dying cries high into the air in the form of a fountain of glowing sparks. The Bramble Rose collapsed under the unbearable weight of its own sins.

“It is beautiful is it not?” The Lady in White asked as she draped a green and blue gossamer wing around Aingeal’s shoulders.

“Aye,” Aingeal agreed. “But …”

"Seems the destitute are everywhere" one monk said to another, both shaking their heads in agreement. Not aware of the torment that was within her mind.

“… But the Gypsy girl has gone from here has she not? They have taken her and have hidden her. We cannot find her. Her scent is gone from this land. We can no longer walk in her dreams. Now we must rely on those closest to her.”

The Lady in White drew Aingeal closer, folded her wing around her protectively; whispered to her.

“You must help the girl my Gypsy Queen. She is in grave danger and must be protected. You must protect her. You must bring her to us. I promise, she will be guarded and treated with respect. Not like some worthless vagabond as she is treated now by those who wish to use her only to fulfill their own ends. No, my dear, she will be cared for and held in high regard and her child …” the Lady in White shivered with delight … “ahhh yes, her child … her child shall be a queen in her own right.”

The Lady in White took Aingeal by the shoulders and turned her so she could gaze upon her face. She smiled and leaned closer. Her empty eye sockets glimmered as they reflected the firelight from the burning town.

“Do this and you shall be richly rewarded. You will be granted powers beyond your imagining and given absolute reign over your people. You will, indeed, be a Gypsy Queen.”

The Lady in White rose in the air and looked down upon Aingeal.

“You will do this thing or you shall face the fires of despair and the pain of ten-thousand needles.”

She laughed in a strange unearthly manner and the sound of it echoed against the wall of fire and the trees; and then, in a rush of wings … she was gone.

Startled awake Aingeal bumped her head against the wall. Standing up leaning against the wall, she tried the door once more, this battle was won, it swung open; the sky gave witness to that moment when the light and dark fight one another, either giving way to dawn or twilight. Cool air burned her lungs as she took towards the gate.
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Anna Evanovich · Visitor Joined: 21 Aug 2012 Posts: 18

Choices.

We are faced with hundreds of choices each day of our lives. Some are easy. Some not so. Yet we make them and most times we discover the choices we made were the right ones. Sometimes, however, we discover; they were not.

**********

Anna Visuli Evanovich was dying. This was an undisputed fact. Her body had turned against itself and was devouring its own flesh and blood in a manner most humans would consider unbearable. Nothing could sustain her or give her the strength she needed to fight back. The curse Michael Hawk had placed upon her would soon play out. In a matter of days, she would be dead.

Now, she must make a choice:

Does she die with her human potential unfulfilled? Her human life cut short at an age when romance and love is so tantalizing and real. Or does she succumb to the temptation, live beyond death, and become the thing she despises. Does she choose to become a monster; a creature so vile and dark that it must prey upon the innocent and guilty alike for its survival? A soulless creature condemned for all eternity to haunt the foul places of the night and feed upon the living. Her fevered mind had worked out the logic and she had already tasted her own blood. In her mind, there was only one way for her to make a difference for good in this world. If she became one of them, she believed, in her soul, that her god would forgive her and allow her to control the urges she would most certainly face. She needed only one thing to insure this choice was fulfilled.

She needed Michael Hawk.

Those who had befriended her made every effort to find a way to break the curse. Every avenue was researched; every healer questioned, but no answer was found. They came to her in the small, dimly lit room where she was sequestered and asked her what she needed. They managed to convince her, even through her fevered logic, that she would be better off dying as a human in the eyes of her god than to become an outcast condemned to walk forever in darkness. Indeed, if she was to die, they asked, where would she like to be when the time came? Not here she assured them, but rather in her home City of Trinsic. Arrangements were made and she was taken to the City of her birth. The city filled with memories of a happier time. The Atalan, it seemed, had once again vanished to the veil of history and no longer held sway over the city. Her family home, however, had been destroyed. Razed to the ground by the Atalan as punishment for her fathers participation in the resistance and her mothers defiance. Still, it was better to die here, in a local inn, than in the cellar of some strangers home.

They moved her, as she requested, to a park near the center of the city. This was a place where her father had brought her for picnics and swimming when she was a little girl. Sometimes he would hire a small boat and they would ply the river for hours and hours trying their hand at fishing. Neither of them ever caught a single fish, but that was unimportant. What counted most was that a father could show his young daughter that there were wonders beyond imagining, even within the very walls of the city they loved.

Judas D’arc, Jolicia, Demi and Aingeal stayed with her while she sat on the small hillock and spoke quietly with Judas. He asked and she told him of her childhood. He asked and she told him of her god and her belief that she would be reunited with her parents after death. They talked quietly of this and more until …

A man came into the park. Armored in the battle iron of a Paladin Lord of Trinsic he asked if he could be of assistance, for the sight of Anna’s condition would prompt any good natured person to offer their help. His face was hidden by the helm upon his head, but his voice was familiar. At first, still feverish with starvation and thirst, Anna saw and heard her father and struggled to reach out to him, but she was held back by the others, who, for whatever reason, seemed suspicious of the man. As requested, the man left, but he did not go far. His obvious concern, coupled with his oath to help those in need, kept him at a slight, but readily available distance. Anna made the final choice to move to a local in, for her weakened body would soon give out and she wanted to be indoors when the time came. The Paladin followed at a respectful distance and, on several occasions, offered to escort them to an inn he knew of, but his offer was refused.

Anna found it difficult to focus on any single conversation but after what seemed to be a very long time, she found herself lying on a small but comfortable bed on the second floor of a well know inn. Judas sat watching over her while the others remained outside. The Paladin, it seemed, had followed them here despite their efforts to dissuade him.

Hours passed in a hazy fog of broken thoughts and feverish speech. Judas was replaced by Jolicia and, for a time, Anna’s fevered brain seemed to clear. They spoke of things women often speak of in their private moments and Anna was grateful for the company. Towards midnight, when Anna was, once again, feverish in her thoughts, a small group entered the room and among them stood Anna’s only salvation.

Michael Hawk.

Upon seeing his face Anna threw herself to the floor and began crawling towards him begging him to save her. She was willing to accept any manner of salvation for she did not wish to die. Those around her held her back and managed to get her into the bed again where she folded in upon herself and fell into deep despair. But hope still existed. It crept into her awareness like a thin beam of warming sunlight breaking through heavy storm clouds. A bargain, it seemed, had been reached. It only required Anna’s nod for the bargain to be fulfilled. As voices echoed in her brain she managed, after some time, to understand the bargain and agreed to its demands.

Michael Hawk would release the curse he had so callously placed upon the young woman if she agreed to return to him all papers, journals, ledgers, letters and notes belonging to the Lady Isilian as well as all papers relating to her estates and business ventures. Anna would be banished from House Isilian, left to pursue her life unburdened by fear of repercussions for her betrayal of the Lady’s trust. House Isilian, in turn, would receive assurances from the group that they would end their persecution of that house and permit it to exist under Michael’s care.

When all was agreed to, Michael asked for, and received the items he required to lift the curse. The words were spoken in the old tongue. Blood was given and drunk by the one affected. When it was done, Anna fell into unconscious. For a time, nothing happened, then, as the moments passed, health returned to her body and mind. She slept and as she slept her body was restored to the beauty and health it possessed before the curse was cast. Indeed, to some within the room, she looked younger and more vibrant than when they had first met her. But more important, she was human still. Whatever mysteries were contained in both the curse and its removal would remain just that; mysteries. What powers Michael Hawk possessed were neither known nor asked for. It was enough that Anna Visuli Evanovich was, once again, walking a path of her own choosing.
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Lady Avella · Posted: Tue Sep 25, 2012 8:40 am Post subject:

A dark shape, cloaked in shadow and appearing as nothing more than a wisp of movement at the corner of the eye, slipped aboard a merchant vessel docked in Magincia. The ship, carrying a cargo of whisky, wine and cloth was to set sail for the city of Moonglow on the early morning tide. A crew of twenty, most below deck, sleeping in hammocks strung between the beams, would rise at dawn to begin the task of preparing the ship for the two day voyage. The night watch, patrolling the deck from fore to aft had little more to do than imagine themselves in a soft bed in some unnamed port with a woman of heft to keep them warm.

The rippled smudge of flowing black ribbons, with little effort on its part, slipped below deck and into the cargo hold. There it found a darkened corner and settled in for the voyage. Nothing would alert the crew to the danger now lurking within their peaceful floating home until the pangs of hunger forced the shadow to engage them one by one.

Here the shadowy smudge waited. Its black-nailed claws absently scratching gouges in the planking of the hold. There was vengeance to be had. But all that would have to wait, for the crossing of the waters would keep its interest and give it time to calculate and plan. There were questions that needed answered and people whose loyalties must be tested and …

The smudge of sooty shadow that had folded itself into the dark recesses of the cargo hold snapped its alabaster eyes towards the upper decks and hissed as the sound of living souls moved into action.

Dawn had broken and from above came the muffled cries of,

“Make ready!”

“All hands to stations!”

"Let Go the Halyard, Sheets, and Braces!”

A thin string of gleaming saliva drooled from the lips of the swirling mass of shadowy smoke as the first scent of living blood reached it. A sailor had cut themselves on the fore-deck. The creature closed its eyes and fought off the urge to feed. There would be time enough when the setting sun signaled it was safe to take one or two of the crew. By the time the ship reached it destination, the creature hidden below deck would have enough strength to materialize into its true form and begin the task of reclaiming what had been taken from it.

There would be a reckoning the likes of which few had ever seen.

Anna Evanovich · Visitor Joined: 21 Aug 2012 Posts: 18

REPRINTED HERE WITH THE PERMISSION OF THE PLAYER OF AINGEAL

Aingeal's mind was eased enough to attempt to rest. Four days... Four sleepless nights... Far to long that one can keep their sanity.

Leaving Mazewood and finding herself in the city of Zento, Aingeal headed to the moongate to the city of Britain and the cool basement of the Tavern. It would be quiet; the noise from the rioters and townspeople muffled by its thick walls.

Tossing a few coins to the Tavern keep, Aingeal's legs shook with each step down the stairs. Rolling out the bedroll in the far corner and curling on her side within moments of her head resting on her arm, behind closed eyes Aingeal wondered had she done the right thing to speak so openly about that has troubled her for weeks, but these thoughts were fleeting, sleep over took her.

The night was ablaze with stars. A stain of silver across a black and velvet sky. Aingeal lay on cool summer grass and stared up at the heavens with happiness in her heart. Alisiea and the child Celestia were safe and she had been rewarded as promised. She now was Queen of all the Gypsies and held wealth beyond imagining. All doubt had been erased from her mind. All questions answered. There was no more fear in her heart and her soul was at peace.

"All this worry for nothing... Running around the lands trying to stop what could not be stopped.” It all seemed so silly now.

One of the Tavern woman came down with a tray of food, only to find her fast asleep, finding a blanket she lightly laid it over her curled form, leaving the tray next to her.

Standing off to the side lost in the forest of tall pillars, Aingeal's attention was turned to the Dias, with many dignitaries from across the land. The Daemon Lord of the Underworld sat on the throne of Britannia surrounded by the Kings and Queens of old. Each, in their own way, knelt before him and pledged their fealty. Next to the throne, wearing the purple gown of Royalty stood the girl-child Celestia. Now fully grown and at the pinnacle of her powers she watched as each former King voiced his allegiance. Any man, woman, or child who refused to swear loyalty was hunted down and destroyed. Peace had come to Sosaria and soon the Shards would be made whole and the realms that had been scattered would be brought together under one rule.

This had been the promise of the dreams. This was the way it was meant to be.

Suddenly the room began to spin, trying to not create a scene; Aingeal made her way towards the wall and lay down. No one gave any notice to this small dark woman lying on the marble floor. The Lady in White hovered over Aingeal and smiled down upon her sleeping form. Her black wings beat the air into eddies of cold wind. Her eyeless sockets watched the sleeping woman with emotionless passion.

The lady in White spoke to her sleeping form, “You have spoken aloud the vision of your dreams. You have given hope to those who were not meant to have it. For this you shall be punished. For this you shall feel the agony of your sins. Prepare yourself, for in two night’s time it will be your screams of terror that shall amuse He Who Waits. You have but one chance left. Bring the girl to us by any means possible and your punishment shall be turned to joy and your ecstasy shall be unending. Wake now and fulfill your promise.”

Kicking the blanket off, Aingeal startled and blinked against the dimness of the basement. "Two nights time" How could she be so stupid to think there was hope? One must be hopeful to obtain such a virtue.
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Alisiea · Adventurer Joined: 14 Dec 2011 Posts: 36

When Alisiea finally woke from the spell place upon her by the Daemon; six days had passed. The few dreams she did have were so vivid as to believe they were real. Aingeal had been there, in the dream, watching over her as the time for her delivery was at hand. Never had she seen such a beautiful house and it was hers…all hers.

But the reality upon waking was; she was horribly thirsty. Mr. Tibs or “Uncle” Tibs as she called him was there when she opened her eyes. So was Alana the girl who owned the dragon that Ali swore wanted to eat her once. But the dragon was not there so that was good. She seemed fit and refreshed but needed a bath and she drank enough water to fill a tub.

It was difficult to remember exactly what had happened when the party went to Ashencrosse to burn down what was left of Jolicia’s house, but Ali did remember a lot of shouting and fighting. As she bathed she tried hard to recall the events of that evening, but nothing was forthcoming. Finally giving up, she held her breath and lay back in the deep tub letting the warm water embrace her. It was quiet under the surface, except for a slight humming in her ears. She closed her eyes and let her body relax as the water held her weight. She was a leaf floating in a pool. Suddenly, there was a bright flash behind her eyes and the scene that night in Ashencrosse came back to her as clear as if it was happening now. Alisiea bolted upright choking and sputtering. She screamed.

The Daemon was floating not twenty feet from the southwestern watchtower where she had been sent to hide while the others battled the creature. His wings were great black sails that beat the air into eddies of foul smelling currents. His gleaming red eyes bore into her. She froze under his gaze. Then the creature shouted “Sleep Child!” and Alisiea fell.

Now she knew what had happened.

A few days later she was relating all of this to Judas, Jolicia, Aingeal and Demi. Each in turn added their version of what happened that night but none seemed to remember the daemon shouting. Nevertheless she was free of the spell and there were new ventures to embark upon. Judas was anxious to travel to Serpents Hold to talk to a man called “Bottoms” about some incident that had happened there some time ago. For some reason he believed those events has some bearing on what was happing around them now. Alisiea wanted to remain at Gaius’s house where she was safe, but Judas encouraged her to travel to Serpents Hold thinking the outing might do her some good. And so, with her pockets stuffed with freshly made oatmeal-raisin cookies, she and the others set off for Serpents Hold and Mr. Bottoms.

Judas D'arc · Journeyman Joined: 27 Nov 2011 Posts: 140 Location: Yew

"Halt!"

The loud, shrill voice penetrated his brain like a dagger, violently ripping Judas from the deep meditation on the virtues that had so captured his attention. Or that was the story he would offer, if anyone had ever asked. In actuality, he had been composing a dirty limerick in his head, and was struggling for a less obvious and more suitable word to rhyme with "runt."

"You there! On the bench!

Confused, the bard rose from his seat outside the Dog and Lion Pub. It had been a quiet, misty morning in Serpent's Hold, at least until this interruption. He turned towards the direction the noise originated from, and was surprised by the sight of an armed woman charging at him from across the way.

"Don't you dare move!"

Judas held up his hands defensively, as his pursuer quickly crossed the distance between them. At first glance, she was not very intimidating. Except for the armor and uniform of the Vesper guard, as well as the deadly-looking kryss in her right hand. Before the bard could ponder the reason why a Vesper official was in Serpent's hold, the point of the woman's weapon was aimed at his throat.

"Shave your beard -- or die!"

********

"Destiny died to dark-hair where Courage never fails."

It had been one of seven cryptic messages left behind by demon worshipers in the ruins of Jolicia's former home in Ashencrosse, and so far, the only one that they had been able to definitively decipher. However, the long road from questions to answers had been neither simple, nor particularly encouraging.

Once Genevieve of Ashencrosse had pointed out that Serpent's Hold was the place that "Courage never fails," the bard had asked Shelley to look into into any notable deaths that had occurred there. Within a day, she had returned with word of a man known to wander the walls of the island keep, rambling to all he encountered about murders and monsters, and most importantly, demons.

The individual in question was a young man called Bartholomew Dragonbane III, who generally went by the nickname, Bottoms. Judas could only imagine that this was an obvious reference to the youth's backside, for it was apparent that his appetite was quite "bottomless." His tale was not entirely coherent, but they were able to piece together a number of important facts. Bottoms had once shared a number of adventures with his friends Everett Whitethorn, Celestia, and a talking musical Mongbat by the name of Mooky. Celestia was believed to be the subject of a prophecy that involved a coming darkness, and she was being groomed for her role by a mysterious teacher known only as the Baratarian. And some months before, Celestia had been found dead in her home, the victim of a brutal murder committed by a man named George. The bard and some of his companions found this news disconcerting for a couple of reasons. Firstly, this Everett Whitethorn was well known to them. He and his lover, Dezera Blackwell, were the vampires responsible for killing the gypsy Ayana Willowsong of Ashencrosse. Both culprits had met their end months ago, the lady by Paine's axe, and the boy by Rosar's rage. Secondly, the name Celestia was also familiar to them. It was the name that Alisiea had decided for her unborn child, and strangely enough, it had come to her in a dream.

With information concerning "destiny died" and "Courage never fails" in hand, Judas and his friends had next decided to identify the "dark-hair" part of the riddle. Shelley discovered that the murderer George had been transferred to the Trinsic prison, and the group journeyed there to speak with him. The killer did not strike a very sympathetic figure, and his protestations of innocence were easily dismissed. According to the prisoner, on the night in question, he was drinking at the Dog and Lion Pub, when an attractive and eager woman had approached him. By the time they exchanged the comfort of the tavern for the isolation of a dark alleyway, she had made her intentions clear. But George's intimate encounter had ended in muddled memory, and later he awoke in a strange bedroom with the dead Celestia beneath him. He insisted that his mystery woman was no figment of a drunken imagination, but could only identify her black hair, blue eyes, curvy figure, and the crooked dagger tattooed upon her hip. Although the group was skeptical, both the bard and Gaius had also heard rumors of mercenaries known by that very symbol.

Fortunately, Shelley and her contacts were able to locate one such warrior. He called himself the Ravager, and resided in Jhelom of the Felucca facet. But he was not willing to help, unless Judas and his friends aided him first. They were given the option of allowing the fighter to bed all of them or rescuing one of his fellow mercenaries from cannibals in Wrong, and they wisely chose the latter. The bard, Jolicia, Gaius, Alisiea, and Genevieve ventured forth, and despite the interference of a particularly fierce ogre, they eventually freed this Olaf. Upon their return, the Ravagar identified the crooked dagger as the symbol of the Library of Scars, an elite combat training academy, and the dark-haired woman as one Dezera Blackwell, a former student at this school. The very same Dezera Blackwell who was subsequently turned into a vampire by the Lady Avella Isilian, and was then slain by Paine's axe shortly before her lover Everett Whitethorn followed her into oblivion.

The true meaning of "Destiny died to dark-hair where Courage never fails" was finally revealed. Celestia had died at the hands of Dezera Blackwell in Serpent's Hold.

********

"But I am rather fond of my beard," Judas smiled slightly as he continued to stand in place.

"I completely understand," his heavily disguised friend smirked as she sheathed her weapon. "It does its job well and conceals that ugly face of yours."

Mutual laughter followed, and then they sat down together upon the bench that the bard had been occupying. "How was it?"

"Perfect," the woman replied, still smiling. "After my experiences there, I've no trouble passing as a Vesper guard. Once I gave them a description of Blackwell, and told them of her part in the gypsy killing, they promised to reopen the investigation. A few of the Dog and Lion regulars saw this George leave with her, so it's not the first they've heard of her involvement. I do believe your innocent man will go free."

"Thank you, Shelley," Judas nodded. "I truly appreciate your help in this."

"Promises were made," the woman reminded him, "and they'll be honored. I'm not about to abandon you, Jolicia, Alisiea, and Gaius to this demon business. Besides, I rarely have a chance to get into it personally these days, it's an welcomed distraction." Then suddenly, Shelley's false face formed a strange, almost nostalgic expression. "Judas?"

"Hmmm?"

"All those years ago, you ever imagine we'd end up like this? Working together to help someone and the like?"

"Hmmm," the bard mused for a few moments before responding. "No ... I do not suppose I ever did."

Lady Avella · Posted: Sun Oct 07, 2012 1:57 pm Post subject:

The fullness of the moon. Such a pleasurable time. The movement of these heavenly bodies from one phase to another compiled with the changing of seasons brings to this world … longer nights. Longer nights to walk in the small places; the quiet places, the hidden places.

How I enjoy the Lyceum. The feel of leather bound books. The subtle sound of pages being turned. The crinkle of old parchment and the smell of musty tomes and stale ink. These monks have hidden certain types of knowledge from the world as it to learn it would bring about the indisputable destruction of the reader. And perhaps that is true, but still, is that any reason not to share?

Let us look at certain subjects; daemons for example. Can they, by their own volition, enter this world the way we might walk from one room to another by simply opening a door? Or must they be “invited,” conjured by someone with the knowledge of how such things are done? And are not some daemons fond of riddles? Thus it is written here, in these volumes. And here it is. Hidden in the ancient tomes, tucked away in the dark recesses of the Lyceum. Selfish monks. Now look at you. Laying there with your empty eyes starring at the void. So tell us, my dear learned ones; how do we rid the world of such creatures? Do we plead? Beg? Fight? Pray? But what weapons to use? And can steel alone return them to the pit? Or must we find some other means? Perhaps a riddle so complicated it causes them such distress over its lack of a solution that they are expelled from this world though the very nature of their failure. But, search as I might, I can not find the answers here. It seems the monks have hidden that volume even deeper in their labyrinth of dusty rooms. But also written here, among these very books, is the faintly sweetened scent of one well known to me. One whose faith seems to have wavered. One who came, lost and broken of spirit, into my care. Now, I fear, I may have, once again, been betrayed. Does loyalty and trust come as so high a price no living creature can afford it? Or is loyalty and trust so cheaply sold that its value becomes inflated?

But I cannot stay and ponder these questions for Beatrice waits for me. Poor thing. How she clings to the Moonglow cemetery afraid to leave its confines. How sweetly she begs for my attentions. How emphatically she embraces the night. I watch while she lingers in the moonlight singing her sweet song that guides the weakened mortals through her paradise of blood. The silver moonlight lies upon the land creating a vision of otherness that ticks the eye and spins visions of strange embodiments. The unmown grass, damp with evening dew, is cool upon my feet as I slide towards the crypt upon which she rests.

Beatrice; daughter of compassionless night. Child of delicious pleasure. You freed me from my prison and I gave you immortality. Now give to me the means by which to strike. Assist me in my vengeance upon all who have sinned against my House.

Alisiea · Adventurer Joined: 14 Dec 2011 Posts: 36

She danced.

For the first time in months she stood upon a stage and danced. The music tingled and tickled again just as it had all her life. Her toes and feet found the rhythm and she moved into the first spin reveling in the abandonment of fear. By the second twirl she was lost once more in the pure Magick of it all. Just like her mother, she too found in the dance the name of the goddess and heard her song. She could feel the air around her body begin to crackle with the sweet electricity of power and the exhilaration of life. She closed her eyes and clapped her hands overhead as they found the quicking pace of the drums. She knew in her heart that she could loose her sight, but she would always see the true nature of things. She could loose the power of speech, but she would always be able to sing the sacred songs and pledge the unfathomable truth of her love. She lost herself within the folds of the music and the movement; and she was free.

But she wanted him back. She wanted him to rise once more before her, take her in his arms, and tell her she was safe. She spun and her hair spun in that same wild manner he loved so much. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and she smiled, for the heat of her body carried her back to him. Carried her back to his bed. To his strong arms. To his passionate kiss.

And then … the dance was over. The world was somehow different now. She was different now. Gone was the innocent girl who would dance for coins or ale in the dust and mud of New Haven. Gone were the happy nights roaming the forests and waking in the hollow vales or dew-damp fields of new mown grass. Things were somehow different now, much different.

She paused a moment before leaving the stage. Her breath came harder now and her muscles tired quicker. Her balance was off and her thoughts kept interfering. Someone handed her a pouch of coins but she did not see who; nor did she care. She wiped sweat from her brow and tied back her hair. She sat for awhile to catch her breath and leaned against the side of the stage. People were clapping and whistling but she didn’t care. There was only one critic of her skill she wanted to hear from … but he was dead and, save for the child she carried within, there was nothing left to dance for. No amount of coin. No amount of praise. No amount of promise could change what was.

She moved back to the table, crawled among the pillows and listened to the quiet conversation of things and places far removed from her own experience. She watched as couples flirted with the ease of quiet seduction. While others smiled upon each other secure in the knowledge that they would wake at dawn in each other’s arms. There were these and more, but she kept her own counsel and stilled her envious heart.

As the night moved on she returned to the home of a friend where she had been given a room and a place to call her own. But tonight that simply was not enough. It was not enough to lie in her bed alone and remember the tears or feel the emptiness in her heart at the absence of his being. It was not enough. So she asked a favor; a boon. Be it right or wrong or neither, she didn’t care, but she asked and he agreed. She would lie in his bed, at his side, but not for love or lovemaking. Not for kiss or touch or for the promise of a better life, but for the feel of a warm body next to hers. The weight and warmth of another life. To sleep and dream of song and dance, of drum and flute, of music and Magick. To dream of life and the quiet knowledge that everything … everything … was now, somehow different than before.

Renthar · Posted: Tue Oct 09, 2012 6:57 pm Post subject:

"Hear my tale," the tall sorcerer with the strange eyes proclaimed loudly, "or else be doomed to repeat my mistakes." He then paused to regard his audience of one, and his lips stretched to form an eerily wide grin. "Never mind that. It's obvious that you'll never rise to my heights, and you're clearly incapable of repeating anything at all."

In response, the young savage emitted a series of incoherent noises. His lack of pronunciation was completely excusable given the fact that most of his face, including his nose, tongue, and parts of his jaw, had been violently removed. Renthar wondered if that made the boy more or less fortunate than the other members of his tribe, whose bodies casually littered the area surrounding them. No more than a dozen summers in age at most, the tribal was the sole survivor of the attack responsible for devastating this small camp Ilshenar camp. While he had learned long ago to appreciate a good massacre, leaving the youth nailed to a tree stump with rusty spikes did strike the mage as gratuitous.

"It began centuries ago," Renthar stated, "but I'd hazard a guess you're more in the mood for a long story made short. Well, here it is. Once upon a time, I served in the army of a rather infamous wizard. His inspired attempts at world conquest ended at the hands of a certain blond-haired hero, and suddenly, myself and others in his service found ourselves bereft of employment. We joined together to find a way to benefit from our mutual misfortune, and absconded with a certain ritual that allowed us to extend our lifespans. And before you think to grunt it -- no, it's not anything that could help you escape your impending demise."

The young savage's acknowledgement consisted of a bloody coughing fit.

"If you're all done with that, I'll go on," the strange-eyed sorcerer reprimanded, almost irritably. "I could spend hours talking up my old army friends, but sadly, they bear little relevance to the matter at hand. All, that is, except for Paine Drakul. Paine was another that fought for the wizard, but he found his own, unique path to immortality." Before continuing, Renthar briefly considered shifting the savage a bit to the left in order to make him more comfortable. But then he realized that while it might improve the boy's breathing, it would also prove fatal to his entrails and therefore dismissed the idea. "Over the years, Paine and I were both rivals and allies. We were sometimes enemies and even friends. It's not a relationship I expect a painted illiterate such as yourself to comprehend. What's important is that he was a constant presence in my life for centuries, and even though I frequently wanted him dead, I never once regretted his existence."

The hiss of a large swamp snake was the next to bring about an interruption. There was an audible sigh, followed by a chant of "Corp Por," and then the tall mage turned back to the mutilated tribe member. "We hadn't seen each other in ages, when one day, Paine appeared in Ocllo with some friends. I'll spare you the details of why I chose to live upon that horrible island, except that it involved the need to hide away after a rather lengthy imprisonment. Which is why I was none too pleased to see Paine accompanied by a drunken wh*re with some marginal musical talent, a painted clown that fancied herself a hunter, and a bare-footed gypsy who enjoyed howling at the moon. And these were but the first to come to town. Soon after, a young local girl was murdered, and I decided it best to leave that place for good."

Almost kindly, Renthar swatted away a few mosquitoes that attempted to approach the young savage. "Back, wretches," he commanded. "You'll have him soon enough."

A hoarse sob slipped through the boy's non-mouth, followed by a stream of tears that quickly mixed with the dried blood caked to his face.

"My destination was a town called Ashencrosse, in the lands of Malas, and its ruler, the Countess Aurelia Bretane. In all my years, I'd never encountered such a tragic figure -- the perfect combination of nobility and suffering. A woman who ruled a town dedicated to the virtues, but who was secretly a vampire. We were made for each other!" The sorcerer burst into laughter, and then looked for the reaction of his listener. "You won't go far in life without a sense of irony. Then again, I can't imagine you have much of a future, so I'll just hurry along with it. The Countess was seeking to cure for her condition, and I had my own dilemma to contend with. The magicks that prolonged my life were slowly beginning to fade, and I needed a way to reverse their failure, A bargain was struck, and after months of struggles and sacrifice, I was able to cobble together a ritual that would save us all. And it proved quite the success. The Countess and her three vampire cohorts were restored to humanity, and even more importantly, I was made young and whole once again."

Yet the savage was hardly impressed by this; instead, he mostly seemed to be in pain.

"Such powerful rituals always have consequences, which is what I warned them of. But my usefulness to Ashencrosse seemed to vanish with its vampire infection. After a rather prolonged absence, I recently returned there, and not only was the guest cottage no longer mine, but someone had stolen my Tokunese concubine!" As he spoke, Renthar's expression seemed almost to border on offended. "Yet I digress, and you're really in no state for any further tangents. Once I'd recovered from casting the ritual, I was struck with a desire and curiosity about what had happened to all that the dark power that was stripped away when I cured the former vampires of Ashencrosse. I'd siphoned some of it to fix my own condition, but what about the rest of it? However, as I set off on my search, I was distracted by word that the abomination Exodus had resurfaced, and I journeyed here to Ilshenar to investigate. These rumors also interested Paine, and before long, our paths crossed yet again. During our little team-up in the Exodus dungeon, he was severely injured, and I found myself tending to the wounds of my former comrade. It was while playing healer that it occurred to me that perhaps the best way to locate the missing power was if a similar magic was unleashed and then tracked. Alas, some weeks later, poor Paine succumbed to a sudden and mysterious illness that drained him of all that remnants of the spell that had granted him immortality. While I mourned my late friend's sacrifice, I was not going to ignore the advantage that his death provided. I began my search once more, and in the months since, I've learned much."

Weakly, the boy grasped at the rusty spike that penetrated his shoulder. Unfortunately, the slickness of his blood made it impossible to maintain a grip, and he soon surrendered in his attempt at freedom.

"I believe that the power of the ritual has been stolen by forces not native to these lands of Sosaria. So far, I've discovered three locations that share an aura akin to that which I seek. The first was a house near the mountains northeast of Luna. The second was dungeon in the Lost Lands of Felucca called Khaldun. The third is a spot that's very close to here, but I'm guessing you're already aware of its presence. I believe these places to be gateways of some sort, but where they lead, I haven't determined. I know you're short on motivation, but would you mind a small favor? Tell me what did this to you and your people. Name your killer."

The young tribal blinked in confusion.

The tall mage inhaled and exhaled dramatically, and then proceeded to make a stabbing motion with his right hand. Then he pointed to the youth, and then gestured to the corpses of the dead savages that surrounded them. "Who? Did? This? If you aid me, I'm not beyond a bit of kindness."

The boy gurgled and spit up some blood, before nodding in comprehension. He slowly raised his right hand, and his bruised fingers curled into the form of an impotent fist. Then he moved his left hand, and pointed a shaky forefinger at what was left of his own mouth. For nearly a minute, he struggled to maintain these gestures, and then both of his hands collapsed uselessly at his sides.

"We live in strange times," Renthar commented, more to himself than to anyone else. "Did I mention that the gypsy girl is pregnant with Paine's seed? An impossibility that can hardly be deemed a coincidence. Strange times indeed." Then he unsheathed a dagger from his belt and drove it clear through the dying savage's skull, in an act that could almost be mistaken for mercy.

Judas D'arc · Journeyman Joined: 27 Nov 2011 Posts: 140 Location: Yew

With a small twinge of apprehension, Judas slowly twisted the key in the lock. The last time he had visited this very room at the Ironwood Inn in Vesper, he was greeted by the unforgettbable sight of a leather-clad Cubbins fornicating with an elven youth. The bard knew he should probably knock first, but he was admittedly curious about any potential surprise might be awaiting him inside. And so he quietly entered.

" -- 'e's so busy lookin' fer tha' missin' heir o' his," a garbled voice spoke in hushed tones. "Now's tha righ' time ta s'rike."

In response to the creaking of the door, both Cubbins and his companion, a blonde haired woman wearing a plain dress and expensive-looking boots, quickly turned around to face Judas. Although there were no obvious sexual acts taking place between them, they immediately huddled together to conceal something that lay upon the bed behind them.

"Hail," the bard greeted as he nonchalantly attempted to take a peek. "I hope I am not interrupting -- this time."

The fat merchant rolled his pig-eyes. "Yer 'ole life's an interruptin'."

"Nothing that can't wait," the other stated in a familiar voice.

Judas blinked in surprise. "Shelley?"

The disguised woman nodded. "How's it we can help you, Judas?"

"I did not expect to find you here," the bard admitted, as he approached. "What is it you two are up to?" Before either of them could argue, he was already close enough for a full view of the bed's contents. In addition to the odd assortment of maps, letters, and scrolls, there was a small pile of documents that had been marked with the seal of Vesper's Ministry of Mercantiles. While Judas was not very well-versed in the local politics, he knew this organization to be the council of merchants that aided the Justicar in his governance of the port city. He shot his allies a suspicious look. "In all seriousness, what exactly is this?"

"Ole' bus'ess," Cubbins answered freely.

"From before your time," Shelley briefly glared at the fat man and then added, "or maybe it's from after."

"You used that excuse on me in Trinsic," Judas countered. "No matter, I have more important things to discuss. We are planning an expedition to the dungeon Khaldun and need your assistance."

"Your demon problem?" She was more than pleased to change the topic of conversation. "Speaking of which, George from Serpent's Hold has been cleared of guilt and walks a free man."

"Some good news, at least," the bard noted. "And yes, we are off to find this Baratarian fellow. Besides making a search of all Ilshenar, Khaldun is the only lead that we have right now."

"Yer fools, Khal'un ain' safe," Cubbins offered in his usual blunt manner.

"Which is why I am quite certain that you will both do your very best to help us survive the experience," Judas replied with a mocking smile.

Tiberus Delmore · Visitor Joined: 25 Sep 2012 Posts: 2

The sounds of hammering and sawing could be heard, along with the flowing of water to fill the pool. The smell of fresh cut wood filled the air with a wonderful smell. It was back breaking work, climbing the two flights of stairs, up and down, up and down. Lumber is not a light building material, but alas, they did not request stone. Tibs stopped at his work table looking over the plans to ensure everything was just right, as not all things were. He had to rip out and replace the bar three times. After the second time, he notified the supplier that his services would no longer be required, since he could not produce lumber of quality. He contacted an old friend, Ta’Koo for the Tokuno Islands and asked if he could supply the required wood products that he need? Several days later a wagon full of straight smooth boards arrived and the bar went in without issue.

As he went downstairs to fetch more material, he ran into Aingeal. She looked as if she had not eaten or slept in days. She started with small talk about what this place was and such, Tibs showed her around until they entered the main room of the tavern. There she asked if there was any food available. Tibs told her no, but if she sat down before she fell down he would run and get her some.

Upon his return, his arms were loaded with soup, bread, tea and a cooked chicken, which he ended up eating. During the conversation Aingeal would drift off and speak as if in another place, and then return to the conversation at hand.
She stated they were after her. Tibs kept asking who they were, but never got a solid answer. She would run to the window as if she heard something and stated “I can’t stay, must move along!”
She stated that she spent most of her time mixing with the crowds in the cities or hiding in the woods with the fairies. She stated that she missed her Knight Caleb and the Dark Drow Ssin’urn, “Both my light and my dark.” And that they “Fell like the great balance scales.”

Tibs talked her in to going next door and taking a bath, for she did smell badly. She also had showed Tibs marks upon her body that she said she had no clue as to where they came from or how she got them. Tibs watched her go into Gaius’s house. He shook his head and muttered to himself, I need to tell Gaius!