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[Merci d'Rue]

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Merci stood on the balcony of the Umbran Inn. Her hand ran up her arm as she felt his arm surround her the icyness ebbing away. Yet, there was no arm there....

She heard her son as he slept silently his breathing even in the bed behind her. How she missed Kel.....Kuruth the last remnant of the family they built, now mostly grown and gone, she smiled remembbering Kel's delicious smirk. A tear rolling down her cheek.

She would not give in to sadness. Keldril I will always love you, but I no longer wait for your return. I have important things to do my love..Her words broke upon the stillness of the night and in the distance she heard a wolf cry.

It was true, she had wholly began handing Kuruth to Myrddin for training, and she was confident that Myrddin would instill that which a male must instill in a young warrior. That which no female can capture...

As strong a heart as Merci was, there was still that softer feminine side that she hid , its glimpse was rare but nothing could replace a father in the heart of a warrior and she wished for Kuruth the best. He had proved strong beyond all means, and she knew in her heart this is what was best for him. She was happy for Kelei and Kaleb they had found their hearts content on distant shores and she gave no sadness to their journey away from her in life. Yet she was determined that Kuruth would stay that he would inherent that which the d'Rue/Kil'ana family was....

Warriors..of dark..

She smiled as she felt comfort surround her at last and her weakness overcome. She would cherish the past all of it leading to her strength, for now it was time to act....

Sosaria embroiled in their distraction of` Vampire, Umbra was perfectly set to accomplish the tasks which it had worked for so many years. Merci saw her personal goals in close proximity to completion and she smiled and said...

They worry of Vampires? Good, Good, we shall feed their fears silently, as we grow. For always in darkness does Umbra grow.
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May destiny guide you...

[Mairsil]

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His hands worked by firelight, the tattered old cloth slowly running over each blade. Many sat upon the table, and many more hung upon the wall. Some of them glinted by blessing of the nearby fireplace, while others remained enveloped in shadow, resting quietly dull.

Old and new, these were the weapons of the war master. They were his allies, like fellow soldiers. They were killers, solid and devoted. They were like him. For ten years, Umbra and her people had prospered. For ten years and longer these weapons fought side by side with Myrddin.

It was these weapons that were so much a part of Myrddin that held his attention now, as he sat on the floor of the war temple, his back to the side of his bed. He focused on his task, alone with his thoughts.


The years brought a great deal of change to Myrddin's life. Umbra had changed much, soldiers and families coming and going. Myrddin himself had a family now, his own children facing the enemies of Umbra at his side. For the first time the war master felt he truly had a pack now as well. With all of his actions the lycan blood that ran through his veins grew thicker, his view of his own destiny becoming more and more clear.

Myrddin had come far, but he had farther to go still. He beleived that everythign that brought him to this point had made him the stronger for it. He'd grown much with his experiences... much with Umbra...But both had farther to go.

Myrddin's eyes reflected the flash of his favorite kryss as the cloth wiped away the would-be impurities, his grasp on its hilt tightening. Ten years had changed things much, but he was not so different.

No, in some ways, with these weapons, he was very much the same.

They saw him through Umbra's first glorious decade. They would see him through another.
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"You see I can not be forsaken, because I'm not the only one. We walk amongst you, beating, r#ping, must we hide from everyone?" - Jon Davis

[Jonathan Strathmore]

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Flames licked his skin, the liquid around him rising in the heart of the ancient lair. A mind of fire held a shadow at every turn. The corrupting might of his sustaining power seething about his flesh and mind. A fuel... driving him onward, lifting his feet with every step.

Each new step a new past in Umbra...

The volcano surged about him, the beasts teeming at the edge of the lava becomming braver. Wholy unaware of their fate approaching.

The years were getting old, and Umbra was growing in his eyes. And he was growing with it.

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Chills ran down his spine, a trickle of blood on his nose. His wounds were healing, but slowly. The icy room assured his sleep, but his mind raced in the grasp of sleep. The newest member of Umbra, laid his head on the pillow of the inn, his mother pacing the balcony. But his mind rested not where his head had this night.

They were there again in his dreams, and his wounds ached at the memory. For many it was a miracle, for he, the first sign of a weakness. One he would not allow to grow. He had dropped his sword, and that could not be accepted of a warrior in Umbra, no matter their age. The scars would ever be testament, and reminder.

He was growing in Umbra in a prime era, and there was no room for weakness. Esspecially from the son of a Warlord.

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Umbra had come so far under the watchful eye of the Sagemaster, and he had come with it...

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Umbra had so far to go, and Kuruth d'Rue would follow his family to the end of it....

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Old and new, past and present, ever comingled on the soil of Umbra. Every body as important as the other...

No room for weakness.