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[Davaran Skyfire]

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Davaran passed by the council chamber, taking a moment to dig into his leggings, he produced a small ring of keys, and with a glance over his shoulder, the heavy doors of Blackguard granted passage to the inner most sanctum of the fortress. Talon's personal quarters.

Footfall seemed to reverberate off the stone, seeming to accentuate the emptiness of the chamber. It had been some time since the room had seen more than a servant. It still carried the defined odor of worn leather and the sharp almost abrasive essence of the various oils used to shine armor that now trudged through deep snow and cherry embers alike. In a more poetic time it would have been the echos of another, but in these times it was only scent. Only a physical attribute, no real connection or higher meaning.

Removing one of his gloves, a smile crept across the Lord Commander as he felt the silk of a very old sash. "The Order of Sanctus". It crumpled back to it's resting place, everything was as it was the last time Davaran had visited this part of the castle, right before his sire had left, as he gathered his belongings and provisions. The vision was broken by the smallest of sounds, so small that it could have been argued to had not even occurred, but it had been enough to at least warrant a glance around the room.

Noting no dramatic entrance or obvious threat, Davaran shrugged, moving across the room to another set of doors, unlocking it in the same fashion as the last, he pushed them open and was greeted by a subtle breeze. Talon's perch, from which the entire kingdom could be viewed and watched over. In days past, it would have recalled visions of lecture and discussion. Tutor to student. Kin to kin. In this time, it was only a seat. An empty one at that.

The laughter of two patrol men below accented the sounds of the early morning, they dissipated from Dav's gaze as they continued onward. Placing his hands on the cool stone, he felt the ache of his body for a moment, and once again heard the sound of something scraping. He chose to ignore it, instead looking down to the dust streets of his kingdom. The breeze pushed again, taking some of the trail with it, dancing in the air for a moment before utterly losing stability and scattering back onto the ground. No great anagram for the instability of conflict, or of the fickleness of powerful forces. Only dust.

A small black figure moved skittishly over the settled ground. A small rat, moving rapidly with a prize towards Hanse's. It checked it's surroundings every few steps, ready to secure it's fortune. The gold coin gleamed and sparkled in the twilight, it had surely been the source of the pawing and scraping, it was a logical assumption.

The rat took it's last step. A bolt crashed into it, pinning it to the ground, throwing dust and blood into the air for a moment. It twitched, it died, pinned there to the dirt, not even half way across the road.

The two patrolmen ran to the cooling corpse. Their chatter was loud for the morning, the archer had made the shot and was obvious as surprised as the rat, the other leaned down and took the coin, tucking it into his shoe for some reason. Davaran called down to the men, they looked up sharply, unknowing of their superior's watch.

"The difference between a minuscule nuisance and a sizable problem is really only a matter of numbers."

They threw somewhat awkward salutes and hurried off. A voice came to mind, one that rang true to the owner, recalling words spoken to Davaran many moons ago, booming and confident, brilliant in it's simplicity, complimented by it's brevity.

"Rats in the corn Davaran."

The Lord Commander turned rapidly, but the room behind him was empty. For now.