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[Arahim]

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Tired.

Eyes shutting out the dim light interrupting his thoughts, Arahim sat dead air still. Submerged to his chin in a tub of bathwater that smelled faintly of spearmint, and seemed far too hot for his tastes, and far too comfortable to get out of.

His shield arm and torso were one big bruise. Skin proudly showing him his relative fraility in varying shades of angry purples and black. The promise of ruby blood lay just beneath, should he decide to push himself further.

He could not now, even were it a thing he desired.

The Lord of the Isle of the Avatar had hit like a bull. His jousting style manic, and subtle all at once. The strength of his arm inflamed by his lust for the gypsy's wager.

Perhaps the prize proved a distraction.

Perhaps pride unbridled lent steel to purpose.

In the end, Arahim did not fall once, and won their contest. Hauberk rent, and lance splintered into uselessness, while the masked man some called 'Jouster' wore three falls to the earth as a stain upon his mantle.

Smiling to no one, in reverie, vaporous tendrils of steam playing about his face, Arahim saw again in his mind, the confident satisfaction he wore, like a fiery crown invisible, as he tossed his defeated opponent the sack he had put up against his title, and prowess.

A sign of respect between two who had shared pain.

A gift to one who had proved lacking.

An act of barely concealed vanity.

Opening his eyes anew,and standing gingerly, he shook the memory away for another day. Naked and clean again, he toweled himself off, looking forward to the respite of sleep, and the warmth of his Sylvan.

Straggling and unbidden, the vainglorious gift of Blackrock, nestled in oiled leather, echoed and dimmed slowly to nothing in his head.

[NightShade]

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Curious green eyes peered at them..

Gypsies..

Her husband had spoken of them, he had warned her of thier entanglement with Darrien Church.

She smiled.. it was all fascinating. She and the rest of the Cabal had found it amusing that someone had picked up Cear's fake name and grown such animosity towards it.

Jouster no more..indeed she wondered if Cear had ever jousted more than a few times in his life. He had won a few but she had always felt luck had been on his side. He was the lucky sort yet, he was also a scholar.

All that mattered was the Blackrock. Its what brought them out of hiding from time to time. Quickly to delve back into the shadows.

It was true, that Nightshade was one of the friendlier ones of the bunch, Narcissa wishing to slay them all. Yet Nightshade had a more personal interest in the Gypsies. Indeed the Ravnos blood made her yearn to know more. Should she chance contacting them again, without her clan?

What if they did prove agents of Darrien...a dangerous trap it could be. She could only imagine what Darrien would say if he stared at her again. Perhaps the reincarnation of him would not remember her, Barl, the others. She laughed with glee at the thought reckless inclinations taking over her once more.

It was who she was...

She smiled sweetly muttering the word Ralph to herself once more. Just simple wandering healers are we...Wild laughter escaped her lips. She had been hanging around Cear to long.
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Something is Wrong, I can still feel Existence...