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[Judas D'arc]

---

"Years ago, in response to the rising power of Minax the Enchantress, Lord British and his loyal court mage Nystul were forced to take action most drastic. Through the use of powerful, secret magicks, they cast a spell that created new hope for Sosaria. An escape from the approaching darkness that threatened its destruction. Their mystical achievement was Trammel, a pure, immaculate reflection of the lands where we once had dwelled. A better world for us all. But what about that which was left behind? Shattered by rival factions, plagued by thieves and murderers, and tainted by unnatural corruption, our former homeland, now called Felucca, was all but abandoned. A dead world on its own..."

Judas put down his quill and rolled his eyes at the parchment upon which he had been writing. It was a bit too on the nose, even for him. Prose had never been his game, he was always more keen on verse and song. But after recent events -- after her -- the music did not come so easily. Still, even if he did not truly care, and even if the words were never meant to find an audience, there was no point in faking it. He grabbed at the paper and promptly ripped it into tiny little pieces.

As the last shreds slipped from his fingers, Judas heard muffled shouting from the deck above. He strained his well-honed bardic ears in an attempt to make out their discussion. Pirates? No, this was not the issue. A sea serpent? No, that was not it either. Finally, Judas was able to pick out the one word that answered all of the questions he was too indifferent to vocalize: Ocllo.

The ship had finally arrived at his destination.

[Judas D'arc]

---

It was a magnificent hole.

Besides three failed months as an apprentice fletcher during his younger years, Judas had never taken to manual labor. He was always skilled with his hands, but preferred applying himself to activities that required a more delicate touch. Yet, after surveying the fruits of his past few hours, the bard could not help but proudly smile. He briefly considered the path untaken of a grave digger, and then shook his head at the absurdity of such a notion. If anything, recent months had confirmed that he was not made for cold, dead things. But any questions of purpose or character would have to wait. Judas dropped the shovel onto the pile of displaced dirt and descended into his magnificent hole.

He had little difficulty remembering the instructions. Due west from the Ocllo Library until the coast. One hundred paces back east. Forty-eight paces south. Judas had been concerned that one of the others had been there first, but a simple process of elimination dictated otherwise. Of the six, Claudia and Stower were dead, Sokus was never the same after the castration, Garrott was lost to demons, and last he heard, Shelley was no longer Shelley, but a wealthy, influential Trammel city council member. Which meant, in his mind, that their buried "hope chest" belonged solely to him.

Judas quickly sorted through the contents of the rusty, metal container. Daylight was still hours away, but he was conscious of any attention the light of his lantern could gather. He had always found Ocllo and its inhabitants to be cold and aloof towards outsiders, and it seemed best to avoid arousing any suspicions. Fortunately, the chest was well-organized, everything in its proper place. This was most likely Shelley's doing, and for once, her extreme meticulousness worked in his favor. He retrieved the bank cheque for one million gold pieces, pausing for a moment to appreciate what it represented. Next came the small journal -- "Shelley's Little Black Book" -- Claudia had affectionately called it. While Judas knew that most of the information was probably outdated, he figured that at least some of the contacts, passwords, and safe havens it detailed held some usefulness. With the book securely in his possession, the bard finally turned to the stack of neatly organized documents.

After skimming through the pile, his eyes stopped in recognition at the fifth from the top. This official looking paperwork contained the seal of the City of Trinsic, and falsely certified the identity of one of its lesser nobility -- Judas D'arc. The name was never truly his, but it had served him well. There were numerous options present, he could become a de Hugh of Britain, a Dalton of Minoc, or even a Fukuzawa of Zento. Well, probably not that one, as no quality of stagecraft would allow him to pass Tokunese. Judas was surprised at how carefully they had planned for every possibility. No matter what might transpire, or how badly it turned against them, their "hope chest" would provide yet another second chance. This was his true motive for coming to Ocllo. After current events, there was nothing he craved more than the freedom that it offered. And as long as it existed, so would its endless opportunities always comfort his fears.

A few minutes later, after the last of the flames flickered into the ashes of the falsified documents, Judas kicked the lid of the chest closed. He gave a silent apology to Claudia and Stower and Sokus and Garrott and Shelley, and for any of their dreams he had just destroyed. As he resumed his shoveling, he told himself it was the only choice left to him. He was already asking much of those he had recruited for this mad quest. If he was really intending to go forward, then he had to be all the way in it.

There could be no escape from this magnificent hole of his.

[Renthar]

---

Dark, suspicious eyes scanned the Albatross of Ocllo. Satisfied by the absence of early morning patronage, Renthar quickly made his way to the back of the tavern, stopping only to place his order.

"Please, a glass of wine, Jay. Red."

Seated at his usual place, Renthar stared at his glass. He was a tall man, taller than most encountered, and well practiced at maintaining the divide between thoughts and expression. This morning, however, it was difficult to mask his sense of unease. The past week brought what had seemed to be an endless parade that filled the normally empty stools and tables of the Albatross. Drunken bards, painted women, gypsy girls, scantily-clad seductresses, and even subterranean elves. Oh, and that fool, Paine Drakul, with his meddling ways and utter lack of subtlety. Even though Renthar had enjoyed some of the banter, especially that of the painted one, he found their overall presence to be disconcerting. They carried with them things that were not of Ocllo, their unfamiliar towns and blood-drinking monstrosities and rescue plans for stolen children. If Renthar found their affairs distasteful, he could only imagine how the natives might view them. He had carefully chosen Ocllo for its isolation and was ill prepared for these winds of change.

Perhaps he was being overly cautious. Perhaps their business would resolve itself and they would soon depart. Or perhaps he would have to take matters into his own hands in order to hurry them. Renthar reached for his first sip of morning wine, and spoke quietly to no one in particular, "We will see."

[Judas D'arc]

---

"So, what are you getting away from?" Isileena asked of him, in all her youthful curiosity.

"Nothing in particular," Judas shrugged a response.

"If it's nothing, why do you need to get away from it?" The Ocllo native quickly followed up.

In truth, Judas appreciated the young woman and her constant questions. She was welcoming to the bard and his friends, a much preferable reception than the blunt hostility of Mister Reed, or the ambiguity of Paine's old friend Renthar. Even the staff of the Albatross, despite readily accepting their coin, were coldly silent towards the travelers. Still, there was a part of Judas that wanted to forcefully take Isileena and break her of these habits now. "This is what happens when when you ask too many questions," he would warn her, before unleashing a small glimpse of his misery and ensuring the demise of her inquisitive nature.

The bard had easily acclimated to the routine of his new life in Ocllo. Mornings spent staring at the ceiling of his inn room, afternoon walks in the forest, and evening drinks at the tavern. Sleep was difficult to come by, and food held little interest for him, but he always had a taste for Albatross ale. While his plan slowly came together, and his destruction of the "hope chest" prevented his retreat, he was unable to summon the enthusiasm for his next move. But whatever the problem, it was definitely not with the allies Judas had gathered for himself.

Paine had already done so much by helping to remove Lord Draven's curse, and the knowledge he now shared only deepened the bard's already considerable obligation to the immortal vampire expert. Likewise, Quinn Morgan, lycan hunter extraordinaire, possessed a number of skills that would serve him well. He had promised her a nominal amount of gold, but he could tell that the prospects of this particular hunt excited her. The bard found little fault with her unique training methods, and looked forward to the results that they might yield. And then there was poor Alisiea. Although he was unable to give her what she wanted, the Gypsy Girl nonetheless remained loyally at his side. It was unwise to keep her and Quinn in such close proximity, yet there was little other choice at present. Judas had considered recruiting the sailor Cole, or more specifically his ship, but after watching the blossoming interaction between the young seamen and Isileena, he had decided against it.

The bard had also left a note with Ditto, advising her of his whereabouts. When she had visited Ocllo, he once again pledged himself to the rescue of her daughter from the Atalan. Yet he hoped that the call to arms would come later rather than sooner, for he did not like the idea of leaving his stool at the Albatross for too long.

One final distraction had appeared in Ocllo. Green eyes, a clever wit, and far too much in common with him. The troubadour Cezanne Abella had made the long journey to deliver an unexpected message from Aurelia. As much as Judas had tried, there were few moments during his day that he did not dwell upon the Countess of Ashencrosse and everything that had passed between them. He eagerly tore open the letter to discover nothing of substance, only a small suggestion that he kindly forget the details of how he had been saved from Draven. After pressing the matter further, he learned that Aurelia had specifically asked Cezanne not return with any news of him -- she did not want to know him. "Good," Judas thought to himself, "the Countess was finally learning."

And then he flashed Cezanne a big smile, one bard to another, and maneuvered their topic of conversation to more pleasant things.

[Harlequin]

---

Death wish.

Quinn leveled her bow from the shadows along the west end of The Albatross. The gypsy girl spun across the docks, her green skirts caught up around her as she danced for Judas. The silver-tipped arrow moved in time with the dance, its razor-sharp point following every move.

It's what she had wanted since the moment she had laid eyes on the gypsy girl – the sensation so strong, she could never have denied it. Flames of rage flared at her throat and lapped at her cheeks, stinging her flesh beneath the painted, emotionless expression that would forever belie her fury.

This is what I live for.

This is how you were meant to die.

Quinn drew back her bowstring with steady precision and cocked the mechanical, exploding arrow. Holding her breath, she spared only a brief look toward Judas, but it was enough. With a groan of frustration, she let the arrow fly...

high and far wide of its mark.

With little stealth and even less patience, Quinn stalked off into the shadows of Ocllo, giving a piece of rubbish a swift kick as the darkness consumed her completely.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Judas D'arc]

---

Cole held Isileena close, kissing her deeply, probing with his tongue. His hands boldly explored her backside, her virgin body tensing uncomfortably at this unfamiliar expression of affection. Yet she made no move to withdraw from him. Unsafe from any prying eyes, they continued their young lover dance upon the streets of Ocllo.

Judas watched with mixed emotions through the windows of the Albatross. If the drunken bard and his companions had noticed their little encounter, so too would the overly cautious citizenry of Ocllo. "Where everyone can see a foreigner seducing a local girl," Paine had put it best, in his usual pointed manner. On the other hand, Judas was becoming fond of this couple in the making, and it was difficult to fault them for this. Their earlier act of kindness towards Alisiea had greatly impressed him. The Gypsy Girl wore her new green dress well, and he hoped that the gift's sentiment would help to ease the burdens of her ... affliction. But Judas was also still reeling from his own recent affair of the heart, and its bitter taste ultimately superseded any happiness he might feel for anyone else.

"I am glad that sex and love have already been ruined for me," Judas remarked aloud, before returning to Paine and Cezanne and his ale. His mind was already hard at work, composing a variety of ways in which to mercilessly torment Isileena and Cole for their indiscretions.

[Isileena Thorne]

---

With the evening at an end, Isileena made her way home. A ball of mixed emotions pitted in her stomach along with the ale she had drank. The others, her new "friends", had been relentless when she returned to the tavern, especially Judas.

She couldn't remember seeing anyone else on the street, but her head wasn't the clearest and Cole had taken her by surprise. Although clearly unaware of what to do, she did kind of like parts of the moment they shared. The roaming hands though, made her a little uncomfortable at first. Cole did his best to reassure her though. That it's what boys and girls do when they like each other and if he did anything she wasn't comfortable with to just tell him. Even Judas and Cezanne said the roaming hands were normal, so who was she to judge.

Isileena crept through the front door to find her parents happily unaware as they sat by the fireplace. They had no reason to suspect anything anyways, as she was always the innocent angel that they had done their best to keep protected, sheltered. Isileena said a quick goodnight to them as she headed up to her bedroom, several thoughts still racing through her mind...

I hope no one saw us that would tell my parents...

I hope I get to see Cole again tomorrow...

[Cezanne Abella]

---

Maybe Ocllo had always been a den of sin and temptation. But in her younger years, Cezanne had never noticed, if it was. In those days the mystical lights in the Sorcerer's Guild held her gaze, and nights in The Albatross singing for her supper meant a song for a meal, and nothing more. Perhaps a sneaked bottle of ale would surface from a grateful patron. But even the patrons didn't look at her like she was a....a...

“Now he's grabbing her ass...” Judas stood staring out the window at the young lovers.

Paine grimaced. “Judas, why are you still watching?”

Cezanne sighed lightly and glanced out the window, then tried to turn her attention again to the handwritten manuscripts sprawled on the bar. The day she'd arrived, this place seemed a light and pleasant retreat, fraught with nostalgia. Judas had ever seemed the clever and quick-witted bard, and his banter pleased her and set hope alight in her mind.

So much potential! Ashencrosse could use the likes of this one...if he'd ever consider...

But the letter she'd delivered to Judas from Aurelia had elicited a frown, and she saw the light drain from his eyes when he scanned the scant message. Still more dour was his expression at her orders not to relay information on his whereabouts back to the letter's sender. Something was amiss, and it had begun to sour Ocllo for Cezanne as well.

Had The Albatross always smelled of cheap ale and lust? The thought crossed her mind the next morning, as she packed her belongings for the voyage home. Maybe it had.

As the heavy wooden door of the inn closed behind her and the grime of the Ocllo streets began to fret again at her edges, she considered giving her regards and a farewell to the bard, who was undoubtedly firmly entrenched in his third ale of the morning by now. With a sigh, she shook her head, and bypassed The Albatross completely.

[Judas D'arc]

---

"I'd thought perhaps a bit of a hunt," Quinn suggested when they shifted to the topic of his training. "I'm sure you've played hide and seek as a child yes?"

"I suppose ... I still play it to this day," Judas replied with bitter amusement.

The bard counted one hundred moments before exiting the Albatross to commence his hunt. After an aimless search of dockside barrels, he picked up her trail of clothing. It began with a dark colored gorget and eventually ended with a black leather skirt, all of which he recognized as part of his prey's regular attire. However, when he finally uncovered her hiding place within the small cottage, he was surprised to see the lycan hunter fully garbed, rather than her naked, painted body as expected. Although Judas had won the game, Quinn had tricked him, skillfully employing the art of misdirection.

"What is this 'misdirection'?" Alisiea asked of him, less than a day later.

Without a word, Judas leaned forward, as if to kiss her. At the same time, with the Gypsy Girl's attention completely focused on the motion of his lips, he reached behind her and landed a playful pinch. Once realization dawned, her angry growl settled into a smirk.

"That is misdirection," the bard explained with a smile.

While Compassion was the virtue of the bard, his talents seemed to rely heavily upon sleight of hand. A carefully placed suggestion, a well-timed note, or even a story already planned around the reaction of its listener. Sometimes, Judas wondered if it was his audience or himself he was truly fooling, but such questions lacked relevance at present. Their true target was too powerful to confront directly, and if they were ever to succeed in their chosen task, it would have to be through misdirection. And that was one language Judas did speak well.

[Renthar]

---

It was still hours before dawn, and the people of Ocllo were safely comforted by the warmth of their beds. Except for Isileena, who lay upon the winter-hardened floor of the western forest, an arm limp at each side. Her large, hazel eyes stared intentlessly at the late night sky, and her full lips were parted, as if prepared to voice yet another of her constant questions. She rested her head against a pillow of jagged rock, one lazily decorated with dried blood and splintered skull. Her dark blue dress was torn carelessly at the shoulder, crudely revealing the top of her left breast, including the slightest glimpse of her nipple. The mix of fluids that had dampened the area between the young woman's legs belonged mostly to her, though not all. Only a few days earlier, Isileena had declared to a tavern full of people that she was sixteen years old. None present that evening could have imagined she would never reach the age of seventeen, or guessed this as her ending, so easily and carelessly discarded.

Renthar slowly rose to his feet, his strange, suspicious eyes still fixed upon the body. It was a long time since death had bothered him, and he was far past the need for attachments, yet a different outcome would have been preferable. He had given the visitors fair warning to depart his Ocllo, but they had chosen not to listen. The winds of changes he struggled to defy had finally arrived, and the isolation of this island was no longer any use to him. The need for a new home beckoned, and as always, Renthar possessed a very specific idea as to where his path would lead him.

[Judas D'arc]

---

*NOTE: THE FOLLOWING WAS WRITTEN BY THE PLAYER OF PAINE DRAKUL, WHO DOES HAVE AN ARPC BOARD ACCOUNT, AND POSTED WITH HIS EXPRESS PERMISSION*

Paine sat awake in his room at the Ocllo Inn deep in thought. He knew that the people of Ocllo were only after swift justice and would likely not be concerned with any proof of crime that him or the others could produce.

Renthar's disappearance was indeed odd, but he couldn't use that alone to pin the blame on his former comrade. Two days were not enough to solve the murder. He despised the idea of going behind the back of his new found friends, But he feared there could be only one way to give them time to figure out who killed the girl.

He knew the next day they'd have to do some serious searching in order to try and clear the sailor's name in the killing. That is if he was even innocent. Paine did not hide his suspicions, The nicest people have been known to kill in the past.

He gazed silently at the candle on the nightstand. The idea of death had always been something he yearned. For someone who had lived for so long, Some sort of closure to his life was all he seeked. He truly enjoyed the company of his new friends, However he knew that it was all temporary. Eventually he would outlive them and again be alone.

"We shall see what our investigation uncovers...." Paine spoke softly to himself as he leaned over and blew out the candle.

“'Tis true; 'tis certain; man though dead retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.”
~Homer~

[Judas D'arc]

---

"She's dead," the Ocllo native voiced his angry retort.

The hour that followed was an incoherent blur for Judas, as he gasped for ale and struggled to digest this startling revelation. Isileena Thorne, sixteen years old and full of innocent curiosity, found in the woods, dead and violated. Cole, her would-be suitor, held to blame and sentenced to a watery death, without evidence or trial. Renthar, Paine's mysterious old comrade, suddenly vanished from Ocllo, while numerous questions regarding his involvement still remained. As the locals continued their bitter interrogation of the visitors, it was apparent that suspicion was not limited to Cole alone. When they carried out his death sentence in two days time, the bard and his friends could easily end up joining the young sailor at the bottom of the island's large, salt-water lake.

Later, after his thoughts were no longer so aflutter, Judas and the others departed the Albatross for a nearby cabin, in order to discuss their intentions. Amongst the foursome, the bard was the only coward, suggesting that they flee. Meanwhile, Paine, Quinn, and Alisiea unanimously urged interference. Whether it was Cole, Renthar, or another party responsible, they could not ignore Isileena's murder. Throughout this conversation, the others plainly stated their positions.

"I will not allow an innocent man to be killed," Paine boldly declared, "Even if it means freeing him illegally."

"We do what we can to help," Quinn spoke with confidence. "I thought that was clear."

"I will help if I can," the Gypsy Girl quietly offered. "She was a nice girl."

Only Judas faltered. He tried to convince the others that their involvement might distract them from their true purpose and enemy, but this was just an excuse. Nor was it fear that held him back, he was largely indifferent to the risks involved in their proposed endeavor. The bard had no name for the sentiment that consumed him, he only knew that Isileena's lonely demise played out continuously in his head, his imagination eagerly and gratuitously filling in all of the unknown details. He did not understand why this particular girl's death paralyzed him so, and the restrictions of time did not allow him the favor of further contemplation.

"You owe me one Judas," Paine reminded him. "And I am collecting."

A decision was reached. Should the town permit it, they would contribute to the official investigation, and either way, also launch their own secret one. Paine, Quinn, and Alisiea each had unique skills to contribute, and Judas ... well, he could arrange for a boat. For if the worst came to pass, a quick escape would be needed.

Later still, they toasted Isileena's memory, and the night slowly drew towards its close...

[Alisiea]

---

Alisiea stood at the edge of town and stared into the heavily wooded forest to the west of Ocllo. Isileena had been sixteen. Closer to Alisiea’s age than anyone she knew. She had known the girl only a very short time, but then how long does one have to know another before they can be called “friend”? Isileena had bought her a new dress. People usually didn’t do things like that for her and she felt awkward accepting it. But, looking back, the gift had been an honest gesture of friendship not pity as Alisiea first assumed.

Now the girl was dead; murdered. And a new friendship, one that might have changed each girl’s lives, lay in bloody ruins somewhere out there in the snow and damp of an early spring.

Alisiea understood why someone might want to kill her, she was outcast, she was gypsy and she was … different. But why a young attractive girl of sixteen? Cole had made advances towards Isileena in public and she seemed uncomfortable with them, even a bit embarrassed, but it did not stop her from being with him. Cole was a man, a sailor accustomed to long voyages and the loneliness men feel at such times. Isileena was a girl, not yet a woman but Alisiea knew how she felt. The excitement and thrill of being the sole attention of a handsome young man coupled with the fear of loosing control or the relinquishing of that control into the arms of an experienced, muscular man. Alisiea closed her eyes and ran her fingers lightly along her neck.

“To relinquish control.”

Her eyes snapped open and she furrowed her brow. Dropping her head she glared out into the gloom of late evening. Someone had murdered her friend. Stole the life of a young girl. Taken away the thrill of becoming a woman in a most violent and unforgivable act. A low growl rose from Alisiea’s belly and she began to pace.

Was it Cole? Was he capable of such an act? Or was it someone else? Someone who wanted to silence the girl? Did Isileena know something she was not supposed to know? These locals were afraid of outsiders, visitors. It made no sense. Visitors brought money, trade. Yet they chased them away; why? Questions within questions all leading back to the two most important ones: Why and who?

Either way, Alisiea would do whatever was needed to find the truth and the path to the truth started out there in the bloody snow.

[Harlequin]

---

"I..." the bard stammered for the twentieth time.

Quinn watched his solemn demeanour, then glanced down to her arm, where he reached out to touch her.

"I just don't want to be alone tonight." The admission was a flaw in Judas' armour, and for once, she knew it wasn't just a ploy. He had ever seemed invincible in the face of adversity. Tonight had brought him to his knees.

"Then you won't be." Quinn spoke matter-of-factly and rose, capping her silver flask and hooking it at her hip.

The walk back to her cabin was slow, and quiet. His arm encircled her waist, drawing her close as hers likewise entwined them.

"You know of course we're not going to..." her voice trailed off as he pulled her closer.

"Quinn," he interjected. "I just..."

Her voice was quiet and calm. "I know."

And with that they silenced, winding through the fields and shadows of Ocllo until they reached her door. Quinn turned the copper key and ushered him inside, giving one final cautious glance around before shutting the door behind them.

Judas stood quietly, looking around the room as Quinn removed her quiver and boots.

When finally she stood ready, Judas watched her eyes, his dark gaze probing. Without a word, he drew her in and kissed her deeply. It was his defense, and she knew it. It was communication on a level where he felt safe. She returned the kiss, then withdrew.

"Boots. Then bed. I'll take watch until you fall asleep." Quinn brushed her hair as Judas slipped off his boots. There was something economical about the scene - just enough skin to cover the wound, and not a stitch more.

"Don't leave..." His eyes pleaded as he watched her.

"I won't leave, Judas."

He watched her as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to make me say it?"

Quinn plaited her long black hair and allowed it to fall over her shoulder. Her gaze settled on him as he lay down. With a moment of contemplation and the slightest nod, she slid beneath the linens. Was it only her imagination that she felt the tiniest tremble in his breath against her neck? His arms encircled her tightly, and a calm descended upon them, warmer than the blankets.

Quinn sighed deeply. Judas closed his eyes and offered himself to slumber. It presented a familiarity to which she was completely unaccustomed.

Perhaps the tremble was my own...

and

This is going to be hell on my paint...
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Judas D'arc]

---

*NOTE: THE FOLLOWING WAS WRITTEN BY THE PLAYER OF PAINE DRAKUL, WHO DOES HAVE AN ARPC BOARD ACCOUNT, AND POSTED WITH HIS EXPRESS PERMISSION*

His left arm burned with pain, He didn't enjoy the process but there wasn't anywhere else to put it. The cut had healed up nicely already but the night was excruciating. Besides, It was going to be a lot more painful when it came out.

Paine assembled his usual garb so as not to raise much suspicion. The large welt on his left arm was a bit out of place, But nothing that wouldn't be taken as swelling.

As he began to leave his room he stopped a moment to think. What would Cole have to say for himself? Worse, Even if he did have a solid Alibi how could they even begin to convince the town. His decision on the matter was a bit extreme and would require much defamation of his character in the town. Then again when did he plan on returning?

"I suppose we shall see if Judas is the only one with talent" He spoke to himself with a small chuckle.

With a final glance to the room he would never see again he walked out of the Inn.

"It's a shame I won't be able to thank The Fisherman who warned me about the rabid wolf....He has made this much easier for me..." Paine spoke with a grin and walked off towards the tavern.