NationStates Jolt Archive

It was an inn, a much better quality than the general run of inns, but brawls still broke out in the attached tavern from time to time, and they still tried to stuff as many of the lesser customers in the barrack like ‘common sleeping rooms’ as they could. However if you had gold, and were willing to spend it, the private suites and rooms were most respectable, and very comfortable. The food was appetizing, and the ale unaltered. There was even real Elvin wine available; though there were few Elves about to mention that it was the vintage they exported, not kept for themselves. The Inn was clean, and well maintained and there was a minstrel in the tavern most nights. Full-fledged Bards even came by at times, and a table of serious card players could also be found going most evenings. The rather comely serving wenches would warm you and your beds for a reasonable price and not grace you with the pox.

Orome (http://www.atddm.com/Orome.htm) sat alone at a table close to one of the two roaring fires. Few importuned a Sister of the Sword. The fact that she was obviously a Voyar, one of the wealthy and respected Order ‘s knights- possessing both healing and supernal skill with blades - further kept her in solitary comfort, though many darted brief glances her way, unable to resist a look at the lush body her attire displayed so attractively. Her long dark hair was neatly bound back in a thick complex weaving, though a few wavy tendrils escaped to soften her features and blue green eyes were more interested in the papers beside her plate than the other patrons of the inn – though to think that meant she did not discern what others did in the tavern was a possibly fatal error. She ate daintily, her upbringing in the Imperial Court of her uncle, the reigning Emperor of Nuevo Nihongo allowing no less. When she finished her meal she blotted her lips with a snowy white napkin and allowed the serving wench to remove the plates, as she returned to reading the many paged, closely written missive.

Her mother’s words were of great interest to her. Her uncle had just lost his heir. She paused in her reading for a moment to ponder how the current machinations in the Game of Houses would benefit her. It brought her father, the Emperor’s younger brother back in as the official heir, though the Emperor had several daughters, none had yet been elevated to the official status of heir. She was glad to note that her mother had mentioned all her older siblings being currently at home. That raised her father’s, Prince of the Blood of Nuevo Nihongo, chances of surviving the inevitable assassination attempts. Now that he couldn’t by himself, but having family around always made it easier.

Orome sat back and signaled the serving girl to refill her tankard of cider. The sigil of the Sisters of the Sword gleamed at her throat, the ruby and emerald cut so as to curve each into the other and set in heavy gold. She toyed with one of the bejeweled daggers housed in the bracers that clasped strong but slender wrists. Gifts from the one she was concubine to, their magic was potent, shielding her from most harm. Though she was not truly in his favor, resisting what he required from her, an heir, he had given her many such gifts over the years. She would not refuse the protection they afforded her. The world was not a safe place for one who mostly traveled alone, even with her unworldly skill with a blade, and a blood bound Hellcorn as a mount.

A gust of wind, damp and chill, made her glance openly about as the taverns door admitted another to it’s comfort and warmth. The snow was not holding yet, but it would be laced with sleet before morning it seemed. Orome didn’t much care for winter; Nuevo Nihongo’s climate saw mostly mild, dry winters. However the Empire was months of travel away, and the most direct path would mean crossing the lands still held by the Sorcerer King. And after her involvement in thwarting his expansion and wresting Perilon from his grasp, she didn’t think it was a wise idea to head homeward so precipitously. They really didn’t need her there at the moment. Perhaps she could find something to hold her interest if she rested at the inn a few days longer. Riding out the storm was a good excuse as any for staying. Especially since something told her to stay.

There was something irritating about this whole situation, about everything everywhere. Things just didn't seem quite right after the defeat of a dark sorcerer king that had conquered many nations and seemed unstoppable. What made things odd was that his opponent was a young girl, a spoiled little princess with no combat experience whatsover save for a few brief brawls. It just wasn't right that she could defeat such a power. Yet of course she hadn't done this alone, that and she was aided significantly by an artifact known as the Black Blade.

Everyone knew that such a thing wasn't right, it was unheard of and it irritated many people, including Nero Calligula. At the time Nero had been a supposedly loyal servant of this sorcerer king and had followed the wishes of his master, allowing the princess to return to him with the blade. Unfortunately both mages had drastically underestimated the power of the sword, resulting in their failure to kill the princess and take the sword. After realising such, Nero felt it was best to make himself disappear for a while. He knew eventually his master would seek him out, although Nero was undecided whether he would return as a servant or an assassin. After being defeated by the princess, perhaps his reign was over?

Looking up at the dark clouds above, Nero assumed he was fortunate to be standing before the large wooden door of a half decent looking inn. Snow was certainly a possibility in the near future and Nero had no liking for the cold or the woeful weather associated with it. Nero wore his standard thick grey robe that completely hid his figure and anything on his person. A hood sat atop his head of near shoulder length scruffy black hair and similar jet black stuble contrasted deeply against his snow pale skin.

Pushing the door open easily, Nero stepped inside and removed his hood, revealing his pale face and dark eyes as he gazed upon the crowd inside the tavern. Little attention was paid as he closed the door and continued to sweep over the occupants until one person caught his attention.

Shadows played across the form of a young woman compliments of a nearby fire. Immediately he recognised her, a Sister of the Sword. The cold blast of wind had also caught her attention, causing Orome to look up in his direction. They're eyes met and recognition registered. Whilst Nero had a sure disliking of Orome's kind, he'd learned to respect the woman for her level head and general competence. She was no fool and he realised such. Since she'd noticed him Nero promptly made his way towards Orome and sat down at her table, giving her a slight nod in greeting.

"Looking for the next dark sorcerer to defeat?"

Nero ususally wasn't an openly joking kind of person yet he did possess a very dry, sarcastic sense of humour that he would occassionally share with those he figured could appreciate such things yet still retain their composure and sense.

Orome folded the letter and tucked it away as Nero approached. She was a little surprized that he would come over to her table. He could have easily just nodded in her direction and then ignored her. She'd come to realise that he disliked something about her intensely, but she had never been certain what it was specifically that he disliked. Mostly she shrugged it off, there were many about who found something objectionable about her. The reasons were varied but there were many who had no trouble vocalizing them. She didn't let his dislike keep her from likeing him, though that didn't mean she trusted him past a certain point.

No, she trusted Nero to be Nero - but she understood him, perhaps far more than he realized.

"No, defeating dark sorcerers I leave to you but I'll be glad to cover your back while you do it." She raised an eyebrow to accompany the sardonic tone. She'd always suspected that Nero had ties to the Sorcerer King, and she'd managed to prevent him from betraying Aliria and the Black Blade to said master - all without ever having to openly oppose Nero. She hadn't wanted to have had to kill him.

"Please, join me. I knew I was waiting for a reason. Though I must say you are looking far lessed polished than you were months ago."

The night chill had begun to creep through the wearing fabric of his chocolate-brown robe, tied at the waist with a black sash. The garment extended to his wrists, and ended slightly above his ankles to reveal large, reptillian feet and the tip of a scaly tail dangling inches above the ground.

A baggy hood outlined the fin-ears atop his head, giving it an arched appearence, somewhat odd when one noticed the tip of a reptillian snout protruding from the shadows cast by the covering. His clawed hands were folded within the sleeves of the opposing arm, sitting loosely at stomach level. There was an inn up ahead, or so said the sign...

'Again I am smiled apon by Makaal's grace. Just as I grow weary I am greeted with a place in which to rest my weary feet...'

If the unique construction of his skull had allowed him, Tavik might have cracked a grin. The sign had not steered him wrong, nor had Makaal's divine directions he'd recieved from the Brotherhood of Strife before departing on his twenty-five year 'Quest of Knowledge'.

There was a distinct change in sensory feedback from his travelsore feet as they came into contact with the wooden porch of the inn. Such a different feeling from the dust and rocks of the road he'd been on. The hood obstructed his view partially, and he bumped into another patron, who was on the verge of teetering from the consumption of more than his share of fermented beverages...

"My pardons, brother..."

Tavik said softly, nodding in the man's direction then resuming his steady pace...

"I ain't your brother, an' I ain't takin' no pardons for yer mistake..."

Tavik was taken aback slightly by the man's mannerisums. Such rudeness was unheard of in his homeland, especially in the Brotherhood's compound. Then again, monks don't drink excessively, if at all...

"Again my friend, I am sorry for bumping into you, I did not see you standing where you are..."

There was a pause, one of those that precedes something horrible happening...

"Maybe you'll see this!"

A jab came from somewhere to the right, narrowly missing Tavik as he stepped nimbly behind his attacker, grasping him by the elbow & pushing him strongly in the lower back, sending him stumbling into the street. Granted, it was a bit much on Tavik's part, but such was to be expected from such a reaction. The warm glow of anticipation welled up in his gut, muscles readying for certain retaliation...

"I apoligize, brother. I want no trouble from you... Just let me enter the tavern & rest my feet, then I'll be out of your way..."

The man's features contorted to the very picture of rage, and his companions on the porch took this as a que to join in. Tavik turned to face them...

"I wish no trouble from any of you, please, come inside and I will buy you all a drink..."

Tavik brought a fist to an open palm, bowing slightly. He didn't see the uppercut that slipped in a second after he dropped his hands...

'Hands up, left foot back, hood down...'

Tavik's pre-fight checklist ticked down to nothing. There was a rusty taste in his mouth, blood from a split lip...

"I would appreciate it if you would refrain from hitting me, friend..."

Someone kicked Tavik harshly in the back, jolting him forward. The monk growled low in his throat & threw back his hood...

"Ah, you've done it lad... Ya made tha wee lizard-man angry..."

Tavik's eyes blazed pure anger, the hot boiling rage burning in the pit of his stomach. He forced it back down...

'Serenity... Serenity... Inner Peace... Serenity...'

The Argonian inhaled deeply, letting the breath outwards in a sharp hiss...

"Don't hiss at me, lad..."

"Yeah, why don't you just run off if ya don't want trouble..."

Tavik was tempted to remind the drunkard that he'd tried to enter the establishment on several occasions, but thought better of it. Crimson blood from his busted lip leaked over his pale green scales, his jaw hanging slightly open in the Argonian eqivalent of a snarl...

'Do it. Show them what you're made of. Show them that your Brotherhood is one of warriors, not pacifists...'

Tavik's darker side was edging in from the depths of his subconcious, a voice he'd surpressed for twenty-five years.

The man with the heavier accent swung first, which Tavik caught with unnerving ease, torquing the wrist and stepping towards his opponent, setting his remaining hand on the shoulder blade of the same arm. With a sharp shove from that same hand & a push forward from the wrist-hand, the man's shoulder dislocated with a sharp, wet-sounding pop. Tavik let him drop to the road, clutching the shoulder in agony. The young monk ended the suffering with a short-knee to the temple, putting the patron into a state of unresponsiveness.

There were three more, including the original, ill-tempered individual...

"Makaal forgive me for what I have done..."

His temper had flared, and with disasterous consequences for both parties...

The next two attacked at once, not wanting to end up like their friend. They figured two pairs of fists were better than one. Tavik thought otherwise.
The first punch was easily ducked under, then answered with a low spinning shin-kick than put the man into a forward roll. Tavik deflected then dodged a one-two combo from the second man, slipping under the outstreched arm to lock the man up in a russian hold before locking his left leg in front of the man's own, then rotating from the hips to fling him forward in a roll similar to his companion's. Tavik locked the arm, which he'd held onto, into a figure-four hold, twisting again against the natural movement of the limb.

That same disturbing pop issued from the socket, and again Tavik stopped the screaming, this time with a powerful downward elbow to the top of the skull. The previous attacker was dealt with similarly. Struggling to his feet on a fractured shin, Tavik cracked him across the throat with a forceful knife-hand strike that left the man sputtering in the roadway and clutching his neck.

The final man started stepping backwards, but Tavik put a thundering palm strike into his solar plexus, dropping him to a knee: perfect for a strike from Tavik's. The scaly kneecap impacted the human nose perfectly, causing it to explode in a sheet of blood. Mangled and dazed in the extreme, he fell backwards.

His justice-dealing completed, Tavik turned and walked into the tavern as if nothing had happened. The incident lasted no more than four minutes.
The Argonian monk seated himself at a back table, wiping the blood from his jaw on the wrist seam of his robes...

Nero sat upon invitation and flashed Orome a quick and humourless grin at the mention of him fighting dark sorcerers. Ironically enough there were those that would call Nero a dark sorcerer, yet the majority of people that had encountered him over the many years of his life had no idea of the true scope of his powers. Not even his recent master truly understood just what Nero could do.

"I'll have to decline such and leave the vanquishing of evil to the so called righteous. I'm content as is."

Despite their supposedly uninforming words, the pair were really saying much more than their vocals revealed. Nero had always been wary of Orome, she was smart and he knew it. She probably knew more than he wanted her to know, yet he also realised she was not one to judge on minute assumptions and lack of evidence. Orome was certainly different from the other Sisters Nero had encountered and aided in their passage to the underworld. She had a head upon her shoulders not governed by doctrine and tradition.

Taking a moment to examine himself, Nero had to agree with Orome's comment. He looked slightly older and was covered in fair degree of filth from his travels. No matter, that could be changed later.

"True enough, I've seen some troubling things since we were last together. Perhaps you have seen things as well?"

Orome was a talented healer and Nero had noted she had a touch of abilities beyond that of an ordinary human, it was entirely possible she could notice such things, even if they were only small pieces of the whole picture.

Tavik's rage seeped slowly away, becoming little more than an afterglow of adrenaline. The hood had returned to his head, his features once again sheathed in shadow...

'Again I lose my temper... It is childish and dishonorable to thrash drunkards in the roadway, a foolish display of my abilities. A true victory is when I am able to diffuse a conflict without breaking an arm in the process...'

Internally he chastised himself for being so brash, but he had enjoyed the altercation. Fighting had, disturbing as it was to the Brotherhood, come quite naturally to him, leading them to suspect Dark Argonian heritage or him to be the child of a house warrior, or perhaps one of the order of the vampire hunters that occasionally passed through the area around the compound.

Tavik had often wondered about his heritage, but he'd often forget what he'd been wondering about after midday prayer or during one of the defensive sessions they held at least once a day...

If one desired peace, peace would come. If one desired blood, blood would come just as easily. It was all about intent, all about intent...

Someone was intending peace. What fool is this? Who finds reward in peace, that lackluster state which dulls the mind?

Brother-Missionary Hekatus knew the power of wrath, the power of lust, the power of greed. Fantastic motivations, all of them. The removal of sin gave life no purpose. Hekatus would teach of the God-Machine's purity through bringing out the sin in others. He would bring lust to those who desired not supple flesh, he would bring greed to those who desired not great wealth, and now he would bring blood, wrath, joyous violence to this one that wished only to be peaceful.

"Can I buy you a drink, Scaled One?"

This one would be enlightened. He would see.

"True enough, I've seen some troubling things since we were last together. Perhaps you have seen things as well?"

Orome had been keeping a discrete eye on the trouble brewingm, then being thoroughly finished, out on the porch - one of the inn's wide window's over looked the entry area. She couldn't make out the victor clearly, the lighting was poor, but she was fairly sure that he was not human. Though she was not ignoring Nero by any means.

"Yes, and the ...knowing... that I'm-maybe it's we're waiting for something here."

She looked at him, her eyes level and utterly serious

"Nero, you have the power, and the skill to take him. I wouldn't offer to cover your back otherwise." Her voice was for him alone and as serious as her eyes. She did not need to say who 'he' was. Nero was one of few people she could speak blunt truths to, in subtle ways that few would ever understand. She didn't offer trust and loyality lightly, and she found her liking and respect for the dark mage growing.

And yes her demonic half gave her senses that ranged far beyond the normal and machinations left their own trace upon the face of the world.

Nero matched Orome's serious gaze with his own. She wasn't about to sit around making idle chat for the whole night and had moved directly onto the issue at hand without giving anything away to those that may be listening. He had to admire how she did that, there weren't many people Nero had ever encountered that were as aware and focused as Orome.

There was no denying in Nero's mind that Orome's words were true. He'd realised such for some time now yet he was hesitant to make a move. His former master was a cunning man and possessed a multitude of resources that Nero could barely begin to fathom. Yet Nero was not without his own bag of tricks, many of which could do the job.

"True enough Orome, but I'm sure you realise it's not that simple. He is a sly man of great wit. It won't be as easy as simply defeating him in combat. We will have to pass many obstacles before we can reach him and I'm not sure if we can do so without aid. I have full confidence in both our abilities, just as I do in his."

Nero took a brief moment to order a drink before returning his attention to Orome.

"I believe finding a reliable aid will be difficult enough as it is and I fear something is going to happen. We don't have much time."

'Close', Corum thought to himself as he weighted Zhyjman's price against what he had accumulated so far. One, maybe two more profitable ventures and he would be able to hire the mercenary and his vast army, then he would have revenge on the Nadragh. They would pay for the death of his father, the king, his family, his entire race. Though he was the last of the Vadagh he would see the Nadragh pay to the last for thier decimation of his people.

The sun was fleeing the field above as the Lady Night drew her diamond studded mantle across the sky and Corum hadn't slept for two days. He would have to soon or he would become vulnerable to attacks due to fatigue. Up ahead he saw candles in a Inn window, tiny promises of warmth and rest, if only for a little while. He made for the Inn, stopping just outside as he did. His hand pulsed, not having been used for some time and the eye under the gem encrusted patch seemed to itch, as it so often did. Neither was his, both were powerful, having come from a lich of vast power themselves. Two actually, the hand belonging to one, the eye to another and he, young and foolish, using them for his own ends.

He dismounted the huge, gloss black Nihrain and, to tired for subtlety, allowed it to return to the from whence is came. The saddle bags that he had removed were his only possessions aside from the familial blade and bow. Then, suddenly, he seemed just to tired to take another step. To tired of fighting, to tired of moving from one place to another, always one step ahead of the Nadragh assassins, to tired to live. He yearned to see his family again, his friends, his people. Tears welled up in his eye and he stood, staring at the small symbols of hope in the windows and wondering how he ever thought they might pertain to him.

"I believe finding a reliable aid will be difficult enough as it is and I fear something is going to happen. We don't have much time."

Orome's eyes darkened, and she nodded slightly. Nero lived up to her expectations of him. Too many little things, thing most never bothered to notice, were 'off'. One she had noticed especially...Serpents, the ancient symbol of the healer, were out, active, and dieing in the cold- when they should have been curled deep in their dens in torpor until spring. Rats were also especially abundant, and rats carried the plague with them.

"Aye, and sooner than we'd like, but if we waited for the world to fit to our pleasure, we'd be waiting forever." Orome replied

Then a swirl of magic, faint, but one she knew well. Only one person she knew or - and had ever heard of -partnered with a Nihrain. 'Corum' and her heart gave a painful lurch as her thoughts cried out half joyful, half a wail of heart break. She couldn't, shouldn't let herself love him.

Orome had thought she had tamed her rebellious heart, but she now had to acknowledge it's total waywardness. She loved Corum, no matter how wrong, painful, or impossible it was. And she knew that she had to keep it hidden enough not to let Nero have any guess at that fact.

Tavik sensed something odd about the individual before him, but he couldn't quite place a finger on it...

"Ah... No thank you, brother... We of my order don't partake in distilled spirits. I thank you again for you offer..."

The cowled head made a slow back-and-forth motion indicative of a negatory response...

'What is it about this individual that makes me so uneasy? He seems polite enough, few would offer me a drink after that little display outside. It is always better to err on the side of caution, and alcohol is a forbidden substance in the Brotherhood...'

Tavis' internal monologue seemed to be geared more towards the justification to himself of refusing the drink rather than the topic of why the man before him feel so cautious. Tavis finally resolved that it was his demenor, that of one who has fought several times and emerged the victor...

Finaly, after a few moments, Corum suppressed the depression that often threaten to overwhelm him. He shouldered the saddle bags and moved toward the Inn door, hoping to find one night of peace.

The Inn door opened revealing a tall man with rose hued skin. One eye was violet, the other covered with a rune engraved, gem encrusted patch. His violet eye swept the room, looking for possible threats and stopped on Orome. His eye locked with hers for a moment then shifted to Nero. A second later he moved toward the Innkeeper.

"Room", he said simply, "one with a lock."

The Innkeeper weighed the man before him, "Look, I don't want no trouble."

"I only seek a room for the night, I'll be gone at daybreak." Corum presented two platinum duckets and the Inn keeper suddenly forgot about the possible threat. He reached behind him, took a key and handed it to him. "There you go, room..."

Corum held up a finger to silence him, "I'll find it, thanks, I'd prefer that not everyone know where I am."

The Inn keeper got a nervous look again, looked at the two expensive coins in his hand and made a note to load his crossbow tonight, just in case.

Corum turned from the counter and headed for the stairs. His eye fell on Orome again, his heart wanting to approach her, but she seemed to make it clear that she wasn't interested in a relationship. He sighed, his eye sliding down to the key in his hand and proceeded to the room indicated on it.

The room was small but clean and the door could be locked. He dropped his gear and decided to rest for awhile. He'd bathe later after most of the patron's were sleeping and sounds could be considered a threat in the dead of night. Try as he might he couldn't sleep. Orome crossed his mind constantly. Her beauty, her touch, her warmth. How could he have been so foolish as to believe that she could actually be interested in him. Then there was Nero. He didn't trust the mage, but then he didn't trust any mage. What twist of fate brought him here at the same time as they?

Their brief glance made Orome wish to go to him, welcome him. She dared not appear too eager however.. Orome took a slow sip of her mulled cider to prevent herself from going to him and internally wondered just how big a fool she was.

Though Orome looked to be no more than her early to mid twenties, courtesy of her half Illu'varran blood, she was an experineced survivor of a world far less gentle than most might wish it to be. She knew well how to keep track of the goings on about her - keeping track of Corum's entry and movements through the inn were no hardship for her. Keeping her face coolly composed and attentive on Nero also was no dificulty, not after growing up in the byzantine and hazzard filled court of her uncle.

'Decissions first, pleasure, and emotions later' she disciplined herself firmly and looked once more about the tavern. The one who had earlier disposed of the beligerant drunks out on the porch...Definitely non human, she thought she caught the faint glitter of scales, and there was a bulk under the dark claok that suggested a tail.

"Nero" She minutely gestured towards the hooded and cloaked one as he turned from the bar. "Is that an Argonian? I've never seen one in person...I thought they didn't leave their lands."

The snow fell heavily upon the land and coated that which was once visible. Through the snow walked an individual whose coal, black attire and cloak stood out in the ivory desert. His face was consumed in the shadows created by his hood, which draped over his face. Through his cloak, one could see the black chest plate which he wore. Upon the chest plate was a raven; the bird which shared his name and his gloomy thoughts. The only thing not dark was his skin which was a creamy peach color; which in the cold night air was paler.

The figure took slow steps in the snow, as he made his way to the inn. He needed a place to stay, for he was tired of sleeping in the woods nearby. His homeland was far away but he had no need to go home. His slow, calm steps eventually moved him enough so that he stood in front of the door to the inn. Placing his hand upon the door, he pushed it open and walked inside.

Raven stepped inside the inn, and suddenly he was confronted by the warmth of the fireplaces which burned like great dying phoenixes. He closed the door behind him and walked to the bar. He easily sat down on one of the stools and rested his hands upon the counter. Slowly, he tapped the counter with two of his fingers and waited for the innkeeper. The innkeeper approached him but was cautious because even within the well lit inn, Raven's cloaked figure was odd.

"A glass of your finest red wine please," Raven said in a calm voice to the innkeeper, as he removed two gold coins from his pocket and placed them upon the counter. The innkeeper took the two gold coins and poured him his glass of red wine. Picking up the glass, he slowly drank from it and enjoyed the smooth taste.

Raven's eyes were fixed forward as he enjoyed his glass of red wine, but he continued to listen to the people who sat around him. Several people had caught his eye when he first entered but he did not worry for none of them seemed to pose a threat at the time. However, one person he had not seen came from the hall, which led to the rooms, and bumped into him before grabbing the man who sat next to him.

"You owe me..." said the man who came from behind him in a rough voice, "you owe me the money that you promised to me... and I will have your head if I cannot have your gold."

Raven watched as this took place next to him. He could feel as the man shook in fear. Quickly, he grabbed the attacker's wrist and squeezed it tightly in his hand. His nails dug into the soft flesh of the attacker's wrist, and he pulled downward, removing the attacker's hand from the man who still sat shaking. Raven removed his hand from the wrist of the attacker and moved it to his own hand. From his ring finger, he pulled off a sapphire ring, which bore the raven emblem of his family. "It is worth four thousand if it is worth anything..." said Raven, as he handed the ring to the attacker.

The man next to Raven thanked him and asked, "If there is anything I can do..." Raven waved his hand and quieted the man. "Leave my presence... leave this inn... hide... for next time you will not be as lucky" he said in a stern voice. The man quickly left and Raven's eyes looked straight again. He moved his hand to the glass and picked it up. He gently swirled its deep crimson content and moved the glass to his lips. Taking another drink from the glass, Raven sat listening to the patrons around him in silence.

In many respects I am a disappointment to my mother. She is a great mage even by Illu'varr standards, and while I am very sensitive to the flow of magicks, my magics are limited to superal skill with the blade and healing. That sensitivity now sends chills down my spine as if a vast howl of northern wind has coursed through the stoutly build inn.

My thoughts are completely wrenched from Corum, and my eyes are as an eagles. What has finalized here? Something necessary for ... something, but I can not gues what has come together here, some formula has been solved. But does it bode for weal or woe? That is another question that needs must have answered.

I dart a look at Nero, for I know he too must feel the sudden snap of the winds of change

Far and away- but not as far away as some might wish- the Sorcerer King howled in glee. His studies were complete, he had found the final bit of information needed to bring forth the lastest portion of his grand design.

He studied the ancient and much worn tome carefully, making copious notes. The ceremony would be long and ardous. It would cost him the lives of many of his subordinate mages, but that was what they existed for. He had one greater problem. The bearer, the sacrifice...one of that race would be nearly impossible to find easily. Inside their remote lands they were protected from his machinations. No he would have to find one with in his ability to grasp.

The searching spell was easily cast and the sacrifice was small, just the life of an inconsiquental slave. The whisp of colored fog swirled out the window and vanished from normal ken. The sorcerer king would follow it in his minds eye and when it found what he sought, well another servant would fetch the bearer easily.

And there the bearer was in his mental sight! Some black god favored him, oh well with in his grasp. Quickly the sorcerer king summoned and dispatched servant to collect what his master desired

The dead in Corum's cursed eye howled. It wasn't the first time, but this time was different. Normally they howled in bloodlust. A frenzied cry to be set free and deal death in order to harvest thier release from the cursed land upon which they found themselves. His hand tingled as they howled, not in bloodlust, but in glee. Some foul magic was at work.

The road had been long from his castle of N'har V'dir and he was a practical man. Therefore he stood and made his way to the bathing room. If magic was in the air, and foul at that, then it might strike soon and he should be ready. The question was, would he flee, or would he fight? In either case he didn't want to smell like a C'roat T'ik. The swamp creatures whose stench could cause nausea in mortals.

Once inside and the water poured he ordered the servant to leave and locked the door. He then lay his sword beside him and washed the dirt and grime from the road away. After finishing he returned to his room, donned all but the heaviest part of his armor and lay down to rest.

Tavik's gaze drifted out the window, then darkened in dismay as the glint of falling snow caught his eye...

'Argh... That will delay me until it melts, which could be a few days. No matter, this inn is comfortable enough, and sleeping in a chair by the fire shouldn't cost anything significant, if at all...'

The monk, pious as he was, carried no money, no posessions of value, and owned nothing other than the robes on his back and the tattered cloth wrappings on his hands and feet...

"Snow... I knew I had ventured too far north. It seems I will need to purchase a second robe... Or venture to look in that accursed book I was given before I left the monestary."

Tavik pulled a small, bible-sized volume from his robes, the title read the following:

'All That You Will Need to Succeed'

'A strange title...'

The monk muttered internally. On flipping through it, he found that it contained several incantations, spells, and enchantments, as well as tips and several maps detailing the wanderings of the previous generation of monks. Techniques were also detailed in the use of a sword, knife, and staff. It was indeed, all the knowledge he would need to survive his twenty-five years abroad...

'A warming spell... This should be useful...'

Tavik settled in against the wall and began to read...

Raven placed his glass down upon the counter in front of him, having finished it's deep crimson content. He turned around in his stool and removed the hood which had stayed upon his head for a while now. He lifted his hands up to his head and ran his fingers through his short black hair. Taking in a deep breath, Raven placed his hands upon his knees and allowed his chocolate eyes to wander around the room.

"My, my, there are so many common folk here... my father would die if he found out I was amongst them", thought Raven as his eyes wandered around the room, taking in the many people who sat around him. Most of his life had been spent in a castle and his father had forbid him to meet anyone that was not approved by him. As soon as he was able to, he left his father's castle for the first time and was introduced to everything that he had once been denied.

As his eyes wandered, they fell upon certain people who interested him in one way or another. Near the fireplace his eyes fell upon a woman whose beauty was as deadly as the sword she had at her side. Her blue, green eyes were the color of the swirling waters of a lake on a night with no moon. He watched as the vibrant colors seemed to sparkle with the fire. Her clothes were lovely as well, and only helped to show off her features. "She is a woman of wealth...", Raven thought to himself, knowing that such a person could not be of common life. Raven's eyes then focused on the man who wore simple attire. The figure wore the robes of a priest and read from a book which looked similar to that which held religious texts. He watched as the priest read in silence and he thought to himself, "Tis terrible that a holy man... a man of religion... must sit alone and wear the clothes of a peasant."

Raven stood up from the wooden stool which he had sat on for a while and walked over to the man who read from the book. Walking to him, he noticed his tail and the scales which were in the place of his skin. Raven nodded his head and realized that the man was of the Argonians. In his studies, Raven had learned of them and their beliefs. They were peaceful people but not strangers to the ways of fighting and magicks. They were also very religious and knew how to be one with nature. Raven had always loved that idea... the idea of being one with nature and understanding that one is nothing but something that belongs to everything.

Raven approached the scaled, Argonian priest and bowed his head low in respect. Though he was of nobility, he believed that everyone should be treated with respect. "Hello Brother, I could not help but notice you alone here reading" said Raven in a calm voice. "I am Raven, Prince of Agronaria, and it is an honor to meet one of your kind."

Nero noted Corum's presence with a brief gaze, acknowledging the mysterious warrior and yet also keeping an eye on him. Corum was certainly apt within his own field of swordplay and such tasks associated with a warrior, yet there was more to him. He was a complex character, not easily read and Nero didn't like that.

The situation between Orome and Corum wasn't lost on Nero. He'd noticed it upon their last journey together and gave them the privacy they had desired. He'd had a different agenda then anyway, issues of love and companionship were not amongst his priorities at the time. Corum passed upstairs yet gave Orome a brief glance before he departed, attempting to hide his feelings. Of course Nero knew he wished to join Orome's presence and more than likely she would have invited him, but they both had this pre-written law against their union, or something of a similar nature. Whatever it was, Nero was not one to pry.

At mention of an Argonian, Nero subtlely turned his head towards the window, gaining a brief image of the robed one behind them from the reflection in the window. Not a lot could be seen in the window but it was enough for Nero's acute senses to see something not human.

"It would appear so. I've never actually seen one before, just read of them here and there."

Nero's words ceased as he watched events at the bar unfold. A small, fearful man was being threatened by a larger, angry looking man. It appeared as if things would turn violent and yet a robed stranger offered an item of value to the angry man, avoiding any conflict. It was strange to see such a thing, very strange. Nero made a note to keep an eye on the generous stranger.

Turning his attention back to Orome, he immediate noticed her conern. Something had changed. It wasn't anything physical within the inn or even outside. The flow of energies in the region had changed paths, changed nature. Someone had influenced them for their own purposes and Nero had quite a good idea of who that person was.

"It's getting worse Orome..."

Tavik slapped the book closed with a dull thump, bringing closed fist to open palm again & bowing his head lower than that of the stranger as he rose to his feet...

"The Brotherhood of Strife greets you, my brother. I am honored as well to meet one of your standing. You are indeed a generous man, paying the debt of others without conflict. Makaal's blessings will shine down apon you, of this I am sure..."

The young monk seated himself again...

"It is good to have company. I feared I would have to weather this blizzard alone in this corner with only this stange tome to entertain me..."

Tavik introduced himself after some hesitation...

"I am known as Tavik, of the Argonian Brotherhood of Strife."

"I am a generous man only because I believe in keeping the peace. I try to avoid confrontations. For that reason I mainly like to sit alone... though I know that you are no trouble to me for you also are one who knows the great sound of silence" said Raven, in a calm voice. He was never one for fighting but he was well trained in the art of war and art of sword fighting. He received high rankings in his father's army and was never known for being weak. Raven rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword which was shaped like a talon. It was the color of well polished silver and seemed to glow against his black outfit like the moon in the night.

Raven's eyes drifted towards the book when Tavik had mentioned the tome. "Interesting reading Brother Tavik?" said Raven, as he motioned towards the tome which he had closed quickly. His eyes had skimmed the cover of the leather book, leaving him with the words "All You Will Need to Succeed" in his head. "I have read many works and seen many guide books, but I have not heard of such a title. Most likely a book from your homelands. If it is not to forward of me, may I ask what it contains? I am a seeker of knowledge... a bit of a wanderer myself who wishes to know all he can about the world."

"It's getting worse Orome..."

"Aye Nero, and yesss..." Her voice was a low hiss that spoke volumes, for they both knew who's hand had just tossed the dice.

"However what has happened...shall not be made known so soon. If you want the luxury of a private room this night you'd best speak to the innkeep. If they are already full up, my suite has two rooms, but you will be sleeping on the floor." She stood, shrugging slightly to settle her sword. "Second floor, far end of the hall." It was the bigget suite the inn had, and had fireplaces in both rooms.

With a small nod at Nero and one last swift discrete glance about the tavern she moved away, her saunter a hip rolling sway that was all a man could imagine...and if he did under the wrong circumstances, well he'd end up dead for not paying attention to what he should have.

Nero watched as Orome disappeared up the stairs, concern obvious in her movements if one knew how to read the woman to a certain degree. It was odd considering that Nero and Orome existed on opposite ends of the spectrum in most cases and yet they possessed a mutal respect and understanding of eachother that was uncanny.

Rising himself, Nero moved slowly towards bar in search of the inn keeper. It appeared as if he was crippled in some fashion, adding to the guise of being a defenceless traveller. Nero went through many characters and the sort during his travels and he felt it was time for a change, it helped keep undesirable followers off his trail.

"I'd like a room, nothing really special."

The inn keeper looked Nero up and down, attempting to assess whether he was a trouble maker or just a weary traveller. Eventually he decided the man under the grey robes was no trouble.

"Three coppers for the night, includes a hot meal."

"That would be fine."

Reaching into his pocket, Nero fingered a few pieces of wood he'd picked up before coming into the inn. They were about the same amount of matter as a copper coin yet evidently of no value in their present state. A quick discharge of intent and arcane energies changed that as Nero now withdrew five copper coins and listened to the metallic clank as they fell upon the bench.

Without another word Nero hobbled up the stairs, contemplating the events soon to come.

The night passes peacefull enough, though the snow storm intensified enough at one point to send small swirls of snow down the various fire place flues. However that fit of airy violence did not last long. Snow piled deep on the steeply slanted roof of the inn and the servants were up early replenishing the many hearths. The cold was intense enough that even with the fires fed full the inn was still somewhat on the chilly side.

Breakfast was a buffet that filled a long tressel table with a hearty assortment of foods. Slowly a few patrons filtered down from their rooms or suites, none sure that they would be going anywhere - the storm was in abyence for the moment, but the clouds were still low hung and dark, threatening more sleet and snow before long.

Most stayed in their beds however, unwilling to leave the warmth the blankets had enveloped them in. The visibility was poor, the snow nearly knee deep, and those who went to check on stabled mounts were appreciative of the covered walkway between the inn and the stables.

The innkeep had put the monk to sweeping the tavern floor when he discovered that the Argonian had no money in exchange for meals and a place by the main hearth.

Corum rose in the cold room, dressed in his warmest furs and exited the room. He made his way down to the common room and selected his breakfast. He ate light, not wanted to stuff himself and prepared himself for the cold ride ahead. He had no idea where he would go, but the Nihrain wouldn't be affected by the snow, however deep it might be. The hooves of the Nihrain steed didn't land on this world, but rather on the plane from which it came, allowing it to traverse difficult places without problems.

After Raven had talked with Brother Tavik for many hours, he retired to a room after handing the inn keeper three gold coins for payment. The night seemed long to Raven, for sleep did not come to him easily. The night was spent tossing and turning; restlessness getting the better of him. When he finally woke up, he walked over to the large bowl on the dresser and poured the water from the jug into it. Taking a towel, he wet it and washed his face and the rest of his body. The cool water felt great upon his skin, after sleeping beneath the heavy wool blankets. When he finished washing himself, Raven walked to the bag which he had carried over one shoulder, like a sling, and removed a fresh set of clothes. The clothes which he placed on were simple cotton, onyx tunic and a pair of matching pants. Raven then placed on his faded brown, leather belt which held his sheath on the left side. He then slipped the black, metal chest plate over his head and fastened the leather straps, making sure it was secured. Once this was done, he quickly grabbed the long, black cloak from off of the stand near his bed and through it over his shoulders. He tied the strings around his neck and kept the hood down. Taking his brown, leather bag in hand, Raven walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Raven walked down the hall of rooms in the inn and arrived back in the main room, where he had been seated last night. Entering the room, Raven's nose became filled with the smells of many different items of food. He took a few pieces of the baked bread, a bunch of berries, some meats and a cup of tea, and moved to sit down at a table near the fire. He dropped the bag on to the floor and took a seat, placing his plate down upon the table. He began to eat and easily finished off all of the food on his plate. Having not eaten in a few days, due to a lack of supplies, Raven's appetite had become somewhat wild. Though he was now full and he simply sat back in his chair, enjoying the warmth of the fire. He allowed his eyes to move from person to person, wondering when the other people would awake... especially that one woman...

When Raven entered Corum eyed the man quickly and went back to his meal. The man was either skilled or a fool to wear weapons openly and Corum never bet on the latter. For that reason he kept his face down, as though intent on his meal, but kept the man in his peripheral vision, just in case.

Orome rose late, enjoying the warmth of the bed. Dressing in more clothing than was her normal wont she wrapped the fur lined cloak, with it's heavy embroidery, the sigil of the Sisters of the Sword, about her and left the suite. Her sword manifested over her shoulder as she headed down the hallway, mostly hiden by her fall of thick ebon tresses.

She paused as she saw Corum still eating, and then strode lightly over to the buffet. Her eyes had noted the few others in the room, the raven armored warrior, the Argonian monk, the staff as they circulated refilling mugs of kaffe, and spiced cider. Carefully she made her choices and moved on silent feet to take a place at the same table Corum sat at.

“I’m not going to ask permission” She said softly, as she took the seat across from him “And avoiding each other doesn’t seem to work does it?” Orome kept her voice low, aware she could not keep a resigned sorrow from her words. They had not parted happily, each misunderstanding the other, each too proud to let the other know. “You felt it too last night, didn’t you?” She let her gaze linger upon Corum’s eye patch for a moment

"I felt pain", he replied, intentionally misunderstanding her question. "Pain for a love I thought we had. Pain at it's loss. Pain of the fact that it still abides in my heart." He looked up at her, losing himself for a moment in her beauty before going on, "Pain for what could have been."

His gaze lingered a moment longer before regret set in. Why did he have to reveal what he felt? Why did he have to speak? He knew the answer. He could have stopped the destruction of his race, and for his failure he would never be permitted love. "I'm cursed, Orome. You should leave while you can. You know you can never allow us to be together."

It was unfair and he knew it. It was as much his need for revenge as the vows that she was forced to heed. He wanted to tell her more, more that was in his heart and yet all his words cut like a sword. He shook his head, "I"m sorry, that was unkind, and unfair."

Raven watched as the familiar woman, whose eyes were the color of the darkest sapphires, entered the room. His eyes followed her discretely, not wanting to appear as a threat to her. Her beauty was that which was greater than sun rising along the horizon at day break. His eyes then moved to the sword which she carried, and he thought, "Beautiful and violent... quite the pair..." He then watched as she took a seat at the table of a man who wore a patch over one eye... the same man who had watched him come in. Raven then turned his eyes to the hilt of his sword, but kept his ears sharp so that he could hear the conversation the two were having.

While listening, Raven picked up words of past love and past pain. Though he did not know the full story, it seemed that the woman was quite the untouchable... which only made Raven more interested. Raven closed his eyes and rested a hand upon the silver hilt of his sword, now focusing on the conversation the two were having.

I"m sorry, that was unkind, and unfair."

"No, it was neither" Orome shook her head slightly but kept her eyes on her untouched plate. "Harsh truth, but truth...belo" She swallowed and changed her words in mid speak "Corum. However not what I was speaking of. Somethings coming, or has been set in motion."

She paused and let her eyes go unfocused as she opened herself to the more subtle senses "Yess...something comes" a frown creased her brow "... but there is more than..Aaaaahhhhh...A nearly silent hiss of pain and her eyes flew wide as she doubled over - a terrible bolt of pain lanceing through her. Pain that left her nearly blind, and lips bitten to keep from letting the cry be any louder than it was.

Corum threw the table aside and reached out to take Orome in his arms. "Beloved", he said, concern in his eyes and voice. He held her as the dead moaned with glee in his cursed vision.

"SILENCE!" he thundered, seemingly at no one. He lifted Orome in his arms and carried her up the stairs toward his Room. His gaze went about the room as though daring anyone to interfere with him or try to take advantage of her weakness.

Raven, whose eyes had been shut, quickly opened his eyes and jumped up from his chair at the sound of the woman screaming in pain. He was about to move from where he stood to help her but the man, who had sat at the table with her, took her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. Quickly, yet silently, Raven followed behind the man and soon found he caught up with him. "Know that I mean you no harm," began Raven in a calm tone,” and that I only wish to help. My name is Raven... I am trained in many areas of knowledge and medicine is one... may I be of assistance?" He moved slightly closer and quickly removed his belt which carried his sheath. He then held out his sheathed weapon in front of him. "I do not ask for you to trust me... for you do not know me. However, I will surrender my weapon so that I may help you, without you thinking of me as a threat..."

"Medicine of mortals is no use here", Corum replied. "But open that door that I may let her lay down and I would be grateful." He nodded toward the door to the room that he had used the night before and eyed the man carefully. He had seen such a trick before and wasn't about to be caught off guard, especially not with such a treasure in his arms.

"I may be mortal, but let me assure you sir that I know medicine which deals with all..." said Raven, as he replaced his weapon belt and opened the door in front of the man who stood with the woman in his arms. Once he had opened the door, Raven watched as the man placed the woman down upon the bed.

"Is it a prophetic vision?" asked Raven, in a sincere tone as he closed the door. He moved away from the door and looked at the woman. "I have witnessed prophets receiving visions from higher powers and read much of them... both journals and biographies. May I ask if my assumption is correct... is she a prophet?"

"She's sees that which comes, though it is hardly prophetic", Corum replied as he sat beside her and placed a hand over the jewel encrusted patch. "Be STILL", he muttered. After a moment he looked back at Orome, "I don't dare do anything until she can say what she needs. She is as different from me as I am from you." The glove covered hand twitched and he pushed it into his belt, then sat looking Orome. "Beloved", he uttered in a low voice and then sighed and sat, waiting.

Nero awoke with a jolt as a magical backlash ran through the area. It wasn't a physical kind thankfully yet those sensetive to such things would definitely feel it and others may even be harmed by such a thing unless properly trained to deal with such forces. The experienced mage easily shrugged off the initial affects of the backlash and climbed out of bed, grabbing the wooden stave beside his table and exiting to find Corum carrying Orome into a room, followed by another man.

Evidently something was wrong and so the mage followed them into Corum's room, not bothering to head downstairs and get anything to eat. Arriving beside the large warrior, Nero gave him a slight nod.

"Were her senses open?"

Corum eyed the mage and nodded, "Yes I think they were." He ran his good hand over her forehead, shifting his gaze back to her face.

Orome struggled to the surface of consciousness, like a swimmer slowly freeing themselves from a rip tide.

Her voice was fainter than a mouselings squeek, but it roared and resonated through Orome's head like a minotaur's bellow. "I think..." She swallowed a few times, trying to keep from vomiting, and managed to block the pain - though it roamed restlessly through her like a caged lion- enough to continue speaking " that was a spectacularly well done trap."

After a few more moments she dared try opening her eyes just a slit, to confirm what her other senses had discerned. Corum's worrried face wavered into view, as did Nero's and ...one she did not know...then memory filled in seeing him in the dining room, both last night and this morning.

"He doesn't want any one to see" Orome caught Nero's eyes, then glanced at Corum "And it's a damn sight closer than we'd like it to be."

Orome managed to sit up, useing a tight grip on Corum's massively muscled bicept as a pull up point, ignoring the nausea that flashed through her. She couldn't afford such weakness at the moment, though she didn't take her hands off of Corum.

Corum held his arm steady, seemingly unaffected by her action, though he was careful to keep his gloved hand tucked in his belt.

"Who", Corum asked in a low but penetrating voice, "who doesn't want us to see?"

Once she was up he steadied her with the hand he had free. Occasionally his face would twitch as he sought an answer to her dilemma.

"Who", Corum asked in a low but penetrating voice, "who doesn't want us to see?"

Nero know well whom she refered to, and Corum was no stranger to the sorcerer king either...Orome allowed herself the luxury of leaning against Corum's broad chest. Tilting her head back, to meet his eye...her eyes caught and flinched. She couldn't bring her voice out of a whisper, and she refused to use his name

"He whom we drove out of Perilon."

Nero breathed a little easier upon seeing Orome regain her wits. She'd been hit hard but she wasn't down for the count and by all appearances she just needed to recover her strength, there was no other evident damage within the woman.

Of course he realised who had done such a thing and was further satisfied with his assumption when Orome mentioned him indirectly. Whilst Nero was quite the competent mage, he had no prophetic abilities or anything similar and so he had no idea just what Orome had seen before she fell victim to the magical backlash.

"Orome... did you see anything? Anything that could help us?"

There was no doubt that his old master would be privy to the fact that Nero was no longer taking his orders. Nero had shielded his mind from that of the so called evil sorcerer as he felt their goals no longer coincided with eachother.

"Orome... did you see anything? Anything that could help us?"

Orome shook her head minutely.

"I wasn't really scrying, what magic I have can't do that. Iwas just searching for...a knot in the currents of magic?" Her voice was stronger, but she did not move from where she rested against Corum. The pathways within her that carried her magics still vibrated painfully, and the thought of trying to heal right now made her swallow hard.

"It's moving too fast Nero to be land bound I think... though I don't know what gave me that impression?" She looked at the three, as she forced her voice to normal levels.

'WILL you be STILL', Corum muttered, seemingly to himself. He knew the dead wouldn't. Something was happening, something that might free them without having to serve him. He looked at Orome, "Then we need to move quickly. With the steeds we possess we may still outdistance it and they won't be affected by this weather. "Just let me know when your rested enough, I was ready to leave anyway."

Orome had never heard Corum be so vocal against his...servants, not even at the end when the sorcerer king had nearly won. 'Is he losing control of them' she wondered briefly, then all senses went black...

As did the senses of all those in the room.

Then she was standing on a barren plain, not a tree, not a shrub, not a blade of grass as far as the eye could see, naught save bones, a limitless ossuary...A giant raven stalked amid the bones, head cocked to one side as he reguarded first a tibia, then a piece of cranium... A starving wolf wreathed in writhing spectres, frothing shades crouched nearby, panting... A giant golden and sable jackal looked about intently, flashing keen fangs in what was not a smile at all.. Something cloaked and hooded, scales glittering where the cloak fell back to expose a small portion of the figure swept the bones into patterns that Orome could not discern.

A cold, lifeless wind blew carrying no scents, and hazy light filtered though a dense layer of clouds...Far and away some thing, no longer as human as it looked, howled with laughter and capered madly about the patterns that could not be discerned...

Raven stood in the back of the room, his arms crossed across his chest, and he listened to what everyone was saying. He had no idea who the people were talking about but he could tell that the person was known well by all of them and the person was one whose very essence was evil.

Raven moved forward and cleared his throat. "Excuse me... but exactly who do you talk of that this Lady refuses to mention? I have heard of many dark forces whose names are never mentioned for the very fear that they might hear and come forth. If I may be of assistance I surely will help in anyway that I can..." said Raven in a calm voice, his fingers gently tapping his armor.

At that point his eyes turned to Orome and he watched as she seemed to "space out" and almost look completely freed from her physical form. He wondered to himself what she saw, for though Orome had said she was not a prophet, it was obvious that she saw things none of the others could... or could they...

Raven felt as the room seemed to fall apart and slowly melt into the groud. He felt something within him change and he felt as the room changed with him. Before his eyes he saw things which greatly contrasted with the old area in which they were. Raven looked around the room in which he was in... it was dark and it smelled of dust and rotten fruit. He placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword and he looked around in the darkness. He could see nothing but he continued to wander. Just then a loud noise was heard from above his head and he quickly jumped to the side. Rolling upon the floor, he turned over and brought forth his sword. When Raven brought forth his sword a loud slash was heard as the blade cut through the air. But suddenly, he kneeled frozen before what had fallen from the roof. Before his eyes were the bodies of Orome, Corum, Nero and himself... hanging from the ceiling from a noose around their necks. He slowly, got up from the ground and sheathed his sword. Just then he saw a raven come forth... the bird which he was named after and which his kingdom adored. It's color was that of onyx, shining in the morning sun. He slowly moved towards it, teaching of the philosopher Poe reminding him that such a bird was chosen for the name of his kingdom for it was a bringer of death, pain and sorrow. The raven which he watched fell to his side and let loose one more cry. Just then, Raven's ears picked up the sound of the hung bodies laughing a wicked laugh which was that of someone whose very soul was made of darkness. Suddenly, blood began to fall as rain and Raven fell to his knees, throwing his cloak around his head, trying to shield himself.

Corum suddenly stood in a square. It took him a moment to recognize it, as it had been so long since he had been there. Houses had been reduced to rubble, towers had toppled, the great walls had been breached. Blood ran in the river as though water no longer flowed there. It was his home, or what was left. Or was it? It seemed almost the same, yet it was different.

A shadow flitted among the ruins and Corum drew his ancestral blade. The shadow seemed to be some kind of bird, though always just out of sight. He followed the shadow through the ruins and came upon a snake, writhing in agony. A lizard man lay broken among the ruins, like nothing that had been in or near his home. The shadow continued, until Corum came to the body of a broken angel. Bleeding, it's wings broken and useless. It was a woman, though he couldn't make out the features clearly. The shadow of the raven seemed to fall to the ground as though shot. Then in the distance more menacing shadows loomed and moved closer.

"Corum Jhaelen Irsai. You are the Prince of your people. You, now, are thier King."

"I'm King of nothing", Corum replied, looking about him. "My people are dead, I'm the last. The only destiny I control, now, is that of vengeance."

"You are wrong, my son", and suddenly his father stood before him. "Do not make the mistake of pride that I and my forefather's had made. You are not alone in this world, neither were we. Yet we chose to believe that we were out of Pride and Arrogance, and for that, we paid the price."

"I don't understand. I am alone", Corum replied.

"No", his father replied and looked to the broken angel. "Let your heart, and not your vengeance, guide you." His father produced a spear with a long silvered tip, barbed on both sides. The spear he had sought, and lost, when he was to save his people.

"Vengeance is all I have left", came Corum's reply.

"Then our race is truly dead", was his father's answer and with that he vanished.

"NOOOOOO!!!!" Corum shouted, but the shout was loud in the small inn room and he looked around, confused. In his hand, where there hadn't been one before, was a long spear with a silvered tip and barbs on both sides of the head.

Nero nodded at Orome's comment. He'd expected something would be sent after him eventually, something to clear away any potential threats such as himself, Orome and any others that may pose a threat to his grand design.

Before the mage could even react to Corum's slight outburst, his vision plunged into darkness as and his senses were drowned in oblivion. Nero was still fully mentally aware and yet he had no idea what was going on. Alas there was no time to think it over as the mage's senses returned and yet he was some place else entirely.

Heat intense enough to cause the flesh to melt slammed into Nero's face as he opened his eyes, causing him to immediately close them again in order to protect his sight and slowly adjust to the blazing infernal around him. Nero recognised it immediately, a place that had plagued his dreams and memories during his youth.

The mage found himself standing within a blazing villa, the building obviously belonging to someone very rich and yet now it was suffering the wrath of angry flames. These flames weren't normal, they were black and incinerated most small items by mere touch. Nero knew he'd caused the flames, he didn't know how or why but they were his.

Looking above him, Nero spotted a raven looking down on the flames. It cawed at him in disgust as it's perch soon became engulfed in flames. The bird was gone but it wasn't dead, something simply told Nero it wasn't dead.

Shaking of his shock, Nero continued to shift through the burning mass, coming to a window. The window seemed familiar and yet no memories surfaced. There was something about this place. A sudden thump and growl caused Nero to leap back as a large wolf pounded against the window frame, scarring the wits out of him. Now quite unnerved, Nero spun around and entered another room to have the flaming ceiling collapse upon him, the intense heat raging towards him.

Nero could think of nothing to do and so his instincts took over as a field of ice formed at the temperature known as absolute zero formed from wall to wall, slightly above his head.

"I don't care whom this offends...I hate it when the gods start meddling!" Orome's voice was nearly back to normal, and dripping with ascerbic disgust. Though pain still radiated through her, she'd dealt with worse and ignored it as much as posible. Refusing to leave her comfortable place in Corum's embrace, she eyed the spear warily, then looked at the others.

"Now that is interesting. Did any one else bring anything back with them? For yes, we weren't 'here' for a vanishingly small piece of time, but I couldn't tell you were we were."

Corum shifted his gaze to the spear in his hand and then let it drop. There was a strange mixture of saddness and anger in his face as he looked upon the spear. Oddly, it hit the floor and simply stayed there, unlike any other spear that would have bounced, as though it was extremely heavy.

Corum didn't know where he had been, or rather, didn't want to believe what his eyes had told him. The spear was here. The spear of O'hm D'ril K'ar. The spear that he had needed to find to save his people. The spear that he had failed to recover.

Once the spear hit the floor Corum's face changed. It lost the sad and angry look and became an unreadable mask. The only thing left now, of emotion, was a tightening of his grip on Orome.

Orome watched Corum drop the spear, and withdraw inside himself. His arms tightened about her and she did not mind. Gently, but brooking no opposition, she reached up and drew his lips down to hers for a thorough kiss.

Eventually it ended and she moved from his arms to slowly stand, and loosen her sword in it's scabard.

"We don't have time to run, and I don't think we are allowed to run, given what just happened."

She looked over at the stranger in his raven marked armour and introduced herself.

"I am Orome Heartfyre, of House Starfyre, Voyar of the Sisterhood of the Sword."

There were few kingdoms that didn't have at least one chapter house of the far flung order. Their wandering Voyars, well trained and highly skilled Knights, were welcome most every where for to be a Voyar the woman had to possess either supernal skill with the blade or supernal ability to heal. Orome possessd both, courtesy of her mixed heritage.

Corum accepted the long kiss and returned it with passion. Once broken and she had slipped from his arms he looked at the spear. In a moment he stood, leaving the spear where it lay and listened to her words. 'No', he thought to himself, 'we can't run. Not from this. And not from ourselves.' He stood slightly behind her and to her left. Guardian and protector, not that she truly needed one, and one who loved her, regardless of the pain it had caused.

"It is a pleasure to meet you... I am Prince Raven Caesar of the Kingdom of Agronaria" responded Raven as he bowed at the waist. He then took a small step forward and began talking again. "I saw a vision as I am sure everyone else did. However, I did not bring anything back with me" said Raven, as he looked to the spear which lay upon the floor. It was a lovely weapon and it's height and weight appeared to fit Corum's build perfectly. However, he did notice that Corum's expression towards the weapon was one of escape, as if though he did not want to touch the weapon for fear of more memories from his past. Though, Raven was one who knew well that no man could escape the past, for it moved like a stalker in the night, constantly following and well hidden.

Nero shuffled slightly as he realised where he was again. Looking above him he noticed there was no fire or sheet of ice, yet his entire right hand was coated in a thick layer of frozen water. His brain was telling him he should be feeling extreme cold yet nothing was happening, not a single reaction from his body.

What made things all the more strange was the fact Nero hadn't encountered such magiks since his childhood, since he first realised the potential of his gift. Nero had an innate ability for manipulating elements to the extreme and yet he'd never learned how to control it. Throughout his many years he'd never encountered anyone with the same ability or the knowledge on how to bring his powers forth under his reign. The memories of his time in that burning house continued to nag at the back of his mind but it appeared as if more important things were at hand.

"Orome, you know more about matters concerning the gods than I. Would you care to explain where that came from? He didn't do that, it's not his way."

Orome returned Raven's bow with a deep nod of her head, then turned slightly towards Nero as he spoke

"Orome, you know more about matters concerning the gods than I. Would you care to explain where that came from? He didn't do that, it's not his way."

"No that is not the sorcerer kings way, and while he might seek to disorient us he could not do what just happened."

She went to sit back by Corun, giving him a glance that told him she'd welcom his arms about her again.

"What I know comes from my mother's people, the Illi'var, rather than from my father's side - the Nihongo Empire religion and worship are little more than empty rituals designed to placate forces that no long er seemingly pay attention."

"But the Illu'var...they are called a race of demons, but that is a misnomer. They have a strong connection to the various forces that we call 'gods', and they have made close study of the various 'gods' attributes, mannerisms, prefered ways of doing things."

"But more to the point. They are highly reluctant to take a hand in the affairs of the world, prefering to enlist natives to work on their behalf. Often they seem to confer at least temporarily special abilities on some of their henchmen, but not always. And seeking to escape their plans for one does not seem possible, or not without elaborate time consumeing rituals and sacrifices."

Orome paused to let any questions the others had be brought forth.

When Orome returned to him Corum was glad to hold her again. Aside from the chance for holding her, which he did, it gave him a chance to bury his face in her soft, scented hair. It was a chance to let go of control for a moment and allowed him the luxury of a single tear for the people that he had failed. A chance to release the pain of this reminder.

Corum simply sat that way as Orome addressed the others and waited for any questions they might have. He asked none himself, finding that it was often better to not know, since knowledge was usually more of a burden than a help.

Nero sighed, this seemed to be getting worse by the minute. So a race of demon like beings felt they had to intervene in these events, adding to the list of problems Nero had to consider in every moment he could gain peace within.

"I see. And what about the backlash? You said something is coming and that sounds much more like his way. Any idea what we can expect?"

The ice around Nero's hand still hadn't melted and gave no sign of doing so in the near future. Upon touching a nearby chair with the ice, Nero watched as the chill spread onto the wood, coating it in thin flakes. Still no answers came, not a single idea as to what the hell it may be.

Sighing again, Nero turned his attention back to Orome.

"We can bet that whatever he sends our way will have a very good chance of killing us outright. He doesn't mess around."

Orome's eyes followed Nero's down to his hand, and she raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing

"We can bet that whatever he sends our way will have a very good chance of killing us outright. He doesn't mess around."

"It will be something that won't hesitate a second to take us all on at once.And there is only one..."

Orom's voice was cut off by a vast, nearly deafening, whoosh of air.

Stillness

Then the silence was split by the sudden screams of equine terror as every horse in the stable went into full blown panic, kicking wildly at their stalls, or throwing themselves against the walls. Above it all rose the savage roaring cry as Orome's Hellcorn burst from the treeline at full gallop. One did not keep a Hellcorn in a stables, unless he chose it...

The dim morning light that had been lighting the room, through the partially open shutters, dimmed as a vast shadow covered the sprawling inn and its environs.

Save for those in the room there was no sound from the other patrons of the inn or it's staff. The waves of fear being generated were so strong that it closed their throats, and a number died as their hearts stopped from sheer terror.

The dragon settled down upon the snow that his wingbeats had stirred into flurries with amazing grace. Even in the cloud hazed morning light every scale gleamed as if a prism, shattering the light into a million hues.

The court yard of the inn was vast, easily able to hold a full size merchant caravan forming up. The dragon filled that spacious area, and crushed the sturdy wooden palliasade wall that formed part of the courtyard deliniation. It's tail flexed slightly and it whiped about shattering into kindling the nearest part of the stable, killing the horses that occupied those stalls. It was just a reflexive movement of the tail, in no way deliberate. The dragon was focused on other matters.

"Dragon." And Orome sighed deeply as she stood. "I really hadn't planned on dieing today."

Corum felt the aura of the dragonfear settle about the place and was not immune to it's affects. He felt the fear as others did, but his father had always told him that only a fool feels no fear. Brave men simply use it to accomplish what's needed rather than give in to it. He looked out the window at the couryard and saw the beautiful majesty of the lethal creature. He had heard tales of dragons. Stories told in taverns or around the campfire. The tales of heros who had vanquished the mighty creatures. He hadn't believed any of them, for he had yet to speak to one who could speak of a dragons defeat who had actually been there. The thought crossed his mind to flee the place and that desire almost consumed him. In the end he realized that it would do no good. He sighed in resignation, realizing that here and now would be his final failure.

No player is to start the fight without reading my post in the OOC thread. There are clues planted there, be wise, cooperate in your efforts and you might survive. GM's post (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9849675#post9849675)

Fighting the overwhelming urge to soil himself, Nero muttered a curse and his breath as he went over his knowledge of dragons. Limited. The mage had dealt with many sorts of creatures, many not of this world including demons and the sort and yet he'd never once encountered one of the dragons that resided within his very own realm. Of course he regretted such now.

Eventually one fact came to his mind. Dragons were vulnerable around their necks, just under the throat. There was a lack of scales in that particular area, creating a small oppurtunity for one with a good aim and a sharp weapon. Both of which Nero didn't have. He'd also heard that some dragons had magical resistance and even spell casting powers. They really were amazing creatures, unfortunately he didn't have the time to admire it as he noted it's tail destroying the stables after taking a quick glance through the window.

"Great... Well if we're going to take this thing, I'd rather be outside so it can't simply crush the building on top of us or burn us to a crisp."

As he waited on the others, Nero flicked through the tomb of spells within his mind that may be useful in combatting such a creature.

Orome came to stand by Nero briefly as he looked out the window.

"My knowledge of dragons is limited, but I think I can say that we have some hard decissions to make."

She looked at the others

" I think that the Argonian is what it seeks, he figured prominently in my 'vision'. Nero, do you have spells of instantaneous travelling?"

She looked back at the dark mage

Nero nodded at Orome's question as he recalled to what extent his abilities could aid the group in this situation.

"To an extent. I can't move us long distances unless I have some sort of beacon to focus on or we may end up inside a tree or something. But I can move us anywhere within my line of sight, that wouldn't be much trouble."

The screams of people fleeing the inn faded away as they either escaped or were promptly destroyed by the dragon. Whilst Orome figured it was after the Argonian, it certainly didn't mind killing everything else around them.

"What are you suggesting?"

You, with Prince Raven to be additional eyes and protection, find the Argonian, and get as far from here as possible" She paused a moment and made a decission. She drew a simple, unmarkled ring off of her hand and passed it to Nero

"This is a link to a ...safe place. Go there and wait, give us a bit to get there. If we don't..." She shrugged. "Do what ever you have to to take 'Him' out. If I am dead Rakkan will aid you and that is not to be scorned."

She turned away catching Corum's eyes "Come on love lets go do what we do best...death and destruction. One dragon can't stop us. And do bring the spear, I think it might be usefull"

She drew her sword, which seems to flow in and out of existance, hard for the eye to catch and hold, and headed over to the large window. The drop wasn't far and she landed light as a cat in a drift of snow.

Corum glanced at the wizard, not trusting him. Not that he trusted any wizard.

She turned away catching Corum's eyes "Come on love lets go do what we do best...death and destruction. One dragon can't stop us. And do bring the spear, I think it might be usefull"

Corum wanted run. He wanted to be anywhere but near the terrible creature who radiated such fear. But he knew that wasn't an option. He had failed his people and lived. If he failed Orome, he would prefer to die with her.

He picked up the spear as she suggested but didn't follow her out the window. If he could avoid it he wouldn't stand at the feet of a creature who could crush him by a simple mistep. Instead he headed out of the room and up the stairs to the attack. Once there he found his way to the roof, hoping the dragon would be focused on, what to him, were the tiny beings below. Corum then ran across the roof and launched himself toward the dragon, the spear held above his head in both hands. With luck, he would land on the dragons' head or neck. With luck the spear would penetrate it's hide and act as an anchor for him. Then, with luck, he might be able to use his sword on the creatures head or neck. Of course, luck had never been a mistress who visited him in times of need.

A dragon... Raven had fought one before and the dragon at the end of the battle lay dead... but not before it managed to kill almost all of the soldiers who fought against it. Raven's mind thought of all the ways to kill a dragon... such a beast was powerful, wise, cunning, and overall vicious. He remembered however, that he managed to best the last dragon he fought by attacking the underside of its neck. It was risky... but it was the only way he knew.

Before he had a chance to talk he heard Orome say, "You, with Prince Raven to be additional eyes and protection, find the Argonian, and get as far from here as possible." Raven turned to look at Orome, and he nodded his head. Though he had planned on helping with the dragon, he knew that it was better to move the one thing the enemy wanted as far away as possible. "I would be honored to help you in anyway possible" said Raven, before he tightened the strap of his bag in front of him and rushed to the door of the room, his heavy boots making a great sound against the wooden floors.

Raven at the door opened it quickly, and waited for Nero to come with him. "Lady Orome... I must tell you one thing before I leave..." began Raven, as he turned around quickly, once outside the door, "I have fought a dragon before and though they appear as gods they are weaker than one thinks... there necks are usually never guarded on the underside... godspeed..."

Nero eye's simply gleamed with focus and power as he spun around and followed Raven out of the room. Whilst he'd noted the Argonian briefly last night, Nero had no idea whether he had remained at the inn or simply found a corner fo sleep in. On the other hand, if Orome was right and the dragon was hunting him then he assumed the Argonian would still be around somewhere.

"Downstairs first."

Although Nero's right hand was still encoated in ice, he didn't pay that much heed as a wooden stave was pulled out of the mage's robe pocket. All natural laws would lead one to believe that a stave that measured from the floor to Nero's shoulders wouldn't fit in his pocket yet nothing was ever as it appeared when it came to mages.

Rushing down the stairs with Raven right behind him, Nero landed with a thud at the entrance to the common room and immediately began searching for the hooded priest.

Dragons and the Illu'varr had, down through the corridors of time, always been inimical to one another. And Orome was half Illu'varr. She needed to attract it's attention, so she simply dropped all pretense of being something other than what she was...and therefor irresistable to the dragon.

It oblidged by striking at her with a speed that could not be followed by the human eye. But Orome simply was not were she had been. As she tumbled away her sword struck true, sheering off some portions of the irridescent scales, but not enough to cause any noticeable damage. She'd had to move faster than she's anticipated how ever and landed more off balance that she would have liked. The dragon did not give her time to recover either...

What had been unseen, for they had entered the imm too quickly for those in the room above to witness their leap from the dragon's back, were the five well armored soldiers that too were searching for the Argonian.

When Nero, with Raven at his heels, burst in to the common room, three whirled and started for them, while the other two continued to search.

Raven followed quickly behind Nero, but stopped when he saw the soldiers dressed in heavy armor come into the inn. Raven placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and brought it out quickly. The blade sliced the air and made the sound of a great whistling wind. He then spun the sword in his hand and grasped it until his knuckles turned white. "All of you who have come for the Argonian... it would be wise to leave now..." said Raven before he lunged forward.

Raven moved forward quickly and spun the sword over his head. With the first blow to the soldier, came a block in which the sound of metal hitting made a thunder like sound. The sound was heard again, as Raven moved to the right and swiped his blade around again to hit the soldier's sword away from him. He then brought his foot up kicked the soldier in the chest, causing him to fall backwards. Raven then spun his sword halfway and plunged it deep into the chest of the soldier, twisting it so that the soldier felt great pain before his death. He hated to fight but he was no stranger to it. He then stood up and took a defensive stance.

Tavik stopped his bone-sweeping, snapping back to reality as the troops moved in. In response to this aggression, the young monk stomped on the broomhandle just above the straw end, turning the cleaning tool into a makeshift weapon. His stance was wide, the stick held out in front of him at about waist height...

"You soil my floor you fiends..."

The familiar boiling fury in his gut had returned, combined with the sour pangs of fear creeping slowly into his mind... They were armed, well armed. Tavik had never before had to contend with blades, but there was a first time for everything...

OOC: I finally am able to log in. May I defend myself?

OOC: LOL absolutely!

Nero's eyes narrowed as he briefly took in the five soldiers within the room before focusing upon the three advancing towards him. It appeared as though one would go for himself, the other for Raven and the last soldier would be prepared to help where he could. They weren't incompetent warriors by the looks of things. Fools would have rushed in without thinking about combat coordination.

Bringing his stave to bear, Nero gripped it tightly as he shoved it fowards to block a sweeping blow at his feet from a soldier's sword. The metallic weapon rang and vibrated from the shock of contact against what appeared to be a simple wooden stave. Of course the soldier soon realised this was no the case, thus casting doubt into his battle confidence.

With the soldier still momentarily stunned, Nero seized the oppurtunity and struck at his chest with the stave. The impact was unexpected and surprising to those watching as the wooden object made a rather large dent in the soldier's chest plate, the force knocking him onto his backside. As Nero went for a killing blow to his head, he found the move to be blocked by a very large soldier and his war hammer.

Nero cringed slightly, this one would be more difficult to get rid of than simply hitting him with a stick.

(OOC - Has this died out?)

(No idea...)

OOC: I'm not the only GM here am I?

The warhammer swung and clipped Nero hard against his shoulder, leaving that arm numb and all but useless.

His partner had fallen to Neros staff, and the third had fallen before Raven's first blows.

The two that had remained searching for the Argonian, seemed loathe to harm him, striking with the flat's of their blades. He was wanted in reasonablely alive condition.

Orome landed heavily plowing through the snow, more than half submerged in white icy powder. However claws loner than twice the length of her hand burried themselves down the line of her leg from upper thigh to her ankle, piercing all the way through. Her scream of pain was lost in the Dragons bellow of anger as Corum and the Spear managed to penetrate the scales. Though the wound was more annoyance than actual damage.

Corum hung on to the spear, trying not to slip from the dragons back. Once he had a decent position he drew his sword looking for a way to slip it beneath the scales. He heard Orome cry out but knew that his only chance to help her was to keep the dragon occupied. This thought was all he had as he tried to cut into the flesh of the creature beneath the seemingly iron scales.

Nero's eyes bulged as the breath was knocked out of him upon being clipped by the thundering warhammer. Whilst it only hit his shoulder, the force was immense and the pain was substantial enough to cause Nero a slight lapse in concentration, one that almost allowed the hammer to return for another blow at his head.

Falling to the ground in order to preserve his head by a few inches, Nero rolled to the side to avoid a heavy boot aimed at his chest. With his left arm essentially useless for the moment Nero decided to drop his stave in favour for mobility. Panting heavily from pain and a frantic attempt to preserve his life, Nero managed to get under a table before scrambling to his feet upon the other side, just in time to stand face to face with the warhammer wielding soldier.

It was obvious enough to the mage that his actions in these next few seconds would determine the duration of his life. Attempting to clear his head, Nero palced a palm directly infront of the soldier as the warhammer was elevated for the final blow. Nero's head was still too clouded by the pain of his shoulder and so there was no chance of a complex spell being performed, he would just have to rely on the basics.

Without warning the air around Nero's hand hissed as the temperature rose and the oxygen was consumed in order to fuel the arc of flames roaring around his seemingly innocent palm. The soldier was given no chance to defend himself as the flames lurched forward and engulfed his head, not even allowing screams to escape his lungs as the air was quickly burned up be fire. Within a few scrambling seconds he was dead on the floor, the flames consuming his corpse whilst Nero panted heavily, watching with a victorious glaze over his eyes.

Clutching his shoulder, Nero now turned his attention to other matters. Like what Raven was doing.

Tavik, like the soldiers he was combating, seemed hesitant to harm them. That is, until the painful slap of the flat edge of a sword caught him across the face. He responded in kind, driving the end of his staff into the throat of his attacker, spinning around to the left & ducking to one knee in order to sweep the legs out from under the man like he had read in his manual...

While the throat shot was well-timed & effective, the sweep was much less so. Recovering quickly, the soldier nimbly twirled out of the way & landed a powerful strike with his blade, severing the stick in two. Snarling, Tavik smacked him as hard as he could in the lightly armored shin area with what little staff he still held before rolling out of the way & resuming a more defensible stance...

"I do not believe we will win this battle... We need to retreat!"

The monk launched the staff piece at the soldier before him, favoring his other leg after the surprise attack on his shin...

OOC: I am terribly sorry for the length of time it has taken me to respond.

Tavik, like the soldiers he was combating, seemed hesitant to harm them. That is, until the painful slap of the flat edge of a sword caught him across the face. He responded in kind, driving the end of his staff into the throat of his attacker, spinning around to the left & ducking to one knee in order to sweep the legs out from under the man like he had read in his manual...

While the throat shot was well-timed & effective, the sweep was much less so. Recovering quickly, the soldier nimbly twirled out of the way & landed a powerful strike with his blade, severing the stick in two. Snarling, Tavik smacked him as hard as he could in the lightly armored shin area with what little staff he still held before rolling out of the way & resuming a more defensible stance...

"I do not believe we will win this battle... We need to retreat!"

The monk launched the staff piece at the soldier before him, favoring his other leg after the surprise attack on his shin...

OOC: I am terribly sorry for the length of time it has taken me to respond.

Orome managed a backhanded slash and while too busy trying not to get her leg severed, to take delight in it managed to sever a part of the dragon's tongue. It wrenched it's jaws away with a roar that deafened her and she was whipped off the fangs to fly nearly twenty feet to land in another bank of snow

Her head swam and her vision blurred, as the snow turned crimson rapidly

Corum began to realize the futility of what he was doing and looked down as Orome was thrown to the side. Angry now he began to pull his way toward the head of the dragon. If the body wasn't vulnerable then perhaps the eyes would be. It was only thought as he desperately made his way upward until he reached the head, hanging onto one of it's horns as he prepared his attack.

Raven swung his blade to the right to meet the axe which the soldier swung at him with great strength and determination. The soldier then lifted his foot and kicked Raven hard in the chest, causing him to fall to the floor and slide backward. Hearing Tavik's words, Raven moved his blade up quickly to stop the falling axe which came toward his chest and called to the monk, "Why retreat when there is but one left?"

Raven lifted his legs and kicked the soldier's knees with a great force, knocking him off of his feet. He then pushed his weight back and threw his legs forward, bringing him to his feet within seconds. He then ran to where the soldier lay upon the floor. As the soldier tried to pick up his weapon, Raven raised his sword high and knocked the weapon out of the hand of the soldier in a single swing. He then stepped upon the soldier's chest to hold him down. Raven then placed the tip of his sword on the throat of the soldier and said, "If you choose to tell me why you came for the Argonian Monk you shall die quickly... choose to not tell me and I can promise you a death of ages..."

The last soldier cursed as his weapon was kicked away and the point of Raven's blade levelled at his throat. He hadn't been expecting such resistance and was quite surprised to see he was the only soldier remaining.

Hardened eyes glared back up at Raven, he didn't know who this man was but he wasn't afraid of his threats. Nothing could be worse than what his master would do.

"He has chosen the Argonian, if you wish to avoid a premature death then I would suggest you hand it over before He finds you and deals with you personally..."

At that point another man came into the soldiers view, this one clutching his left shoulder. A mage, the one he'd been warned about. His master had said to beware of the mage for he was much more than he seemed. He didn't look like much at all, but he supposed that was the point.

Nero looked down at the soldier with a blank face of his own.

"He won't tell us much, if anything. All we need to know is that He wants the Argonian over there and so we've got to keep him safe. Whatever His intent, it cannot be good."

For no reason the soldier decided to launch a glob of bloodied spit towards Nero, landing it upon his robes. Nero's face remained impassive as he brought back his boot and unleashed a thunderous kick into the man's ribs, resulting in a series of spluttering coughs.

"You can try but I'd imagine his soul is tied to his master, we can either kill him, torture him or leave him be."

At that point Nero was interrupted by the roar of a dragon.

"And... I imagine Orome and Corum may need our assistance."

Corum waited for his chance then slid from the horn to the eyebrow ridge of the dragon. He bumped off the ridge and reached out to grab the lower lid. Once he did he thrust his blade into the dragon's eye and ripped across. He was then forced to thrust the sword downward into the soft flesh of the inside the eye socket and hold on as the viscous fluid of the dragon's eye washed over him. He list his grip with his other hand and reached up with that one to grab the blade as well.

Orome was only half conscious as she landed and then she was completely unconscious as her healing ability took over and pain wracked every fiber of her being. Her body bowed in a tight arc as muscles contracted violently and another sobbing scream tore through her vocal cords.

The seizure left her limp in the snow, her sword a few hands spans away.

The dragon roared again, an ear piercing shriek of true agony this time as Corums found the eye and rendered it useless. With a sharp wrench it flung its monsterous head back, shaking Corum where he hung from the sword like a terrier with a rat. It would take strength greater than a humans to hang on.

One great clawed forefoot raked foreward and but barely missed where Orome lay.

Fire, unquenchable Draconic plasma belched forth instantly disintegrating the roof of the inn and most of the second floor, setting what remained furiously ablaze.

The dragon shook it's head and Corum's hand slipped off. The other hand, however, remained steadfast and Corum held his place. It was a blessing and a curse, since he wasn't thrown, but his shoulder was pulled from it's socket. He was just reaching for the blade with his hand again as the dragon continued to shake it's head. The blade, sunk only into flesh, finally ripped free and corum tried to brace himself for the impact. When it came he didn't think it was so bad, until he realized that he had only impacted the side of the inn and was now falling toward the earth. That impact was far worse as his outstretched arm buckled on impact, snapping sickenly. Bone broke through the surface of the skin and pain lance through his body. Blackness took him briefly but the wailing of the dead desiring to be free wouldn't let him rest for long.

Orome came to a bleary consciousness as the Dragon shrieked in victory and roiling white hot plasma spewed forth again, this time enveloping the lower half of the Inn.

As she stood, wavering on unsteady feet, Orome saw that now flames licked at the tavern section. It took several tries but she managed to grab her sword and turn toward the Dragon. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Corum's crumpled form several dozen feet away but she knew that neither would survive unless the Dragon died.

With a banshee cry she put everything from her consciousness and whirled, forcing a battered body to respond without thought. The blade phased out as it impacted with the nearest part of the Dragon then rematerialized within the beast.

A scream. Another among the cries of the dead. A different one. He knew it was Orome's. 'No', he thought, 'not again.' He had lost one love. Had killed her during a fray. She had joined the dead in the dimension. Now Orome. He could do only one thing now. He forced himself to sit up, to groggy to take account of what was around him. He would free Orome. He couldn't keep her there. He raised the gem encrusted eye patch and allowed the cursed eye to open then raised the gem encrusted gauntlet. To those who looked at him his hand with the gauntlet seemed to disappear, leaving a stump. The hand appeared in the alternate dimension, summoning the dead from it. They materialized around him, moving toward his enemy. The began to tear into the dragon as they closed around it, twenty three in all, all of ones who he had killed since the last time he had released them to fight for them.

Tyrik threw himself through a window as the dragon-fire ignited the inn...

"That!"

He pointed upwards at the dragon, unsure if the intended recipient of his message would actually recieve it...

"Is the exact reason!"

Unarmed, unable to fly, and totally exposed, he would make easy prey for the dragon. Instead of resigning himself to his inevitable death, the monk scrambled towards where Corum had fallen to attempt to get him under some sort of protection and hope the dragon would get tired of torching things and simply fly away...

"Speak! Are you living?"

Tyrik was on the verge of panic, lightly shaking the fallen warrior in a desperate attempt for a positive response...

The blade phased back out of existance, as it slid from the Dragons flesh, leaving a terrible internal bleeding behind. Orome paid the dead that materialized from another realm no mind as the spectral figures tore at the Dragon. Another blow landed, the blade slipping in and out of phase leaving more devestation behind.

The Dragon Roared again it's fearsomely fanged jaws snapping closed about the nearest of the dead. The corpse warrior vanished down its steaming maw without a sound. The others had no reaction other than to continue their assault on the immense beast.

Raven nodded and a bitter expression came to his face as he said, "You have chosen your fate... mercy upon you in the next life..." With those words, Raven raised his sword and decapitated the soldier who lay upon the floor. Once he was done doing this, he spun his blade and turned to see what was happening with the dragon and Tyrik.

Raven ran out of the inn into the snow covered lands around the inn. He was not out of the inn for only few seconds when he felt the on going blaze and came face to face with the mighty dragon who loomed over all like a mighty juggernaut. He had fought two fire drakes in his life and he knew well the dangers of slaying a dragon, though he knew that he was not needed. Instead, Raven quickly ran to Tyrik and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back with a small force. "I was sworn to get you out of here and I cannot fail them, just as I know they will not fail you" said Raven, as he helped Corum up and moved Tyrik behind him, incase the dragon attacked.

Corum heard Tyrik and realized what was going on again. He looked up as Raven pulled him to his feet. He grabbed his broken arm and grimaced as he shoved it into his belt then moved forward, a bit unsteady at first and picked up his blade. He looked back at Tyrik and bowed respectfully. Tyrik might not be Vadagh but he was a holy man and all holy men were respected by his race. "Yes, get to safety holy one, we'll hold here." With that he moved up past the dead to get next to Orome and began attacking, looking for a weakness as the dead continued thier attack. "Talk about a hot date", he said to her as he tried another spot for vulnerability.

With the last soldier dead and the inn now fully ablaze, Nero found himself standing next to the corpse, surrounded by flames. The others had possessed enough sense to get out of the building whilst it was still physically possible, a wise move. Unfortunately Nero had been a little slow a found there was no walking out of this mess.

Realising such, Nero closed his eyes and concentrated on the task at hand. He needed to escape quickly and not go down in a flaming heap. Calling upon the well of arcane power that existed within him, Nero spread his senses beyond the flaming inn, taking into account the dragon, Orome, Corum, Tavik and Raven, all of them outside.

Without a single indication of any magiks at work, Nero disappeared from the inn and reappeared directly behind Orome and Corum, his guard up in case the dragon happened to be attacking his current position.

"Sorry I took so long. Perhaps I can help?"

With that said Nero moved off to the pair's right, not wishing to draw any more attention to them than necessary as he gathered his thoughts. It was no easy task taking down a dragon, even for a mage. Dragons were mystical creatures and possessed a certain degree of magical resistance so a direct attack was unlikely to be very effective.

Finally decided upon his course of action, Nero turned back to the inn and approached the burning wall. Spotting several splintered pieces of wood within the snow, Nero gathered up four small portions and cupped them all within his hands. Muttering an incantation as he discharged power into the splinters, Nero forged them into tools of his intent, infusing them with the right spell and altering the wood itself, it would need to be tough in order to penetrate dragon scales.

With the spell complete, Nero concentrated as he would have to be precise. Each splinter of wood levitated into the air and hovered beside Nero. Waiting for the oppurtune moment, Nero watched as he first two splinters short forth, the first one flying under the dragon as it's front left foot departed from the ground, allowing the splinter to dig its way inside. The foot plunged back into the ground, forcing the splinter in further whilst the second one punctured the front right foot.

Within seconds the dragon roared in response. Not from any pain the splinters would have caused as they were far too small to be noticed but from what it could feel happening. The dragon's front two legs were paralysed, causing it to crash to the ground, landing heavily upon it's chest. Not waiting for a hostile reaction, Nero launched the other two splinters, these ones bursting straight through the dragon scales and into the remaining feet, resulting in the dragon falling upon it's side.

With all four legs paralysed the dragon had lost much of it's threatening capacity but the danger wasn't over yet. It still had it's tail, jaws and firery breath. Hopefully this would at least make things a little easier for the others.

Orome gave Corum a brief lopsided smile at his comment, not daring to divert more of her attention from the Dragon, but her love shone in her eyes. Then Nero appeared beside them.

"Sorry I took so long. Perhaps I can help?"

Before she could reply, a sharp 'Yes get the Argonian out of here' he moved off and began working some arcanery. She was divered as once again the rending jaws dove at her, forcing her to leap aside. Then she was dodgeing again, this time catching Corum in her arms in an effort to get bothe of them out of the way as the Dragon collapsed.

She was unable to prevent jostling Corums broken arm, there hadn't been time for gentleness. And as they both ended up on their knees, all but burried in a drift of snow, she whispered a hoarse apology.

"Sorry love this is going to be painful" She took Corum's arm and with a swift, sure tug set the bone back in place, and Healed him. A rasping scream of pain was wrenched from Corum. Healing such as Orome could grant had a price. The pain that he would have felt during the normal course of healing swept over him in one massive wave, and he all but blacked out.

Corum dodged the thrusting jaws of the dragon clumsily, unable to keep good balance. Then he felt Orome grab him and throw him down, the pain lurching through his arm making him gasp.

"Sorry love this is going to be painful"

'Pain and pleasure', he mumbled in his pain filled confusion, though he hardly thought this was the time and place for such a thing. Then the pain of her healing flooded him, wrentching a cry of pain and rage from him. He struggled to hold onto consciousness as he realised what her words meant and the danger the still faced but for a almost a minute his legs just seemed to weak to hold him.

Orome found herself laughing hoarsely as she supported Corum. "Sorry but I refuse to indulge in a snow bank, particularly with so many unwelcome guests about." She looked at the summoned dead that had resumed rending the Dragon as its bulk settled in the deep snow. Some had been crushed beneath the Dragon, but others had not. Slowly she helped Corum to his feet, her arm about his waist.

The Dragon was stunned, nothing in it's limited expereince had readied it for such an occurance. One wing had been caught beneath it as if tumbled to it's side, and folded awkwardly, breaking in several places, bones rather more brittle than could be expected from it's forced growth. It's first, instinctive reaction was to try and rise, but it's legs refused to respond. The Dragon began to panick.


"Nero, since you all have chosen to join us." Orome looked at where Raven was standing before the Argonian monk, then called to the dark sorcerer. "Use the ring as a focus to get the lot of us out of here" She began urging Corum away from the Dragon, towards Raven and Tyrik.

All in that area had to duck as a vast, leathery wing flailed about as the Dragon tried to right the bulk of it's body.

Whilst Nero's attention was fully fixed upon the dragon, he heard Orome's every word and nodded in silence response. It seemed a wise move to get out of the area, even if the dragon wasn't getting up again it was still a reasonable threat to anything that moved.

Watching the beast attempted to stand, Nero stood within the ring and waited, Orome and Corum weren't in range yet. The dragon managed to turn it's head though and get an eye on Nero. It obviously had the intelligence to recognise Nero as a magic user and most likely responsible, unleashing a wave of flames as a bitter thankyou.

Ready for the attack, Nero shoved his stave into the ground and channelled the necessary power through it to create a shield, preventing the flames from reaching him or the others. Immediately the stave began to heat as it fought the arcane flames. The dragon was persistant.

They were close now, it was time to leave. Allowing the stave to battle for itself, Nero channelled his will through the ring, allowing it to enhance the strength of his thoughts and power. Taking everyone into account, Nero uttered the necessary incantation to relocate the group in a conversion of matter to energy and moving at the speed of light.

A single flash and they were gone, the area they once stood upon engulfed in flames.

A mercifully brief flash of intolerably bright light and the small group found themselves in a flagstoned courtyard. The sky overhead was just brightning with sunrise, allowing one to realize that they were far west of where they had been just heartbeats earlier, where the sun had been well risen. The walls rose thick and high about the inner courtyard and bright flowers were unfurling to meet the dawn. Birds sung sleepily in the distance, and a morning breeze carried scents of dew coated herbs, the faintest tang of stables, ripe fruit, and woodsmoke.

Orome was shouting passwords and orders as she materialized. This was her own personal private holding (http://www.atddm.com/Ocastle.htm), a place where she seldom brought any, even those few she called friend. The guards had been alert, and thought the newly arrived group had archers targeting them, none of the elite gaurds had fired blindly. Any arriving in such a manner would have had to have had the ring as a focus, or access to mightier magics than most could call upon.

The air was crisp with nights chill, but not the bone numbing cold of that about the inn they had just left. They were also farer south than where they had been. Orome looked at the others noting that all of them were at least some little battered and bruised. She knew she ached in every fiber of her body and Corum hadn't had time to truly get steady on his feet. All were sopping wet from their time in the snow.

"I think we all neeed a rest, change of clothes and food before we do anything more. Welcome to my home, you are all honoured guests."

Servants had tumbled out of the main keep scurrying down broad stairs to assisst their mistress and her companions. With many bows they escorted the weary travellers into the multistoried storied keep with it's broad halls, spacious rooms and many luxuries.

Nero opened his eyes and prepared to defend himself. He didn't know where the ring was going to take them and had simply placed his faith in Orome. Whilst a rare event, it seemed such paid off for the group. Sighing slightly with relief, Nero took hold of his stave as it sat within the snow before him.

Looking around, Nero noted the guards and the complex they stood within. Interesting. Nero doubted this was a Sister's compound and so the question of how Orome came to be in the possession of such a place wedged itself into his mind. Of course it didn't really matter, Nero was never one to pry when the information wasn't of importance to him.

Rubbing a few bruises and examining the burned patches upon his robe, Nero stepped forward as he used his stave for support. He would gladly accept Orome's hospitallity and get out of the snow.

Following one of the many servants inside, Nero gathered the will to communicate with Orome without employing words.

"He will send worse than that if he deems it necessary..."

As they climbed the stairs Orome decided that she and Corum were using each other for mutual support...and that she liked that. She knew that her servants would take care of the others. Corum was her personal responsibility.

She started slightly as Nero contacted her mind to mind. No one outside her family and Rakkan ever had.

*I agree, but he'll not be able to find us quickly, or perhaps at all - and thank you Nero for your assisstance back there* She replied, her mind voice as weary sounding as she felt.

"We'll meet for dinner this evening and discuss what we do now" She spoke aloud for the benefit of the others, before they were led off to luxuriously furnished guest rooms and offered a variety of means of rest and relaxation.

Corum's body was moving on instinct alone, his eye staring forward, his mouth slightly agape. He had been warned about the possible repurcussions of teleporting with the eye and hand of the necromancer liches brothers attached. The pain was almost secondary to the battle of the wills going on inside his mind. The teleportation had confused him leaving the residual psionic power of the brothers to try to take control.

Orome thought nothing of Corum's halting pace, or quiet. He'd never been one for ongoing chatter, and her body was as battered and stumbling as his. Servants threw open doors before them, closing them silently once they had passed through.

"A bath, warm clean clothes, food and sleep" Orome ordered the remaining servants away as the couple made it to the inner rooms of her personal suite. With quiet bows the servants departed, leaving her alone with Corum.

With fingers slow, and beginning to shake, Orome began undressing Corum, letting the soaked and bloodied rags drop to the vestibule's polished cedar wood floor. His weapons she set aside on the deeply carved display racks that stood against one wall. That done she ran a gentle hand down his broad chest

Corum looked around the throne room, seeking his father. He had been summoned and he arrived. The door behind the throne opened allowing his father and uncle to enter the room. Something was wrong about that, but he couldn't put his finger on it at first.

'My son, your struggle has been a long one', his father said smiling. 'Your uncle and I have been talking it over. You've been in pain and have felt pain. Such was never our intent. My son', his father said again as he stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, 'it is time for you to rest.' His uncle moved to his side, also smiling. It was then that he realized what was wrong.

"You betrayed father, I killed you myself", he said out loud. He realized to late, however, as the broad bladed dagged plunged into his back.

Corum cried out, an deep wound suddenly materializing in his back. The liches intellect began to take greater control as Corum looked at Orome. The liches tried to force him to see his uncle, the man who tried to betray his father. His feelings for her were too deep, though, and he saw his mother instead. The one person who took the time to show she cared about him.

"Mother", he said to Orome, "why does father betray me? Is it because of my failure?"

Corums outcry of pain shocked Orome. Her touch should not have hurt him, and her face was a study in puzzlement

"Corum, beloved ? ..."

"Mother", he said to Orome, "why does father betray me? Is it because of my failure?"

"Mother?..No Corum 'tis I Orome...and you are no failure! Never!" With a gasp she discovered the deep, all but fatal wound in his back "What in the Seven Hells! Corum, Corum what is wrong?"

She looked hard into his befuddled eyes and frowned. He was not truly recovered from his earlier healing, but her weary and baffled thoughts could think of nothing else to do. With a touch Orome Healed the gaping stab wound in his torso.

Pain again coursed through his body and fed the brothers. Corum's eye closed for a moment and then opened again.

"He's OURS now. His pathetic love for you and others is his weakness. NOW we can return to the world as soon as we find a suitable body for the other of us."

With that he turned from her heading toward the door.

Orome did not recognise the wierdly dual voice that issued forth from Corum, but she knew that this was something beyond her ability to rectify. However she knew that allowing Corum to leave was the worst possible thing.

Orome had not trained with the Sisterhood for nearly twenty years for nothing. She knew exactly where to strike to cause instantaneous unconsciousness. Unhesitatingly she moved to the side and one hard fist landed squarely on the proper spot on his temple.

"By the Seven Hells he's mine. And no one takes that which is mine." Orome's voice was but a taunt whisper as she caught Corum's falling body and lowered it to the ground. Her voice was louder, almost conversational on the next, as one handed she clenched a small amulet that hung about her neck. "Rakkan, I summon thee. Rakkan, master, I call to thee."

'You called, my concubine?" The voice was deeply resonnant, a voice well used to the giving of command, not obeying such.

"You win"

"Win? Win what, Orome?" The black haired, ebon eyed Illu'varr looked down at her, ignoring the prone figure on the floor.

The brothers had forgotten how frail a living body could be. Once unconscious they could do nothing to rouse it.

Deep inside his mind Corum had watched what transpired once the brothers took over and there was no need to use deception. He didn't understand the battlefield of the mind, not like some races. He had wanted to scream out to Orome, to tell her it wasn't him. Then, all was darkness again.

"We should have had him cut out his tongue and replace it with one of ours", Kwyll told his brother.

"A viable option, had you not seen to almost thorough destruction of our bodies", Rhynn replied.

"Had I NOT SEEN to it? It was you started our feud, my brother, not I."

"Well", Rhynn returned, "once he's conscious again we'll have to use the powers which exist in my and your hand that he's not aware of."

"Indeed Rhynn, we shall have to do so. We can't allow him regain control, he's to strong willed for that."

Nero was guided into a comfortable warm room with a roaring fire place and many tapestries intent on keeping the heat inside. This was perhaps the finest room Nero had ever stayed within legitimately and he figured it would be nice to indulge himself.

One of the servants indicated a tub full of hot water, causing a slight grin to emerge upon Nero's face.

"That will be all thankyou."

With the servant gone, Nero promptly stripped and entered the large tub, allowing the warm water to relax his sore muscles. Arms hooked over the edge of the tub, Nero began to dose into a trance like state. Since his last encounter with Orome when she had begun to teach him the ways of healing, Nero had picked up a few tricks. By going into this trance he could conciously speed up his healing process.

And so the mage simply waited as he relaxed and healed, contemplating the warm meal he would devour after his bath.

Orome knew that one of the dangers of travelling unprepared as they had included the chance of being invaded by a wraith from the non place through which they had travelled. She had no power over, and little knowledge about such a invasion. She did know that Wraiths killed those they 'rode' with pain, unending, unremitting pain, and Orome would not have that for Corum

Bowing her head before Rakkan, her master and heir to the Illu'varr Empire, Orome spoke softly

"What you have wanted for years Rakkan. I will give you the heir you wish."

"And what has so suddenly changed your mind?" Rakkan's voice held a vast satidfaction, and he looked for the first time down at Corum's unconscious form. "That? A poor, weak choice to lose yourself to me over."

"We 'ported unprepared...I think he picked up a wraith."

Frowning he went to one knee and laid a broad hand on Corum's head. Reaching out with senses few other races had Rakkan surveyed the wreckage of the mind and body of the Vadagh. Long moments later he shook his head.

"Not a wraith, but memories of a pair of litch's, brothers, not even truly extant any longer. He's going to lose that eye and the hand but it will be easy enough to free him from them."

"Then do it Rakkan, just do what ever it takes"

Kwyll and Rhynn sensed the dark force and began to slip into Corum's mind, finding places to hide amongst his own thoughts, memories and his own personality. They became quaesent then, allowing Corum to retake control of his own body and mind. Corum stirred, moaning slightly, and slid his hand along the floor. He couldn't remember how he got here, or even where here was.

Tyrik's body still trembled slightly with the adrenaline surge he'd had for the past hour. His robe was burned and smeared with soot, more black than its usual brown. The little manual that contained the wealth of information he could use on his journey was half-burned, and therefore useless to him, or so he thought. It was the top half that was missing, seared away by dragon-fire, but the bottom portion might have something useful.

The monk remained in the courtyard, seated on the ground against a tree. His mind cleared of all thoughts other than the partially destroyed manual in his hands, he began to read, scribbling notes down on the blank back inside cover with a claw and some soot from his robe...

Healing: Able to be achieved through focusing one's spiritual energy throughout their body, from the abdominals outward and chanting slowly...

'Interesting... Perhaps I should try this...'

Unfortunately, the chant was partially destroyed. Tyrik instead attempted to focus his chi internally, radiating it outward from within. The process was mentally taxing, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, Tyrik was able to use his hands as a focus for the energy instead of his abdomen, allowing for the healing of a minor burn on his back with a simple extended touch. This amused Tyrik, prompting him to expeirament with different applications of this new-found skill. He allowed his thoughts to drift from the purified chantings of a pious mind to those of his darker side, dreams of death, destruction, and discord. His clawed hands began to glow a different hue, black-tinted red like hellfire, the glow intensifying as he clenched them into fists.

A small hint of demonic glee backlit Tyrik's green eyes as he turned around and threw an expeiramental jab at the tree behind him. Shards of bark and sizzling droplets of sap rocketed away from the impact site, prompting a deep-throated chuckle on Tyrik's part. Focusing hard, he was barely able to transition back to his old self, hands hinted with a light bluish hue. A palm strike to the same tree bent it backwards, the pure energy seemed to add another dimension of impact to his open-handed blows, while the dark augmented his closed-fist attacks with explosive, charring force. The monk gently laid his hand on the battered trunk, the bark healing somewhat slower than his own scaly hide.

The half-destroyed book contained some interesting information after all...

"Forgive me for intruding most respected one" Annali's voice was soft and as aged as she was, but her posture was errect, and the silver of her hair shone in the weak morning sun shine. She was dressed well against the cold and carried a bundle of thick robes in her hands. Holding them out to the Argonian monk, she continued...

"In my youth I met some of your people and I remember that cold is not comfortable for you. Perhaps these robes could take the place of your damaged ones? And there is hot food within if you would care to feast"

Rakkan grinned as the litch brothers, Kwyll and Rhynn, tried to slip away and hide. However they were no match for him. Even in life they had only been humans. He was a full blooded Illu'varr, even in the Abyss he would have been a demon prince, and he tightened his grip upon their essences and dragged them froth from Corum's body and mind. Laughing he swallowed them and turned his attentions to the Hand and the Eye.

With little more than a flexing of his will he altered them. Speaking in Corum's recovering mind he told him exactly what had been done.

*You owe me a favor for saving your life and your sanity. You were too weak to fight them and they would have had you if I had not removed them. So remember that pawn piece. You are not a worthy match for Orome, but she foolishly believes you are. I'll be waiting for you to fail her and for her to realize her mistake. You don't have to hurrt, am eternally patient. Now if you will excuse us my concubine has a duty to perform.* His voice was pleased as he let Corums body slump back to the polished wood floor.

"Come Orome, servants will deal this this one. He needs to sleep...and a bath would not be amiss." He told the servants that appeared silently in response to his summons.

Orome followed him, after one long backward look at Corum. She had said nothing during the time that Rakkan had worked his will upon Corum. Her face had been carefully blank, her emotions tightly controlled.

'It would seem things have gone amiss, mortal', Arioch told him, whispering in his ear. 'I am a prince among the gods, you need only speak my name and I will assist you.'

The words were for his ears only from the god who the Vadagh had turned away from, not for the ears of the servants, nor anyone else.

"You .... are the prince of LIES!" he said out loud. "I will NEVER speak your name."

'FOOL! You have lost the gifts that I had given you, Prince Irsai. How will you have your vengeance without the help I so kindly gave you.'

"Gifts. GIFTS?! You destroyed my family, my people, my LIFE!"

'Speak my name and one of the three can be returned.'

"NO!"

Arioch's tall form appeared in his mind looking as only an angry god can. 'You WILL one day, PRINCE of NOTHING!' Then Arioch made a sweeping gesture with his hand and Corum once again fell into darkness.

The Argonian spun sharply around, disturbed and startled by the woman's sudden appearance. She was much older than he, yet still young and beautiful. He was indeed lucky to have fallen in with the company he had. Tyrik gently extended his hands towards the robes she offered. With the warming glow of his adrenals draining away, the chill was beginning to creep upwards from his exposed feet. While such discomforts where expected on his long journey, it was not nessecary to suffer needlessly, or to be impolite for that matter...

"I thank you, kind one. Few of my kind venture fourth from the marshes, and I am grateful to be in the company of one who has encountered my kind before..."

Tyrik wrapped the garments around himself, wrapping his feet as he returned to a seated position...

"Would you mind staying for a few moments? I have many questions for you, but first an introduction: I am Brother Tyrik, of the order of the Brotherhood of Strife..."

"I am honored to meet you Brother Tyrik. And I would not mind staying at all. The older woman made herself comfortable upon a nearby bench. The rising sun was bringing warmth to the courtyard, the winter flowers turning towards the bright orb.

"Forgive me, but old bones prefer not bending so much. I am Annali, senior housekeeper here at Star Hearth. I will gladly answer such questions as I can. But first would you care for some food or drink?"

Tyrik shook his head slowly...

"No, Senior Housekeeper, I will decline your hospitality. We have been through much combat recently, blood has been shed, and my appetite has not yet returned. I do thank you for your kindness, however..."

After some hours Corum regained consciousness and moved to draw himself a bathe, refusing help. He washed away the dirt and grime from the road then took a robe and moved out onto the cold balcony. He now owed a demon and had angered a god. 'What next', he wondered. He closed his eyes as his skin turned slowly from a pinkish tinge to grey in response to the cold. The demon didn't think him worthy of Orome, and perhaps he was right. Hadn't he failed his own people? His own family? His own father? He simply stood in the cold, staring at nothing in particular.