Freedom Forsaken

[Alacer Phasmatis]

This RP is a sequel to The War of Light and Dark, another RP that was born and finished on RolePlayGateway; we're in the process of moving the sequel to FOG, so for the time being, this thread is closed. However, this stuff will be replaced with some rag about how to get to the OOC when the topic is opened.

---

((Link to OOC if you're interested. You don't have to read everything, I went wild. Freedom Forsaken OOC))

Night had spread her fine cloak over the land, darkening forests, adding mystery to the oceans, blackening fears. In the forest of Ædónï, small creatures went to sleep even as nocturnal life began to waken. The eldritch howl of a solitary wolf wove itself into the complex fabric of the twilight, sending several rabbits running for cover. A chill breeze snaked through the leaf-bare trees, caressing the tightly-furled buds of greenery; the nights and days of trees differ greatly from those of other beings. The wolf sang his song again, and now another joined the melancholy melody—perhaps the creature had some companion after all. A peaceful forest, a sanctuary in troubled times…

It was all an illusion. The earth thrummed with the vibrations of approaching horsemen, and soon the voices of men shouting and cursing became apparent. Then the steeds themselves became manifest as a lone rider’s beast rounded a bend, traversing with great effort an enormous log in its path. Eyes pinned on the trail ahead, bay sides soaked in sweat and mouth foaming, the horse was clearly giving its all in evading the two men in pursuit, urged onwards by his rider. His face was concealed by a traveling cloak of thick wool, whipped into frenzy by the wind and speed of his mount. A ball of pulsing cobalt energy flew by him, shattering the ground ahead. Swearing in a strangely soft voice, the man directed his spent horse around the obstacle. As the fine-boned bay skittered around, the moonlight caught and was reflected by two snowy wings.

A rough, coarse voice shouted in a foreign language, before switching tongues to Common. “Halt your beast!” He roared. “And there may be mercy for you yet!” The faery refrained from giving a reply, instead tightening his grip around a large object hidden within his cloak. Foertis, where are you? Though the mounts of his hunters were large enough that their long legs could easily follow his smaller steed, he was not entirely helpless. Nudging his right knee into the heaving sides, his horse veered off of the easier path and into the woods.

In the skies shone countless stars, bright diamonds lending splendor to the inky expanse, scarcely dimmed by the full moon’s glow. Through the black bars of the trees, the faery could see, as well as hear, several large birds of prey working together to deter an enemy. Raptors and other solitary species, all of them… yet they band together in this moment, against their will. Truly we are surrounded…

Then a bright tongue of flame scythed through the darkness, followed by the sounds of avian bodies falling to the earth. The faery wrinkled his nose at the odor of burning flesh. Taking a detour has won me time, but precious little. Foertis, hurry! Then another bright blue bolt of energy soared past him, breaking up the ground and splintering strong tree roots. With a shrill scream, the lithe horse pulled up, nostrils flaring, even as more earth was broken, making escape on land impossible. Continuing shrieks from the skies told him that flight was out of the question. Drawing their trembling steeds to a walk, the two men approached him carefully, as though he were a danger. “So you wish to fight?” The faery murmured. His hand, pale as ivory, snaked away from the object beneath his cloak to reveal that it held a long pole of ebony. “You do so at your peril,” he hissed, stalling, buying time. Tightening his grip around the middle, he twisted it, two shimmering steel blades sliding out of either end.
Laughing softly, one of the two men mocked, “oh, so the faery wishes to fight us now, does he? Ah, but he isn’t using magic.” This last comment was directed with arched brows to his companion, a stocky man of sleek, noble looks. “My good healer,” the fellow continued in scathing tones, “you seem to be under the delusion that we’ll do combat under your terms. Pitiful.” Dropping lithely down from his horse, the elven mage approached the tensed figure. Grinning with the languid air of one who knows victory is his, he raised his hand, summoning an orb of incandescent light, his elegant face thrown into stark contrast with their shadowy surroundings.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” A flash of fire, and another faery landed heavily on the ground, summer-blue eyes mixed with an orange inferno. With an oath, the other man ran to aid his burning fellow, but the new arrival turned on him, creating a ring of flames that, despite their white-hot hunger, never went to consume the dry leaves liberally covering the floor, nor to devour the bud-spotted branches. “No!” Roared the caged man. “Please, have mercy!” Clenching his hand into a fist, the faery allowed the flames around the elf to die down, leaving a putrid corpse, black and glistening with grease. With slow, deliberate steps, he entered his own ring, the fire parting to allow him safe passage before resealing.

He wore a tunic the blue color of midnight, and around his neck hung a thin leather necklace, on which was tied a white stone of quartz and a lock of hair like spun silver…he had azure wings, eyes no longer consumed by an inferno, though fire was now reflected off of golden hair. The trapped man stared at him then blanched. “You’re… you… I thought Leannán killed you.” Foertis Deus looked calmly at the trembling coward before him and scoffed, “Interesting theory, but do I look that bad?” The hungry circle tightened, turning into the man’s funeral pyre. A strange, derisive cackling reverberated from Foertis—ages ago, it would have seemed out of place on his once-comely features; now it matched. He turned to the cloaked figure. “There are sentries all over the skies,” he stated. “Keep to earth and—good light, man, what happened to Lysander’s horse, the poor creature looks fit to die!”

Lifting his ghostly hands, the other faery lowered his cowl. An angelical face looked back at him, it beauty enhanced all the more by the brooding grief that played across it. “You’re a fine one to ask. Maybe next time you should consider the dangers of the skies and stick to the ground, that I might not tax my mount so much.” Sighing, his accomplice replied, “no matter. You have them?” A soft, fiercely protective look settled on the angelic one’s features. “They’re right here,” he whispered, drawing back the cloak to reveal his precious bundles.

Curled tightly on either side of him were two young children, held in place by his arms. Raising a tear-streaked face, the little girl asked, “is it…gone?” Laying a cool hand on her cheek, he murmured, “almost. Soon you’ll be safe…” Her tiny face scrunched up as hot tears began to course down her round cheeks. A small, chubby hand reached out, firmly clutching that of her sleeping brother. “I w-want m-ma-mamie,” she choked out, trying to suppress the salty flow. It was futile. All of them knew it was; the Rau-lass wouldn’t have left the child’s parents alive when they ordered her capture. Wordlessly, the pale healer dismounted, turning to face the night. “Where do you think you’re going?” Foertis hissed, gripping his shoulder. Raising the cowl again, the other said softly, “We’re but twenty minutes away from the border of Occalus. Where do you think I’m going?” The shorter man stood there for a moment, mute, until the child called, afraid, “d-don’t leave me!” Casting his friend a dark look, he dragged him back to the exhausted equine. “Signum,” he muttered, embracing the quietly sobbing toddler, “I can’t take all of the children on my own.”

“I know,” Signum replied. “It’ll be fast. You can expect me back before the morrow. The Rau-lass are but a day’s march from here, and when they come, I don’t entertain wistful notions about any Pardai being left to live. I—it’s what… it’ what she would have wanted.” A terrible grief washed through the man’s soul; he averted his grey eyes from Foertis’s. Gently, but with an inflection of steel, the other faery said, “Sorea is gone, Signum. If you must go to fetch Anahita, don’t do it for her. Do it for our people, for hope. Not for a memory of what was.” The hood shadowed Signum’s pale face, making his expression inscrutable. “Signum? Answer me.”

“Fortune keep you,” he said, his impassive tone brooking no argument. Turning away, he was swallowed by the darkness. Foertis hesitated, and then grasped the weary horse’s bridle. “Go to sleep,” he told the frightful girl. Her eyes were haunted by pain, a pain everybody seemed to be feeling these days. With a heart-felt sigh, he mounted, nudging the horse to a walk. “Only a little farther,” he muttered.

Only a little farther, yet so great a distance.

((Samir; if you haven't read what I said about Samir and Lilith in the OOC, go do so. EDIT: This is taking place six months before everyone else, or a month after WoLaD, if you prefer to think of it that way.))

With a sigh of relief, Samir dotted the final period on the sheet of paper in front of him, then added it to the stack on his left. He leaned backwards in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. In the small room--made even smaller by the stacks of paper that towered to the ceiling--five heads all whipped about and fixed him with a desperate gaze that almost broke his heart. For a brief moment, she was tempted to tell them what they didn't want to hear. However, she resisted the urge.

"We're finished," the albino said, standing up. There was a whoop of joy from one of the shifters, and everyone relaxed, relief on their faces. However, no one actually expressed their joy in words. The Avelate would hear about it, then make them write up more reports to spite them.

The other elf in the room shooed everyone out, mumbling something about needing space to go through and organize everything. "I can't tell you how glad I am that that's over," Akio murmured, trailing Samir out into the hallway, rubbing his hand. "I thought that I was gonna die in there."

Samir grinned. "You can say that again. I was beginning to think that my arm would fall off." Glancing up, he looked to the far end of the hallway, the smooth stone walls seeming a bit distorted in the flickering firelight. "I'll race you to the end of the hallway," he said, pushing up his silver-framed glasses. Akio eyed the far corner, then his elven friend. "You can't beat me like that," he said, "but if Lilith were here..."

The elf in question aimed a punch for the raven faery's head; she preferred it when he didn't mention the fact that she was both Samir and Lilith. Dancing away, Akio started to run down the hallway. "You're on!" he called back.

Samir grit his teeth and sprinted after him.

((Hylas))

Oh my... good Light...

Springing into the air, the lithe, sepentine form slid through the shadows with a flash of creamy underside before landing, tiny clawed feet scrabbling at the ragged bark. The fine talons were all but worn down and the small brown form slid inexorably over the edge, long tail swishing wildly between hind legs that scrabbled desperately at nothing. A look that spoke almost of concentration flashed across pointed, cat-like features and, with a shifting of dark fur, a larger figure flickered into being, tanned arms wrapping themselves tightly around the slippery tree limb.

"Shit..."

Rough bark digging into the sensitive underside of his arms, Hylas cast his dirt-coloured eyes warily on the ground beneath him - a full thirty-foot from where he hung - and ignoring the impending sense of vertigo, swung himself so that his left leg hooked over the branch. With a huge amount of effort, the young lad heaved himself up, sweat beading upon his brow as the ground tried to do somersaults below. Eventually he was secure, though his arms remained seemingly stuck to the tree between them as he lay trembling upon his stomach, another tear in his shirt revealing the scratched and bruised skin beneath.

"No more running," Hylas whispered softly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to stop the world spinning, his slender chest rising and falling swiftly with each breath and his heart hammering in his ribcage, "No more. Not today."

His stomach growled ominously, a frown winkling his brow at the sound. It must've been at least a day since he had last eaten but no matter how far he seemed to be ahead, they always seemed to catch up somehow and snacks caught on the run never lasted long enough. He needed to eat something soon: he could already feel the exhaustion of constant running settling in like a heavy blanket over his body and more than once now he had misjudged a jump. One more mistake like that and it would be him feeding the crows, not the other way around...

The sound of birdsong filtered reassuringly through the forest and, before he knew it, Hylas was drifting off to sleep, his tired body gradually succumbing to the slumber he had long been denied as he perched precariously in the tree, arms dangling in the breeze.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Pyrei))

So much time. It had been so much since then. Pyrei had never seen Selan again, although she had been trying to find her.

Pyrei walked out of the cave. She had joined a group. They intentions were to help the poor, with food and protection. Of course, they had to fight. That's the reason Pyrei wanted to learn to fight. She could, sort of, do it now. Although she used a light sword as if it was a two-handed blade, much to her companion's surprise.

"Hey! Lak! We're going to the city!" -the old Oestin, of course- "are you coming today?"

A voice came from inside the cave, followed by a shadow of a tall man. You go alone today, Pyrie, that will be your lesson today.

"Ugh...! One day I'll get killed, and it will be your fault!" Pyrei laughed and started to walk away, down to the city, again.

You could never die. You're protected by the Gods. Not answering, Pyrei kept walking, waving goodbye to Lak. This was a particularly cold year. Winter had been strong, and there was still quite a lot of snow. She had to be careful. One of the main rules was to erase the footsteps, so no one would find their hideout.

Once in town, Pyrei found the same she found each and every day she had been there. Burnt houses and trees, people who were starving, and all this sort of miseries. Of course, Pyrei kept offering food to those she could. Today shouldn't be a fighting day. However, one could never know what the future had to offer.

A feeling of danger filled Pyrei every time she came to the city. It was as if her body was giving a warning. Enemies could actually appear anywhere, at any time. But lately, there was a new problem. There were this important families, who tried to join the enemy, by punishing virtually every human in the city. This led to a huge amount of deaths, and humans losing their faith here and there, meaning the were losing their most important strength; belief.

Have you heard? It seems that Lord Carel was killed yesterday. It's already the seventh one... and then the misterious deaths of the high lords. There were rumours. Some people said they died by the Rau-lass' hand, some others said it was some sort of beginning of a civil war between humans, while others said that they, the Aeylies, were responsibles for the deaths.

How dare they? We're risking our lives to give them food, and they blame us?! Oh, Selan, if you just were here...but do not worry, I will reunite all your friends, and someone surely will know where you are, right now.

Pyrei! a strong voice came from behind. A tall, strong, red-haired man, was running towards the square they were at. Pyrei, do you know it? They've killed Carel this time! "I know, Luk...what on earth is going on now? Everything's getting so much worse, lately...and...aren't we supposed to avoid this kind of incidents happening? Even if the ones who are being assassinated are our enemies?"

For the time being, her question remaind unanswered. Luk and Pyrei turned back, and started their way "back home".

------------------------------------------------

((Dark-haired woman))

Darkness. The perfect ally to kill. No one should be able to see anything. Seven had already fallen. It was time for the eighth one. She knew it wasn't the right way, but there was no other way. Much more people were dieing because of this. In fact, all of them had tried to kill her, capture her, or...other things. She felt menaced, and just like a wild animal, the decision was to strike back.

Standing on top of the roof, she had to make sure no one saw her moving up there. With a quick movement, her hair swinging in the air, she entered the house through an open side window. Once inside, everything was nearly done.

"You knew I would come, didn't you?"

Why yes, you had already killed seven, there was no reason to think you'd stay away from coming here. A shining sword, glittering in the darkness. A bearded man was holding it, adopting a defensive stance.

Swords clashing, the fight was tough. The dark-haired woman was struggling to fight, inside this place where movement was restricted. In a few minutes, the room was badly damaged. While the man relied in brute strength, his female opponent seemed to be trying to save up strength for something, even if fighting with passion. Finally, she was able to disarm her opponent, after swinging the sword from the floor to the imaginary skies.

The woman raised her sword, which started to shine with dark black light, and then threw an attack to the now weapon-less man.

"Remember it when you get to hell. You defied Lady Anelia!!" . The last thing the man saw were the woman's eyes. He didn't suffer. Lady Anelia didn't want it.

((Anahita))

Come on, come on... you can do it, the young woman thought, silently urging on the small spider with a silent cheer. The minuscule arachnid crawled forward, a gossamer thread of webbing stretching out behind itself-- then it slipped. Almost automatically, Anahita followed the tiny creature's descent with her sleepy gaze. Unfortunately, slumber was long in coming. Out of boredom and the sheer difficulty of attaining unconsciousness, she'd resorted to trivial entertainments. Again the spider crawled, eight legs moving with single-minded intent...

Sighing, she sat up to rested her forehead on her knees and draw her wings close, unbound hair tickling her lashes. Slowly she slipped out of bed, cringing as the cold floorboards met bare toes. Her tanned, callused hand slid beneath the soft expanse of her pillow, groping about until she found what she'd sought: a dagger. Anahita wasn't exactly sure what she'd do with it if she ever was attacked (her private hope was that the mere sight would stall intruders) and she prayed never to find out. However, in the past five months, it had proven foolhardy to not have something sharp nearby. Treading on tip-toes to the living room-come-forge, she thought blearily, I doubt that'd ever be a problem here.

The faint embers of a fire still glowed orange, their scant light lending a warm, comforting glow to her surroundings. The soft gleam it brought to sword blades arrayed on the wall, the glimmer of honed halberds and the sheen of weapons as yet unfinished-- all of it served to soothe her. Creeping to an over-stuffed armchair, she shifted a covey of throwing stars onto a low table (once used for evening wine, now hosting unfletched arrows) then sat down, tucking her feet up. Nesting deep within the warmth of her feathers, she blinked once... twice... slowly, like evening mist, sleep came.
-----

Like a bell heard from afar, a voice called, softly, gently... now closer, her name could be heard as a man hissed, "Anahita!", his large hand roughly shaking her shoulder. The young woman arose with a start, hand flying to the dagger she'd brought-- but no, the stranger had already snatched it. Heart hammering a terrified tattoo, her mouth began to form the words, "who are you?" Yet they never came.

The instant the veil of sleep had dissipated completely, she'd recognized him. How could she not, having had known him all her life? "Signum," she breathed, though her emotions were guarded. "What are you doing here?" The expression on his face bore a dull light that she had yet to grow used to, especially considering he'd been gone for the better part of six months. Nonetheless, his quick glance at every object in the room bespoke alertness. When again he looked at her though, it molded itself back into the apathetic cast it usually bore, though scant emotions played across it. "It looks like an armory in here," he noted, picking up a bastard sword with a stormy expression of sorrow. That's right, Anahita thought, Sorea's sword was of that make, wasn't it?

"It should," she said in guarded response. "If we hope to repel the Rau-lass, then the military needs a constant supply of arms, no?" Pulling her night-gown tighter about her, the young woman shivered and stated, "please answer my question, Signum."

Rather than doing so, he laid a pole-weapon-- I recognize that!-- against the wall then proceeded to swing the sword, testing its balance and reach. Hefting his double-bladed staff once more, he procured a sheath out of a neat stack, sliding in the sword with a soft rasp. Quelling the spark of irritation that flared within her, Anahita repeated, "what are you doing here, Signum? I'd really like to know, considering," she said forcefully, "that you've more or less invited yourself in after a six-month long disappearance." In fact, she thought belatedly, how did he even enter the city without having to go through the sentries?

"Take this," the faery said, tossing her the arms. "And go get dressed. I'd suggest warm clothes, ideal for travel." Dumping the load on the ground, she exclaimed, "good light, make some sense! You can't honestly expect me to-- you just came in here, for goodness's sake! No warning, no preparation, not even so much as a by-your-leave! And now you think that I'll--"

"Thank the heavens," Signum growled, taking her wrist and dragging her through the hall into her room, "that your master is currently occupied. That would make this business so much harder." His muscular arm snaked around her waist and heaved her onto the bed. For one wildly irrational moment, she was afraid that he'd hit her, but he chose to throw a bundle of clothes at her instead. "Sort out something from those," he murmured impassively. "I'll be selecting proper arms for you."

"What the bloody..." Disregarding her vestments, Anahita stormed forwards, taking a fistful of her now-unwanted visitor's tunic. "Are you drunk or something?" She demanded. "To come barging in here at the middle of the night, ordering me too--"

"Dammit!" He roared, "just change!" He shoved her away with such force that the woman had no choice but to meekly oblige him whilst he sorted through arms in the forge-room. Once she was clad in a warm woolen tunic and slightly sooty breeches, the faery crept out of her room to stand mute in a corner, observing fearfully how he took a dagger and wrist-sheath, a throwing knife whose magic-imbued blade he tested on his own flesh, a small stiletto blade to conceal practically anywhere. Pulling her away from her shelter, he began to brusquely lay them on her, with the perfunctory request that she work the buckles. With fumbling fingers she complied.

Once all was in place, she said softly, with downcast eyes, "please, please, please, Signum. You're scaring me, I'm completely lost right now. What's going on? Why are you forcing me to leave on no notice at all?" He lay an ivory-white hand briefly on her cheek, with such tenderness that for a moment it all seemed to have been a dream, and that the Signum she was used to was back. Then he spoke, and his voice was as empty as a hollow mountain. "You must leave," he answered, "because Occalus is going to fall tonight. Don't protest, for I can see right now that that's what you're opening your mouth to do. Listen to me: the faeries are fools to think that the Rau-lass can be resisted. Can a pebble survive in the ocean? It is just a city, now one that is full of misplaced vagrants and war-refugees. What's to stop the well cared-for armies of the enemy from taking them with a single blow? You know second-hand, being a weapon-smith and the sister of Sorea Pardai--" here he paused briefly, voice choking, "what a proper army requires. Honestly, if seven months ago, when a semblance of the alliance still remained and we couldn't repulse them, what's to stop the Rau-lass now?"

"Nothing," she whispered. Even so, she took an instinctive step back, away from he, towards the familiar and safe. In response his hand shot out, wrapping around her upper arm. "I'm leaving, Anahita Pardai," he stated flatly. "Like it or not, you're going with me." And ultimately, she did.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Aerain))

"Rai'alssa! Rai'alssa!"

It was though the bellow brought a ripple of energy, thrumming through the ranks like the aftershock of an earthquake, and with a single purpose the faeries rose to their feet, feathered wings cupping the chill air.

Head turning lazily - like that of a cat studying a passing mouse - Aerain watched her brethren stand, deep amber gaze surveying the mages disdainfully as they each took up their arms. The chill wind carried the scent of burning upon the air, filling her dark, twisting curls with tiny motes of ash, but she ignored it, turning instead to peer through a slit in the stone parapets.

"Lueila," came the call, the sharp note holding a trace of anger, and a shadow moved to stand behind her, large wings blocking out the breeze for a brief but welcome moment, "Do you care to join us?"

Slowly - purposely unhurried - Aerain unfolded her legs, their strength alone pushing her into a standing position. "Aerain," the faery repeated brusquely but she ignored him, her pale hand reaching for the long stave propped against the rough stone. Settling the spear in her palm, she caressed the dark rod, allowing the familiar feeling of the miniscule, smooth-edged carvings to bring back life and memories to her emotionless appearence. Then, with a small smile, she turned, tilting her head slightly to fix a piercing gaze upon the faery before her.

"The Rai'alssa have not yet come into range," she answered bluntly as the dark-haired man met her eyes without baulking, his ragged buzzard wings fluttering slightly in the wind, "But when they do, believe me, I will be ready."

"We stick to the ground," he warned as she cast her eyes once more to the approaching shadow on the horizon and her eyes snapped back in a fierce, predatory glare, "Yes, Aerain, that includes you: the skies are too dangerous now. We have magic enough to hold them back. I don't want mages killed just because of some obscure sense of honor; you stay right here with us."

His dark eyes rested briefly upon the fist clutching white-knuckled at the black length of wood before returning his gaze to the simmering, angry gaze before him. "Aerain?"

"Fine," she spat, her full mouth drawn into a tight line, "I'll try to keep my feet on the ground. Is that good enough?"

The faery sighed, though no sound emerged from his lips, and nodded, his tanned fist pressing to his breast. "Fortune keep you," he answered in a more gentle tone and Aerain inclined her head with a soft grunt, "May we meet again when this is over."

As he turned on his heel, returning to the small group of gathered mages, horns blasted from the far end of the city, their haunting call signalling the arrival of the shadowed demons they had all learnt to despise.

"Mages! Ready your arms!"

With a single hand, Aerain slid each of the swords at her waist about an inch from their sheaths, replacing them gently to ensure ease of movement. The battlements stilled, the soft whistle of the wind and the gentle snap of cloth the only sounds upon the walls of the city, and softly, Aerain stepped up beside a faery with midnight-black raven's wings, her free hand resting gently against the chill stone. Below, the Rau-lass army stood, human bodies cloaked in armour and the shadowed atrox milling eerily beside them. Purple mage robes flickered in the dim light of torches, the archers before them already training their arrows upon the faint line of faeries on top the crenelated walls. And behind them - always holding the rear - the swirling mass of the Rai'alssa, writhing tentacled hair visible even from so far.

And with no movement or sound to show it, the Rau-lass gave the order to fire, arrows singing their way with an unnerving hiss through the frosty air to clatter against the parapet stone. Immediately, magic snaked it's way out from the faery mages, fire ripping through the arrow feathers like lightning and crumbling each to ash, the narrow staves dropping from the sky like metal-tipped rain. But there were too many; already there were screams, agonised moans as some of the arrows found their target in faery flesh, and the robes of the healers began to flash past as each sought to heal as many injured as they could.

Still gripping her spear, Aerain held a pale palm towards the ground, focussing on the long, powerful bows of the archers and it seemed at though the air shifted. Slowly, the arrows stopped pummelling the walls and cries rose faintly from the ground, the springy yew-wood dissolving to nothing more than a mud-coloured puddle in the humans' hands as the faery's magic snapped out to grasp at each. Sweat began to bead upon her brow, the effort of using so much magic already starting to take its toll, and eventually the aerial bombardment virtually ceased, the faery mages regaining the upper-hand.

But the Rai'alssa had more in store. "Watch the mages!" came the single shout, and it was just in time: in unanimous sequence, the human mages loosed their own magic upon the city, the odd tongue of holy magic slicing through all to strike down specific individuals. A sudden flash catching her eye, Aerain sprung behind a stone pillar and the spear of ice slid past her open wing with barely an inch to spare, shattering to pieces upon the floor. The raven faery beside her wasn't so lucky, an icicle shard as sharp as a needle and as long as a sword burying itself into the soft point of his throat; eyes wide as saucers and as blue as the summer sky fixed on hers, a small trickle of blood emerging from his lips as he staggered to wall. With the grace of a dying butterfly, he dropped over the edge and was gone.

That was enough for Aerain. With a roar of animal rage, she sprung onto the ledge and cast herself into the air, osprey wings pressed close as she let herself drop through the frigid skies. A lone shout echoed from the parapets as the wind whistled in her ears and immediately a shield formed itself around her, deflecting each spat of magic as it attempted to lick her flesh. Eyes fixed on a mage below, Aerain drew back her arm and cast her spear, the long line slipping through the air to plunge itself into the throat of the more-than-surprised human. Twisting, Aerain opened her wings, her booted feet landing with an audible thud upon the chest of the individual, her knees automatically bending to soften the landing. Crossed hands clutching at her swords, the faery bared the blades, already spinning on her heel to meet the next attacker.

She be damned if she was going to die behind walls like a coward.

With a laugh that was more like a bark, Aerain began her slaughter.

((Foertis))

There was, Foertis thought sullenly, a great deal of wind these days. The transition between cold winter to warm spring would be welcome when completed but until then, he'd have to grit his teeth and suffer through the cold. His glassy wings trembled like leaves and were as cold as ice, though he pressed them tightly beneath his thick cloak, which was shared by the two children his partner had rescued. He didn't dare light a fire or even use magic until they were on the move again...

Screams and shouts rang in his ears, though the sound came from a great distance. In response, his ill-controlled magic leaped up, seeking to devour flesh and bone of enemies as it had during the Wars. Control... Were it not for the profusion of trees, he'd have been able to watch things unfold. Control... A great many twigs snapped behind him. With a start, Foertis turned to look about, then relaxed as he found that it was only Lysander's horse, venturing with ears pricked forwards to the end of its tether. Following the direction of the beast's attention, he murmured, "what do you see, that I can't? Do you say they're coming back?"

Nostrils flaring in the wind, the bright-eyed bay champed his teeth in excitement, nervously pawing the ground. Not daring to rise, Foertis cautiously called upon a tendril of magic, though the amount necessary was so small that it took more energy keeping back excess power than the actual spell did. Through the fiery sheen of trees and the blue-bell flames surrounding chill leaves, he could make out the brilliant white fire of two faeries approaching, though their silhouettes were marred by tree trunks in their path.

Releasing the flow, the faery mage leaned back in satisfaction, drawing the thick material of his cloak ever tighter. As soon as they were traveling again he could use his magic to stay warm, but only until then...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
((Anahita))

Anahita trudged after Signum with the strange wakefulness that comes of staying up excessively late, panting from the weight of the weaponry he'd armed her with. They'd been walking for the better part of half an hour, with she focusing on the brilliant white of his wings to keep from getting lost. The wind was bitter, chilling her fingers despite her sturdy cloak. Indeed, it was the thick, cushioned warmth of her feathers that kept out the cold more than anything else. Signum himself seemed not to mind it. His swan-feathers were very slightly raised which, although it retained more heat, reminded Anahita of fluffy ducks waddling through snow, their puffed plumage lending them the appearance of children's' toys.

He slowed for a moment, allowing her to draw even with him. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he murmured, "listen." Casting a confused look at him, she complied.

Oh, gods! The distant sound of screams rent the air, peppered with the clang of weapons and death. Shivering, she didn't resist her escort when he extended a wing around her, nudging her onwards. "I just thought you ought to hear that," he explained tonelessly, "so that you might know of what might have happened to you."

"This is too sudden," she whispered, feeling a hard lump in her throat. "I knew-- everyone knew-- that Occalus has scarcely a chance of surviving, though we deigned to fight. But-- this is too sudden! I wish you'd realize that." Signum tossed her a cynical look that was so unlike him, she wanted to fly away. "Are you saying you want me to coddle you?" He mocked, before dropping the strange expression for something far softer. "The outcome," he murmured, "would be no different. Sudden or not, it is what fate willed. Do you prefer it being worded that way?"

Quivering in upset resentment, Anahita shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No, I don't." Shrugging, he continued on, though his stride was perhaps a little faster now. After the elapse of what must have been ten minutes, he said, "we need to pick up our other companions, then continue to a safer place before we rest." No sooner had the words left his mouth than he slipped into a clearing, his charge close behind him.

A blond-haired man sat cross-legged on the ground, his pensive stare snapping immediately onto her, then flying to Signum. "Finally," he said in an elegant voice, like a tiger's. Rising, he deposited two small children on the ground before him, gently urging the infants onto their feet. I know you! Anahita thought, shocked. Seven months ago, Signum had returned to Occalus and called for a meeting between the Arandein Melchios and the immediate family of Sorea Pardai. That had been the day she'd heard of her sister's death... Signum had spoken to them alone, but there had been two men waiting for him in the reception room, a faery and an elf. During the month he'd spent in Occalus before disappearing, he'd introduced her to the men. True, the faery's face had been more handsome by far, but there was no mistaking the scrutiny in those eyes, nor the quality of his voice or the protectiveness which radiated from him like an aura whenever his comrade was near.

Now Foertis slipped to Signum's side, whispering something in his ear with an arched glance in her direction. What happened to him! The man's hawkish visage was no more, for his refined bone-structure seemed to have been altered like clay in a toddler's fist. Yet there still remained his characteristically bizarre motions, as though he spoke to a lover, and the way his eyes were held half-lidded, giving him an unsettlingly romantic air. On the whole, it felt as though he would propose to you the minute he'd look at you. Except that when his gaze fixed on Anahita, his lip curled in the trace of a sneer, and the lover's air gained a vicious spice.

"Let's get a move on it, then," he said, untethering a striking bay who currently carried the two children, swathed in Signum's traveling cloak. The Northerner seemed not to mind at all his exposure to the wind, turning to face it with the same nonchalance he did most things. "Anahita?" he called, extending a marble hand towards her. "Come, now." Lowering her head to glare at the earthy floor, she did as he'd bid, falling into step beside him. Her heart warmed just a little bit when he reached out to lightly cover her wings with one of his own, to give her additional coverage against the wind. Yet that failed to completely allay the turmoil of negative emotions she simmered in.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Hylas))

The crunching of twigs woke Hylas from his slumber with a start that nearly threw him from his perch. Gripping onto the bark with trembling hands, the young boy peered cautiously over the edge, keen dark eyes surveying the ground below for the danger his animal senses told him was there. A pale form moved through the tangled undergrowth, white flashing in the dim light like a beacon and instantly, Hylas' stance changed, his eyes following the tiny fawn hungrily. It stumbled, wobbling legs unsteady on the uneven leaf-litter, and a low, soft growl emerged from the boy's throat, his form rippling to that of a wolverine, fur as black as his hair covering his skin in a motion akin to water.

Instantly, the deer's ears pricked, head snapping up as its velvety muzzle scented the air, large nostrils flaring and gentle brown eyes wide in fear. Slowly - silently - Hylas crept his way along the branch to the tree trunk, his dark eyes fixed on the quivering form, and made his way down the tree, soft pads making no noise in the rising howl of the night wind. Eventually he stilled, suspended no more than a couple of metres from the dappled fur of the fawn's pale back, the scent of fear attacking his nostrils with an acrid tang.

And in the same instant, both predators pounced.

The young doe squealed and, already airbourne, Hylas recognised the sound: not as the terrified call of an animal prey but as the desperate cry of someone in terrible danger. Tawny hair shifted and morphed, the fawn disappearing only to be replaced by a young child - younger even than himself - cowering upon the damp forest floor. Black fur thudded into black shadow as Hylas twisted desperately to avoid hitting the girl and, immediately, a sharp pain pierced his side, the smell of burning fur assaulting his senses.

A sickening crack reverberated through the woodland as the shadowy being hit the ground, its head striking something hidden beneath the deceptively soft litter, and Hylas threw himself away from the now still form, wolverine body shaking in fear and exertion.

He had no idea how long he stayed thus: eyes wide as the doe's, fixed unwaveringly upon the motionless form of what could only be an atrox, and his whole body trembling. Gradually the animal reaction in him began to wane and his body changed with it, the frightened young boy emerging once more.

Rising slowly from his crouch, Hylas turned warily, his brown eyes settling upon the young girl behind him. Tears ran in channels down her freckled cheeks, her large, round eyes mirroring the fawn's so closely that there was virtually no difference. Indeed the child had a similar look about her - pale gangly legs tucked up beneath her and thin arms curled protectively around her body - and she couldn't have been more than six years of age.

"What's your name?" Hylas asked, holding out a hand, but the girl merely started, her gaze flicking around the shadowed woodland. The crack of a twig suddenly made Hylas aware once more of how much danger they were in and stepping swiftly over to the cowering child, he grasped her hand, dragging her unceremoniously to her feet. "Come on!" Once again, Hylas started off into the forest at a run, this time tugging a tiny frightened child in his wake.

And behind them, the shadows writhed.

((Aerain))

Aerain's sword slid off the steel blade with a sing that rose the hairs on the back of her neck and, putting her weight behind her, she pushed, forcing the leering female to withdraw. Heavy wings snapped out to connect with the jaw of another as she launched herself forward, dual swords crossing briefly over the Rau-lass' tender flesh before emerging in a spray of black blood. Without giving her a pause, the next demon slipped under her guard and Aerain reeled at the new assault on her mind.

Come, my little bird-wing... surely you're tiring... wouldn't it be easier just to...

The seductive woman got no further, Aerain's magic sliding into her distracted mind and causing a tiny pinpoint haemhorrage as she turned a small section of brain to nothing more than liquid. The Rau-lass gaped without expression - looking remarkably like her own followers - and in one swift motion, the faery removed her head from her body, the writhing tentacles falling instantly still. The scent of burning down met her nostrils and, turning, she placed a well-aimed kick at the atrox's shin, shattering the bone before plunging her blade into its abdomen.

And still they kept coming. The Rau-lass were the worst with their twisted thoughts, attempting to embed themselves in a mind already sore from previous assaults, but the unending press of the atrox seemed to wriggle through her guard, scalding her flesh like hot metal. And the humans... they were stronger, definitely. She had come across more mages than she could count and those that didn't have magic to aid them were swathed in armour from head to foot and as practiced in combat as she. She was barely a few feet from her original landing point, the long stave of her spear serving to remind her - and those upon the battlements of the city - of her original position.

And Terailan's shield was waning. Though it was little aid against physical attacks, it had easily deflected the various spates of magic thrown her way, but no more: she could already feel each of them as they connected with the faery mage's protection and it would not be long before the first would pass completely through. Usually a strong mage, Terailan was either injured or exhausted to produce such a weak guard and neither boded well for her companion or Occalus itself. Gradually she was beginning to believe what she had previously shied away from: Occalus would fall and it would fall this night.

Then the horns sounded once again from the city, the faint haunting refrain signalling retreat and, as one, the mages took to the skies, the first flakes of snow beginning to fall from the heavily laden clouds. Spinning, Aerain sliced a path to her spear, gripping the roughened hilt and pulling the steel from the dead mage's body with a heafty yank. Arrows were already flying, the mages' broad wings a beacon to those on the ground even in the darkness, and using her spear as a staff, Aerain leapt into the air, clawed hands clutching for her feet as they passed.

"Aerain!"

A heavy figure collided into her own, veering her off course, soft caramel feathers enveloping her own as something heavy whizzed past. One of the faeries screamed and Terailan released her in time for her to see the figure plummet to the ground, a steely harpoon embedded in his chest. With renewed vigour, Aerain beat her wings hard, darting into the skies with buzzard-winged Terailan close beside her, his bright eyes shadowed with pain and fatigue.

"Since when did the Rau-lass have harpoons?" she hollared through the howl of the wind.

"Since now," came the simple reply and then they were into the frozen clouds, the bloody ground disappearing as though it were never there.

Booted feet stomped the moist earth, upturning soil and cracking many a dead leaf under their weight. Behind him, Abileith had seen the true horror of the war, in all its gory splendour. Not often did the reclusive hunter venture into cities, but he'd needed to then. Needed to sell some spare pelts for gold, and a few pounds of fine venison. And of course, the best trade was found in cities. And so, with a heavy-laden burden, Tarn had set off to Oestin, following road or heart, the stars and the sign-posts. However, not once had he expected to meet the sight that greeted him; and what a horror it indeed was.

Walls once rising proud from the earth to the sky, their rough stone an impenetrable barrier to any and all. Or so he'd thought. Those had been ripped asunder, cleft in twain by the might of who knew what devilry, be it magic or siegework. Inside, for Tarn had dared to step inside the boundaries of the ripped-open city, houses had been razed, bodies had been left strewn acros the muddy floor, filled with arrows, or charred by flame or lightning. When he'd entered, rather than being hailed by the guard, he'd been met by a flock of crows, flying off in a mass of black feathers at his arrival. How long had that city lasted ? How long 'till it fell ? And who attacked it ?

The hunter had the answer to that. He'd heard rumours, rumours of fell beings, the Rau'lass as some called them. Fell beings that had cut a bloody swath through the once peaceful land, had paved their road to conquest with the bones of the common folk, and the armies. He'd heard of the alliances, the battles, the grand stands, and all the while, the hunter couldn't help but grit his teeth. Grit his teeth at the idea of a race so foul, as to hunt and kill any who stood in their path, and for what reason ? That, Tarn did not know, only knew that the men and women, hair a mass of writhing tentacles and skin ashen black, their very being shrouded in shadows, who comprised this force, had to pay. One way or another, he kept saying, as his steady feet, beating a quick and sharp rhythm on the wet turf, brought him ever further away from the ruined city, home now only to looters and those who coveted the waste that war left behind.

Slowly, a looming mass of green had met the hunter's eyes, his legs now propelling him at ever grater speeds, his burden left back at the ruins, for the animals to eat or the thieves to steal. He didn't care, all he cared about was finding ... Well ? Finding what ... He didn't know where to go, didn't know what to do, just knew that something had to be done. For the sake of the people of this land, their peaceful lives ripped asunder by the machinations of a power hungry monster.

After a few more minutes of trecking, fleeing the burnt out husk of a city, crumpled walls bearing nothing inside aside the stench of death, the bodies of the fallen, and the charred remains of the few houses that could be seen, Tarn had the fringe of a nearby forest in sight, to the south of Oestin. Quickening his pace, he'd leaped into the leafy embrace of the forest, branches delicately brushing his tough skin, depositing the dew that glistened on their surface, on that of the hunter's. His pace had slowed, and Abileith had taken the time to admire the woods he found himself in, to let the swaying trees lull him into a sense of security. He knew this place to be safe, knew that Nature's embrace could only ever be a safe place. But now, he needed to move on, to cross these woods, and find whatever life might still exist in this god-forsaken land, its heart bleeding from the wound of war that had torn it open.

---

Crouching, Tarn let his ear press down against the earth, trying to discern if anything could be felt coming. Nothing ... All was silence, save a few birds that quietly chirped high up in their trees, nests so far from the horrors that plagued those who lived down under. Getting up with a slight "humpf", Tarn's amber eyes scanned the horizon, the few meters in front of him not obstructed by foliage. His gaze then darted to the nearest tree trunk, where he spotted moss, growing mostly on the side facing him. Abileith wished to go south, so he would continue along his course.

Starting at a slow pace, Tarn made his way through the woods, weaving in and out of the sunlight that managed to beam through the leafy coverage, to form small patches of light on the ground below. His footsteps were as silent as those of a doe, treading silently over the dead leaves and the earth, as if he were more a ghost than anything substantial. Tarn continued on, progress unhindered, always finding a way to counter any obstacle that might bar his way. Slowly, he entered deeper into the depths of the forest, slowly progressing ever further from the ruins he'd seen a few minutes previous.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Pyrei))

Finally back to the cave, their hideout, Pyrei and Lak were received by the other members of the group.

"So, how was it today?" a man who was carrying a book asked. He was the keeper of information; named Jahz.
"Let's go to the archives 'room', I'll tell you about today. Guys, we'll be back in a minute." Lak went with the book man to the back of the cave, to where all the books and information were kept.

"Oh boy, I don't know why we're supposed to keep track of absolutely everything we do. It's so freakin' useless!". A really regular man spoke, this time. His hair was dark and, by what he had said, he had known Selan when they were kids. He didn't have anything strange about his looks. He wasn't tall or short, his hair was dark, and his eyes were also dark. He was not beautiful, but he was not an ugly one, so he didn't really draw many attention. "Oh-oh! I forgot to tell Lak how many times I peed today!"

"Hande! Stop it, it's gross! And you should know why we're keeping track of all. This way, all the valuable information is not lost even if one of us leaves or gets killed."

"Ah, my Pyrie, my small Pyrite, you're like a precious stone. You've got so mature since you joined us. This Selan person would be proud of you, of that I'm sure." Lak came back, followed by his companion, who spoke to Pyrei. "I thought you'd help me in here, but it seems that, unless me, you learned how to use a sword. I can't really fight, so I stay here working with the information we have. I have been investi--"

"Hey!! Everyone!!" a voice called out, and a woman stormed out inside the cave. "They've done it again!! Another one has fallen!"

Following the surprising news, everyone sat down in their planning room. This woman was called Olanea, and she was the group's spy. She explained all the detailed about a new 'lord' assassinated.
"It seems this time was someone named Lord Ilyea. He was found inside his home, not more than one hour ago, it seems he has been fighting someone...or something. I'm not sure, but this looks bad. Too much people is getting killed. I know they weren't exactly what you'd call good people, but still... "

"Wait, there was such a man named like that?! Selan's name is Ilyea! And...well, mine sort of is, too. What's the meaning of this?" Pyrei looked at everyone, confused.

Lak, who served as a leader for the group, stood up. "It's late now. We're going to call it a day, or tomorrow we won't get up early. I promise that tomorrow we'll start to investigate this Ilyea. Pyrei, I'll be sending you and Olanea to check some things tomorrow, alright?"

Everyone was getting ready to go to sleep, when suddenly Olanea spoke, having remembered something. "I saw a man while coming back here. He came into the same direction as me, as if he was leaving Oestin, or what's remaining, anyways. He looked like someone who was really used to walk through the forests. I never really ran into him, but rather saw him in the distance. Do you think he could be with the assassins?"

Sighing, Lak answered. "Alright, let's go to the back. Jahz, Olanea, come. We're noting everything we know about this guy. Pyrei, Hande, you go to sleep."

Soon, Pyrei was half-asleep in her personal place to sleep. What they had couldn't be called 'beds', but those were still sort of comfortable.

------------------------------------------------

((Lady Anelia))

Quickly running away from the house where she had been fighting not that long ago, Anelia finally got out of the city. She had a small cabin up in a tree, in the forests surrounding what was left of the human capital. Entering the cabin, she left her sword right by her side. There was a bag with some herbs, and a couple of loaves of bread. Anelia took a bite of bread, and drank a bit of water. She was feeling exhausted. She thought it was funny that she would probably be feared in the city, and yet she was unable to fight, after a whole day of activity. There was almost no food, and that had had an effect on her, as well. Over the last months she had been losing weight, and she didn't know how long she would last, if things went like this.

Next to her bag, Anelia had some spare clothes, and some maps. There was also a small pot. She probably would not be needing it the following day, though. Soon after that, Anelia fell asleep.

A few minutes ago, Abileith had been on the ground, but now, it was from tee to tree that he made his progress. It was always so much easier for him, and so much more fun ! A simple climb, and many, many jumps to move farther on. At the moment, he was sitting atop a sturdy branch, legs dangling to the sides, as he gazed outwards upon the forest, his higher vantage point offering him a view so different to what one could see from down below.

Still, this was no time for reverie, Tarn had to go on, and so,propping himself on his arms, leathered-hands firmly on the bark of the branch, he propped himself up, and elegantly placed his legs under him. Brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face, the hunter immediately leaped, closing the gap between him and another tree in mere instants, as he landed on another thick branch, the thing creaking a bit anyway, crouching, all four limbs holding onto the wood that was his only support from the hard, hard ground below.

He slid around the trunk in one deft movement, sliding down from it onto another branch a meter below, again leaping off the appendage to grab hold of another one. Both hands grasped the woody limb firmly, before heaving the rest of his body upon it. And so it went, Tarn evolving from one tree to another in seconds, jumping, catching, slipping, so unlike anything else. And the birds voiced their protest at his unorthodox methods, flying away in a cloud of grey feathers every time he approached, every time he landed on the tree they called home. And Abileith pushed on, going ever further, ever deeper, and always away from Oestin.

What pushed him ? He didn't really know ... A sense of duty, to find somebody somewhere to alert ? And what if they knew ? Or what if there wasn't anybody to alert, what would he do then ? Seriously, he had no idea, but it was good to fel the rough bark on his skin, the wind in face, and to just travel ...

((Argenti))

Cold wind nipped the faery's clear wings, chilling them despite the heat of several torches, whose flickering light lent a supernatural perspective to the world. Hungry shadows winked and spun, their inky voices shuttered from his thoughts, though a strange sense of anticipation that wasn't quite excitement tugged at him. Elves milled about, but it wasn't a disorganized sort of wandering (however much it seemed to be thus). Rather, it was with a solid sense of purpose, a sense heightened by the light-weight weapons held in their hands and the armor they donned.

He himself was clad in a much-worn cloak and somewhat ill-fitting tunic, both of which had lasted him since he and Phoenix had left the standing-stones to find their old comrades. They'd both been in sore need of vestment, considering his shirt had been shredded to provide bandages for her numerous wounds and she herself wore the same garb that clothed her body during her torture. As such, one couldn't be too picky. Their progress through the forests would have been slow in any case without trails but his companion's lingering weakness hampered them. Argenti's gaze slid to the side where his fierce-eyed Phoenix stood, observing the elves' preparations with an inscrutable expression. The corner of his mouth quirked in a slight smile and he laid a hand on her shoulder.

Softly, he said, "I guess we should be leaving, then." Otherwise, we'll be so much carrion for the Rau-lass. After much deliberation the pair had simultaneously agreed that despite the kindness of the elves in sheltering and feeding the two on their journey, it would be courting too much danger should they remain for battle. And even as he commended the warlords' courage, he felt that it was all in vain-- the initial shock at the news of the Rau-lass's speedy take-over had subsided after a few days and it seemed to him that were the immortals not so stubborn, they too would see the futility of resistance.

((Phoenix))

It was cold, the night wind holding a chill in the air that the thick wool cloak did nothing to dispell, icy fingers weaving their way around the folds to lick at already goose-pimpled flesh. The shirt she wore was too large for her and, as such, allowed the stiff breeze to filter through the open sleeves devoid of tightening vambraces. Emerald eyes fixed on shifting figures, Phoenix instinctively rubbed her left arm, her still wasted muscles aching: an old wound that, though healed, still lingered with a phantom pain.

She longed more than anything to find the others: Sorea - that stalwart commander who even through many disagreements, still remained a close friend - Rae - a brother she could barely remember from her childhood who seemed to hold all the enthusiam that she had misplaced over the years - Demon - her first companion and her longest friend - and the other wolves he roamed with; good light, sometimes she even longed to fight among the humans once more...

Steel glinted wherever she looked - the elves not seeming to mind the cold, their lithe, graceful bodies deceptively hardy as they focussed solely on preparations for the imminent battle - and, musing silently to herself, she watched each man and woman take up their arms, resisting the instinct to wrap her hand around the hilt of her own blade.

But it wasn't her sword, oh no: that had disappeared several months ago in the process of her capture, leaving her defenceless and, even more worryingly, somewhat lost. Indeed, if it hadn't been for Argenti, she wasn't sure that she wouldn't have lost herself completely: after all, the healer was the only thing so far that remained of both her lives. Jasmine Ambey had once again been forgotten, her legacy sent adrift with the lack of substance to link it to, and all that Phoenix had left of herself was him.

And the constant murmurs that were the shadows...?

They belonged to neither life.

A cool hand rested gently upon her shoulder, starting her out of an apparent daze, and Argenti's warm tone followed, lightening her heart as it always did.

"I guess we should be leaving, then," he said softly and Phoenix covered his hand in her own, a heavy sigh clouding the chill air. Turning, she settled her gaze on his - the silver pools glittering gold in the twisting lamplight - noticing as she did so the smile that curled the corner of his lips. Feeling her own twitch in response, she nodded.

"I guess now is a good a time as any," she answered, squeezing his hand once briefly and then releasing it, frigid fingers gripping the hood of her cloak to draw it up over her long, flaming hair. The shadows clamoured, returned once again to their haven, but Phoenix ignored them, focussing instead on the bright beacon of her companion - a silver rope among the churning waters of her mind. "Which way?"

((Olanea))

Olanea had been trying to sleep, after working in the information they had, but there was something bothering her. She saw Pyrei sleeping. Poor girl, she finished every day exhausted, and she was driven by hope, a kind of hope rarely found this days. Then suddenly something came to her mind, like a blow.

But what are we doing here?! There was this man in the forest, who could be one of the responisbles of the last deaths, and yet we allow him to flee?! What is Lak thinking about?!!

She decided to leave,and wrote down a quick note, leaving it in their planning table.


I went out. Checking on the mysterious man in the forest.

Olanea


The woman, an expert in the art of walking through the forests, went close to where she had seen the strange man. And from that place, she choose a direction to search for him. He sure was stealthy, too, for there wasn't a single footstep.

Suddenly Olanea noticed some bushes moving, but no luck, just a small rabbit.

But why exactly didn't we set up a party to go search for him before? We're becoming bad when it comes to action. We've been too focused with the food. Or maybe Lak has a reason?

Olanea kept moving fast around the place, although she didn't know whether she'd find the man or not.

------------------------------------------------

((Lady Anelia))

Sleeping pacefully, today was one of the few days where Anelia had been able to recover and rest just like she needed to. She was really tired. The reason, other than the food, was unknown. It was just like this, and every morning, Anelia woke up feeling dizzy and tired. That's why, in her dreams, she was sort of glad; because she was being able to rest. Finally.

But something hit the tree where her cabin was located. It wasn't actually hitting, it was more like something climbing it, or sliding, perhaps. What she felt at that moment is that it hadn't been what one would call 'hit'. For a moment, Anelia was surprised, so she got up, and took her sword, going to the edge of the cabin, her hand grabbing the frame of the door. She wasn't wearing many clothing, her body barely covered by two pieces of fabric, so she was cold in her arms, stomach, and legs, even if she used a small blanket to protect her body from the cold. The reason was that since there wasn't that many spare clothes, and cleaning them took a lot of time, the more time she would wear clothes, they would wear out, and, most importantly, she would be easily detectable by the smell, so she tried to wear them as least as possible, as well as trying to clean them in a nearby brook. However, she didn't remember that, when she stood at the edge of the cabin. She saw a man who was quickly moving, using the trees, trunks, branches, and other things, to keep going.

"Hey, you! Who are you? What are you doing here?!"

Anelia was hoping that she wouldn't have to get into a fight, since she hadn't been able to properly recover. However, it was very strange to have someone wandering through this place.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

” Hey, you! Who are you? What are you doing here?!"

The voice rang out, echoing off the boughs of the trees. Abileith stopped in his tracks, spinning on one foot, the damp branch letting him do so in mere instants, as he grabbed his bow from off his back, and strung an arrow in the blink of an eye, legs bending to set his now still body in a crouch, as his eagle-like peered through the leafy canopy of the forest. At first he didn't see her, and though the arrowhead weaved about the air, hoping for a mark, none came, and Tarn was left with the element of surprise unused.

At last, gazing down, bowstring still taut, he saw her, a young woman garbed with only a bed sheet and mayhap some other nothing underneath. She looked harmless, didn't she ? As if roused from slumber by Tarn's approach. He could see, from the glint escaping the door she was poised at, that the woman carried a weapon, be it sword, knife, or whatever else. That meant that she could be a danger, but the hunter doubted so.

Clearing his throat, Abileith looked the woman in the eye, lowering his weapon, but keeping the string firmly gripped and pulled, as to be able to loose at any time. "I could ask you the same, madam, so far in the woods, with but a sheet to cover yourself. Still, I apologise for rousing you, it wasn't my intention." He kept his voice clear, tone light-hearted, although an ounce of apprehension still lingered in that simple sentence, Tarn still not sure what to make of this woman.

A small breeze charioted through the trees at that instant, kicking up leaves and sending them in a twirling dance of turmoil, its eerie hands grabbing at the folds of the woman's garb, trying to pull it off her lither form, to join the fray, and gallivant with the myriad of leaves. "I'm am travelling, fair lady; he shouted above the clamour of the dance below, the leafy canopy above him the symphony, slowing down to a slower movement of the song, the dancers too slowing their pace, pulling tighter together as their "feet" brought them about in tight circles; away from the ruins of ... Oestin, is it ?"

He slid off the trunk of the tree at that time, in the blink of an eye clasping the mossy trunk firmly and letting gravity's firm grip bring him down. He caught the woman unaware it seemed, but that was of little consequence. "Please tell me, what has happened to that city ? It takes more than what most men can gather to tear down walls of stone and pillage a city."

((Lady Anelia))

The man Anelia had seen seemed to be unable to locate her at first, and after firing an arrow, finally he was able to do so.

He never let his bow off, but spoke quite lively. I could ask you the same, madam, so far in the woods, with but a sheet to cover yourself. Still, I apologise for rousing you, it wasn't my intention. Soon, a small breeze blowed through the place, between the trees. For a moment, just for single moment, the sound the leaves made mimicked that of the sea. It was only after the sound was lower, that the man was able to continue.

I'm am travelling, fair lady, away from the ruins of ... Oestin, is it? The following move took Anelia by surprise, because he brought himself down from the tree he was standing at.

Please tell me, what has happened to that city ? It takes more than what most men can gather to tear down walls of stone and pillage a city.

After this last question, it seemed the man had lowered his guard. She decided to go down too, although it was sort of dangerous. She had her sword, and he had a bow, so she hoped that she would hold a small advantage, or better if he actually didn't want to fight.

So finally she was standing down, relatively close to him, with her 'clothes', if those could be called that way, for she had left the blanket up inside the cabin.

"To answer your first question, I am actually living here, in the woods. I have my reason to be wearing few clothes -all of those are not to my liking- and there's no need to apologise. The only thing that bothers me is seeing a stranger around this zone. As you've seen, things are quite bad, so the presence of someone new is always something remarkable". Anelia gripped her sword tightly. She had been speaking too much, perhaps.

The wind blowing again strongly, and made her long dark hair dance along with it. She had to use her hand to avoid her own hair preventing her from seeing.

"To the second question... this is indeed what remains of Oestin. Around here, people call it 'Old Oestin'. It seems you must have been travelling from really far, for you cannot even imagine what brought this city down. It has all been work of the Rau-lass and their servants, the atrox. They came and raided the city, burning most of the houses, and killing an insane number of people. Our walls...they lasted nothing against them. And now, even though people still live there, or rather try to survive there, everything went wrong. There are some rich lords who are trying to make profit of this, and try to work for the shadows. Of course this brings nothing but more horror."

Anelia checked the stranger, before talking again. "So, I know some things, but who are you, in fact, and where are you heading?" There was something strange about that man, yet she didn't know what was it.

((Hylas))

The trees that had once been his friends were now proving to be worse than those that followed, tangling their legs with raised roots and tripping them almost continually. The small girl sobbed quietly, dragged along in the reckless flight as though she had barely any life left in her, and Hylas struggled to bear both their weights. Urging did no good, the child now too terrified to hear his words, and in desperation, the boy skidded to a stop, his lithe body morphing back to that of a wolverine.

Move! he snarled, his stance stating his thoughts as clearly as though he said them aloud, and with a frightened squeal, the girl shifted too, springy doe legs catapaulting her into the undergrowth as Hylas snapped at her heels.

Large paws thudding upon the soft dirt as he followed the fawn, the young shifter risked a glance behind and instantly regretted it: the writhing forms he had seen before were now simply a black shadow, almost seeping through the forest like an obscure form of mist. That the atrox were joined by shadow mages, he had no doubt.

Thus doing so, he didn't see the heavy bulk of the man until it was too late; in a skittering of claws and a flurry of leaves, Hylas collided into the stranger's bare back, his form instantly shifting to one less heavy - and visible - in an instinct too quick for him to realise. The little fawn seemed to have been more lucky, and was standing - legs trembling - in between the trees, her bright brown eyes shimmering in fear. Not too far away stood a woman, her slim hand grasping a long, steely sword.

Brown mink fur virtually blending in with the ground, Hylas slipped over to the terrified young shifter and changed once again, becoming an eleven-year-old boy once more.

"Help us!" he panted frantically, his dark eyes settling on the well-built man before flicking over the bow in his hand, "The shadows... they come for us... atrox and shadow mages..." The girl stayed in her deer form, protected solely by the spread of the young lad's arms and, turning to the woman - scandily-clad as she was - his gaze pleaded with hers. "Please! I don't know what to do!"

-----------
((Aerain))

The world was plunged into a white haze that stung bared flesh with the sensation of blades. Dark wings puffed up as much as they were able, Aerain peered into the blizzard, the grey shadow that was Terailan hovering close beside her.

"Can you do it?" he hollared into the snow, the wind snatching away his words as soon as they left his lips, and Aerain nodded, her slim fingers holding the snapping tendrils of hair away from her eyes. "How far?" her companion enquired.

"Half a mile only," she yelled in return, half turning so that he could catch her words, "And even then, only for a split second. You have to look for me - I won't be able to."

The faery nodded in return and Aerain let her mind drift, allowing her magic to take hold. Faintly, she heard herself say "now" and the pulse shot from her, snow melting to sleet and then disappearing to nothing within the space of two counts. Sweat beading upon her brow despite the chill, Aerain fought to keep it going - pushing her magic as far as she was able - and in an instant, the muscles in her legs seemed as though they were made of jelly, folding underneath her as they failed to support her bodyweight. Firm arms encircled themselves around her waist, keeping her off the ground, and her eyes focussed once again on Terailan's tanned face, vision slightly burred.

"Was it enough?" she gasped as the faery hauled her upright, shielding her from the cold with his own wings as the beaded sweat upon her forehead began to freeze, and, once again, he nodded.

"The pass isn't far," he answered as they made their way back to the dark gash in the blizzard, "We've veered a little north but either way we'll reach it easily tomorrow. After that, it's only three more days to Duilliúir. It'll be easier once we've got off this mountain."

Warmth suffused her numb limbs as they stepped into the shelter of the cave, the crakle of the fire serving to raise her spirits in its attempt to drown out the howl of the wind. Only a dozen mages had made it this far - the majority of them being the weathered northerners - and even less would arrive at the elven capital. Those from the more tropical areas with their fragile butterfly-wings were used to warmer climes and were clearly suffering with the prolonged exposure to the frigid elements. One easterner lay huddled in the farthest corner of the cavern, her tanned skin holding a faint hue of blue and her peacock wings fluttering listlessly as an ebony-skinned southerner sought to warm her with her own waning magic.

Aerain watched without expression and Terailan followed her gaze.

"There's nowhere else to go," he murmured softly, his chocolate-coloured eyes holding the same anguish she felt but didn't show, "We must get to Duilliúir..."

"We shouldn't have to," Aerain muttered in return, the inflection harsh and angry, "We shouldn't have to."

Curling onto one side, the easterner gave a weak cough, her delicate wings lying still.

-------------
((Nstif'ikta))

Screams still issued faintly from the city as the army continued its assault, snow already settling upon the gory dirt of the battlefield and masking the scent of decay. The Rau-lass Queen stepped gracefully through the corpses, feathery down sticking to her booted feet along with the grey slush and clotting blood, and her eyes fixed firmly upon the last of the retreating faeries. A hollow thud echoed off the walls and a huge steely shaft shot into the sky, missing its target completely.

"My Queen," came the call and, crimson eyes still narrowed in a frown, Nstif'ikta turned, tentacles swaying lazily about her pale face. The soldier was human - what else, for the atrox did not call her so - and though his mind was simmering in supressed fear, his features showed none of it. "We found no human, accompanied by faeries or otherwise," he told her warily but the Rau-lass merely nodded, gaze turning to fix upon the city once more.

After her escape, Jasmine Ambey had simply disappeared, her soul-marked magic leaving no trace like it had done before. Nor had she used it, sparking the link within the demon's own being, and Nstif'ikta was beginning to believe she had been aided in her flight. Only a soul mage or a shadow mage had the power to mask Jasmine's essence from her and with Soryuu's plan already accomplished, that likely meant she was accompanied by another faery.

Snatching his words from his mind, the she-demon answered before the soldier had a chance to speak again.

"The harpoons will do no good now. Ready them for the elven city."

The man nodded, face part hidden by a steel helm. "And Occalus?"

Only then did the Rau-lass smile, her full, black lips curving into a slow grin, pointed teeth glinting in the dull radiance from the snow. "Burn it," she hissed.

Abileith kept his bow in hand, though he pointed it down to the ground, two fingers hooked on the string, but not pulling it in the slightest of ways. His falcon-eyes stared at the woman, quickly drifting down to examine the rest of her scantily clad form, before snapping back up to her face. He nodded silently, and even solemnly, when she mentioned Oestin. A pang of regret hit him. He wasn't one for cities, but that didn't mean that those inside deserved to die.

At last, as she asked him who he actually was, Tarn decided to grace her with a few more words. Still, the news that these rumours were indeed most true, that war was indeed upon this land, didn't please him, and didn't bode well for the future ... "Call me Tarn, please. I'm a hunter, and was travelling to Oestin to sell supplies I had gathered during my stay here. I am ... a man of the wilds, shall we say. I travel the land, and trade pelts and meats for tools and thread, for example. Oestin was the closest city; I'm sorry to hear it fell, its sight was indeed not a pleasant one ..."

He shook his head, grip loosening on the string, as he mourned the loss of so many. "What do these ... Rau'lass and ... atrox, want ? Who are they ?! I've heard little other than what sounded like fishwife tales, of black demons with writhing hair raining death upon this land. I hardly thought it to be true, but this ..." Tarn knew of war, knew of the horrors it unleashed, but for some time, he'd been shielded of it. He'd stayed outside of the life of the world, aiming only to survive in his trips, and enjoy the short life the blood in his veins granted him. His gaze, which had dropped to the leafy ground, slowly rose, caressing the woman's, slightly thin, legs, before slowly mounting up to her face once more, locking with her own eyes. It wasn't lust that slowed his stare, just the pleasure of seeing another human being in so long, and a woman no less !

"May I know your name though ? You have mine, and my story, may I know yours ?" Indeed, Tarn was very curious. This slightly thin lady staying and living alone in a cabin lost deep in the forest, yet knowing of the fate of the city of Oestin. Still, most people around will have heard of the attack, will have most likely felt the tremors of the armies marching feet, the cries of those lost in the fight. Tarn slowly turned his head here and there, eyeing the forest, listening in on the sounds, and letting the rustle of the leaves, instilled by the wind with a will of their own, one to chime with sweet music, like rolling waves on a calm coast. He let the delicate sound calm him, soothe his worries, and let him be at peace once more, even though their long, monotonous chime could not fully wash away the fears, the doubts, the worry that still lingered within the hunter, at the far back of his mind.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Signum))

Icy post-winter wind nipped at his exposed back, numbing the pale-fleshed joints where man became bird. The low temperatures of the western mountains brought with it hard, unyielding ground that bore little solace for worn wanderers, whilst low-hanging branches stung their faces-- to keep off of a trail was better, but mobility was as a result somewhat reduced. Beside Signum, Sorea’s sister shivered, despite the ballast of his wing. One step... another step...

Held in place by Foertis, the two children slept on, their tiny faces frozen pink and white from the chill. Like her, he thought with a pang. Just like when she’d wait for me to finish lessons, standing alone in the cold… Shuddering, he whispered to his companion, “it’s a cold night for young ones. Perhaps you ought to warm them.” With a nod, the blond gingerly moved his arm closer around the bay’s precious cargo, sharing with them his heat, though he must have been loath to bare his arm further to the weather.

Hollow clomping sounds resonated from the frozen river which they traversed with practiced ease, though Anahita nearly slipped for an instant. Foertis stood on the far bank, waiting for them to finish crossing before darting quickly across the smooth surface, small pools of water left wherever his boots touched the ground, for the Easterner stayed warm by using his magic. Anahita glanced back in alarm, the last of the watery impressions reflecting her wide brown eyes. They held him, captivated him… so very like hers, yet so unlike! Sorea, he cried, her golden name swallowed by the empty blackness. Sorea, Sorea… His hand involuntarily reached up to twist a fistful of fabric, pressing hard against the ache of longing in his heart. Had he hoped to lessen it by bringing her sister? For her stinging presence, Sorea’s peregrine wings and liquid eyes so closely replicated in this woman only served to further it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

((Argenti))

"I guess now is a good a time as any," Phoenix answered, her frigid fingers wrapping briefly around his before drawing a hood over her vivid hair. "Which way?"

"We've tried the elvish cities," he murmured, "and the next place to logically go for is the western mountain range. I'd suggest we aim for Occalus, as Dei Pardai would without a doubt have gone back to Arandein Melchios. Signum should be there as well. I swear he hovers around her worse than I do you," he laughed. Then his face grew more somber. "I'm not sure how much I want to ask of you, though...," he murmured sheepishly. Resilient, self-reliant Phoenix had time and time again insisted on pressing on even when her wounds were only partially healed and although they were now no more than white threads of scars tissue, Argenti couldn't help but fuss over her.

"There are a few outposts and towns along the way," he continued. "We should make for Vegrandus, which I'd estimate is three day's walking from here. If we can get a couple of mounts, we should make it to Tervalos in two or so days. From there, we can either ride straight to Occalus-- maybe nine days?-- or make for Silvanos, only four days away from Tervalos."

((Samir))

"It's cold," Akio mumbled as they made their way out onto the ice. Samir tilted his face into the icy wind, his eyes straining to see something in the arctic night. Not that there was much to see, other than the stars and the flickering aurora borealis. "Not really," he replied. "Fall has just ended. I will agree that it's a bit chilly, and I wouldn't go so far as to call it cold." Akio mumbled something, his raven wings encasing his short, 5'4" frame like a cloak.

Samir skated away from Akio, and the faery fought to keep his balance. "Who's taking us across?" Akio asked. The Avelate had made a deal with the Devkto'ans; in exchange for free passage across the polar ice cap--on the far side was another continent, where the refuge was located--the Cetairiacelosians would trade various goods as well as a bit of information that the Devkto'ans desired. Since very few people could find their way safely across the barren patch of ice, the Devkto'ans would send guides to see the assassins to their own borders--which extended out onto a bit of the ice cap itself.

Samir squinted, and managed to make out a shadowy figure in the distance. "I think it might be Savk'ti," the elf replied. "Remember how much she enjoyed tormenting you last time?" Akio groaned. Then, with a sigh, he said, "At least I'm not a mage." He shuddered violently--and not just from cold. "Who knows what they'd do to me?"

Samir looked at him with curious eyes. "What would they do to you?" he asked innocently, his eyes gaining an unusual thoughtfulness. Completely missing this, Akio said, "Well... you know how assassins and mages hate each other, right? Devkto'ans make that sentiment look like an argument in the playground over whose turn it is to climb up the tree. They loathe mages with a passion not found by any other group of people on this planet." Suddenly, Akio caught sight of the glint in Samir's blood-red eyes.

"Oh sweet heavens," he whispered, knowing that he had just condemned someone to death. Samir's eyes instantly lost that malicious look. "What?" he asked, eyes now alight with curiosity. Akio shut his eyes, then opened them and said, "You just broke out of character, Lilith. I won't tell my sisters if you agree that next time you do so, you'll go tell them yourself."

If Samir hadn't been an albino, he would have blanched. Lilith had no idea what the twins would do to her, but it would be very bad. The two sisters had broken almost every rule in existence to help her during her Academy years, and they had had a lot to do with the creation of Samir as well. To say the least, they would not be pleased to find that all their hard work hadn't paid off. "Ok," Samir whispered as Savk'ti drew nearer.

----------------------------------

((Jael; he's in the same time scheme as everyone else.))

He waited, eyes focused, not moving a muscle. Then, in a silent explosion, he burst out from his hiding place in the tree, capturing his prey and landing with an almost impossible lightness. Spinning around, he sprinted back to where Kaedo was.

Halting in front of him, Jael breathlessly exclaimed, "Look at what I found! It's your cousin!" His hands opened to reveal a butterfly with blackish wings. Jael beamed at Kaedo. "And guess what else I saw? There was a-" he frowned suddenly, a memory working its way to the forefront of his mind. "But... Kaedo isn't a butterfly," he said hesitantly. Then his face lit up again as he said, "But I found the butterflies that he made a secret pact with, to gain his wings! Kaedo, where are we?" he asked, completely changing topic.

((Kaedo))

The faery paused, casting a long-suffering look on his face even as a grin tugged at his lips. "Yes," he replied airily, "that is indeed my cousin. Let me greet him, would you?" Reaching out with delicate hands whose ancient skin had achieved the appearance of crinkled paper, he snatched up the quivering creature and, invading its primitive mind, snuffed out the tiny life. "Never held much with family," he stated nonchalantly, disposing of the frail corpse.

"As for where we are..." Sighing internally, Kaedo muttered, "if you ask me again, I'm going to get you adopted into a family of mages so that five minutes of my last years can be spent in peace. We must be nearing Narda. Give it until dusk, eh?" The two assassins had a simple plan: get as far away as they could from the Rau-lass, even if it meant approaching said beings' territory. They were nothing if not self-reliant, with the highest esteem for their own lives.

((Phoenix))

"We've tried the elvish cities," Argenti answered quietly, seemingly thoughtful, "and the next place to logically go for is the western mountain range. I'd suggest we aim for Occalus, as Dei Pardai would without a doubt have gone back to Arandein Melchios. Signum should be there as well." The faery healer's face lightened for a brief instant, amusement shining through and lifting Phoenix's spirits. "I swear he hovers around her worse than I do you," he continued, voice thrumming with laughter, and she smiled in return, the relief of the unrestrained motion akin to that of a warm fire on a cold night.

And then Argenti's mirth was gone, replaced by tender concern as his smooth brow wrinkled in a slight frown, a gaze the colour of moonlight settling on her own. "I'm not sure how much I want to ask of you, though..." he said softly, almost regrettably, "There are a few outposts and towns along the way. We should make for Vegrandus, which I'd estimate is three day's walking from here. If we can get a couple of mounts, we should make it to Tervalos in two or so days. From there, we can either ride straight to Occalus-- maybe nine days?-- or make for Silvanos, only four days away from Tervalos."

Smile dropping slightly, Phoenix turned unerringly to the east, emerald gaze seeking to peer through the thick treeline towards where she knew the mountains to be. Despite the surrounding woods, the chill wind blew against her back, the dark folds of her cloak billowing and twisting around her still form. There had been a time when she thought she wouldn't survive to see another day, let alone a climb over a mountain in the tail end of winter, and since, her determination had been fiercer than ever. That she was slowing Argenti down, she had no doubt; still she tired quicker, her body attempting to give in when her mind urged her to go further.

But who knew when the Rau-lass would find her once again? Could she stand around knowing that sooner or later, Nstif-itka would come, and then even her precious Argenti would be in danger...?

"To the mountains then," she repeated firmly, drawing her hand away from her injured arm and turning to face her companion, a wry smile curling the corners of her mouth, "I've been through worse... what's a bit of snow compared to the ministrations of a Rau-lass Queen?"

Seeing the healer's skeptical look, Phoenix grasped both his hands and pulled him near, kissing him once gently. "I'll be fine," she added, her smile warmer as she drew away once more, "Thank you. Now..." she sighed decisively, pursing her lips and indicating eastward with a tilt of her head, "Shall we get going?"

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Lady Anelia))

The hunter looked sad to learn the news of Oestin, and was also lowering his bow, not pulling the string too much.
He explained that he was going to Oestin to sell goods and trade things, and also that his name was Tarn.

Anelia felt Tarn's eyes running through her body in a way that made her feel sort of uncomfortable. She thought that he had probably been alone for a really long time, specially if he didn't even knew anything for sure about the atrox and Rau-lass.

"Everything you've heard is true, they bring death, or at least they have done so in every place I've seen. And their looks...well, quite much like you said, but believe me when I say you would recognize one of them instantly if they came in front of you." Anelia paused for a moment, for she thought she had heard someone running in the distance. "My name? Well...it's not that it's important, but call me Anelia. And my story is sort of long, so to shorten it, we could say I was affected by the war in Oestin, and lost people I cared for, so I left the city and I came to live here. I don't want to live there; it's dangerous, but I can't leave, too, in fact. At first I was here to treat my wounds, and when I was fine, I used my time to train with the sword. Lately I've been doing some other things...protecting the city, in fact." This hunter was mysterious, but he looked like someone she could trust, so she tried not to hide him too many things.

Anelia looked at Tarn's eyes, and she felt his sorrow for those who lost their lives in the city. It was then, that she confirmed what she had suspected, when between the soothing sound of the leaves dancing with the wind, being moved by it, she heard something again, and this time wasn't definitely her imagination.

Soon, a couple of animals came to the place where she and Tarn were, and one of them collided with the hunter. Soon, where there had been a small animal, now there was a young boy, definitely a shifter. Not far a way there was a fawn, whose legs were trembling really heavily, standing in between the trees.

Help us! The boy cried desperately, looking at Tarn. The shadows... they come for us... atrox and shadow mages... he turned to Anelia. Please! I don't know what to do!

"Atrox?! Shadow mages?!!" Anelia looked at her own body. Right when she wasn't wearing practically nothing, and when she wasn't recovered enough to fit, enemies came, and no less than shadows!

"Tarn! We've got to get ready! They are no joke, if we're not fighting as good as we can, we might end up dead! You!" she shouted at the shifter, "get your friend and move back!"

Anelia didn't show it, but in fact, she was really scared. How long had it been since the last time she had fought against those demons?

((Jael))

"Yes," Kaedo said, reaching out towards the butterfly,"that is indeed my cousin. Let me greet him, would you?" Jael frowned at the faery, somewhat confused. “But waaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy long ago—373 years, 2 months, 18 days, 11 hours and… 9 minutes ago—“ he said, after briefly digging into his memory, “you said that you weren’t a butterfly and gave me a very long lecture about the fundamental differences between butterfly-winged faeries and butterflies. It was very boring, and you yelled at me when I tried to catch a butterfly to help you illustrate your point.”

During this monologue, Kaedo had taken the butterfly with seemingly frail hands. "Never held much with family," the elderly faery then said, dropping the now-lifeless butterfly to the ground. “Why’d you kill Xavier?” Jael exclaimed in horror, carefully picking up the butterfly. “Don’t worry, little buddy,” he murmured, “I’ll bury you.” Relieving Kaedo of one of his daggers, Jael swiftly reshaped it into a miniature shovel. After digging a small grave and laying the unfortunate insect inside, he solemnly said, “I hope that wherever you are is better than it was here.” Frowning, Jael said, “It should be. There aren’t any mean faeries around to kill you.” This statement was accompanied by a glare in Kaedo’s direction. He carefully replaced the dirt over the black bug, then hunted for a small flower. He was distracted, however, by Kaedo’s next comment.

"As for where we are... if you ask me again, I'm going to get you adopted into a family of mages so that five minutes of my last years can be spent in peace.” A small grin flickered across the elf’s face. “You won’t find anyone willing to adopt me,” he said. “There aren’t any assassins who would be willing to do so, and why would mages?”

”We must be nearing Narda. Give it until dusk, eh?" Jael frowned. “But we can get there faster!” he exclaimed, suddenly whipping around and sprinting off in the direction that they had been headed in. Something bright caught his eye before he had gone too far, though, so he paused. When Kaedo caught up with him, Jael was hanging upside down from a tree branch.

“Kaedo, what’s that?” the elf asked, pointing to a bright blue flower at the base of the tree. “And why are you so slow? And why are we going to Narda? I wonder what frogs taste like,” he said, remembering the first time he had seen the little critters. They hadn’t looked very tasty, and they were hard to catch. Well… not really. But if you missed and became overbalanced, you normally ended up face first in a large body of water, and Jael hated swimming.

As Tarn pondered about the fate of Oestin, digesting what this Anelia told him, his ear couldn't help but pick up a sound, something ... A nagging noise that slowly made itself more distinct, until ... Something hit him squarely in the back, small, but carried by its momentum, it did push him back somewhat. Once again, Tarn raised his bow, just as what hit him turned into a young boy, fear evident in him, his very being reeking of it. And the eyes, Tarn could see it as light as day, that glint that only young ones had, that in an instant, showed all.

The fawn cowering next to Anelia's legs was no less worrying, and he could see that she was most worried. They both looked tired and terrified. Soon, panic showed on the woman's face too, as she told him the real danger that they would have to face. Set in an expression of defiant determination, Tarn strung an arrow to his string, and turned around, seeing the forms the woman pointed to. Four of them ... he muttered, unable to distinguish actually what they were.

Immediately, he grabbed the child standing next to him, holding the arrow and bow in one balled fist, as he almost dragged the teenager. "Stay here, you two, don't move, or flee if you have to !" Abileith then pulled the cowl of his hood low, shadowing his gaze from the shine of the sun, as it burst through the leaves of the canopy above. Anelia too readied herself. "Be careful, Anelia, he told her, get hit and you're dead ... Heed your own words !" was what he shouted, as magic filled the air.

he could see them now, two humanoid beings, and two others ... Lithe women, elegant and deadly, hair a mass of writhing snakes, like fire alive with the tentacles of a monstrous beast. One had them dangling low down to her waist, her clothes tight-fitting and black, mirroring the shadows that literally billowed about her dark form. The other had hers tied back up behind her head, the tails of it snaking about her back even more, even slithering their way to her shoulders. She wore an ornate robe of black and purple, a velvety corset over this, and a thick fur scarf. They both looked ... beautiful ? No, deadly, a deadly charm that was so deceiving it became a weapon, and were it not for the tentacles that formed their hair, the trap would be far greater.

The first one had cast a bolt of magic, snapping the bark of a nearby tree, and Tarn could feel the energy in it, could feel the potency of her power. Hand moving in a flurry, he brought his right one down to the arrow, gripping it and the bowstring firmly, and pulling back in one quick move, the sinew and wood creaking their small complaint, before shutting up, the arrow launched at great speed against their common enemy. Tarn had aimed for one of the "atrox", but to little avail. He would've scored a jarring hit to the neck, had it not been for the shield one of the mage's conjured, letting the arrow shatter from the power of its momentum, ending up just a pile of splinters on the leafy ground.

Again, another arrow was let loose, and again, it shattered against an invisible barrier, and was paid back by a telekinetic bolt, that Tarn had to lunge away from to not feel his bone break. They were strong, oh yes, and the atrox advanced, one's sword and the other's mace drawn and held firmly, as their lifeless eyes gazed at their targets, brows furrowed in hat could only be described as pure anger. Using only his feet to get up, Tarn's hand had already snapped back down to his belt-slung quiver to grab another arrow, this one fired almost at point-blank at the slave closest to him. His priestess could do nothing for him, and he was left with an open wound, the barbed arrow ripping away a part of his side as it hit him, leaving a jarring wound, pouring blood.

Did he stop, no, the momentum of his started swing brought him crashing down atop Tarn, who in his position, could do nothing but shrug off the pain. The mace nipped his shoulder blade, tearing a small gash down it, a line of blood already flowing from the wound. The hunter heaved the corpse off him, stomping his foot down on its face as he got up, and glanced for a fleeting second at Anelia.

((Soryuu))

Boring... He threw a dagger at the floor, watching with amusement as few rats scurried away. There's no challenge anymore.

His eyes slowly turned towards the torn map on the wall. And another one falls to dust. Picking up another dagger, he threw it at the map. It hit the southern part of the map, on one of the deserts. He blinked. Ah... we haven't hit them, yet. He smiled softly. "Call the Queen, Alder. I want a little fun."
------
((Kyros))

"Rhaw!" he shouted, swinging his wooden stick with all his might.

"Wrong!" growled the grouchy bear-shifter, smacking Kyros's head. "If you scream like that, how are you ever going to sneak up on people? You're using too much power. Hold the stick like I taught you. Again."

Kyros groaned. "What? Can't we stop for a bite to eat first? I didn't eat lunch yet!"

He was rewarded with another smack on the head. "You were the one who wanted to learn sword-play. Now, learn."

Kyros rolled his eyes. "Fine..." he mumbled. He concentrated again, trying to hold the stick correctly. Then he swung again, cutting through the air with ease. "Hah! How was-"

Smack! "If you swing fully like that, you'll never hit your target. You leave yourself wide open for attack as well. Again."

Kyros sighed. But continued as he was told. He's not going to let me eat, is he?

((Anelia))

Anelia heard the bolt of magic, and saw a flash, she was petrified at first, she was not ready to fight them, and she knew it. Nonetheless, if she didn't fight, the shifters... Tarn said he hadn't seen a single atrox in his entire lfie, and yet he was fighting as if it was the normal thing. Anelia shook her head, and got ready. An arrow flying through, and a wounded atrox.

Everything happened so fast, and when she noticed, there was already a dead enemy.

Calm down, calm down, have faith...!!

She followed Tarn's advice -although she was going to do the same, anyways, but they shared a point of view- and ran directly towards one of the two shadowmages. For what she got to see, they attacked in pairs, so when one of the atrox was killed, she thought it was better to aim not for its priestess, but for the other mage.

A horrendous view she had thought she had forgotten, those evil things. They looked deadly dangerous.

And so she did. Of course, she was in disadvantage, for she couldn't use the sword's full power, due to her being exhausted but mainly to the dark nature of those beings, who would be immune to her dark waves.

She adopted a very aggressive fighting position, before launching the first blow against the mage. She saw Tarn checking on her for a moment. The mage was able to dodge, and it could have been terrible for Anelia, if she hadn't thought this could happen. So she was ready for it, and was able to counter-attack, cutting off one of the mage's arms.

"You!" she pointed at the mage with her sword. "don't mess with me!!"

The following sword-swing was deadly for the mage. Anelia was able to inflict a deep wound in the mage's side, only to push her sword through its' stomach. Blood sprayed over her bare skin, and she felt an extremely disgusting sensation, having the warm evil blood on her. And this only increased her will to fight.

She tried to check that Tarn was fine, at the same time she avoided a sword swing from the remaining atrox.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Hylas))

Oh good light oh good light oh good light...

Hylas stumbled slightly as Tarn yanked him into a sheltered position, his brown eyes wide and body trembling hard as he fought not to shift instinctively in fear. The tiny doe stayed in the same position as before, seemingly as unable to move as he was, and, dragging his thoughts away from the demons, the boy slipped over, wrapping both arms around the fawn's soft shoulders and holding her tightly. Unable to tear his gaze away, he watched the fight unfold.

Arrows shattered as the Rau-lass mage protected her slave - so easy it seemed! - and the atrox advanced, only to be halted by another tipped shaft, it's deadly end at point-blank range. Tarn hefted himself up as Anelia - the previously fragile looking woman - swung her glinting blade, blood and guts spewing to the leaf-littered floor in a flood of red.

Feeling an undeniable sense of nausia - the crack of broken bone as the hunter stamped upon the atrox corpse only adding to it - Hylas averted his gaze, taking long, deep breaths to hold the feeling of sickness at bay. Eventually it waned and, warily, he returned his eyes to the gruesome scene before him. The other mage was clearly enraged at the death of her companion - for all he knew, they could've been siblings - and her hair snapped about her head like a bed of angry vipers, her black gaze narrowing to slits of black void.

A voice hissed through the woodland, almost merging with the rustling of the leaves but for the menace in the tone. "You'll pay for that, human..." she growled, and Hylas felt the hairs rise upon the back of his neck.

Before any of them could move, her slim, pale hand shot out towards him in a grasping motion and, as though someone had cut her strings, the fawn in his arms slumped forwards, her body shifting to that of a tiny girl once more.

"No!" Hylas cried out in desperation, sliding to the floor and cradling the limp form in his arms. Tears already pricking his eyes, he drew the tawny hair away from her pale skin, searching the deep brown pools for any flicker. "No, it doesn't happen this way..." he gasped, voice catching, no longer even aware of the others around him, "No, you can't be gone - not like that. Not like... that's just too easy..."

But the little girl didn't wake; no matter how he shook her, those previously shimmering pools still lay dull and drawing her against him, Hylas rocked her tiny form. "You can't be gone... I don't even know your name..."

((Aerain))

"I'll go."

Less than a dozen eyes turned to fix upon her - in fact the number now was closer to half-a-dozen - and Aerain returned each stare equally, raising her chin slightly in defiance. But no one spoke to counteract the motion - no one that was, apart from her loyal Terailan, who had always been the yin to her yang.

"Don't be foolish, Aerain," he said sharply, his voice all the more harsh for the strain they were going through and his dark eyes glaring from beneath purple-shaded hollows, "There's no reason for you to go on ahead. You'll get there no quicker than we will together."

"Terailan," spoke a soft voice and Aerain was surprised to see it was the dark-skinned southerner - she alone had survived out of her butterfly-winged brethren - "You know we're in no state to push ourselves that far. Don't deny it."

The faery merely glared further, the tension in the cave shooting up a notch, and Aerain sighed exasperatedly, rubbing two fingers against her brow in consternation as she pressed her eyes shut.

"Terailan, let me go," she said bluntly, opening her eyes to meet that of the mage before her, features moulding themselves into one of sympathy, "The elves need to know of Occalus. They will not be expecting the Rau-lass so soon. Everyone thought the city would hold for at least a few days: it fought and fell in one... we need to get the message to them. These are hundreds of lives we're talking about, not just my own. And anyway, it's not that far for me: I've lived this far north for most of my life - let me at least use what little advantage we have."

Avoiding her gaze, Terailan shuddered, caramel-brown feathers trembling like leaves as he repressed an unknown emotion. "Fine," he stated, echoing her previous words without making eye contact, his gaze trained on the cold stone at his feet, "Go then. We'll meet in Duilliúir, five days from now."

Moving to reach out for the torn man, Aerain thought better of it, her arm dropping back down to her side - a pained expression lingering briefly on her face before vanishing, replaced instead with a heavy frown. Nodding, she turned, handing her spear to the proud-faced southerner.

"It'll only weigh me down," she said simply and, without another word, Aerain stepped into the washed-out world of the blizzard, wings opening to catch the wind.

((Nstif'ikta))

The sky flickered red and orange and gold, the Rau-lass' eyes mirroring the flames as though they were part of them. Voices twisted in her mind, a pleasant murmur of words and memories, and she allowed them to filter through her own thoughts, picking out those she thought interesting.

A small white essence flickered in the near distance - the tiny accompanying sound pleading and desperate - and, reaching out, she snuffed out the light like a candle flame, the whisp of life fading instantly like a handful of smoke on the breeze...

Smiling, Nstif'ikta stepped over a smouldering corpse, her magic weaving in between the city's remaining conciousness' like the languid coiling of her hair. Suddenly a voice louder than the rest made itself known and her grin widened, a small sigh escaping her.

Twisting her hand before her, shadows immediately leapt towards their mistress, gathering in a haze reminiscent of a figure - that of Astrophel Soryuu.

"Astrophel..." the Queen purred with a smile - knowing that a shadow-made figure of herself had formed itself before him - her taloned fingers tracing dark lips in thought, "Business or pleasure?"

"To the mountains then," Phoenix stated, her soft lips curling wryly even as she popped that last bubble of hope from her companion-- although that's not to say Argenti hadn't expected such a reply. "I've been through worse... what's a bit of snow compared to the ministrations of a Rau-lass Queen?"

Smiling ruefully, he said with an inflection of venom, "lets not dwell on the past, shall we?" It was a petty request of his, for she herself must have been reminded of it every day when she saw the threading scars or found something to heavy for her injured arm. However, he saw vividly the memory of her wounds on that first night, the putrid stench rising from lacerations caused by the heavens only knew what, her care-worn eyes meeting his with shadows swirling in their alluring green...

Seeing his expression, she laid tender hands on his, drawing him down to her level. Gently caressing his lips with her own, she murmured, "I'll be fine. Thank you. Now... shall we get going?"

Argenti tamped down the ill feeling, giving her a light, quick embrace that nonetheless send a thrill through his body. "If you insist," he said, "who am I to deny you?" Just be careful, he thought, casting a sidelong glance at the shadows cast by torchlight. And let her remain in good favor with them until they lose interest...

The pair easily left unnoticed, for they were the least of their hosts' worries. Though he kept his magic at bay, he used bare amounts of it to cloak he and his beloved when secrecy was desired. "Keep on guard," he whispered, regardless of the fact that Phoenix must have heard those words nigh on a hundred times. "And don't speak to them." The tickling, ice-water-down-your-back feeling of shadow magic stole over the two, taking the mage's breath way for a second. Ever rebellious, the dubious power's control had grown ever-harder since the blackness first spoke to him in the standing stones, then doubled when the monolithic rocks joined themselves to Phoenix.

Leaving skittered around their ankles and the faery's trailing wings, their dancing voided by magic. Taking her hand in his-- he told himself it wasn't for comfort-- they struck out for the western mountains.

Tarn shrugged off the pain the atrox's mace had caused him. It seared down his back, lit his skin with a thousand fires, but he just let out a grunt, and pushed on. He opened his left hand, throwing the bow in his hand away, forsaking it for one of the knives strapped to his belt. What hit him next was even more painful than the shadow warrior's weapon. He heard the boy's lament, his desperate cries, innocence shattered, and his will buried. He understood, Tarn understood, in those few cried out words, that the fawn with him, that creature so simple, so elegant and innocent, was dead, the shapeshifter's life snuffed out by the remaining mage.

The hunter growled, not one of pain like that that had escaped his thin lips previously, but a primal roar, dripping with hate and venom. How he hated them, then, those two horrors, and how he wished to cut those writhing snakes that danced upon their heads one by one. He saw Anelia, out of the corner of his eye, kill the first one, just as he rolled, the leafy ground sticking to his bloodied and bare back, to avoid another blast of magic, and got up in the blink of an eye, legs pounding the ground below, as they launched him towards the remaining mage in one mad dash.

Abileith pounced, dagger held vigorously in one hand, as his whole body launched him into a glide, legs outstretched behind him, and the weapon-wielding arm high above his head. He came down, the full weight of his body smashing atop the mage, who could only claw with razor sharp nails that just couldn't dig in the man's hard flesh. His legs came under him, gripping round the waist of the devilish woman, as his left hand, balled into a rock-hard fist, smashed against the beast's pretty face, and the knife in his hand sheathed itself deep into her back, one choke leaving the woman's dark lips, as she buckled under the man's weight and momentum.

Her hand, trembling, reached out to his face, and Tarn could feel heat building up, as she tried to burn him, but he simply drove the knife deeper into her dark flesh, yet more blood oozing from the wound, and that same hand fell to the ground, very dead. Tarn got up, yanking the knife out of the woman's carcass with a tug of his arms, to watch Anelia ready herself against the atrox that remained. His hand snapped up, and the dagger, now held by the tip of the blade, was launched towards him. Whether the wavering blade hit or not, it didn't matter, Tarn just wanted to let loose the anger that simmered within him in one movement. If it provided pain for his enemy, even better.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

(Kaedo Silens)

“But we can get there faster!” Jael exclaimed, pivoting to pelt down the trail. Kaedo's muscles tensed and his wing-tips fluttered, remembering their old strength, strength his undying friend would forever posses. That beautiful, glorious blossom had wilted within him though, for he was in the winter of life. The cursed bane of men, he thought bitterly, quelling the foaming ire that rose black within him. Old and decrepit.

Scarcely had he caught up to Jael --the silly elf hung bat-like from a tree, looking so unlike a proffesor that Kaedo very nearly smile-- than a fresh load of questions cascaded from the man. “Kaedo, what’s that? And why are you so slow? And why are we going to Narda? I wonder what frogs taste like."

"Get down from the tree," Kaedo said quietly. "If you want me to go faster, then either find the elixir of youth or sprout wings to fly." The first time he'd met Jael they'd both been full of bloom-- so young!-- evenly matched, and hunting down the same target. Hated though the feeling was, it was inevitable that the elf's carousing, his abundance of energy and only increasing strength roused a dark, sour resentment in the faery. Doomed he was to flesh's woes, whilst the other would never need know them... where was the fairness in that? It was like turning old at four years old, knowing your brother would continue living on. Forever.

((Anelia))

Anelia heard the young boy lamenting loudly and with a big sorrow. She did not want to think about it, but deep inside herself, she knew what had happened to the little fawn.

Soon, the other shadow mage fell down, without hand, dead. Magnificently fought, Tarn had finished the last real threat in this fight. Now all that remained was the atrox, without master or comrade, alone and lost. For a single moment, Anelia felt sorry for it, but that was before a dagger came flying and stabbed the atrox, who got hurt in the arm. Such was the surprise to the shadow, that Anelia took advantage of the situation, cutting deeply inside the evil being, who would fall down, suffering, only to die a few moments after.

Anelia looked to Tarn's direction. He was fine. He seemed to be tired after the battle, but fine. She could not say the same about the two newly-arrived shifters. The boy was scared and desperated, but his health condition was good. Unfortunately, the fawn seemed to be dead. Anelia felt sorry, she felt horrible. She had failed to protect them, when they had come asking for their help, and they had failed to them.

"I...I'm so sorry...!" Anelia kneeled down, sobbing. Her sword next to her, her bare skin and hair covered with blood from the mage. She hid her face in between her hands, for she wanted to cry but didn't want to show it.

The wind came, allowing the leaves to dance once again. A small whirpool of leaves moved around, but soon stopped and all the leaves fell down to the ground, creating a green-ish carpet.

It was then, that she made up her mind. It was time to change. Just one more, and she could move on.

And then, she began to cry.

((Jael))

"Get down from the tree," Kaedo said, no answering his questions. Jael frowned slightly, noting a change in the faery’s voice. In his current state, however, he was unable to place it—only able to know that he had probably said something wrong, just as a child knows when it has done something bad, but doesn’t know exactly what. "If you want me to go faster, then either find the elixir of youth or sprout wings to fly." The faery finished.

Jael obediently got down, relaxing the muscles in his legs and landing on his hands. He quickly rolled on the ground, and stopped in a crouch. In a wordless, somewhat confused apology, he picked the blue flower and handed it to his companion. Without making eye contact, he almost shied away, as if he were afraid Kaedo would hit him.

As he walked in the direction of their ultimate goal—eyes down, shoulders drawn in, for all the world looking like a thoroughly chastised child—a small thought pushed its way to the front of his mind, bringing with it the clarity of mind that he so often lacked.

He knew why Kaedo was so upset, and there wasn’t a thing that he could do about it. The faery was getting old—there was no use denying it. And Kaedo, unlike Jael, could not give himself the mind of a hyperactive two-year old. Kaedo had nothing to hide behind, no lasting way to push aside his troubles.

With an inward sigh that never reached his lips, Jael thought, Please don’t do anything stupid Kaedo. You don’t have as much control or energy as you used to, and I’m worried that you’re going to forget that and get yourself killed.

His thoughts then turned back to the butterfly, now resting in its little grave. It wasn’t fair that elves were immortal and faeries weren’t. Why did elves have to suffer through the ages, unchanging, while all that they loved and cherished met its end? Why did they have to pine away, until at last Death came for them?

Not for the first time, Jael wished that he were in Kaedo’s position.

((I'm doing a six day time-skip for these three characters only, unless someone else (maybe Aerain?) needs the skip as well-- tis only because I don't want to type six days worth of travel. Anahita.))

Pale rays of noon sunlight filtered through the ghostly fingers of beech trees, bouncing off of the half-formed nubs of leaf buds slowly emerging. Anahita had grown sick of this enterprise, plodding along beside the bay mare, whose proud head hung low; she was tired of hacking their way through underbrush as well. Her slender back had been relieved of the two elven children, of which the silent boy clung to Signum's shoulder and the slightly more vocal girl trailed beside lionish Foertis. The child said little to them, though curiosity sparkled in her small face as she contemplated their surroundings, occasionally turning her attention to her brother's higher perch to chirp something in rapid Elvish which none of the faeries understood. At first Anahita assumed that this reserve was a part of the elves' strange culture, which revolved (as far as she knew) around an almost manic appreciation of the wild and untamed. That had been until Signum told her the rest in his unassuming manner, like a side note scribbled on the margin of a page.

Experiments. The mere thought of the suffering they must have undergone sent shivers down her spine. The girl seemed to take it all in steadily, but her brother-- his was the air of a bird who could see the skies and was unable to summon the will to fly. That more than anything unsettled Anahita, just as it drew gentle Signum to him.

Foertis's river-blue eyes slid casually over to hers, very nearly arresting her heart's beat. God. The word spun crazily through her thoughts whenever she saw him, face partially deformed, partially exquisite beyond measure, like the finest of human, elven, faery and feline features had been taken to mold a living work of art. The warm sheen of fire in his hair, magic he summoned to keep warm, the ironic curl of his lips-- it was as though she'd been drugged. How can women stand to be in his presence? Or perhaps it was just her...

The blond must have noticed her blush, for his teeth flashed in a feral grin as he cackled softly, scathingly. "We're nearer," he purled, gliding to stand closer to Signum. The elf-girl glanced sharply away from the woodland, neatly sidestepping so that the distanced between remained virtually unchanged. There was more to learn of her companions' eclectic personalities every second spent with them and by now she'd learned that whenever Signum was going to speak to her, his eyelashes would fall midway down before rising sharply so that she was pinned by two grey needles. Now he turned to speak to her, saying softly, "I'm going to blindfold you."

"Why?" The woman asked, tone weary. Resistance was, by now, an exercise in futility; if Signum wanted it done, it would happen. Now as his gentle, cold hands wrapped a length of cloth around her eyes, he murmured, "I have my doubts concerning the strength of your mind. If we should happen to run into any Rau-lass after entering this lair-- or, specifically, if you should-- I don't hold much hope for your ability to hold out against them."

There was a crunching of leaves soon followed by small footsteps-- was that the boy being lowered? It must have been, for hard arms wound around Anahita, lifting her into the other's secure hold. For what felt like ten minutes they moved on thus until their small party halted. Signum placed her carefully on her feet again, moving away. Words were whispered, too faint for her to know what they were, though by the rhythm of consonants she'd have thought it was Fae. Thereafter followed the strangest sound, as thought the earth were shifting...

Some thing wound around Anahita's legs and she screamed, struggling madly, although a rational part of her said, this is probably part of Signum's plans... Still she fought as a fly would in the spider's web, for she could feel earth on her shoulder, could tel that the ground would soon close above her, that the sky would disappear. Thus she rebelled, until the thick claws crumbled away. Springing messily to her feet, the young faery backed into a soft male form, whose deft fingers quickly unwound the cloth binding.

Blinking in the dim light, she found that the man she's backed into was a copper-haired elf and that the softness was from finely woven robes that adorned his body like the rich plumage of a cardinal. He turned from her, addressing the children in his rapid, lilting language. "Dia daoibh phéinteála," he spoke softly."Lysander atá orm.Cad is ainm duit?" Turning round eyes on him, the girl said happily, "Fionnoula is ainm dom! Sin é Murtagh..."

Signum glanced at the trio with a flicker of satisfaction and walked away, to a narrow hall. "I'm back," he called softly. Right on cue, a gaggle of other children raced to meet him. Like a father, she thought, observing silently as he bent down and allowed them to swarm like bees to honey. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, it was almost a relief when Foertis sidled up to her and said lazily, "We'll be needing to find a separate room for you, then. After all, this is your new home."

((Kaedo))

Jael's open face saddened, his black eyes glittering like a chastised hound's would. Downcast, he nimbly unhooked his legs and landed on his hands, as spryly as any cat-- or, once upon a time, Kaedo-- could. Ducking his head down so that the black locks curtained over his face, the elf delicately snapped the blue flower's stem, handing it to Kaedo before shying away like an abused horse.

The faery looked mutely down at the exquisite structure in his hand. It must be a crocus, he thought, noticing the faint sparkle of the petals, the easy transition from pale blue to near-violet one the edges. A pang of guilt hit him, though his pride and lingering resentment prevented him from apologizing. An easy thing it would have been to open his mouth and say, I'm sorry. But apologies had never been his strength.

Jael's head hung as he walked forwards; his every motion, coupled with the wounded expression he bore, spoke of his chagrin. Wordlessly, the faery fell into step with him, slipping the flower up the sleeve of his long traveling cloak. It would wither soon, upon which he'd be rid of it, but to dispose of it now would be akin to slapping his friend. Gently, he extended a mental probe to Jael's thoughts, letting his emotions say that which he couldn't, before withdrawing abruptly.

((Jael))

Kaedo walked beside him, the flower deposited somewhere about his person. Then Kaedo’s mind briefly brushed against his, and a brief surge of emotion swelled through. Just as wordlessly as Kaedo had apologized, Jael reached out and patted the short faery on the head in acknowledgement. Then he strode on ahead, pulling up his cowl and dropping his mental shields for a moment to let Kaedo know that he wanted to be by himself to think for a moment, not because he was giving his friend the cold shoulder. The brief un-shielding was unnecessary; after all the time that they had spent together, Kaedo knew when he needed some space.

As they pressed eastwards, Jael’s mind made use of its brief freedom, pulling up anything and everything that it could in an effort to resolve as much as it could before it was suppressed again.

-----------------------------------

((Samir and Akio; six day time jump here. Just remember that they're still about six months behind everyone else.))

Akio finally paused and grabbed a hold of Samir’s arm, glancing dubiously at the ice under their feet. Savk'ti had left them about half a mile from the wards that marked the northernmost borders, saying that she had no desire to be caught in an illusionist’s spell. The two had thanked her for her assistance and had continued on alone. Ever since they had left her, Akio had been glancing at the ice every two seconds.

Samir looked at the faery, then followed his gaze downwards. “It shouldn’t be thin enough to break under us, at least, not at this time of year. A few months ago it might have been, but now I think that it's rather unlikely.” He commented. Akio transferred his wary gaze up to the elf. “My friend,” he said, “you do not know for a fact that it won’t break, and we are at least two miles from Feiaceo. What would happen if it did break right now? Very bad things, that’s what,” he quickly added as Samir opened his mouth to answer the rhetorical question.

“So how do we continue?” Samir asked. “We can’t go back and you don’t want to go forwards.” Akio grinned and stretched out his wings. “I’ll carry you,” he said, knowing that Samir, at least, disliked being dragged around hundreds of feet in the air. Akio hadn’t a clue as to Lilith’s views on this, and he wasn’t about to hazard a guess.

Ignoring Samir’s protests, he leapt into the air, faltering for a moment as he struggled to free himself and the elf against gravity’s hold. Succeeding, he flew towards Feiaceo, laughing as the wind whipped through his short, spiky hair.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Olanea))

Walking all the way around where she had seen the mysterious man, Olanea even got tired of searching, and she found no one. After quite some time, she came back to the hideout, looking worried. They had possibly allowed an assassin to leave without even putting a fight. And it was all her fault. If she hadn't let him run away twice it wouldn't have happened.

Olanea entered their home, and sat in a chair to rest a bit before deciding to get some sleep. Once she laid down, she fell asleep quite soon, due to tiredness. She would wake up soon, because she heard people talking.

"Ah, Olanea, I see you're awake. Did you find what you were searching for?" Olanea felt her cheeks go a bit red.

"No, I'm terribly sorry, Lak. I didn't make it, I never found him nor any sign that he had been around. It's as if he had never been in this forest!"

In that moment, Jahz came in, while reading a book. "Hmm...perhaps that is the thing. Maybe you imagined it. Did you drink something while in Oestin? Maybe you got poisoned, even if it was light poison, luckily." he stopped talking for a moment. "If it's not poison, do not ask me what it is, because I have no idea."

Olanea got up, and sat down in a nearby chair. "No! Of course I never drank anything! Nothing besides my own water."


"Well, Olanea, I think you need not to worry. We have information to believe this man is not an assassin..." Lak stopped talking, amused at the surprised eyes of the young woman. "What?!"

"Well, you see, we have absolutely no information of anyone who looks like you explained, and whereas there seems to be evidence that the group of assassins is, in fact, a one-person group, we suspect it is a woman, not a man. Of course we could be wrong, but... Oh, and if you ask why we know this. It's quite a secret, but let's say that one of the maids of this 'Ilyea' lord was collaborating with us, and it seems that before they found him dead, she heard a young woman talking with him. So you see..."

Olanea stood there, sitting in the chair, switching her sight from Lak to Jahz, and seeing in both man's eyes, that they were not joking. So we actually know something now, right? I guess it's time to start moving, then!

"Alright, so when are we going after this assassin?"

They all clustered about him, jewel-bright faces full of the simple pleasure any child would have when a beloved relative comes home. Beneath that, though, there must have been a yearning. Manifest in their clinging hands, their reluctance (or sometimes downright refusal) to let go of Signum's cloak and the way they'd push aside a fellow orphan when one felt that they'd not received as much attention as was their due. First one burrowed into his arms, then another, who was supplanted by two more. And childishly, the man took pleasure out of this, out of the knowledge that he was wanted. That even though she was gone, his life was not wholly without purpose. Those sweet, high little voices, saying his name in more tongues than he could speak were his only wall against the endless despair that threatened him, however much Lysander and Foertis tried to keep it at bay.

Now he gently pried loose the chubby hands of the faery and shifter children and uncurled the dexterous elven hands, reaching out for those few who'd remained in the nether-regions of the pack. They had no spirit in them to fight forwards, to claim their place in his heart. They had nothing. Empty husks of a child were these, as empty as he was those first few months after she died. When he took them in a feathery embrace, surrounding them with his warmth, they said and did nothing, though one boy turned to hide his face in Signum's hard chest, as though he could disappear from the face of the earth. Stroking their hair as his own father never did, letting them bask in his love as he never would have, he carefully placed these broken vessels on the ground. One or two hung desolately on the outerfringes of the other group, whilst some haunted a familiar corner.

If only there were more time. If only he could stay with them each, or do what she'd have done, had she been the sort to like children-- if he could have split his mind so that a piece of it resided warm and reassuring within each shattered child, he would have. She might have done that for him, if he'd asked her... she would have, for someone she loved so dearly.

Clinging his wings tightly against himself, as though he might fall apart, the faery headed towards his own study, mutely untying the leather thong restraining his hair. Shutting the door behind him, he cast off his cloak and discarded the dirty blue tunic and black breeches. From the meager contents of his wardrobe he withdrew a pearl-grey tunic and coal-colored breeches, slipping on the mourning colors as though they were a second skin.

The room was small-- in one corner there was a cot, in another the chest full of clothes and books. The center of the room was dominated by a desk and the shelves were lined with book and the nooks used for scrolls, crafted out of the very earth by Lysander. It was to this desk he now went, collapsing in the chair like a puppet with the strings cut. Alone again he was engulfed, a sailor stranded in Death's merciless oceans. And every wave was of her, her face, her hair, her magic and her eyes, her varying movements-- first lover, then seductress, then commander and assassin-- which never again would he see or feel.

Never again. For the past months he'd thought ceaselessly of whether an afterlife existed. Or how many there were. Would one go to the same one, or were there divisions, like the humans' visions of heaven and hell? Or were the faeries with their various war halls versus the shifters' image of reincarnation correct? Would that she did come back to this world, different body or not! Would that there were some life after this, that one didn't simply cease to exist, there one moment, gone the next! Sorea, so full of fire, so sure in her pride-- and in his, too-- that she couldn't be felled, least of all by a human-- Sorea, cease to exist! Not her, never her. She'd rather bind her soul to a thousand tortures than be forgotten, to slip out of the eyes of future generations.

He had her life in his thoughts, every minute detail. If he were to write of her, it would be the most accurate biography in existence, for all her memories were his now. Every last one...

There was a sharp rap-- only one-- at the door, before it clicked open and Foertis admitted himself, no permission asked or given. He always knows, Signum thought wearily. It was a pity she hadn't gotten to know this healer better, for their spirits were much the same, when you got to the core of it. Gold-fringed eyes swept over him, his deformed face bearing a look of undiluted anger. "No." He stated flatly, covering the distance between them in two long strides. "Get up," he snarled, "now." Signum glanced morosely at him, as dull and unfeeling as a statue.

"Get up, dammit!" Foertis growled, grabbing the taller man's shoulders and yanking him upwards. With a deep sigh, the other faery complied, rising as though he bore the weight of leaden wings. Stalking about to face him, the gargoylish blond said in tones of liquid fire, "I've situated Anahita. Lysander has taken it upon himself to look to the new pair. But I can't leave you alone, can I!" He exclaimed, anger interspersed with desperation now. "Look at you, Signum, look at you! Still unable to get over your pain!" Shaking with high emotion, the mage continued, "I look at you and I wonder, 'was there a time when he was ever without it?' Think on it! Remember when I first met you?"

"Military training, yes," Signum murmured, staring at the wall rather than at the raging faery. "Grey!" He spat the word like a curse. "Grey clothes, always! And why did he grieve, I wondered. It was for her betrayal, for something which constituted the Dei's very nature. Get over it already. You don't even know what your sorrow is spent on anymore, do you?" No, Foertis. No, in that you are terribly wrong. "Remember the night when she sent away Argenti with that bastard of a shadow-mage? You told me that I hardly knew her, if I though she manipulated his longing for Phoenix like a puppeteer. Yet it is not I but you who fails to know her!" Wrong again. I have ner whole life, have it all. What you saw was only the shadow beneath the exterior, and you took that shadow to be true. "You worship a false image, a-- a-- god dammit all, I don't know!"

Quivering like burnt paper in a fire, Foertis hissed, "just-- just change, will you?" Tearing the ribbon out of his own sunny hair so forcefully that a few broken strands clung to it still, he pulled back Signum's hair, tying it with a savage knot, the blond hairs creating sharp contrast. He absentmindedly pulled them out of the coal-black, blue eyes glittering. "I don't want to see you in grey again," he said, suddenly spent. "Please, let go of it. I'm tired of holding you together. Learn to stand on your own again, if ever you did." With that, he turned on his heel and left, silent as a ghost.

The last bitch fell, hand cut off by Anelia's sword, the corpse covered in traces of her evil blood, and Anelia sprayed with it too. Tarn stood there, face set in a scowl that he could not rid, muscles tensed and body ready to pounce. There was nothing left to kill, nothing left to harm, the boy was safe, for the time being, the atrox and Rau-lass were gone, sent back to whatever foul abyss they came from, but so too did the fawn's spirit depart this world, to find her own place. Tarn knew her to be a shifter, he knew she wasn't a simple animal. He knew of their belief, that reincarnation followed death, and he sincerely hoped they were right then, just so that she could once again walk the earth, and never have to gaze upon those horrible mages, those snake-adorned monsters, Tarn just hated them, then, wished he could slaughter them.

For he had just realised that they deserved to die. Few things deserved that, few things were made by Mother Nature that deserved extinction. But the simmering hate within Tarn wanted to consume those Rau-lass, to burn them at one huge stake, and let their evil never taint the world once more.

Abileith turned around, back stinging a bit, but he barely felt it. He was almost hollow, he was so angry, that this fawn died, when under their own care. Still, horrors happened, but each time, Tarn couldn't help but wonder why those who suffered the twisted whim of fate were always so innocent. Yes, all actions righted themselves in the end, but why was it so ? Why couldn't mishaps, deaths and despair be a minority ? Why did it have to be the other way around, with only a few rights for many wrongs ? Over his life, the hunter that was Abileith Tarn had wondered so, wondered why those righteous were struck by death, and all around them by despair, and those evil to live 'till they died by age's hand, and their companions to lick their lips with glee, at the harm that person had unleashed, and the promises their empty seat left them with.

A sharp bite of the wind brought Tarn out of his bleak, angry reverie, and he stormed over to the last felled atrox's corpse in a quick trot, then ran over back to his bow, before heading back to the boy, and his dead fawn. Abileith saw Anelia, he'd heard her sob, apologise at the boy, and the cry. Cry ... A strong woman, who'd killed two of those bastard's broken down to a sob by the magics of one woman. It sickened him, that a race was so foul. He'd seen Oestin, he'd heard the rumours, he'd now seen them upfront. Tarn vowed that he'd have to help those struck by the blows of the Rau-lass. He'd do his best to avenge those taken by the shadow people, and would give a new sense to his life. Too long had he been there, ambling through the land with only rumours to learn of the plight of the world around him. Too long had he been useless, as he'd finally found out, to the land of Aduro. Now, he would help them, yes ...

Tarn found himself by them, Anelia silently sobbing, her hunched shoulders shaking with every one of her rolling tears, and the boy lamenting her loss. Tarn saw her true form now, a small girl, chestnut hair covering her face as leaves skittered about her form, already forming along the edges of her tunic. And then it him, it hit Tarn as it the wind had brought it back to him, as if Fate had deemed him worthy of another of her foul tricks: "You'll pay for that, human..."

The Rau-lass priestess, the woman who'd snuffed the life out of the form now curled on the ground, dead and with others sobbing around her. She'd been lost due to him, dead because Tarn had been too incompetent to protect her, to save her from the mage's evil magic. His eyes, once dark pits filled with a deep and distant fire, were now blank, as if their golden hue would simply seep out, and leave a faded grey there, a veil to cover Tarn's life forever. He couldn't take it anymore, and as he did every time, ever time such things happened, every time a bend in Fate's road brought him to a place of great pain, that could only be healed by Time's soothing touch, however harsh that hand could also be upon others.

"I'm sorry ..." was all he muttered, despair dripping out of his voice, as it flooded his inner being. He stood there for a second longer, amber eyes flitting from the still form of the Shifter, to the boy sobbing over her, to Anelia, similarly distressed. "You'll pay for that, human..."

He had, and so, Tarn left, he tuned around slowly, and then broke into a run, a small scream leaving his scowling mouth as he ran, sending leaves flying about him, stomping the earth with booted feet, leaving firm imprints that stayed deep in the earth, the signature of his incompetence this day. Tarn ran, dead on, never looked back, head low and body moving rhythmically and with practised ease as he left the scene of the fight, off to the horizon, veiled by the canopy of the forests. A slight breeze brushed his face, cooling the single tear that had dared venture forth from his saddening eyes, and the line it had traced upon his face. He ran, and never looked back, the words of that now-dead Rau-lass reiterating themselves in his head.

"You'll pay for that, human..."

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((I'm going to do the time-skip thing for Aerain but I'm not sure what you want to do about Argenti and Phoenix. I also have no idea who's in command of the elves at present: could you supply an NPC very briefly for me, someone? Aerain.))

It had taken nearly four full days to navigate the pass and emerge from the enveloping blizzard into the shelter of the elven forests and Aerain was exhausted, even her light faery weapons beginning to feel heavy about the belt at her waist. Her clothing was saturated in melted snow - a damp, icy combination that had chilled her almost to the bone. She could've evaporated it, yes, but that would've taken a lot of energy and even more time: time that she didn't have to spare. So she had continued, flying virtually non-stop bar a few hours sleep and single brief rest for food, for sustaining herself on handfuls of snow melted with magic was far easier and a lot less time-consuming than stopping to hunt.

Wings tattered and torn from the long flight - feathers stuck out at odd angles like those of a ruffled pidgeon - Aerain slid them close against her back and dropped through the leaden skies, landing neatly in a clearing: though her legs buckled slightly with the lack of use before she straightened once more. The trees hissed like a basket of angry cobras and with the howl of the wind covering all else, the place felt far more desolate than it was.

Immediately, the suffocating sensation of the elven shield swamped her - her breath becoming ragged and eyesight blurring - before eventually lifting as she took a few steps forward, a pair of mages seemingly materialising out of nowhere in front of her. One - a veritable beauty with rich mahogany hair and cerulean eyes, a robe of deepest blue enveloping her thin form - opened her mouth to speak but, impatient, Aerain only shook her head breathlessly.

"Take me to whoever holds the highest command," she managed to say, still attempting to retain the shreds of her pride after landing among the noble elves looking nothing more than a bedragled bandit. Straightening to her full height, Aerain managed to look taller than even the lithe figures before her, her head slightly tilted down as she regained her composure. "I have information that it would not be wise to delay."

Exchanging a glance and a lilting stream of elvish - the meaning of which escaped Aerain's tired gaze - the female nodded, a pale hand sliding from beneath the silky sleeves to indicate that she follow. Holding her head high, Aerain sought to ease the muscles in her shoulders, flexing her wings to their full extent several times before finally relaxing, long flight feathers trailing gently across the litter.

She worried, and that was unlike her. Out of the mages left, she knew of less than half-a-dozen that were healthy enough to reach the elven city and of those, there were few who had heart left in them to do so. She had felt as much in the cave, in the simmering tension that was a mixture of desperation and despair, and it seemed now that it was solely the faeries' bond that kept them going. Nearly twenty mages has been present at the east wall of Occalus and so far, only one had arrived at Duilliúir.

Of the fates of the rest of the faeries - the warriors, the diplomats, the citizens - she knew nothing. The numbers of the city had fallen dramatically since the Rau-lass bagan their march, many leaving their homes in an attempt to hide from the worst of the attacks and some just... disappearing. Children were being taken - in secret, in the open - a fact that chilled even a heart that had no time for the young ones.

Slim hands wrapping tightly around the worn leather of her twin swords, Aerain wished there was more she could do.

((Hylas))

The woman - so graceful, so wonderful, so deadly - dropped to his side, her voice barely a whisper as she apologised again and again, sobs beginning to wrack her body just as he fought to keep his at bay.

I won't cry... boys don't cry... But as Hylas' gaze caught that of the dear little girl's once more, the heavy lump that blocked his throat became almost unbearable and he pressed his eyes shut, shuttering the world out as though it were nothing more than a dream.

That's all it is, he told himself, surrounding himself in the cold blessed darkness, It's just a dream - a nightmare. She doesn't have to dream it any more - she can wake to a new dawn without the horrors this nightmare brings. Opening his eyes, Hylas rested his mud-coloured gaze upon the shifter's freckled cheeks, a frown creasing his lightly tanned brow. But there was no telling where she would return: she could become a newborn child, born in a war in which all that she knows is death and suffering... or she could become one of them, those vile, destructive, cruel creatures with hair as black as their hearts...

Suddenly a flurry of sound caught his attention, the hunter rushing away with a barely heard word of apology, his voice as hollow as his eyes. Hylas leapt to his feet, fear making his brown gaze wide.

"No, don't go!" he shouted at the retreating figure but the man couldn't have heard him for he ran on, his heavy boots thudding against the hard, frozen forest floor, "Don't leave us!"

Gaze flashing across to the woman's, the young boy made his mind up in a split-second, his body shifting into that of a pine martin and his lithe, dark body sliding up into the trees with ease.

Throwing himself desperately from branch to branch - springing himself from each flimsy piece of trunk using solely his animal instincts - Hylas followed the great shadow of the man with a dedicated desperation known only to children, his mental cries made voiceless by the martin's throat.

Wait!

((Anelia))

Anelia had seen the young boy struggling to avoid crying, just as she was doing. She was weak, really weak, now.

It was then, that she heard a noise of leaves. Hissing. The hunter, Tarn, was leaving, running and screaming. She knew he felt bad for what happened, too. Don't! Please!!

The shifter turned his gaze to her, and she saw a spark in his eyes, just before he changed shape and ran after the retreating man. So there she was, alone again, seeing the small martin jumping from branch to branch, desperately following Tarn.

Anelia stood up, still sobbing, and moved the little girl's body to her cabin. She didn't want to let it there, where other animals would 'use' it. After that, from the top of her cabin, she shouted. "Tarn! We need you!! Do not leave please! We need your help!!"

Wondering if it would be useless, Anelia went down to where they had been fighting, and tried to follow the both of them, worrying because she thought she wouldn't meet any of them. And she looked awful, still, with too few clothes, and too much blood, which made a horrible combination, specially to herself.

I need to ask you something...Tarn...!!

Not being able to move as fast through the trees, all Anelia did was run through the ground, and she was really fast, so there was still a small possibility to find them, she hoped. She didn't even know the shifter's name.

"I need your help, both of you! I can't do this on my own!"

Anelia closed her eyes and, for a moment, she was back to her childhood, when she used to ran around the forests. It didn't last, though, and she ran even faster, desperately trying to meet up with her newly acquired companions.

She wondered, maybe she didn't look like the kind of person that one could trust on...

((Phoenix))

Her mount’s grey sides heaved as he dipped his head to the snow, clouds of white billowing from his muzzle as he plodded on through the drifts, stumbling slightly in the wake of a soft mound.

Leaning forward in the saddle, Phoenix ran a numbed hand over the thick winter coat, her reassuring whispers lost in the wind. Her eyelashes were coated in a frost that refused to melt – the same ice that cracked upon her cloak with every small movement she made – and her lips were roughened and sore from the constant battering of the harsh mountain weather. Thankfully, the snows had stilled to no more than a few delicate flakes, giving the pair a brief respite from the endless blind trudge that had taken them past sheer cliffs and bottomless drops and eventually out onto a gradual downward slope.

But she was tired. The shadows murmured and whispered beneath Argenti’s cloak of magic and were becoming almost impossible to ignore: their hissed secrets and wishes that Phoenix – if she were any weaker – would have trouble resisting. Already she had allowed them to settle a false sense of wakefulness around her shoulders: a feeling not unlike over-tiredness that nevertheless stretched her waning strength to almost its limit, keeping her acutely aware of her surroundings despite the desperate need to close her eyes.

Argenti continued the trek without complaint – his concern more for her than himself – but his bared, glassy wings trembled like leaves in the chill air, his fingers clearly as raw as hers as they wrapped loosely around the reigns of his own steed. Turning her head against the wind, Phoenix watched him for as long as she was able, noting the worried cast to his slightly tanned features as he stared determinedly to the near distance with eyes the colour of new coins. Faint whisps of his long hair escaped from the drawn cowl, licking the wintry air like silver flames and tracing his pinked cheeks like the scars that crossed her own.

As usual, the shadows seemed to read her thoughts, their clamouring voices rattling in her head like a cage of black doves, picking up on the anger that had begun to simmer in her heart at the injustice of it all and offering her a myriad of what they deemed as help. Strength, stealth, magic... anything she wished, they said, to keep her safe.

Yet again she refused and though the shadows did not stop, they slowed in their attempts and, tugging gently at her tired mount’s reigns, Phoenix drew closer to Argenti. The horse, fed up and irritable, twisted to snap at the faery’s but Phoenix drew him out of reach and he simply whickered instead, tossing his long, black mane in apparent derision.

“I need to stop,” she answered as Argenti’s questioning gaze settled on hers – her soft tone barely audible - and immediately, the slight frown upon his brow deepened. “I’m just tired,” Phoenix stated slowly, part of her knowing that even voicing her reassurances wouldn’t ease her companion’s concerns, “How far to Tervalos from here?”

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Argenti))

Knives. That was what cold was. Tall and well-built as he was, Argenti's body battled the heat well. However, that didn't stop the trembling of his wings, like leaves skittering on stone, or the faint quiver of his lips before the chilly onslaught, his eyelashes lowered the shield his eyes from the frost. Phoenix's knuckles were white, her fingertips pale, pale pink. Pale as his own, which had begun to chap in the uncustomary weather.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched her, though his focus was trained on the ground ahead of them. A person of his stature needed a steed to match and though his charger was strong and sure-footed, Phoenix's nimble mount was more well-suited to treacherous footing such as this. The faery wanted to call a halt, but he'd nagged so much at her over the past few days-- 'I think we should stop now'; 'you should rest, love'; 'I'm weary of the saddle, this is a good place to stop', things like that-- that he had grown chary of bruising her pride, or at least her affection for him (selfish person that he was). And the heavens forbid he should dampen the as-yet growing bond between he and this strange, beautiful creature that had simply flown to his lap.

Phoenix nudged her black steed closer to Argenti's, fingers clenched tight on the reins to keep them from shivering. The steel-grey charger he rode pinned its ears back and the black bared its teeth, though a sharp jerk of the reins drove the snapping jaws away from the target. They won't leave you, will they? He thought, bitterly resentful of his inability to protect her from her guardians, as they put it. Not if he wanted to remain whole, so that he could enjoy her for the duration of her human lifetime. I must ask soon. She's too tired, the magic pushes her too far.

As it were, Phoenix herself broke the silence, her voice strangely loud in their muffled surroundings. “I need to stop,” she murmured, soliciting an immediate halt. “I’m just tired,” the woman reassured him, following up with “How far to Tervalos from here?”

"One day, by my estimate," Argenti replied, swinging off and moving to stand before her mount (keeping separate the heads of the irked horses as he did so). Reaching up, he uncurled her fingers from the reins, hissing softly between his teeth at the chill in them. Wrapping an arm around Phoenix's shoulder and sliding the other beneath her leg, he scooped her off of her steed, holding her close beneath his cloak. "I'll take care of the horses," he murmured, pressing her two icy hands against his chest, for his own fingers would've scarcely provided relief. How to do this, now...

Lucky she's so light, he thought, securing her perch against him with one arm, like a child to a parent. Maybe she wouldn't like the comparison, but that was the safety he wished to give her.

There were no bits for these horses, for the metal would have destroyed the softness of their mouths. Rather, they wore hackmores. So much the easier then, for all he had to do was knot the reins around a slender tree and, using the one free hand, unbuckle their girths, relieving them of their load. It was the work of a moment to brush the powdery layer of snow from a log and settle Phoenix on it. "I'll be back before you miss me," he whispered, kissing her pale cheek.

Finding dry firewood would be nigh on impossible, and Phoenix needed the heat now. But Argenti wasn't a mage for nothing. True, his magic was weaker than both Signum and Lilith's but he possessed skill enough to make up for the lack...

Pokeweed seeds, nightshade roots, dormant elderberry... Eyes half-lidded, he allow the magic to guide him, breath fogging the air before him. Mountain laurel! Severing the flow, he took brisker, more alert strides to the location. And sure enough, there was a straggling copse of frozen laurel, the poisonous sap sluggish and slow in the frozen branches. Snapping off the drier limbs, both the thin and thick, he bound them together and loped back towards his abandoned charge-- on the whole, the job had taken less time than he'd expected.

"Back, milady," he said with a small bow as he dumped his cargo on a spot kicked free of snow. Rummaging in the folds of his cloak for flint, he knelt down, smiling quickly before refocusing on the tree's sap. Evaporate, come on, he thought, his hand extending over the wood as though he could grab the poison from the very air. Magic flowed from his hands to the wood, heating it, bringing forth spitting bubbles of sap forced to change states quite unnaturally. Steam rose from the wood as ice melted to water, then heated from the hissing sap. "There," the faery whispered, rocking back onto his heels. "Let's see how it burns now..."

That took him longer, but only a minute more-- it was a simple matter of creating pockets of combustible gas, derived from the evaporating water. Standing up as the first sparks caught, Argenti guarded the budding flames with his cloak, then moved away once it reached a leaping, dancing ferocity so that Phoenix might rid herself of her weariness.

Settling beside her, he murmured, "if you want to sleep, love, then sleep. We'll start again later tomorrow." Not the morning, though. You expect much of yourself, fire-bird and the shadows expect even more.

((Aerain))

“What do you mean, I thought they were with you?” Aerain’s voice was as cold as the air, her words stated with the chilling prescision of one too tired and angry to shout.

The elf before her raised his hands in seeming apology, a graceful gesture that was nonetheless succinct. “I mean that the majority of the faery mages were posted at Occalus,” he said slowly, almost like he were giving her time to take in what he said, “There were others here, yes, but they left a long time before you got here. I thought they made to give you aid.”

Throwing her arms up, Aerain let out a low growl of exasperation, her dark eyes surveying the room perfunctorily as she spun on her heel to pace. “So if they’re not here and they didn’t arrive at Occalus, then where in the Sun’s name are they? Mages don’t just disappear!”

“Some did arrive at Occalus,” the old elf stated bluntly, “And if they didn’t go to see you, then don’t ask me where they did go: I have no more knowledge as to their thoughts or travel plans than you.”

Aerain frowned, turning to face the elf once more. “So are there any faery mages left in Duilliúir or are we going to have to hold the walls of the city ourselves?” She seemed to have hit a nerve for the old man rose, his cheeks flushing pink with supressed anger and his fingertips white as he pressed them against the pine wood of the table.

“The elves are perfectly capable of defending their own,” he answered, though his soft tone held a hint of menace that couldn’t be ignored. Indeed, the room tingled with energy and without more knowledge of the elf’s magic, the faery was at a distinct disadvantage. “As to the faeries,” he continued sharply, “There was one travelling with a human companion asking virtually the same questions as you. In fact, his were more prescise, looking for one group in particular: those of the battle at Tumulosus.”

Aerain paused, her frustration fizzling out with her curiosity. “Dei Pardai’s battalion.”

The old elf sighed heavily with a nod of satisfaction, lowering himself to his seat once more. “Sorea Pardai’s mages specifically, yes.”

“And he was one of them?” Resting his chin on steepled fingers, the elf nodded again in answer and Aerain’s frown deepened, a pale hand absently running loosely though her long hair. “Have any of the other mages of Tumulosus been seen?”

Here, the elf smiled slightly, his smooth features moulding themselves into a motion more akin to a grimace. “I have reason to believe so, yes, though I don’t think the addition of two renegade mages would help you much.” Aerain opened her mouth to speak but he raised a hand, shaking his grey head. “No, they are not here. As I said before, they came and left long before your little group arrived and – as I also mentioned – no, I don’t know where they went...”

Bristling, Aerain interrupted. “Who were they? Why were they not at Occalus with the rest of us? Where were they when the greatest of faery cities needed them? And why...?”

“Aerain Lueila, I don’t have the answers to these questions,” the elf snapped angrily in return, “Go find the mages yourself if you so wish and ask them in person. Personally, I do not care for your trivial affairs; if what you say is true then the Rau-lass army will be upon us within a matter of months and I have many issues of a more urgent nature to occupy my mind. One less faery mage isn’t going to make that much of a difference...” he glared, his vibrant eyes flashing briefly, “...despite your reservations. Go if you must, but don’t bother me with these matters further. It is your superior you must consult – if you have one.”

Biting her tongue on a retort, Aerain merely shook her dark curls silently. Bar the single southerner left in the group, all the mages were of the same rank, Dei Béluia having been killed by a harpoon in the fight for Occalus, and thus far, they had coped with the loss. Not now it seemed.

“Good. You are dismissed, mage.”

Seething, Aerain strode furiously from the room, her booted feet thudding upon the floor. The elves could cope on their own as far as she was concerned.

Deserters, however, were another matter entirely.

Tarn ran, he ran and ran, even when he heard Anelia and the boy plead him to return, saying that they needed him. But how could they ? How could they need him when all that surrounded faded away, when all that he ever really brought was a moment's respite, and then yet more suffering. It'd happened before, too many times for it to be bearable. Every time he tried to help, it inevitably ended with someone's loss; every time he came, it was not help he brought, no. He was the harbinger of yet more troubles. And as usual, he was too weak, too, emotionally in turmoil, to face up to it, to try and better it, no he left it as it was, and that was that.

Every time, he fled and let it repair itself, let others fix what he'd broken, even as he'd tried to help the damn thing ! Tarn had enough, he wanted it to change, but how could it ? How could it, given how deeply engrained the seed of strife was within him ?! Every time he tried, he failed, and only by helping himself and himself alone did he avoid one of the many kinks in the road Fate had traced for him ... No, he would have to keep on in his ways, try to help, and expect the worst. And help himself as much as he could, for there, at least, he knew how not to harm himself.

And as he ran away, as his booted feet brought him further away from the Shifter boy, and Anelia, and the leaves and trees, their thin green canopy flitting past in a blur, Tarn lamented the twisted course he was forced to walk. Forced ? Was he really under the command of some unknown entity, that thrust him into these pitfalls ? Was he really stuck on a never-ending circle of self-harm, whenever he endeavoured to do good ? Or was it like anything, a hindrance, an obstacle that could be overcome, that could be surmounted, a high mountain, that once the top was reached, granted one mighty fine view ?

Was Tarn kidding himself when he claimed it to be the doing of fate ? Was he thinking wrongly, taking the easy way out, to blame on some huge unknown, and force himself to believe it wasn't his fault, but that this course was predestined, and he just had to endure ? Which of the two roads did he really walk ? That of Fate, or that that he traced before him, the map of his life his to create, and not a foreign being ?

He had thought about it, several times in fact, he'd come to the conclusion that nothing he did could stop bad things from happening to people, but why was it always when he arrived ? Was it some huge coincidence, was his life just that, a maze of coincidences he stumbled into every time and knew not how to escape from, the exit ever so close, in sight, but for one hidden bend bringing him away from it every time. Abileith had no answer, hopefully time would eventually reveal it, or else he would live like this, a self-exile too scared of the unknown repercussions of his acts to dare perform any.

But could a soothing hand help ? Could somebody or something unlock the door to this mystery, and expose its true face for once and for all. Was it even feasible that Abileith Tarn leave this never-ending circle of pain, of self-chosen hermitage, and all too easily dashed hopes ? That, he had no answer o, but he sincerely hoped that somebody did. And then he remembered Anelia and the boy, were they the bearers of the key ? Could they help him, or at least soothe the pain in his beaten heart ? No, he thought not, and so, the hunter's booted feet carried him on, and away, his pace slowing ever so slightly, but his resolve to leave still intact, if not chipped by the mental conversation he'd heard a dozen times before but never ceased exploring the true depths of.

((Hylas))

The young boy panted, long pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as his tiny claws skittered across the pines' bark as though they were made for it - which, in fact, they were. The sound of the lady following soothed him somewhat, the knowledge that he was not the only one with the frantic need to stop the man that seemed so desperate to lengthen the distance between them almost urging him onwards.

But Hylas was a tired and hungry eleven year old, with nothing but his own abilities as a shifter helping him follow the large bulk of the hunter. Still, he was close - merely an arms length from the man's broad shoulders - and all he needed was one last burst of energy...

Leaping sideways from his perch, the boy shifted as his small form slipped through the air, black and white stripes flashing across bristling fur as he clamped his jaws upon the hunter's thick trouser-leg. Stubborn and strong, the badger dug his large paws into the dirt, long claws turning up soil and leaves as the man stumbled slightly, intent still on running. Switching again - his only skill was his speed in his abilities - Hylas clung onto the hunter's tree-trunk of a leg, pressing his tear-streaked face to the roughened cloth as he sought to still the man.

"Please... don't go," he choked, his knees becoming more covered in dirt by the minute, "I don't have anyone left but you and the lady. Please... don't leave us..."

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Phoenix))

Argenti helped her from the saddle, his warm arms wrapping around her frozen form and clutching her hands to his chest in an attempt to thaw them. More grateful than she could say, Phoenix curled against him, smothering herself in the secure darkness of his cloak and pressing her cold cheek to the smooth cloth of his tunic as he deftly tethered and unsaddled the horses with a single hand.

"I'll be back before you miss me," he murmured gently as he seated her upon a fallen trunk, gracing her cheeks softly with his lips before leaving into the dim light of the trees.

The absence of comfort was like a blow and, unnerved, Phoenix stood, green gaze surveying the woodland warily as she blew futilely on her cupped hands. Taking a few steps forward, she kicked absently at the snow with her boots - her toes as numb as her fingers both from the ride and the weather - clearing an area of dirt just big enough to fit a small fire. Pacing for a while, she eventually returned to the gradually rotting log, wrapping her own - still thin - arms around her shivering frame and watching her breath cloud before her eyes.

She hated her dependance - hated the blunt fact that if they were attacked, she would be able to do little to defend herself - but her wounds had been slow in healing, a combination of the wintry chill in the air and the one in her heart. She both loved and hated the silences: times in which she could both enjoy Argenti's simple, yet welcome company and mull over the dark thoughts that simmered in her mind. Memories and madness... self-doubt and shadows...

Shaking her head violently with a frown, Phoenix took a deep breath and let it loose, raising her gaze slightly. She was tired - that was all it was - and every time she pushed herself, the same things surfaced. And none of it was important. Not now.

"Back, milady," stated the faery, arriving with a bundle of twigs in his strong arms and triumph in his eyes. He gave a short bow, prompting a smile from his companion, before bending to attend the tinder, a grin playing upon his own lips. In less than a moment, a small fire was already blazing, the flickering light bathing Phoenix's body in the longed-for warmth it needed and as Argenti settled himself beside her, she rested a weary head on his shoulder - well, the part of his arm her head could reach anyway...

"If you want to sleep, love, then sleep," he told her gently, his head tilting to study her own, "We'll start again later tomorrow."

Phoenix nodded slowly, watching the dancing flames and that shadows that wreathed around them. After a moment of silence - one of the more peaceful kind - she spoke, her tone soft and quiet. "I never told you what Ciarán wished to show you, did I?" she murmured, the question almost a statement. Her memories returned to that night, Argenti still beneath her hands - not yet a lover but a faithful friend - the shade that was left of the shadow mage raising a hand to touch her...

"Tell him...", he whispered, "of..."

Lifting her own hand, Phoenix pressed two fingers against the healer's brow.

---------

It was a cold day, with a light frost of snow sprinkled over everything. One could hardly tell it was spring-- April, in fact. Close green buds were threatened with death by their chill blanket, though that hardly mattered to Ciarán. He sat alone, far away from any civilization. He hadn't walked here. His guides, his whispering teachers had brought him here, like a bird in the palms of their many hands. His skin was white, in sharp contrast with his raven hair, his lips chapped and cheeks a pale pink from the bitter air. Entrancing words, whispers of another life surrounded him as he learned...

...A little girl, with hair as bright as sunlight perched by a creek, surround by a halo of her own hair's reflection. In her hair was woven a chain of fine daisies, along with many more clutched in her hand. "Careful, Aryanna..." The child looked up at him, a look that sent fierce love pounding through his heart, with eyes as dark and mysterious as his own. "It's only water," she protested to the other. "Come on, Ciarán! I wanna play with you!" But the elder only shook his head, smiling gently from where he stood, cloaked like one of the powerful spirits of old by the shade of an elm. Laughing, the round-faced child skipped after a toad, returning sodden with her trophy and presenting it proudly to her brother. "See? Lookit what I caught!" Kneeling down, the other elf carefully picked up the amphibian, examining it, then proclaiming it to be a fine specimen of a toad. Grinning broadly, his sister wandered on...

... clear, crisp wind blew gloriously colored leaves around, whipping them in intricate spirals of reds, golds and oranges around two young elves. One had shining long locks of a rich, chocolaty brown, almost the color of ebony. Her full, rosy mouth was parted in a smile like shooting stars, and in her green eyes glittered a thousand suns. The other's face was hidden by a large hood, out of which shone only marble-white skin and eyes the blue-grey of a blackened ocean. Tenderly, he raised his arms, pulling her into a close embrace; the woman's form was ensconced by long black robes. It would be long, far too long, until the lovers were reunited. "I'll wait for you, I promise..." the woman whispered."I know," he replied, stroking her silky hair, "I know..."

...There was a great sense of urgency that lent wings to his steps. The black world around him caught it and together, Ciarán and the shadows raced to forestall fate itself. No, he thought, please, please, let me be in time... let it not be too late... The shadows parted and his heart stopped. NO! Around him, everywhere, there was blood. The charred, twisted corpses of what must have been his mother and father lay messily dismembered. Even as the mage began to run, run along the paths of the shadows to that one place, the safe place, gossamer cracks began to appear in his world. He was breaking, slowly but surely. A scream greeted him when he leaped into being once again. They were there, two of them, tentacles writhing in gleeful pleasure as they cornered a young elven woman, laughing mockingly as she made to protect as little girl behind her, with hair like sunlight. "Aryanna!Liadán!" He exclaimed; at his distressed cry, the shadows move to protect what they held dear, for no longer was it elf and darkness, or darkness and elf-- they were halves of a whole. Hissing in dismay, an erotic female crooned, "that won't do at all, now will it, sweet lover?" Turning around, she extended her hand. Forth came Liadán, screaming as some heathen power drew her to the fell beings. Looking at him with a cruel smile, the Rau-lass reached forwards with a taloned hand, caressing her quivering chin-- then killed her. It was brutal, fast and hardly efficient, designed for pain. And Ciarán was unable to stop it. His face was bleached of all color by the horror, his body weak from struggling to escape the strange bonds that held him rooted to the spot. Casually, the demoness reached for sweet little Aryanna, whimpering in fear as the shadows moved around her, seeking to keep safe their precious bundle. "Give us what we want," the woman purred, "or your sister will die just like the other one-- what did you call her? Was it Liadán?" A vein throbbed in the elf's forehead at the careless bandying of her name, a name more precious than a room full of diamonds or a field of gold. Yet he could not speak, could not whisper the right words to summon a darkness beyond this world's shade, a darkness that was the true essence of shadow. Eyes blazing, he nodded...

... there was pain. So much pain, as the Rau-lass attacked his soul. "He still resists," one muttered. Ah, but it was so hard not to... "kill the source of hope, then." Howling and shrieking, Aryanna was culled as messily as his lover was. A black haze of anger was over the mage's eyes. The shadows around him felt it, twisting with the same fury as their bonded brother. Rising as one, the other world claimed the wounded, hurt elf, sheltering him for years in a land beyond mortal reach, nursing his broken spirit until it was renewed. Yet that didn't stop them the second time, when they needed a spy in the allied camps...

-----------

Gasping, Phoenix snatched her fingers away from Argenti's forehead, clutching her hand to her chest. The shadows were virtually shouting now, all other sounds but their voices muffled as though she had her head buried in the snow at her feet. Screwing her eyes shut, she knotted her hands deep into her red hair, breathing deeply until the cacophony gradually faded to its previous dull murmur. A profound sense of exhaustion washed over her like a flood and, unable to open her eyes, Phoenix pressed her face to her companion's chest.

"Remind me not to do that again," she whispered softly.

((Samir and Akio))

Akio let go of Samir a few feet from the ground, laughing as the trembling elf almost sank to his knees in relief. He landed on the balls of his feet and folded his midnight wings. Samir glared at him, a glare that contained none of the stereotypical malice or coldness. The faery turned away, heading towards the lone building. In a sudden movement, Samir picked up a handful of snow and chucked it at the other, hitting him squarely on the back of the head.

Akio spun around a look of shock on his face that rapidly changed to indignation. In a sudden movement, he began to pelt Samir with half formed snowballs. In the span of a few seconds, the two were covered in snow. Akio tackled Samir to the ground, and the two began to wrestle.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made them look up suddenly. The Avelate stood a few feet away from them, his eyes piercing holes in their skulls. "If you two are finished acting like children, would you please follow me? Unless you would rather continue, of course." Even though it was phrased as a question, neither Samir nor Akio had any doubt that it wouldn't be wise to refuse. Sheepishly, the stood up and tried to brush some of the snow off their cloaks. However, the Avelate had already begun to walk away, so they hurriedly followed.

After a few paces, their ground beneath their feet changed. If one were to clear away the snow that had piled up, the ground had mysteriously changed to precisely cut stones; much like those found in buildings. Samir and Akio followed the Avelate through a hole in the low, long bunker-like building that looked suspiciously like an oversized window. Or a window that had been purposely enlarged.

Once they were through, the Avelate latched something that looked suspiciously like a window shutter, and they crossed the room and went through the door into a hallway beyond. After reaching the staircase and descending, they turned right and walked towards a set of double doors. The Avelate opened one of these doors and strode in, indicating that the two boys follow him. They did so almost reluctantly, flinching when the door shut behind them.

They stood in the middle of an almost bare room, the snow and ice that had attached itself to their cloaks now melting into a small puddle at their feet. The Avelate strode around a table that dominated the room and also held a huge map of Aduro. "Samir, if you would place the reports on the edge?" the Avelate prompted after a moment. With a start, Samir did so--these weren't part of the ghastly long list of names that they had been working on, but rather the progress reports that Samir had been asked to keep over the past five months.

After that was done, Akio and Samir studiously examined the map, trying to avoid the Avelate's gaze. "You two must be wondering why you haven't been dismissed yet, am I correct?" he asked. "Yes, sir," Akio responded, glancing up briefly before returning his attention to the map.

With a slight sigh, probably in exasperation at the fact that they refused to look at him, the elf continued. "As you both know, I have decided to fully evacuate everyone after the most recent news concernig Occalus. It hasn't fallen yet, but it undoubtedly will. There are still a few of our people and allies in the south that need to be taken across the ice cap. One of these people is Jael, and Kaedo will have to come too since the man won't go anywhere without him. Along the way, Akio, you will drop off Samir." The green gaze flicked from the faery to the elf.

"Sir?" Samir tentatively asked, "I understand that you don't want any Rau-lass to find out where we are from Professor Jael's memories, but why are you sending me?" The Avelate, without blinking, said, "Remember Altus Vulnus?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "He appears to have been one of Sorea's few friends. If she somehow managed to give him even part of her memories before she died, then he most likely knows about Cetairiacelos. It is possible--and I highly doubt this--that he would try to sell information about us to the Rau-lass to save the children that he is undoubtedly hiding. You are going to go and find him, just to keep an eye on him. If you deem it necessary to switch with Lilith, feel free to do so as long as no one knows about it; I don't need you to get yourself blackmailed."

Samir nodded. Akio was staring blankly at the map. "Where do I go to find Professor Jael and where do I need to leave Samir?" he asked. The Avelate pointed to two cities, saying, "If I were you, I would try going to Narda or Nagerus. Jael and Kaedo will probably be heading deeper into Rau-lass territory assuming that no one would think to look for them there. As for Altus Vulnus..." He traced a sizeable circle on the map. "He's appeared in Occalus, and then vanished. We don't know exactly where he is, or what he's doing, but we can take a guess." Apparently the Avelate did not deign to tell them what that guess was, for he continued, "For now, head towards Occalus. As we get more information, we'll have someone contact you whether in person or by telepathy if necessary." Abrubtly, he said, "You two have permission to leave as soon as you like." With that, he took the reports and began to read them. It was obvious that they had been dismissed.

Akio and Samir left as fast as they could without seeming to be in that much of a rush to leave. Once they were outside, Samir said, with a perplexed frown, "Akio, why do you think the Avelate really wants me to go find Altus Vulnus? If he's worried about Professor Jael accidentally leaking memories, then he shouldn't be sending me because Professor Jael has mental shields at least a hundred times stronger than mine."

Akio shrugged. "Don't ask me. All I know is that we'd better leave soon. Let's go get some provisions first." With that, the faery sprinted off towards the now-partially dormant kitchens.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Anelia))

Following the shifter boy, Anelia was trying to keep up the pace to get to Tarn and the little martin. Finally, she heard the sound of leaves and the boy speaking to Tarn.

Please... don't go," he choked, his knees becoming more covered in dirt by the minute, "I don't have anyone left but you and the lady. Please... don't leave us... She knew it was hard on the boy, since he probably had gone through many bad things...

Finally, she arrived to where the both of them were, and saw the boy trying to hold Tarn, to make him stay.

"So, that's it? You're really leaving?! Why would you do so? It's dangerous!! If you're not staying for us, stay for yourself! We could help you survive!! Look at me! I came here drenched in atrox's blood! Do you think I like it?"

Anelia punched a nearby tree softly, frustrated. "And I thought I could trust you..."

She placed her hand on the shifter's shoulder. "If you want to stay with me, do it. I'll be taking care of you".

The air here was dead. It was a rotten, stinking corpse of something that had long ago surceased to be that which it was when alive. I want my mom, Anahita thought, shivering. Strange desire, that. Yet her mother was her wings when she'd been young, unable to fly. And it was the sky she yearned for now, that yawning stretch of clear, crisp blue... not this dank, stale rat hole.

The room in question wasn't as spacious as she was accustomed to, either. Though the rooms of faery dwellings were fewer, they were larger than that of elves and humans. Here, she was starved for wing-space, hardly able to walk three paces in either direction with the full breadth of her feathered limbs extended. I don't know how they stand it, she thought gloomily, wings draped loosely behind her on the bed. Well, cot, actually. A hard, unyielding cot which she shouldn't feel such resentment towards, but considering she didn't even ask to be brought here in the first place...

Huffily, she kicked the ground, her bare toes scuffing the earth into moist ridges. Then the young woman's thoughts guiltily brought back Murtagh and his bright sister Fionnoula, uncomplaining and obedient despite what they'd been through. Far worse as well, for Murtagh hadn't spoken even to the elf-man whom his sister immediately adored. Different situations, she told herself, though now a small part of her suggested that she release this sulky air, ill-becoming as it was.

The door swung open and Anahita leaped to her feet with a start. Blood suffused her face when she saw it was only the elf, Lysander. "You could have at least knocked!" She growled, failing to hide her surprise. The most vexing, condescending expression she'd ever seen snaked onto his features. "Here?" He scoffed. "Girl, I protect this place with more magic than you could ever wrap your puny mind aroun--"

"I'd thank you to not insult my intelligence," Anahita ground out. Dismissively waving his hand (and somehow managing to draw attention to his hair with the motion), Lysander continued unabashed, "I could be rid of you at any time I please, or leave Signum whenever I wish, for there is nothing binding me to him, nor much incentive. He realizes this and I'd beg the same of you." The faery's vision flashed red for an instant, her abraded pride spitting at the man's overbearing ego. "Well, then," she muttered, words dripping with sarcasm, "I'll be sure to remember that. Pray tell me why you came here? I doubt it was simply to insult me."

"Why waste the effort?" He stated airily. "In response to your question-- I intrude upon you because you need to make yourself useful around here. Foertis and Signum spend most of their time away, following what leads they may to aid the children you've seen. I, being the only mage capable of maintaining a proper underground facility," here he tossed his head proudly back, "remain behind, ensuring that we are not discovered. And I swear by every human, shifter and faery god that I will not let some chit come in here thinking she is free to do as she pleases!" Biting her tongue, Anahita thought furiously, oh, well that's just a dandy vow for an atheist, isn't it? "What do you wish of me?" She hissed, wondering how ever on earth Signum could stand the creature. "Well, come along and you'll see," he responded, sweeping out like bronze peacock.

He hated it, that feeling he got every time. Why people were good enough to plead him to stay, to ask him, implore him to stay and help, when all he was good at was failing. The boy, or so he guessed, had leaped onto him, latching his claws onto the thick fabric of his trousers, nonetheless scraping the bare flesh hidden underneath. His form shifted to that of a heavier beast, and Tarn found his leg dragging behind, slowing down as he inevitably fell into a tumble, doing his best to keep the burdened leg as straight as possible so as to not hurt the boy in the fall.

He fell squarely on his buttocks, and his falcon eyes, still shrouded underneath the green hood he'd pulled over his face, saw Anelia come towards him, panting and tired, the blood of her kills hardening on her fair skin. He saw the boy, heard him cry, and implore him to stay. "I don't have anyone left but you ..." he'd stated. And that's how desperate his situation has flung him in, to have to rely on a vagabond that roamed the land with no fixed goal, and who only brought harm along with him. Poor boy ...

And Anelia, she too was irritated, irked at the hunter's behaviour, as they all were. Every time he tried it, every time he tried to help, it ended in disaster, and never could he garner the will to deal appropriately with the situation. Always fleeing from a danger that he could not surmount. And every time, that lump in his chest grew and grew, like a lead cannonball that threatened to burst out of his sick-feeling stomach. Abileith hated it, hated this twisted fate he was forced to follow, hated how he always tripped and fell in the same trap laid blatantly visible for him.

The boy sobbed, still clutching at the man's leg. Anelia had placed a smooth hand on his small shoulder to comfort him, to do what was needed, while all this fool man could do was run away. Again, his action had brought yet more sadness; he always strove to undo evil, but always ended up looping the circle again, and letting the cycle continue as if unhindered. His actions were for naught, his effort only furthering him in this twisted course that paved itself before his very feet, despite every intention to do otherwise.

"I can't ... It's ... my fault ..." he mumbled, voice a rasping whisper, as he slowly crawled away, on all fours, bottom dragging on the ground. "Every time this happens, and I can't do anything about it !" he growled, as much to them as to himself. Whether the strong hunter should let his anger boil over or break down to a sob, he knew not, for both emotions clashed within his being, clawing at him, at his very fabric. To let anger wash away the problem in one huge, blood-coloured flood, or let the tears run freely from his eyes, and let the sadness flow out, and be gathered by someone who might better deal with it, and help him ? The big question to which Tarn had no reply.

And there they were, the woman and the boy, pleading him to stay, Anelia even offering to help. Of course, he could live without her, without anyone, it was what he did best, to only bother about surviving, to let those who could, handle the problems of this world, and not lure himself into the stupid idea that the same thing wouldn't happen again, again, and again ...

Abileith rose in the blink of an eye, his hood falling down from his face to reveal his tear-brimmed eyes to those in attendance. And again, let those flow, or make them evaporate in pure hatred at the path traced before him by Destiny ? Tarn's head dropped, as his feet turned him around, back facing these two people, who claimed to want to help him, to need him, when no help could he truly bring, for all steps taken in that direction would then find themselves diminished, trampled, crushed and buried by three steps back in the opposite.

His booted feet solemnly carried him away, head hung low, arms sagging at his sides, a light breeze making the back of his mane of hair lightly undulate as he rested his arm, and then forehead, against the trunk of a strong and ancient tree. And how it stood, impassive and sturdy, to all, everything, from the passage of time, to the assault of the wind, to the wicked ways of man, their saws and fires. And there it stood, bending mayhap, but never breaking, as Tarn did. For Tarn did break, every time such an event happened, he broke; his very fabric was torn apart, and it was only with the helping hand of time, a double-edged sword in itself, that he managed to piece the thing together again, although every time, he lost a few pieces, and had to craft those anew.

Would be the same this time 'round, with two people readily available, and stating their willingness to help him ? Tarn, again, had no answer, only questions that needed them but that, at least it seemed as such to him, could never be found. The hunter stood there for many moments, body taut, his being resting against the tree who's presence so greatly contrasted with the man who rested his turmoil-filled head against it. One strong and ancient, who never let its roots be ripped out, the other who all too easily let his very fabric be shredded and tossed in the wind for the hapless man to recover.

"Why would anyone want me ?" he muttered, those last two words hissed between barred teeth as he stood there, motionless, letting the wind cool his seething being, torn between pure blazing anger and deep, deep depression. Which path would he take this time ? Or was there one that was veiled to him, but that could be taken ? How Abileith longed to know, and how shrouded the answer seemed to be !

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Anelia))

She saw it. She felt it. All the suffering within the man's heart, and then she believed to be able to understeand him.
"Tarn. You know what could have happened, if you weren't there, back when we fought those atrox. I don't know if I could have managed it against the four of them, and in case I could have done it...he..." Anelia looked to the sad shifter.

"Every time this happens, you say?! Your fault? Do you understeand what you are saying? Do you consider yourself the damned father of the atrox?? You have to blame them, now! You helped us!And...!And... do you think I don't care about that poor girl?! I feel just as guilty as you do, I was fighting too You're not the only one who had to deal with this kind of situations! I...I...lost a very important person for me, in front of my own eyes, just because I wasn't strong enough to save her. You can't give up now, be strong, will you?" It was only after saying this, that she realized that perhaps she had done one wrong thing, and that perhaps her own words had poisoned her.

All of a sudden, many things came to her head, all these last months, all the things she had gone through to survive. She was just like him...just like that, until she had met the two people that were next to her right now. Only then she had been like she had always been, trying to protect people she cared for.

"It's settled, then! You are coming with us. We need you, and you will probably have less problems with the shadows if we're with you. Let us work as a team. I can promise that nothing bad can come out from this. Believe in me, and I will believe in you."

Anelia did trust him, and she did believe that things would be good for the three of them if they got toghether and help each other. Yet she had no answer to where fate would lead them. She had one matter to settle, before anything, though. She wondered if they would agree, or even, if she should tell them.

"Sorry, I am not supposed to decide that for you... here, take this. I took it with me after you guys left." She gave the big loaf of bread she had to Tarn, and the small one to the boy. "I'm sorry, but I do believe he needs more food than you do, just a matter of size, you know. And forgive me, that's all the food I have."

She tried to smile kindly, and placed a hand on Tarn's arm. "Decide by yourself, ok? I won't blame you, whichever way you choose. Just don't run away like before. If you want to be alone, tell us, it will be fine..."

She realized that she would need to wash her hair, but that would pose more problem than what it would if she had been alone. However, she honestly hoped that the both of them stayed with her. She had been alone for too long.

((Hylas))

The lady put a soft hand on his shoulder as the hunter eventually stopped, providing a small amount of comfort with her gentle words. "If you want to stay with me, do it. I'll be taking care of you."

"I can't ... It's ... my fault ..." the hunter murmured sadly, his heart clearly heavy in his chest, as he remained sat on the forest floor, "Every time this happens, and I can't do anything about it !"

Hylas stood, letting go of the fallen man's leg, tears spiking his eyelashes and his face screwed up in a frown. "It's not your fault," he said bitterly, "They do this on purpose - being cruel - to hurt us. And you can do something. You can stay and help us show them that's they're wrong to do these things. They're wrong to kill people and blame it on others."

Voice catching in his throat, Hylas stopped, sniffing as the man rose to his feet and wandered a few paces away, leaning heavily against the massive bole of an ancient tree.

"Tarn. You know what could have happened, if you weren't there," the lady said softly her anger waning for the time being, "back when we fought those atrox. I don't know if I could have managed it against the four of them, and in case I could have done it...he..."

She looked down at the boy but Hylas didn't see, his gaze fixed upon the still figure before them. Her voice when she spoke was angry once more - no, not angry, merely frustrated - and her words bore nothing but the truth, hoping that the hunter would understand.

Eventually, she calmed, drawing out a loaf of bread and handing one to the man and one to him. Hylas' gaze switched happily to hers, his dark gaze shining in gratitude as he clutched the loaf to his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said with a smile, "but I do believe he needs more food than you do, just a matter of size, you know. And forgive me, that's all the food I have." She turned to the hunter, her pale, blood-spattered hand gracing his strong arm. "Decide by yourself, ok? I won't blame you, whichever way you choose. Just don't run away like before. If you want to be alone, tell us, it will be fine..."

Hungrily, Hylas bit into the crust, lowering himself down to the floor so that he could use both hands easier. Pausing briefly, he tore off the end and held it up to the woman beside him. "You need some too," he said with a grin, "'Specially if we have to run again."

Mud-coloured eyes settling on the hunter's back, Hylas chewed thoughtfully. "No one should be alone," he stated matter-of-factly, "My nanna said that was why the Rau-lass were winning. Because people were fighting alone and when things got bad, they had no one to make them feel better. My nanna said making people feel better is the best thing you can do in a war because it makes people realise what they're fighting for. And it stops them from being sad. She said it's easier for the Rau-lass to take someone when they're sad. Because their head isn't strong. That's why we have to be happy. That's why we have friends."

He paused again, his gaze wandering down to the dirty floor. "But I don't have any friends left. The Rau-lass took them all. I've only got the lady and you."

((Anelia))

You need some too,specially if we have to run again.

Those were the words that the young boy told Anelia, while giving her a small piece of the bread she had given to him a few moments ago. "Thank you, that's very kind."

She listened to the shifter speaking.

No one should be alone, my nanna said that was why the Rau-lass were winning. Because people were fighting alone and when things got bad, they had no one to make them feel better. My nanna said making people feel better is the best thing you can do in a war because it makes people realise what they're fighting for. And it stops them from being sad. She said it's easier for the Rau-lass to take someone when they're sad. Because their head isn't strong. That's why we have to be happy. That's why we have friends.

And he was so right, he had the truth within those words, they were so true that it was almost surprising. Anelia felt sad for a moment, before hearing the boy again.

But I don't have any friends left. The Rau-lass took them all. I've only got the lady and you. His voice trailed down, and in the end it was hard to hear him.

"What's your name? If we want to be friends, we need to know our names, first!" she smiled at him, hoping that the hunter would somehow believe in the shifter's words. She believed in them, for he was totally right.

She looked at her body, still full of blood. "God, I've got to do something about this, and soon, so you've got to decide what you do quite soon, Tarn!" she smiled, hoping he would understand it was a joke.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Samir and a new NPC, Caelen. Note: there has been a six month time jump so now they’re on the same timeline with everyone else, and running around near Siggie’s hideout.))

Caelen hummed a tune under his breath from atop his perch on Samir’s shoulders. Samir had said that they were almost at their destination, which was good because the active 8-year old was getting sick and tired of being carried. He grinned as he thought about the past few months. He had been in class when Samir and the faery Akio had walked in, saying that they needed a child to accompany them to Aduro. He had been chosen over all of his classmates to go, and he had hurriedly packed everything that the thought that he would need. Akio had helped him rearrange a few things so that his pack wouldn’t be so heavy, and then they had set out.

They had stopped at a few villages and towns for provisions, and all the people had pestered them with questions. Caelen had been instructed to remain silent, so he had been very obedient and simply listened to all of the people. They had been quite stupid, though. They kept on saying that no one should travel during the wintertime and that this winter was harder than most. Caelen wondered how they would react if they were in Cetairiacelos, where winter lasted much longer than it did down here.

They had spent the entire winter traveling with Akio, but a few days ago, he had gone to go and do something else that the Avelate had assigned to him, and Samir had had a long talk with Caelen. Apparently, they were trying to find a faery called Altus Vulnus. Caelen knew from his lessons that Altus was the faery word for the high healer, and he had wondered why they were looking for a healer of all things. But he hadn’t asked anything; if the Avelate had sent them to find the faery, then the faery would be found. Besides, if he asked, then Samir might have gotten annoyed and sent him back to Cetairiacelos with someone. Or worse, the elf might send him back by himself.

However, Altus Vulnus was to find; Samir said that even the Avelate didn’t know exactly where he was. To draw him out, he and Samir needed to do a bit of acting. Samir had told him that for the next few days, he would either ride on Samir’s shoulders or be holding the elder elf’s hand. Then, whenever he felt like it, he would try to ‘escape’ and Samir would pretend to chase him and beat him for running away. Altus Vulnus would probably be alarmed at this, and try to stop Samir. Then, when Altus Vulnus came to save them, Samir and Caelen would explain why they needed to find him. Well… Samir would, because Caelen had no idea why they wanted to find the faery.

The tawny-haired boy looked around at the surrounding trees, their branches covered in snow and slush. Feeling bored, he stopped humming. He contemplated Samir’s white head, wondering if he should try to run away now. Deciding that he probably should, he flipped backwards, almost kicking Samir’s head. He landed rather clumsily, but then began to sprint away as Samir gave a shout of surprise. The little elf had no doubt that Samir would easily keep up with him; after all, the albino had longer legs.

He was swept off his feet suddenly, and rolled to a stop against a tree trunk, stunned by the blow.

((Argenti))

Welcome warmth washed over the pair as they sat in silence, Phoenix's chilled fingers slowly losing some of that cold against Argenti's skin. For some time they simply sat in silence, her body molding itself against his nearly seamlessly, despite the difference in size. Then Phoenix shifted and broke the silence. "I never told you what Ciarán wished to show you, did I?"

The-- he spoke to her before he died? Argenti thought in surprise. Yet it made so much sense, even casting light onto the seemingly spontaneous aegis provided by the shadows. Not his magic growing rampant, but Ciarán's powerful force...

Phoenix pressed two cool fingertips to his brow and before he could react a torrential flood of memories superimposed on each other assaulted him, memories rife with darkness.
---------

It was a cold day, with a light frost of snow sprinkled over everything... Ciarán sat alone, far away from any civilization ...A little girl, with hair as bright as sunlight perched by a creek, surround by a halo of her own hair's reflection... "Careful, Aryanna". Aryanna with daisies in her hair... clear, crisp wind blew gloriously colored leaves around, whipping them in intricate spirals of reds, golds and oranges around two young elves, one as radiant as the sun, the other like a willing prisoner in his cage of black... his whispering teachers had brought him here, like a bird in the palms of their many hands... The black world around him caught it and together, Ciarán and the shadows raced to forestall fate itself. No, he thought, please, please, let me be in time... let it not be too late... "I'll wait for you, I promise..." the woman whispered."I know," he replied, stroking her silky hair, "I know..." Entrancing words, whispers of another life surrounded him as he learned... Forth came Liadán, screaming as some heathen power drew her to the fell beings. Her dark hair whipped about her frail form, those beautiful green eyes, eyes Argenti knew and loved, wide with terrified denial of what she knew was to come-- did she think her lover would save her?... Rising as one, the other world claimed the wounded, hurt elf, sheltering him for years in a land beyond mortal reach, nursing his broken spirit until it was renewed. But they weren't enough... they couldn't protect him the second time...

-----------

A strangled gasp tore out of Phoenix as the woman drew away her hand, eyes shut tightly as she waged some internal struggle. Argenti reached out towards her then stopped, his quivering hand less than an inch away from her. Liadán's eyes... they were just like hers! Strange, this terrifying foreboding that clutched him like hooked talons. Ciarán was in the grave. No need to fear him-- not even his fire-bird did, for the memories she'd sent him had an underlying current of understanding, of kinship and even sorrow for his pains. Still, he was afraid. Let me see your eyes, he thought desperately, unable to touch Phoenix, as though the contact would reignite the mental link. Just let me see them, so that I know they aren't like hers.

Those two brilliant emeralds lay concealed from the world, though. Sinking slowly forwards, Phoenix rested her head against Argenti's chest. Now he did touch her, settling his arms around her in a tight embrace, as though it had been the faery, not the human, who'd done battle with the shadows. "Remind me not to do that again," she whispered softly.

Pulling her closer and at the same time lowering his head so that her hair brushed against his lips, he replied shakily, "I can promise that." Fanning out his wings, he raised them out of the warm shelter of his cloak to wrap them around his love in a crystalline cocoon, his lifeless silver hair on her fire-streaked ginger. After a moment he relaxed his wings, folding them back and down again.

There had been many stories about the strange Ciarán. He'd answered most questions posed to him, albeit in a voice like a falling feather, with answers as brief as a falling stone. Now he knew fact from fiction... and Phoenix had known all along. Carrying it in herself silently, as silently as she'd carried her hundreds of pains and confusion even months after the Rau-lass were a distant memory. Distant for Argenti, but not for her. How could it be, when even the process of lifting some heavy object with only one arm was a reminder?

"This.." He said softly, breathing in her pine-forest scent. Staring again, he murmured, "this is what he told you the first night?" Not a question, but a statement. "I'd have never..." I'd have never done that to someone I loved, he thought furiously. That bastard, Ciarán. How could he have done that? He knew her agony! Two pairs of eyes flashed in his vision, one fringed by long, russet eyelashes, the other wreathed with ebony-brown, and both were green. They arch of the eyebrows above them, the serious, elegant cast and shape were so alike that it could've been two fraternal twins' eyes. Liadán and Phoenix. How could you do that, Ciarán?

Strangely enough, it almost seemed as though the shadows answered.

((Aerain))

"Again?"

His voice bore all the threat of a bristling leopard yet his eyes were like a dove's, caught in the self-same feline's grasp. And I am the predator... Aerain told herself almost sadly, keeping her face as impassive as she could nonetheless, I am that which he would both fight and submit in the same instant. How did it ever come to this?

"Yes," she answered simply, for there was nothing else she could say that would heal the wound she had so casually carved into his heart. Wordlessly Terailan stared at her, piercing, desperate brown fixed upon caramel in the hope that her descision would melt like ice before the rising sun. But within those few silent minutes, all his strength seemed to seep from him, shoulders and wings sagging like a chastized child's as finally he lowered his head to the floor. Slow and precise, he moved to raise his hand to the back of his dark head.

"Oh, no you don't!" Aerain snapped, black brows lowering in a frown, and quicker than the faery could respond, she leant forwards, slapping his hand away from the braid with an audible crack.

In a flash, her small wrists were caught in a painful grasp, Terailan's fingers pressing into her flesh like talons as he stood. "Don't you even..." he growled in a tone barely audible but Aerain was not one to baulk at such threats.

"What?" she hissed, stepping a pace closer, her face a mere inch from his own as her arms were stretched awkwardly behind her, Terailan's grip unyielding. Osprey wings stretched to their full extent, curling slightly towards the mage before her and trembling with the energy of a coiled spring. "What, Terailan?"

With a sharp yank, Terailan's lips bore down hard on her own, his hold releasing only to grasp at her hair, tanned fist buried into her dark curls. Before the startled Aerain could react, the faery's ferocity was gone, palm opening to replace the hurt with a tender caress which she leant into despite herself, arms wrapping loosely around his waist.

"Come back," he whispered then, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs upon her neck as he held her close, "Promise me." Unable to answer, Aerain stayed silent. "Promise me!" Terailan repeated, his voice harsh in contrast to the soft touch of his fingertips against the bare skin of her back - her open tunic offering no resistance - and his lips tracing her jawline. "Promise me, Aerain!"

Staring over his shoulder - a single tear drawing an irridescent path down her cheek - Aerain nodded.

"I promise."

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Aerain))

"Again?"

His voice bore all the threat of a bristling leopard yet his eyes were like a dove's, caught in the self-same feline's grasp. And I am the predator... Aerain told herself almost sadly, keeping her face as impassive as she could nonetheless, I am that which he would both fight and submit in the same instant. How did it ever come to this?

"Yes," she answered simply, for there was nothing else she could say that would heal the wound she had so casually carved into his heart. Wordlessly Terailan stared at her, piercing, desperate brown fixed upon caramel in the hope that her descision would melt like ice before the rising sun. But within those few silent minutes, all his strength seemed to seep from him, shoulders and wings sagging like a chastized child's as finally he lowered his head to the floor. Slow and precise, he moved to raise his hand to the back of his dark head.

"Oh, no you don't!" Aerain snapped, black brows lowering in a frown, and quicker than the faery could respond, she leant forwards, slapping his hand away from the braid with an audible crack.

In a flash, her small wrists were caught in a painful grasp, Terailan's fingers pressing into her flesh like talons as he stood. "Don't you even..." he growled in a tone barely audible but Aerain was not one to baulk at such threats.

"What?" she hissed, stepping a pace closer, her face a mere inch from his own as her arms were stretched awkwardly behind her, Terailan's grip unyielding. Osprey wings stretched to their full extent, curling slightly towards the mage before her and trembling with the energy of a coiled spring. "What, Terailan?"

With a sharp yank, Terailan's lips bore down hard on her own, his hold releasing only to grasp at her hair, tanned fist buried into her dark curls. Before the startled Aerain could react, the faery's ferocity was gone, palm opening to replace the hurt with a tender caress which she leant into despite herself, arms wrapping loosely around his waist.

"Come back," he whispered then, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs upon her neck as he held her close, "Promise me." Unable to answer, Aerain stayed silent. "Promise me!" Terailan repeated, his voice harsh in contrast to the soft touch of his fingertips against the bare skin of her back - her open tunic offering no resistance - and his lips tracing her jawline. "Promise me, Aerain!"

Staring over his shoulder - a single tear drawing an irridescent path down her cheek - Aerain nodded.

"I promise."

He listened to all of it, surprised and saddened at the little boy's tale. He was incredibly mature, and seemed to handle himself pretty well, despite having been attacked by two Rau-lass and their slaves, and seen one of his own kin die before his very eyes. The boy had endured far too much, and yet his innocent use of the word "nanna" showed he still had life and joy left, left to be spent, and not lost in the clutches of Fate, her sickening hands seemingly having grasped it all from Tarn's life. And yet here he was, a boy and a woman comforting him, asking for him to stay. He'd been alone for a long, long time. He was a self-exile really, and didn't cope well with what Fate brought before his very eyes. And yet, here it was, a boy who had endured more than him, it seemed. He'd lost all to the Rau-lass, and here he was, beckoning a grown man whose only action after defending him had been to run.

"Yes ... I'm sorry ... I really am ..." How stupid, and utterly selfish, how weak, puny and petty he felt, resting his banded forehead against the coarse bark of a sturdy tree, while those out there, in the far off reaches of the land, in its very heart; everywhere, suffered from things that he could help undo. Or so they were both telling him. He remembered a saying from his father; the context was vague, but those words now resurged from the depths of his foggy memory, and gave him strength once more:

He wasn't a bad man, he was a good man, who cared for his family, and so bad things 'appened to him. It was the same for your mother, boy. She was the fairest lass in the world, and she gave 'er final breath for you ... She never gave up, never tried to better 'erself, just those around her. She warmed my stone 'eart, she did lad; you owe all to her. Don't be forgettin' it, but don't feel bad about it either, just thank her, and rest easy: she's in a far better place now, watching over us I'm sure ...

The man had been a neighbour, framed for some crime and so punished. A good man, had said his father, to whom bad things had happened. And his mother ... He couldn't know anything about her, she died handing her last breath to his body. But if her husband was right when talking about her, then she was a good woman. And she did all she could to help others. And Tarn ... How was he repaying them, his good parents, his father who never chided him, but always taught him the right things in life. How good they had both been, and how little justice he did them, now, fleeing from those who needed him most, because he couldn't face up to the twisted road paved firmly before him.

He'd now known for a long time that there was no escaping it, no fork in the road that led away from it, but his soft heart, or so he prayed, never got accustomed to the blow it received every time Fate laid a trap for it. And so, every time he could only run away from it, and let it heal, for the cage around had been too weak to protect it. And in numbers came strength, so was he weak to continuously live the life of a hermit ? Yes, he found himself weak, Abileith found himself a coward, standing in front of the incoming wave, only to recoil at the last moment, rather than face the full blow, and let those he protected be unscathed. For those who needed protecting, the good people of this land, needed someone to help them, and all Tarn did was reinforce their view that all good had been sucked out of the world.

It was only then that the hunter felt the woman's slightly bloodied hand on his burly arm, having handed a loaf of bread to the boy, and motioning to him to have the other one. He took his forehead off the tree, and lightly grabbed the loaf, mouthing a silent thank you that he couldn't escape his thin lips. Tears almost brimmed his falcon eyes, as he saw the boy hand a piece of his loaf to the woman who'd so kindly helped him, and who seemed so much stronger to him then, so much stronger than him.

He crouched, to look at the boy, head still slightly bowed, as he tore small chunks out of the loaf he'd been given. "My name's Tarn, little Shifter. Thank you, I promise ... his voice broke a bit then, as the pain resurged; I promise I won't do that again, ever, I'll stay with you and Anelia ..." he finished, a smile trying to creep up on his craggy features, as he rose to look at the woman. She'd saved him, in a way, they both had; he'd have to repay them.

For the first time in his life, Tarn buried the past, let it sink into the fog of his memory, to never resurge, he hoped, and to try and live with these two. They boy needed them, he'd said so, and it was true, and Tarn couldn't even begin to imagine running away again, not with such a responsibility weighing on his shoulders. And for once, that burden gladdened him, for it gave a sense to his life other than simply surviving, he had a goal which he would accomplish to the end.

((Lysander))

Having had disposed of the girl-- the image of the small, determined commander who was her sibling flashed into his mind; to think that they were related!-- Lysander swept away. Thank goodness that his two comrades had actually toed in someone useful this time. Children were fine, but unless they were well-mannered, silent elves, he couldn't really tolerate them for long.

---

"Perhaps you ought to aim for somewhere beyond the mountain chains," Lysander muttered, long fingers skimming over their likeness on the map stretch out before the pair. "The enemy isn't as moronic as you'd wish them to be, you know. Too much activity in one area--"

"I know!" Foertis snapped, fire flaring from his fingertips. The elf's eyes flashed, his elegant hands tensing. "Well, then." he purled menacingly, "I'd suggest you act the part more often. Where have you yet hit that hasn't any mountains?" Hazel eyes locked on blue, the friction between the distinct personalities creating near-tangible sparks. "The distance is too great," the faery responded, rising to his feet. His twisted, ill-repaired face bore the distinct impression of being faced with something unseemly. And unbidden smirk tugged at the elf's lips as he recalled the former splendor of those features, the panoply of feeling that would play on them, so much the better for aggravating. There was something positively delicious about a person's face. A pity Signum hadn't patched him up better.

"What the hell is so damn funny?" Foertis demanded. "Language, my vertically impaired friend," Lysander mildly replied. "Language. As I was saying, you've concentrated too much attention on one area--"

"--and as I was saying, that's because we haven't the resources or availability of time to expand!" The elf tossed his hair back, staring down his nose at the shorter man. "Broach the topic to Signum," he challenged. "I doubt the fellow hasn't noticed this ill pattern himself. Resources, you say? Send him out on his own, whilst you target a separate location. He'd be fine with it, I know, for you're not nearly as well suited to far travel, are you?" Though relatively innocent, the slightly mocking air on those last words send across a clear message to Foertis. You're too afraid of being away from your protector, your cold-loving Northerner who can heal away all but death, aren't you?

A low, vicious growl emanated from the faery's chest. So unexpected was it that Lysander very nearly laughed. "What?" He queried. "Aren't you willing to help Signum's little enterprise succeed?" Foertis stared, dumbstruck. Then a strangled sound left his throat, a sound which gradually built up to his obscene, high-pitched hyena's laughter. "Oh," he sighed, the last fit of chuckles dying away, "but you're a complete idiot! You've failed entirely to comprehend why I don't want to be parted from Signum."

Blossoms of blood bloomed on the elf's proud features, bright sparks dancing on his fingertips. "Sciotarálaí" He swore, "do make some sense. It's a virtue you bear in scant quantity." Sifting his weight ever so subtly, the other replied. "I'll ignore that last comment." Continuing in a low voice, he murmured, "do not approach Signum with this topic. You proud, preening creature, vainglorious peacock that are, fail to notice the pains of others. Or if you do," he remarked scathingly, "you do a stellar job of hiding it."

"I don't trust Signum's mental stability right now. I'm not saying that he's mad, or crazy, or driving us all to extinction or some such notion. But he spends too much time looking inwards, not really being alive--"

"tell me something I don't know," Lysander stated airily, silencing playfully under Foertis's glare. "Act like it. I swear, if you know how it hurts, then act like it. Don't strut as though you're the cause of all existence."

"How do you know I'm not?" The elf murmured seriously. "In all due honesty though, I scorn the way you coddle him. I have lived for 316 years, remember-- don't think for even a second that grief is foreign to me. But after the first few times, one learns that getting on with things is far more important. My commander also died-- did I crawl into a hole?" Under his breath, Foertis muttered, "I wish you had." With a pointed looked of extreme patience, Lysander said, "sorrow has a time and a place. Seven months of wallowing in it is far too long-- if Signum hasn't learned yet to release his selfishness and simply cherish what time he had with his commander, that's no problem of mine." Settling himself majestically on a chair, he added, "what does concern me, though, is the rather morbid prospect of discovery. As such, I intend to broach this subject to him, whether you approve or not."

Foertis would have continued the argument, but for a sudden twisting of his magic, akin to a slap in the face. His fellow fire-mage flew to his feet in a flurry of robes, muttering a hum of Elvish spells under his breath. "Speak of the devil," he swore viciously, gripping the faery's wrist like his bones had turned to steel. "Your wards picked it up as well?"

Casting a concerned glance upwards, as though the earthen ceiling held some answer, Foertis resp0oned, "yes. What did you see through the earth and air, that fire cannot?" Pulling the other after him, the taller man replied acidly, "an albino elf, with a child of eight or so years. Apparently the child tried to leave the elf and ended up getting knocked into a tree for it." Damn it, if the man really is an envoy of the Rau-lass... Then what? Well, of course the answer was obvious. All three men were mages and with the exception of Lysander, who was always here, all of them cast some manner of ward to warn of intrusion. Signum's would have picked up on the spilt blood by now...

Right on cue, the raven-haired man ghosted up to them. Though decidedly worn, there was an undercurrent of some bestial fury in him, for he'd have heard what the elf said; the walls here were a perhaps too narrow. "Lysander," he murmured in a soft, gentle voice. "You and Foertis won't be needed; I'll see to it that the child is safe, if you'll be so kind as to let me above ground. Preferably somewhere hidden, of course." Anahita's worried face peered down from a corridor, her hand firmly affixed to the collar of a child attempting to approach the adults. "Certainly," the mage said, guiding the faery to an already half-formed exit.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Samir/Caelen))

Caelen looked at him with huge brown eyes, eyes filled with terror. Whether real or imagined, she didn’t know. Bile rose in her throat, knowing that she was the reason that the child was afraid, that she was the one hurting it. But she had to. She couldn’t just leave it be; she had to do this in order to find Healer Vulnus.

Before she could say anything, Caelen wailed, “I don’t wanna be an atrox!” and began to cry, tears coursing down his cheeks. At that point, all she wanted to do was run and never stop, to leave him here, to get away from him. But she didn’t. “Do you think I give a d*mn?” Samir said, his voice calm and controlled. His fist moved like lightning, catching the child on the cheek. Caelen whimpered, and tried to run again.

Samir simply kicked the child again, sending him sprawling. “Kid,” he said, his expression quite unlike his normal open and friendly one, “I’m sick and tired of you trying to run away. If you do that again, I’ll drug you.” Caelen’s eyes widened even further, seemingly against all possibility. Without another word, Samir scooped up the light, unresisting body and slung it over one shoulder.

Continuing the way they had originally been traveling, Lilith thought, I deserve whatever happens to me now. Even though Caelen had been more or less expecting everything that she had done to him, it still wasn’t right in the least, most twisted sense of the word.

((Hylas))

Finally, with the lady's touch, the hunter moved, drawing himself away from the comfort of the tree and reaching gratefully for the loaf that she held for him. In a sudden movement - one so swift and unexpected that it almost startled the boy - the man lowered himself to the floor, balancing easily on the balls of his feet.

"My name's Tarn, little Shifter," he said gently, his deep tone quiet, "Thank you, I promise... I promise I won't do that again, ever, I'll stay with you and Anelia."

Unable to help himself, Hylas grinned, brushing at his remaining tears with his fist and returning his attentions to the bread. "Anelia's a pretty name," he answered between mouthfuls, "My name's Hylas. Granda' didn't like it - said it was for girls - but I like it." He cast his dirty gaze to the man, head tilted in a mixture of curiosity and concern, a frown wrinkling upon his brow. "Are you really staying with us, Tarn? Because I'm glad if you are. We're like a family now - all three of us."

Finally finishing off the bread, Hylas scattered the crumbs from his lap to the floor and unfolded his crossed legs, standing. Eyes settling upon the hunter, he grinned again mischieviously. "Nana says you'll catch cold if you don't wear a shirt."

Laughing, he turned to the lady, covered as she was in atrox blood and took her hand. "There's water not far from here," he told her with a smile, "I can smell it. We can all wash then." Tugging on her hand, he lead her into the trees, Tarn following. "Granda' always told me potatoes'll grow in my ears if I don't wash 'em properly. And then we'll be no good against the Rau-lass because we won't be able to hear anything."

((Anelia))

When Anelia heard the young Hylas pronouncing her name, it sounded stranger than it had ever sounded before. She smiled. "Yours is a nice name, Hylas, and you're a nice person, your name suits you."

Anelia finished the small piece of bread she was eating; the one she had shared with Hylas.

Soon, she felt Hylas' warm hand grabbing hers, and he smiled. There's water not far from here, I can smell it. We can all wash then.

"You've got a good nose, haven't you?" she was indeed surprised at the fact that the little shifter was able to smell water. Perhaps it was because water was one of the few things that hadn't turned foul, in that forest.

Granda' always told me potatoes'll grow in my ears if I don't wash 'em properly. And then we'll be no good against the Rau-lass because we won't be able to hear anything. She laughed at this last thing he said, because she found it was funny to imagine the situation. And Hylas was right. It was almost as if they were a family. And...families didn't lie to each other, or at least they weren't supposed to do so, right?

"Tarn, Hylas...I have to tell you something. Anelia is not a nice name at all. In fact it's not even my real name." As she was saying that, she got to see the water that Hylas was talking about. Clear and crystalline. And the sun was able to pass through the leaves of the tall trees, so the water was glittering magically.

She, Anelia, walked to the water, facing the opposite direction from her two friends. She took off the small clothes she was wearing, and got into the water. She wasn't that worried about being naked in front of two people she had met not that long ago. That was because they were only able to see her back, and because she knew they weren't that kind of people, who would spy on her, so she felt safe.

Right when the water covered her hips and a part of her stomach, she felt the intense icy cold of the water. As if she was being stung by needles. It took a bit until her body was all clean. She had awaited to do the hair because having such long hair would mean she would be so cold once she got it wet. With her hands, she moved her dark black long hair forward, and started to clean, whiping away the atrox's blood.

Soon, the water became tinted with black color, while the woman's hair began to look shiny with the sun, her hair discoloring from black to...turquoise.

((Phoenix))

Argenti's wings flared protectively, surrounding them in a glassy bubble that distorted the flames to mere colours, crimson and carnelion dancing across the seemingly delicate spread like magic. It was mesmerizing - to let the shadows murmur as her tired, unfocussed eyes traced the flickering patterns - and the sudden absence as the faery returned them beneath the warmth of his cloak was startling.

The healer was silent for a long while, with little indication to his thoughts bar the soft, soothing press of his lips against her hair and the defensive way his arms wrapped tightly around her, bringing her memories back to her first night within the shelter of the standing stones.

The shadows had whispered then too.

"This..." Argenti's voice petered out before returning again, his gentle tone holding traces of indignation, "this is what he told you the first night? I'd have never..."

"I know, love," Phoenix answered softly, opening her eyes and pressing her hand against his chest, turning further into his warmth, "But it is done. And it is better to be in the remains of love than it is malice: I'd rather they were simply persuasive as they are now than forceful in their notions." Pausing, she raised a single eyebrow as she stared at her fingers playing with the slightly frayed edges of his cloak. "It seems people are fond of bequeathing their magic upon me, though I'd give up both for the return of my strength any day."

Protect you... give you... strength...

"And you can piss off for a start..." Phoenix muttered, letting her hand drop with a sigh, "I wish they would stop promising me things, Argenti. It's... disheartening, to say the least, knowing that what I want is right there..."

She lifted her injured arm before her eyes and opened her palm. The barely perceptible haze that was Ciarán's protection rippled around her flesh as though it were a part of her - as insubstantial as air yet as clear as smoke - and frowning, Phoenix closed her fist once more, tucking the extended limb beneath the healer's cloak.

Had she given the shadows too much reign? She had allowed them to shield her from the constant pain and tiredness that lingered like a disease upon her body and, though she had done as Argenti had asked and had refrained from speaking directly to them, she had not blocked out their whisperings, simply tolerating their presence as though it were an irritating wolf-cub that had attatched itself to her. And it was almost as though she were getting used to it, the shadows wrapping themselves around her like a weak form of the atrox's armour. Would it become such if she gave them what they wished? Or would she become simply like Ciarán, unable to separate shadow from substance... constantly dancing between the two?

It seemed that both the magics she had been given bore a curse of sorts: both offered the strength she desired - she needed - but one shone like a beacon, leading the Queen of the Rau-lass with assured steps to wherever she hid, and the other drew her further into the darkness, hiding her within itself more surely than Phoenix would ever wish for. Neither she had used to their full extent, but she was not naiive enough to presume there wouldn't come a time when she needed to. For not even Phoenix could promise not to use it if it could save the life of her friends.

Moulding herself against him, Phoenix slid her hands beneath Argenti's tunic, chasing away the last of the chill with the warmth of the faery's flesh. Sleep was already beginning to seem far from her, her mind churning like a stormy sea even as her body craved the oblivion it so desperately needed.

"How long has it been since I last slept?" she murmured softly, already knowing the answer.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((Foertis))

Glowering from the sidelines, the faery watched with silence choler as his smooth-faced counterpart tunneled the earth, his magic the knife cutting through the butter of the earth. Signum stood silently by, distant yet as angrily contained as a penned stag. No sooner had Lysander stepped aside to let their superior pass than he was off, shooting towards the sunlight.

----

((Signum))

“Kid, I’m sick and tired of you trying to run away. If you do that again, I’ll drug you.” Signum suppressed a growl of rage, fingertips trembling in anticipation. I swear I'll kill him.

Slipping stealthily around his quarry, the once-healer gained his first physical impression of the elf and his captive. One would have thought him an old man, if all they saw of him was the cloaked back and white hair. But no; his was the image of youth, with red eyes like braziers. The only other albino he'd met in his life, Lilith, came to mind. But, he thought fleetingly, she's better than this ilk.

Salty tears had washed tracks down the round cheeks of a young elf child, his sienna eyes wide in terror, barred by strands of hair the tawny hue of a lion's hide. In one fluid motion, the elder elf had scooped up his prize, slinging the destitute being over his shoulder as easily as another person might a sack of potatoes. Casually examining their surroundings with his blood-bright eyes, the elf turned an resumed his pace, as easily as though he'd been traveling thus the entire time. As well he might have, Signum thought savagely.

No point in attack from here, where his wings would hinder him-- the elf's long stride, though, soon brought him to an area where the tress were thinner, if only momentarily. The faery coiled in like a spring, then pounced. Months ago, this would have been strangely exhilarating; something of a hands-on analysis to know Sorea's life and feelings, to help comprehend the incomprehensible. Now it was just a motion, something designed to pin a threat.

Using his alula to direct the fall, rather than the whole of the wing, he bore down on the elf, feeling those uncustomarily willowy shoulder that were a trademark of the race buckling under his broad, rough hands. In one jerking motion, he'd relieved the man of his captive, protecting the boy with one heavy wing. The elf's shining locks obscured his face, one side of which had gone pink from the force of impact with earth. The creature had been pinned on his stomach, the faery's knee driving into the small of his back, one hand curled around the neck, the other locking together the wrists to twist back the arms.

For a moment there was nothing but the sounds of the forest and his harsh breathes. Then, switching from Fae to the Common tongue: "speak fast and speak well, if you value your life." An empty threat-- they couldn't kill the man here without risking suspicion, but that wasn't to say that there weren't other methods to be employed. "Explain your purpose passing through this place, the future of the child and to what degree this act is of your own volition." No big guess as to any of them. Still, killing on the spot was what she'd have done, not him-- were she here, she'd expect this very act of interrogation, the assumed position of judge and jury before choosing to be either liberator or executioner. Thus, it was what he did.

((Samir/Caelen))

A sensation of unease filled her, yet she did nothing. If she had been back in Cetairiacelos, she would never have ignored her instincts, but here... Here the action was justified. Samir's legs easily carried him and the elven child through the woods, into a sparse patch of trees. Samir tensed slightly, expecting an attack.

His expectations did not go unfulfilled, for something heavy hit him, knocking him to the ground. As the side of his face hit the unyielding earth, his glasses were knocked awry and fell. Hissing in pain from the fall and amount of light reaching his eyes, Samir flinched. During his fall, Caelen had been gently brushed away by the faery's wing. Now the child stood up and moved, presumably to pick up the fallen glasses. "Caelen, don't," Samir said in Fae for the faery's benefit.

An arm was wrapped around his throat--tightly enough to pose a threat, but not enough to choke him. Samir's hands were held behind his back, and Lilith knew that even with Samir's strength, there was nothing she could do to squirm free.

For a moment, the healer remained silent. Then he said, "Speak fast and speak well, if you value your life." Lilith highly doubted that they would kill her, not now at least. They didn't know if someone was waiting for her arrival and would send out a search party if she didn't turn up. However, Samir shuddered as he briefly thought of the things that Mage Ælfher and Anathae Foertis might do to him. And Altus Vulnus; the man seemed a bit different since she had seen him last. Then again, she thought, he did lose Sorea, and I was threatening a child.

Before Samir could respond, however, the faery continued. "Explain your purpose passing through this place, the future of the child and to what degree this act is of your own volition." Samir gave a small sigh. "You won't believe me," he stated simply. "But since you asked and you are in a position to kill me, I will tell you. Before I answer your questions, though, I think that there's a bit more information I need to give you for my responses make sense. First off--"

Caelen had move closer to the two and interrupted, tugging on Altus Vulnus's shirt. "You are Altus Vulnus?" he asked slowly, the Cetairiacelosian accent blurring his words a bit. "You don't kill Samir," he stated solemnly, bright eyes serious. "If you do, Lilith kills you because Samir her brother."

Samir tried to open his eyes, but shut them again. Stupid sun, he thought viciously. "That's not exactly what I was going to say, but I guess it works. I trained at one of the Seven Academies, like Lilith. However, Lilith went to Sanusiaer and I attended Praestutia. The Avelate decided that because Lilith had broken the contract with Sorea, she needed to be sent back to you to give whatever aid she can. But she was busy with another task, so I was sent in her stead until she finishes. And Caelen will..." here he trailed off, and the child eagerly continued. "I am special," he said, a grin on his face. "I help Samir finds you. I am an assassin," he stated proudly. Hearing this, Samir vowed to teach the child the past and future tenses sometime in the near future.

"As for your last question," Samir continued, trying to shrug, "no one tells the Avelate that they're not going to go do something unless they have a very good reason why they can't. Or they're simply provocative," he said, thinking of Professor Jael. "I think that's all," he finished.

Caelen tugged on Altus Vulnus's shirt--which he still hadn't let go of--again. "You let us help?" he asked, his expressive face full of hope. "The--" he struggled for a moment, trying to think of a translation. Giving up, he said, "--Avelate is not happy if we fail. Please?" he asked again, his tone begging.

((Argenti))

"And you can piss off for a start..." Phoenix muttered, letting her hand drop with a sigh, "I wish they would stop promising me things, Argenti. It's... disheartening, to say the least, knowing that what I want is right there..."

"I'm sorry," Argenti murmured. "I should be able to help, but..." I'm too weak against them, there's too much of me that would give way. Then another thought occurred to him, one that was just as ill as Phoenix's unhappy words. They're speaking to her still, he thought uneasily. Even though I'm a shadow mage-- thereby more easily exploited-- they've left me alone. The first time it had not been so. Alone with Phoenix in the standing stones, the darkness had whispered to Argenti only, then through manipulation of his magic, just barely managed to touch her, soon driven away by his scant control over the mercurial curse. Had he established a road to Phoenix for the shadows? Was that why he was no longer a necessity, save to keep them at bay from his own body?

The goddess help me if it's my fault! Yet such distractions were brushed aside as the woman beside him curled her body to match the hollows of his, her cool hands slipping to the warm flesh beneath his tunic. Good light, he thought fleetingly, breath catching. The intoxicating feeling of Phoenix's sensitive, weapon-calloused fingers against his chest setting a hammering in his heart as surely as would a strike of Vinaya's electricity. Only this was a thousand times sweeter. Instinctively his moved his arm to her well-defined collarbone, curving like a bow.

"How long has it been since I last slept?" she said softly. "If I correctly recall," the faery answered, tilting her chin so that her face looked up to his, "it's been little over eighteen hours. Perhaps rest would be a good idea," he murmured, closing the distance between them to brush her lips softly with his. He paused, savoring the jolt of thrilling emotion, before kissing her again, this time making it last longer. Her mouth was soft against his, without the strange tinge of identical love brought by faery magic, for she was all too human. Don't think you can forget about the shadows by kissing, he thought briefly. Then he silenced it.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

((If you can't tell...))

A small sigh passed the albino's pink lips. "You won't believe me, but since you asked and you are in a position to kill me, I will tell you. Before I answer your questions, though, I think that there's a bit more information I need to give you for my responses make sense. First off--"

Signum froze, feeling a tug at his tunic, but it was only for a split second before he registered that it was from the young boy. "You are Altus Vulnus?" The child said slowly, a strangely clipped accent marring his words. How does he know my name! Myriad reasons presented themselves, each pointing to the same answer unless by some miracle an alternate solution should become apparent. "You don't kill Samir," he stated solemnly. "If you do, Lilith kills you because Samir her brother." Child, she's already tried that. How do you kill an untouchable man?
The pinned elf's eyes squinched open before shutting themselves tightly once more, the thick lashes making the motion appear like that of a common white mouse in bright light. "That's not exactly what I was going to say, but I guess it works. I trained at one of the Seven Academies, like Lilith. However, Lilith went to Sanusiaer and I attended Praestutia. The Avelate decided that because Lilith had broken the contract with Sorea," Signum's grip involuntarily tightened, to hear that sacred name spoken so bluntly-- and who was this Avelate, to know of her? Ah, but her existence wasn't much of a secret after she became General Pardai... " she needed to be sent back to you to give whatever aid she can. But she was busy with another task, so I was sent in her stead until she finishes. And Caelen will..."

"I am special," The boy Caelen said, grinning like a cat, "I help Samir finds you. I am an assassin." Signum froze. Assassins... she'd drawn her own conclusions, knowing the fairytales told in the North and having had the privilege of seeing Lilith's memories. Memories he possessed. The elven woman hadn't even been too concerned with secrecy when she'd hinted at an unknown land, that night when he'd taught her the humans' game, chess. Assassins from the North.

"You let us help?" Caelen asked, his expressive face full of hope. "The-- Avelate is not happy if we fail. Please?"

Signum hesitated, unyielding to his captive. This could end very well or very badly. "The woman whose name you bandied so loosely about," he snarled, "would have thought me a complete idiot for trusting Lilith-- your sister, if your words ring true. Fool I may be for it, but your Avelate would have had more luck sending her down than he does with her brother." Shifting to distribute the pressure more evenly, so that the elf Samir could talk more easily, he spat, "sibling relations count for little here. If you know so much of me, then you also know I'm not the only person I protect. Never will I take your words at face value. You want me to accept the word of a heretofore unknown elf and his charge? Prove it true."

((editing in more tomorrow))

((Hylas))

"You've got a good nose, haven't you?" the lady Anelia said as Hylas led her to where he knew the small river lay but the young boy shook his head with a laugh.

“I can hold on to some of the animal that I shift from,” he explained as the glittering ribbon made its way into view through the trees, “Not much but it means I can smell things better. Like water.”

Anelia went silent for a moment, long black locks of her hair twisting in the breeze like coils of dark flame as her rich blue eyes stared into middle distance. Unaware of her thought processes, Hylas continued on happily, humming to himself as he walked. The forest seemed less ominous now – despite the fact that they were but a few hundred yards from five bloodied corpses, four of which had been there to try and abduct him – and Hylas felt that his heart was lighter. For the better part of a moon he had been travelling, alone and constantly wary of anything that moved, but now he had a family again and familes protected each other.

And I will grow strong so that I can protect them too, Hylas thought to himself and then smiled.

"Tarn, Hylas...” Anelia said, her voice hestitant, and Hylas looked up, watching her curiously, “I have to tell you something. Anelia is not a nice name at all. In fact it's not even my real name..."

Concerns brushed aside, the young boy beamed. “You don’t have to worry, Anelia,” he answered brightly as they emerged into a small clearing, the clear water trickling gently before them like a silver serpent, “I had a different name too once but, when I had to hide, Nana gave me Hylas. She said it would be safer if no one knew my real name. So you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to... just in case the Rau-lass get me. Billy told me what they did to us kids...”

His small voice petered slightly, a frown marring his smooth, tanned brow, but then Hylas noticed Anelia had waded into the stream and immediately he brightened once more. With all the abandon of a child, the boy stripped himself of his ragged garments and leapt at the water with a sound resembling a battle-cry, emerging to the surface a few seconds later as a small, brown otter, whiskers twitching happily at the fresh air. Fur slick and wet, Hylas twisted through the current, his long, muscular tail carrying him in spirals across the width of the river, before diving beneath the ripples once more. Materializing with a small stone, the young shifter turned onto his back, hitting a shellfish upon the rock with tiny, dextrous paws, promptly giving up and casting the crustacean back to its home.

Sliding onto a rocky outcrop upon the far bank, the otter watched Anelia wash her hair with glittering black eyes, only shifting back to human from when he saw the dye filtering like smoke downstream. “You have pretty hair,” he stated with a smile, “like the roses my Ma grew. She called them Reef Roses because they reminded her of our holidays down south. She showed me how to do it so I’m going to have a whole bed of my own someday – just for her.”

Legs dangling in the water, Hylas rested his chin upon his arms as they rested upon the rock, muddy-brown eyes dulling slightly. “Where will we go?” he asked quietly, hair dripping steadily, “Nana said the faeries were the best people to aim for – they would remember how the shifters helped at Tumulosus – and Granda said they should anyway... but... well, I haven’t seen any of them. Only Rau-lass and the shadow-men. And so I don’t know where to go anymore.”

---------------
((Phoenix))

"If I recall,” Argenti murmured softly in return, his tapered fingers directing her gaze to his own, silver eyes glittering with something Phoenix could not quite recognise, her mind turning as it was, “it's been little over eighteen hours. Perhaps rest would be a good idea.”

With a faint sigh, Phoenix made to answer but the faery’s lips pressed gently against her own – halting the comment as surely as if he had taken her voice - returning again in a lingering kiss that seemed to instantly melt the dark chill that had settled around her heart. Small hands trailing along his smooth skin – as absent of scars as hers was peppered with them – she returned the caress, feeling each pain and ache disappear like an indolent sigh into a sense of quiet peace. Fingertips running along the edge of his wings as they disappeared into muscled flesh, Phoenix traced each part of Argenti as though she had never seen him before, committing each curve and hollow to memory in the hope that – no matter what happened – they alone would remain.

Though Nstif’ikta would erase them as though they were nothing more than trinkets. Anger blazed like molten iron in her chest, fierce and scolding. What right had the Rau-lass to take of those who had already given all that they could? Were they so helpless, so lost on their own, that they needed to steal lives in order to make up for what they didn’t have?

Never, Phoenix vowed silently to herself, kissing her companion with all the fervour of her denial, Never will they take from me again. Not now, not ever. The regular tattoo of Argenti’s heart beat steadily against her palm and, closing her eyes, she allowed the faery’s touch to comfort and reassure her, urging her soul to heights she had never believed it would ascend to.

Emerald eyes snapping open to fix upon his, Phoenix let out a soft gasp, gaze shimmering with unshed tears. Argenti – her friend, her beloved – settled his own eyes upon her, a mere hair’s breadth away, and Phoenix raised her arms to wrap around his broad shoulders, lips brushing his once more even as the words escaped them.

“I love you.”

((Samir/Caelen.))

"The woman whose name you bandied so loosely about," Altus Vulnus snarled, "would have thought me a complete idiot for trusting Lilith-- your sister, if your words ring true. Fool I may be for it, but your Avelate would have had more luck sending her down than he does with her brother." Altus Vulnus then shifted his weight, making it even easier for Samir to breath. Quietly he murmured, "A word of advice: never ask for Lilith's opinion of Sorea." If the faery did, he would probably go into a fit of rage to hear even half of the things Lilith thought of the now-deceased faery.

The faery probably didn't hear him, or rather, choose to ignore that comment, for he continued, "Sibling relations count for little here. If you know so much of me, then you also know I'm not the only person I protect. Never will I take your words at face value. You want me to accept the word of a heretofore unknown elf and his charge? Prove it true."

Eager to help, and not upset in the slightest that he had been more or less ignored, Caelen piped up, "We show papers?" Samir sighed. "Caelen," he said gently, "I appreciate your help, but let me deal with this, ok? Besides, Altus Vulnus can't read Cetairiacelosian, not to mention the fact that papers can be forged." There was a moment of silence as Caelen mentally translated this. Then his eyes grew wide with horror. "Avelate is angry if people say things he doesn't say." A distressed look appeared on his face; even at his age he had a vague understanding of how bad it would be to attempt to use the Avelate's authority.

Going back to what the faery had said, Samir continued, "So if sibling relations are next to nothing, I take it you haven't rescued Sorea's little sister?" Had it been Lilith who asked this, it would have been asked in an accusatory tone. However, as Samir, it was asked as a simple question. "I guess the Avelate was wrong then," he mused. But he was also right to assume that Healer Vulnus is sheltering children, she thought.

"As for proof? You have my blood. It is just as poisonous as Lilith's, and is filled with the same poisons. Well, most of them anyway," Samir said, thinking of a few newly-mutated versions that had manifested themselves during the past few months. "Since Lilith was in your healing ward because of an issue with an anticoagulant--if I recall correctly, she later gave a purging solution to Talanthae Malkeya who mistook if for an antidote--you should at least have a vague idea of what kind of toxins it harbors. Because of your poison magic, you can easily compare hers to mine."

Samir was careful not bring up the second way in which Altus Vulnus could prove that he was Lilith's brother, or at the very least, a close friend. The faery probably had Sorea's memories, which meant that he also had some of Lilith's. The only memories that would be valid enough for him to ask about, though, were the ones that Lilith did not want Samir to answer; she got the feeling that he would talk about her life too much as it were.

[Alacer Phasmatis]

Tarn gingerly followed Anelia, as she led them both to a nearby stream. As she began to morosely berate herself, calling herself a different person to who she was showing them to be, Tarn simply dismissed it: they needed to be strong, needed to be united, if any of them were to survive, him first off. "Anelia, no matter who you are, you seem to be the person we both want to be with for the time being, like a family ..." he finished, remembering the Shifter's words. Slowly, the woman shrugged out of her clothes, and eased herself into the water. Whilst Hylas jumped in, mirth evident in every one of his movements, Tarn turned his back, offering them both some privacy.

His long legs brought him further down the stream, where he cupped his hands, crouching nearer to the water, and dipped them through the clear surface of the water. The reflection of the hunter was shattered as he brought water into his bowl-shaped hands, and then brought them back out to splash over his face, but as the flow of the stream straightened the surface he'd so easily disturbed, he came to see his reflection once more. Deep-set eyes of a dirty amber faced him, a rough-hewn face coated in stubble, a few scabs and patches of blood.

Shying away from looking at himself any longer, he dipped his hands in the crystalline stream of water once more, bringing forth icy water which he splashed on his back this time, washing off the blood the atrox's mace had drawn, to reveal once more the faded tattoo he bore. As he let the soiled water run down his back, so too did he see the water Anelia had stained with the blood covering her course past his place, down the stream to be finally lost in the froth of a rock-jutted dip a few minutes onwards.

As Abileith washed away the last marks of battle, now lathering his whole body in the cold substance, he glanced back at the two, Hylas back in his human form, and standing peacefully on a rock, legs dangling in the cold water, while Anelia scrubbed the Rau-lass blood out of her hair, its once raven lustre shifting to a strange turquoise. Most unusual, but then again, he had been born with eyes reminiscent of a bird of prey, so perhaps it was just coincidence that they both had strange features, and that Fate had reunited them. Still, the hunter thought back to her earlier words: "Tarn, Hylas.." she'd said, her voice weak, "I have to tell you something. Anelia is not a nice name at all. In fact it's not even my real name..."

Tarn walked back to them, averting his gaze from her naked form, letting those ambers fall onto the rushing water next to his booted feet. He stood there, waiting, waiting for whatever they would want to say, to do, anything ...

((Anelia))

While Hylas accompanied her to the water, Tarn went to a different place to offer a bit of privacy. She learned from the little shifter that Hylas wasn't his real name, also. But she stated that she liked it, too. He shifted to his little animal form, and started to swim around the place. He seemed to be enjoying it, so the young woman was glad. She did like it when things were good, when people was happy. She stared at her sword, laying on the ground right beside the river.

You have pretty hair, like the roses my Ma grew. She called them Reef Roses because they reminded her of our holidays down south. She showed me how to do it so I’m going to have a whole bed of my own someday – just for her.

"Thank you, Hylas! You're a kind young boy. I'm glad to have met you. And I'm willing to see this bed of roses, I'm sure they will be so beautiful...way more than this hair of mine!" she laughed, and finally, there wasn't a sign of dye in her hair, the water and sun making the hair glitter. How much time it had been since she last saw that color? Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Hylas.

Where will we go? Nana said the faeries were the best people to aim for – they would remember how the shifters helped at Tumulosus – and Granda said they should anyway... but... well, I haven’t seen any of them. Only Rau-lass and the shadow-men. And so I don’t know where to go anymore. His question did worry her, surely, it was something difficult to decide. Probably they should search for the faeries, but, after all, who knews where were they. "We will try to rest a bit, and get some food and stuff from Old Oestin, first, and then we'll go to search the faeries. Nana's advice seems wise, to me."

She was starting to feel quite cold, due to the water, and keeping away from trembling was hard. And, something she hadn't thought before...she wouldn't wear the clothes she had been wearing, since they were covered in blood, so it was nonsense, and going out of the water, running around naked wasn't actually an option, either. Or at least she didn't consider it as an option. With Hylas it was sort of fine. He was a little boy who probably didn't quite think of her as a woman. As for Tarn...he wouldn't look at her, but still she felt a bit embarrassed, now. And then she saw Tarn coming back. She lowered her body so more water covered her.

"Tarn...I have all of my stuff in a nearby cabin. Would you mind taking my things here? All I have is my clothes, a small bottle, which contains my dye, a mask, and a small bag with my other stuff. Oh, and...the poor girl is there..." she tried to avoid Hylas hearing that. "I...decided to give her a name...she...will be Anelia." She felt great sorrow at saying that. The name wasn't the nicest name, and it was a name she had used to lie, but she didn't want to leave the poor girl without a name, after all. She felt really sorry, and guilty, too. Finally she spoke out loud again, in a normal tone.

"As for my name..." she looked at her reflection in the water, seeing her real face again. "forgive me for not having said it before, but I was hiding. However, I don't want to do it anymore. I will always be myself... my name is Selan."

((Argenti))

Blood rushed in him like liquid fire, ignited by Phoenix's slender hands and soft, willing mouth. Brushing her delicate lips against his jaw, she whispered, “I love you.”

"I love you too," he murmured, tracing her broad jaw with a finger, then trailing down her neck to delineate the elegant curve of her collarbone. His breathe came faster, heavier, and despite the cold of the night his entire body felt tensed and eager. His arms were practically crushing her against him; lowering his head, he sought to reciprocate her words with a kiss, forgetting in his passion that they both needed to be on guard.

Bright friend... a multitude of voices whispered. The voices were distant, muffled, yet as soon as they contacted Argenti, his unwatched shadow-magic reared its ugly head like some deformed snake. Bright one... Phoenix's eyes were darker, deeper, like fronds of weed at the bottom of a black pool, her hair the hue of red damask in half-light. We've done our part... for our dark brother...

"Shut the hell up," he muttered, a touch of panic entering his voice as he glanced at Phoenix and was hit by the realization-- the shadows were using her to link to him. Not him to her, as they had before...

Trust... us... "Phoenix," he murmured, pressing her against his chest and inhaling deeply of her clean, pine-forest scent. "Phoenix, the magic's using you-- they've found a link. They don't need my magic right now, but they're still talking to me." Give us your trust... we will protect you.. her... from the new scourge...

"Scourge?" He laughed wildly. "You mean to say that atrox, don't you-- creatures born of your magic? Protect us from them! Those cowardly demons can hardly keep themselves safe. We're fine alone." Really... "Yes," he growled, barely aware that his hands were clinging too tightly to Phoenix's arms. You work to protect her... "Vado putesco," he hissed, eyes roving for the point of greatest darkness in their small camp. Glancing at the woman in his arms, he paused, then muttered, "es vos tenura volo?" Are you threantening me?

Why... bright one... we only want her... safe... no threats... "Tunc quare operor vos servo contactus mihi?" He demanded brusquely of the shadows, his magic-enhanced vision showing the writhing of the blackness around them. We only... contact... you... because you grow to far... a star... you've become... if we lose you... we won't need you.. only her...

"The gods curse you!" The faery roared, leaping to his feet as though he'd dare try attacking the insubstantial voices. "I'm not leaving her, not now, not ever, do you hear me? Do you!" Panting heavily, he grabbed a blazing timber from the fire, thrusting it at the darkest places he could see, a million voices screaming in his head. "And," he hissed, "she wouldn't let you do that. What would you do then? Hurt her? Force her too go? That's not what the 'dark brother' had in mind, I'll wager." Furiously he threw the burning brand back into the maw of the fire, a thousand sparks flying up as he realized the unnatural vision of the rampant magic had left, and that things were as they should be again. Mutely he stared at the dancing fire, standing on the side opposite of Phoenix and the horses. If only Foertis were here to drive them away...

[Alacer Phasmatis]

“Before I agree to anything, I want to know for exactly how long this blood-oath will remain in effect, and how many people will be privy to what I say.”

"That's only to be expected," Signum murmured, closing his fist over the shard of sharp stone. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tilted back his head, thinking. I have all of the memories she could wrench free from Lilith's mind, he thought. And I never saw a brother...

That could potentially mean that 'Samir' was lying to him, or that Sorea hadn't been as thorough as was her wont. Yet all the other memories-- Phoenix Raine's, General Lucilius Heraldrus's, General Aleron Bellator's, and so many others-- all those rang true. And Kaedo would never raise his apprentice to be sloppy in her work, he thought in bitter recollection of her. Yet who could he trust other than himself with another person's life? Already thousands swam in his heads, the hundreds of lives she's freely plucked coming together in this one vessel-- surely another wouldn't matter. More than that, he believed that only he could safeguard such a secret indefinitely. As soon as this thought surfaced, he saw two bright halos of silver and gold, Argenti beside Foertis in searing sunlight, the latter with an expression near-worshipful to which the former was seemingly oblivious. No, not even he.

"My terms," Signum said carefully, feeling a touch of regret that he hadn't received nearly as much practice in this sort of thing than her, "are relatively few. The oath will for two days bind you, then be lifted by this approximate time of the third day. Only I am privy to your answers, so you may speak freely. You cannot twist or pervert the truth, tell a half-truth, or leave out a crucial element of an answer which may in its exclusion lead me to a false answer. In exchange, you have my word that I'll not breath a word of this exchange to anyone without your permission or until the terms are nullified, nor are any eavesdroppers present." Unless you count the many insects and animals.

((Samir))

"My terms," the healer said, looking thoughtful, "are relatively few.” Samir tilted his head sideways. Whenever someone stated that there weren’t very many conditions to be met, it meant that either there were a lot or the few that were in existence were so specific, they made up for any others. ”The oath will for two days bind you, then be lifted by this approximate time of the third day. Only I am privy to your answers, so you may speak freely.”

Lilith waited. Two days wasn’t bad, considering that he could have made it much longer. And the whole privacy statement, if true, was a bonus. And, as she was beginning to believe, it would be necessary. ”You cannot twist or pervert the truth, tell a half-truth, or leave out a crucial element of an answer which may in its exclusion lead me to a false answer. In exchange, you have my word that I'll not breath a word of this exchange to anyone without your permission or until the terms are nullified, nor are any eavesdroppers present."

Samir looked up at the sky again, as if searching for some answer in the clouds. On one hand, he would be agreeing to release any piece of information that the healer desired, even if it went against Cetairiacelosian law. On the other, the Avelate had given him free rein to do what he thought necessary. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Caelen who had started kicking the snow at his feet in a bored manner. Samir didn’t doubt for an instant that the child was listening, and that he understood more than he let on.

“I’ll take such a blood oath if I am allowed to respond in the language of your choosing, the language being one other than Cetairiacelosian, any form of Assassin’s Code, Fae, Elvish—common and courtly—and Common,” Samir said. Inside, Lilith didn’t have a shadow of a doubt as to how this interrogation would end. However, she didn’t want to run the risk of a certain pair of little ears hearing and possibly repeating it.

((Signum))

“I’ll take such a blood oath if I am allowed to respond in the language of your choosing, the language being one other than Cetairiacelosian, any form of Assassin’s Code, Fae, Elvish—common and courtly—and Common.”

"Meditatus solus duos lingua ego teneo proficuus es Vulgaris quod Fae," Signum responded, "quod ut Fae est minor publicus intrepruis , is tantum sto ut causa ut ego sumo ille." Considering the only two tongues I know proficiently are Common and Fae and that Fae is less open to interpretation, it only stands to reason that I would choose the former.

Beckoning the elf move closer, Signum pulled up the sleeve of his tunic, exposing an expanse of pale sin to the biting cold. He indicated that Samir do the same, one eye kept on Caelen; the child seemed harmless to him, but as he'd learned, even the innocent had a purpose other than the obvious. Slashing downwards with the palmed shard of stone, he sliced his arm from wrist to midway near the elbow, biting back the reflexive rising of his magic. "Now you," he said in Fae to Samir, offering the stone.

When the deed had been done, the faery placed the inside of his arm against Samir's, so that the welling blood mingle and fell combined. Then he spoke. The language of the words was lost, the meaning obscure, for there were no longer any blood-mages living to descry their meaning. All that was left of them wad the magic allowing this oath, and the invocations for the various forms, with the terms coming later, in any language one wished.

In Fae he continued, "... to last for a period of exactly forty-eight hours, with no perversion of truth or intent, barring of an answer considered complete by either of those two bound by this oath, and all answers must be immediate yet spoken so that the words are clearly audible. In exchange, I will not speak of the proceeds from this exchange until the terms are null or the oath-bound permisses as much, nor will any but I hear and understand the information imparted."

Stepping back, Signum ran a hand over both their wounds, leaving new flesh in the wake of his wordless magic. As before, the poisons adrift in the elf's toxic blood were expelled. "Now," he stated, observing the albino. "Let us begin, shall we?"

Closing his eyes once more, he thought primarily back to the set of Lilith's memories that Sorea had confiscated. "Alright," he murmured, "you're to answer each question in order and indicate when you've proceeded to the next one."

"Who was Parrinexis and what was you relationship, if any, with her?"

"Have you ever met the faery commander on the Tumulosus battle front?"

"What do you know of me? Mention only the immediately relevant, that being whatever information lead you to seek me out."

"What was the injustice done to Lilith by the Pylleomin?"

"What does the title 'Pylleomin' indicate?"

"Do you come from Aduro or Acerbus, or is your birthland an unknown autocracy to the north?"

"Are you really Lilith's brother?"

"Is your real name Samir?"

"If your answer to the previous question wasn't affirmative, what is your real name?"

[ShadowWake]

((I'll try my best to catch up in this one post... :\ BTW, it's going to sound like Soryuu's some sort of a God amongst the Atroxes, but that's not how it really is. They're just exaggerations. KYROS))

"No," he answered, glaring at the calm-looking man in front of him. "I refuse."

The other merchants gave him quick glances and pushed him aside to shut him up. "Don't mind him!" they said, "He just don't understand the laws!"

Kyros could feel the hate-filled eyes on him from time to time, but he ignored them. "You can't do this!" he shouted over the merchants' cajoling. "I won't let you!"

The bear-shifter grabbed him by the collar and dragged him outside of the bargaining tent. "Listen, kid," he growled, tossing Kyros easily like a potato sack. "I can understand that you don't want us to attack your hometown. But that's no reason to show any disrespect to our customer. Especially not him."

"Why?" Kyros demanded. "He's just a human! Even a Doulos is higher ranked than him!"

The bear-shifter wasted no time in smacking Kyros's head. "You idiot! Didn't you hear us talking during breakfast about that blasted war?! That 'human' controls all of the Atroxes! Do you hear me? He's not going to take no for an answer!"

"Well, if he has his army of Atroxes, then why's he coming for us for help?"

"Perhaps I can enlighten you."

The two shifters turned wearily towards the smiling Bridigar-General. "Her Majesty's rather busy, looking for... a special someone. And she can't exactly spare me extra soldiers. I must make do with what I can!"

I don't like his cheery voice. "So you're going to pay us to die in the middle of a desert?" Kyros hissed.

"No," the human answered. "I'm paying them to die for me. I'm paying you to protect me."

Kyros froze. Paying...? If he really is the leader of the Atroxes, then... he's bound to have an exotic item somewhere... But... attacking the village?

"Why me?"

The human smiled kindly. "I don't want to force someone into a battle they're not willing to fight. I don't want to make that mistake, again."

And just who was Kyros to refuse such an offer?

((Aerain))

With a gentle thud on the frost-packed earth, Aerain landed gracefully upon the balls of her feet, patterned wings stretching once more before folding flat against the patch of her back exposed to the elements. Slim fingers running over the worn leather hilt at her right hip, her sienna gaze scanned the decimated village perfunctorily; it was immediately obvious that the atrox and their kin had abandoned it for better ground, but her training told her to check anyway. Too often she had been hasty and alone in enemy territory was never the best place to assume anything.

A dog barked, followed by a child’s gleeful laughter, and Aerain’s head snapped to the sound, her stance poised nonetheless. Continuing its call, the hound itself rounded the remains of a stone wall, shaggy legs akimbo and tail swaying gamely from side to side as a naked toddler trotted happily after it, arms stretched in an attempt to grasp the long coat with its pudgy fingers and mallard wings moulting childhood down.
Oblivious to the newcomer – and lacking the agility of the large dog that had slipped easily around the mage’s still form – the tiny faery ran straight into Aerain’s stomach, causing the air to rush from her lungs in a short whoosh. Startled, the child stumbled backwards, his deep indigo eyes wide in fear and bottom lip already beginning to tremble. Unaware of the apparent danger, the dog barked happily and was suddenly answered by a sharp cry.

“Oefie, come back here! Tael, please don’t run where I can’t see you...” Within a matter of seconds, the woman had emerged from behind the pile of broken stone, her navy eyes locking immediately onto the armed faery standing in the centre of the dirt path. Freezing mid-sentence, the mother’s own speckled mallard wings unfurled slowly and, just as tentatively, she held out her hand, gaze never moving from Aerain’s. “Come to mummy, Taelin...” she called sweetly, her voice wavering in her attempt to sound calm, “This way, sweetheart...”

Lips pursing in uncertainty, Aerain frowned slightly, searching for the right words so as not to startle the woman further. She had clearly been hiding in the village for a while: her feet were unshod – red-raw from the cold – and her grass-stained gown seemed nothing more than a collection of rags tied to her skinny frame with twine. “Are you here alone?” Aerain asked softly and the woman nodded nervously, dark eyes flicking to her son and back.

“Please don’t hurt him,” she whispered in a cracked voice, and Aerain shook her head in response.

“Have any other faeries passed this way?” she enquired bluntly, aware that the toddler had not moved an inch and was staring at her rather disconcertingly, “They would not have stayed long - they were strangers.” Or at least they shouldn’t have stayed, she added to herself.

Brow furrowing in thought, the mother looked a little less concerned, straightening slightly as her wings relaxed once more. “I wouldn’t know,” she answered simply, “Very rarely now do I come into the village proper. But Taelin – he comes here with my husband sometimes – he may have noticed newcomers.”

Bending slowly to a crouch as the child stood mutely before her – his small hand entwined in the mutt’s fur as the dog returned to the boy’s side, tail still swinging genially – Aerain arranged her swords so that they were more comfortable, adjusting the hood of her cloak so that the toddler could see her more clearly. Stalling... her mind told her and, in denial of the theory, she finally spoke to the young faery.

“I’m looking for faeries,” she told the boy in fluent Fae, feeling rather awkward as the mother watched from a wary distance, “You would not have seen them before.” Rummaging in her memory, Aerain drew out the descriptions of those mages she knew had survived Tumulosus and relayed them to the child as simply as she could. For each, the boy shook his head, until suddenly he nodded.

“White wings,” Aerain asked urgently, prompting a glance from the boy to his mother for reassurance, “Are you sure?”

“Vaileigh said dey took Mora wenna baddies came,” he mumbled, scuffing his worn sandles against the dirt. Intrigued, the dog snuffled at the child’s toe, prompting a short giggle. Exasperated, Aerain sighed.

“Were there other faeries with him?” she questioned shortly and, still smiling at the hound, Taelin nodded again.

“Wuza flutterby too,” he stated, becoming distracted further as the dog rubbed his damp, muddy nose against the boy’s tunic, “And Nelf.”

“An elf?” Aerain repeated with a frown, lifting her head to meet the mother’s gaze. Bemused, the woman shrugged. “What did they look like?”

“Dunno,” Taelin answered, giggling again as the mutt licked his pink palm, “Was rainin’. Could on’y see the wings of-a tall man. He was quiet but Vaileigh said the Nelf was argumaning with the flutterby man. She said dey were very noisy and that the Ra’lass would eat ‘em if dey heard. So we hided instead.”

Straightening, Aerain waved an airy hand at the boy, shooing him towards his mother – the dog gambolling after him. “Thank you,” she said with a half-smile as the woman wrapped her arms protectively around the wriggling toddler. The woman simply nodded, watching her warily, and Aerain sighed inwardly.

These were never the times for pleasantries. With a couple of running steps, the faery mage was airbourne once more, angling ever further to the East.

((Samir))

Once the blood oath had been made—the magic it called up momentarily taming the poisons in Samir’s blood—the faery healed their arms and said, "Now, let us begin, shall we?". Altus Vulnus closed his eyes for a moment, apparently in deep contemplation. Then, he said, "Alright, you're to answer each question in order and indicate when you've proceeded to the next one." Without waiting for any sign of agreement, he began the interrogation. "Who was Parrinexis and what was your relationship, if any, with her?"

Inwardly, Lilith flinched at the memories this brought up. Forcing them down—she was required to respond immediately, after all—she said, “Parrinexis was a redheaded, green eyed, reptilian shapeshifter that attended Sanusiaer.” Lilith wasn’t even going to try answering the questions as Samir—it was obvious that the faery was being incredibly nit-picky, and combined with the terms of the blood oath, it would be best for her to answer as herself. “Parrinexis was my best friend. I also had a small, child crush on her which she never knew about.” The latter part was true; like many kids, she had entertained thoughts of marrying her best friend when they both grew up.

“Next,” he said softly. "Have you ever met the faery commander on the Tumulosus battle front?" “Yes, I have met Sorea Pardai on the Tumulosus battle front. I met her a few weeks before its fall, though she knew me by a different name and appearance. Finished.”

"What do you know of me? Mention only the immediately relevant, that being whatever information lead you to seek me out."

“You and Sorea were very close friends; so close that she split her soul to keep you alive. It was assumed that she would have given some of Lilith’s memories to you, which was a matter of slight concern to the Avelate, who doesn’t know how strong your mental shields are. And, as I mentioned before, being Sorea’s closest friend, you are the one of the people that Lilith can choose to repay for the broken contract.”

"What was the injustice done to Lilith by the Pylleomin?"

The corners of Samir’s mouth curved upwards slightly in an expression that neither belonged to him nor Lilith, but a combination of both. “That requires a rather long answer, especially if one were to tell the story behind it.” The faery wouldn’t get that long answer, though. As long as Lilith was explicitly clear in her responses, she didn’t need to go into great detail. “First, he commanded her master not to teach her anything without his and the other headmasters’ approval. Later, he told her that she had unknowingly killed a child. This made her withdraw from the world and attempt suicide, which was reason enough to place her in the Asylum.” As an afterthought, he said, “And he killed our mother not long after she gave birth. I think that’s everything worth mentioning,” he concluded.

"What does the title 'Pylleomin' indicate?"

Samir almost raised an eyebrow at that question. Any assassin from the Academies, in fact, every person from Cetairiacelos, knew what the Pylleomin was., so it rendered the question rather useless. Unless, of course, the faery was asking for his own benefit. “Pylleomin is the title given to the person in charge of an Academy. There are seven headmasters, and the Pylleomin is the one with the most power and authority. He also will meet with the Avelate on a semi-regular basis to give his opinion on various issues. That’s their general job description,” the albino finished.

"Do you come from Aduro or Acerbus, or is your birthland an unknown autocracy to the north?"

Samir felt a twinge of curiosity at this question—or rather, the way it was phrased. It was immediately hampered by the thought that the faery would surely follow up that question with one that was more specific once he heard the elf’s response. “I was not born in Aduro or Acerbus, nor was I born in an unknown autocracy. Next question, please.” The country was quite well known to the people that lived there, of course, but also to a few select agents who had never actually been to Cetairiacelos, but knew that it existed.

"Are you really Lilith's brother?"

Samir sighed. “It depends on your perspective. However, to remain consistent with the way I’ve been answering your questions, I shall say no. That’s my final answer.” That question could have been answered either way; Samir was really and truly Lilith’s alter ego, but at the same time, he was still a part of Lilith.

"Is your real name Samir?"

Samir shrugged. He knew that in Fae, the word for ‘real’ ran along the lines of ‘given at birth’. Yet if it were translated into Common, it could be written as either. “It depends on how you define ‘real’. If you define it as what is in official records, or as what people know you as, then yes, my real name is Samir. If you define it as a birth name, then no, it is not. However, my response shall be like the one to your previous question: no, it is not my true name. If we may continue?” Samir asked. The next question was obvious, however.

"If your answer to the previous question wasn't affirmative, what is your real name?"

“Because I am defining ‘real’ as is intended in Fae, my real name is Lilith Indracræs.”

[ShadowWake]

((Neomea))

"So you decided to agree?" she asked, incredulous. "I'm not sure if you haven't noticed, but our hometown's kind of... oh gee, I don't know... in the freaking desert!"

"Mea, Mea! Calm down! It'll be fine! I have everything planned out. As soon as he gives me my pay, we sneak off, warn the town-folks and save everyone!" Kyros smiled brightly as he spoke. "Then, I'll be Archigos and we'll all live happily ever after! The end!"

I just love how he doesn't even mention his sister. "Right. And it never occurred to you that he might not pay us until after the whole battle?"

There was a slight pause as Kyros's smile faded away to a look of horror. "I never thought of that!" he exclaimed.

Neomea resisted the urge to strangle her master. This is why I stuck with Kyros, she thought darkly to herself. So he doesn't do something stupid and gets everyone killed.

"Great. So we have a crazed human running around trying to wipe out our hometown and you're protecting him." Neomea smacked her forehead. "Can this get any worse?"

"Well, I could always-"

"I'm sorry I asked."

"Well... there's really only one thing we can do, now, I guess. You go and warn the town-folks so that they're all prepared to fight. Me, in the mean while, will lead the merchant army in the wrong direction so that you have time to prepare. That way they'll still have... some chance of survival."

He tells me this now? "Well, whatever," she mumbled. "Look, just... behave while I'm gone, okay? I'll... just start leaving now."

She sighed before grabbing her things. I come back from one hunting trip just to go back into another one. What was I thinking, sticking with Kyros? Oh, that's right. He's my 'master.' Stupid rules. Stupid...

Tarn solemnly nodded at the mention of the dead shifter, felled with but a whisper from the Rau-lass. He didn't say anything, just turned around, and started sprinting towards the place where they'd first met.

---

A few moments later and he was back where it all started. The corpses still lay there, blood slowly drying to form a crust, and the ground on which the battle had taken place was marred a dark crimson; It was a repulsive sight, as the sound of a myriad of flies slowly filled the ears, blotting out all else, only this long, irritating, maddening even, buzz. Crouching slightly, Abileith staled the area, looking for the girl. There she lay still, her frail body part covered by the leaves of a bush. Tresses of her hair danced weakly about the fair skin of her young face, ebbing over its surface like waves on a calm, summer's day, going in, and back out, to their deep oceans.

The hunter cradled her in strong arms, one around her neck, the other hooked underneath her knees. It was a painful task, to, to put it bluntly, clean up the mess he'd done, or at least help create, but I had to be done. Only by clearing away the weapon, could the ensuing scar slowly heal. After a few long strides, he found a patch of lush grass, and placed her there, in the green embrace of the many blades, that swayed under the weak breeze, to hide her body. Thin, pursed lips deposited a light and saddening kiss on the girl's cold, dew-dampened forehead, and he left her there, head resting on two cupped hands, legs slightly bent, as if she were still sleeping, and would awake. Sadly, her chest did not rise, and no sound left her lips: the bitter truth was that she was gone. Tarn hoped the Shifters' belief of reincarnation was true, if only for her sake.

Slowly, Tarn left, letting the elongated shadow of his form that had covered the girl's resting place follow his stride, to let the sun shine down upon the girl. His head now tilted up, the man searched the canopy of the trees for Anelia's, or Selan as she claimed to be really called, cabin, from whence she'd first emerged. At last, he spotted it, hidden in the gnarled embrace of a tall and sturdy beech tree, its trunk many times the width of a man's waist. After a quick sweep of the tall, wooden column, in which Tarn spotted any hand-holds, he broke into a flurry of movement: a short sprint that ended with his legs climbing the vertical surface of the bark, as his leather-covered hands grappled for the stub of a long-gone branch.

They found their target, and with one heave of his arms, Tarn brought his feet to a few nicks in the strong bark, the stuff cracking under his weight. Abileith slapped one hand around the back of the tree, lifting himself, and his right arm, towards the first branch, grabbing it firmly, the limb gently swaig, and sending leaves circling down to the ground. After climbing atop it, it was only a matter of continuing until he found himself at the doorway of wooden, humble yet cozy, cabin.

Rummaging inside, he grabbed Selan's clothes, a good handful of them anyway, the bottle she'd mentioned, whisking it off the table it rested upon with a lightning sweep of his arm, before slinging the bag of last belongings on one shoulder. The man's falcon eyes gazed about the walls and surfaces of the cabin some more, trying to spot anything else that would be needed. A dagger, dimly catching the glint of the sun through a slit in the wall, soon found its way into the vacant sheath Tarn had about his waist, the hunter having not bothered to get the other one off the cracass of the atrox he'd felled with it.

---

Another few minutes and Tarn's ears were filled with the sound of rushing water, swaying leaves and birds singing their all-day-long song. "Ane ... Selan ? I have your things !" he shouted above the soothing tune of this part of the forest, as he gently dropped the bag, clothes, and finally the bottle, onto a heap by the stream. After a brief pause, where he let his gaze wander down to the crystalline water, the splotches of sun-light on it's surface shining like stars in the night sky, and illuminating the swaying grass. Looking back up at the bare form of Selan, gaze falling back down again in respect for her privacy, he added: "When do we head for Oestin ? It is not a very far walk, but 'twould be best to reach the shell of a city before nightfall, hm ?"

((Signum))

“Because I am defining ‘real’ as is intended in Fae, my real name is Lilith Indracræs.”

Signum nearly did a double-take. Whispering a soft oath, he hesitated, then walked around the elf, running his eyes over every aspect of the clearly male figure in front of him. "Lilith?" He said skeptically. "Are you reall--- but then, the terms of our agreement would have prevented any lies. And yet..."

Stepping back once again, he took in the full appearance of 'Samir'. A strange emotion took hold of him-- he didn't laugh, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, tempered by wistful aching. "Not even she could pass off as a man," he murmured. "How do you do it?"

Signum stopped for a moment to deliberate. The revelation of Samir's true identity would have left him incredulous if not for the oath; try as he might, he could think of no way to twist the answers to his questions. And then there was the blood, which was either a remarkably constructed facsimile or was indeed Lilith's own blood. The second was of course more likely.

What decided his mind was the elf's accurate responses to his questions concerning Lilith's life. If he'd judged her right, she'd not allow a single soul to intrude upon her private life. Calmly he said, "your Avelate was right to fear what I might know, for his prediction that her memories are now mine is correct. Every last detail of her life and from her life, the lives she's seen, are as much a part of me as anything else."

Glancing at the hereto forgotten boy Caelan, he motioned with his hand that he should come over to where he stood, glancing at Lilith that he-- she?-- should do the same. When the trio had assembled, the man bent to the earth, placing his hands over the rich soil and decomposing leaves, sending down a thin strain of his poison magic. To the other two he explained, "Lysander lowered his wards when I mentioned that I'd be making a blood-oath with no eavesdroppers present and now I'm signaling that they be reinstated." After a minute or so had elapsed and he judged the time right, he murmured, "They've been tested. Let them pass."

Immediately the earth churned, debris crowding into Signum's boots and hair as the ground swallowed him. He closed his eyes whilst his body passed through the several feet of soil though he knew Lysander would've erected a shield of air around those structures, in any case. But keeping his eyes open would always invite a sense of drowning.

Dim lamplight bathed his eyes and he opened them, casting his glance about the room. Lysander leaned nonchalantly against a wall, hair curtaining over half his face. Foertis stood next to him, arms crossed and back turned to the threesome so that all one could see was his blue wings and blond hair. "Foertis, Lysander," he said in Common. "This is--" he looked at Lilith and stated, "Samir. He's come from the north, seeking us out."

"I'm quite sure," Lysander purled, examining his nails (as though there'd be any dirt!). "Perhaps tossing children against trees is a common practice in those parts. I've heard it's an uncouth region, no offense to you."

"None taken," he answered lightly. "Caelen was used as bait to draw me out." At this, Foertis's wings grew rigid and he whirled around, eyes blazing. "Then why the bloody hell did you let the bastard in?" He exclaimed as Lysander arched a brow, muttering, "language, friend."

"I'm not your friend," the faery shot back, leveling his gaze on his superior once again. "Why?" Signum deliberated for a moment before saying flatly, "I'm not at liberty to answer that. Simply understand that the facts check out." Looking around, he asked, "where's Anahita? She should introduce Caelen to the children. Anahita!"

The girl came scurrying around a corner, halting to observe with despair Caelen. "Anahita, this is Samir and the child's name is Caelen. Introduce him to the others, would you?" Wordlessly she stuck out her hand, proffering it to the child.

((Phoenix))

“I love you too,” Argenti whispered, his soft tone mirroring hers as he bent to press his lips once more against her own, a single gentle finger trailing across her pale skin. His arms were tight around her, pleasant in their unyielding ardour, the motion sweet in its fervidness as Phoenix felt her breathing synchronise with the faery’s. Within her mind, the shadows whispered soothingly, almost lulling her...

Within a split-second, Argenti’s silver gaze became vague and then refocused again upon her, his relaxed features transforming into those more akin to dread. “Shut the hell up,” he murmured hoarsely and instantly, Phoenix knew what had caused the unwelcome intrusion. And they had done so without even a word of warning.

Let him be, she warned, but the shadows continued in their whisperings, a constant hum in which words were entangled like flies in a web; unable to distinguish their intents, Phoenix gripped the healer’s hands, hoping that touch alone would help.

”Phoenix,” Argenti said gently then, the slight tremble in his arms noticeable as he held her close – almost as though he could hide her from the dark presence, ” Phoenix, the magic's using you – they've found a link. They don't need my magic right now, but they're still talking to me.”

Her stomach dropped like a lead weight and it was only as she opened her mouth to respond that she realised she had actually already known. Some part of her – a part she did not care to think on too much – had known about the link... had known it as clear as winter sunshine. They don’t need my magic right now...

Of course they don’t, she answered silently, tremors shivering their way through her taut muscles at the simple knowledge and her emerald eyes dulled, Why would they when a link has already been created by another of their masters, already strengthened by magic... why would they when they already have someone touched by the Rau-lass? Of course they don’t need you, my love: not when they have someone so willing to bury their rising consciousness as though it were no more than a grain of sand, instead of the swelling seed it actually is...

The shadows had kept up their dialogue – though it seemed she had been thinking for the better part of an hour – for Argenti laughed, the sound as harsh and as bitter as the night wind. "Scourge?" he questioned incredulously, and Phoenix’s blood ran cold to hear such a comment from the beings dedicated to her safety, "You mean to say that atrox, don't you-- creatures born of your magic? Protect us from them! Those cowardly demons can hardly keep themselves safe. We're fine alone." No more than a heartbeat passed before he spoke again, the spitting tone such a change from the faery she knew that she had to look at him twice. "Yes," he growled, his voice barely a rumble as his hoary gaze flashed around the clearing, a darker hint ringing the pale irises like smudges of charcoal. He’s using his magic, she noted, feeling an odd spark of jealousy ignite within her breast. If only she could use her own without the consequences... it was likely she could chase the shadows away – if only for a while... if only for the smallest of respites...

”Vado putesco, es vos tenura volo?” The faery idiom rolled off Argenti’s tongue like liquid gold but the timbre was as cold as the metal itself and the meaning as obscure as if she were attempting alchemy. ”Tunc quare operor vos servo contactus mihi?”

And then in an instant he was on his feet, wings flaring wide in his anger and the air virtually tangible with magic. "The gods curse you!" he cried, tanned hands curling into balled fists as he stared into the blackness of the night, "I'm not leaving her, not now, not ever, do you hear me? Do you!"

Phoenix stood - not wanting to remain seated while her companion was so agitated – and wrapped her trembling arms miserably around her torso, clutching Argenti’s latent warmth as though she could prevent it from escaping her fragile hold. More than anything, her powerlessness was infuriating: she could feel both magics simmer within her – brushing against each other as though conjoined but in truth as immiscible as oil and water. It was clear – if only to her – that the two were opposite sides of a coin; and did not acid mixed with alkali make a neutral substance...?

Silently simmering, Phoenix watched her love grasp a brand from the fire and wield it like a spear, embers tearing through the shadows in glittering fountains of sparks. "And," he hissed, almost defiantly, "she wouldn't let you do that. What would you do then? Hurt her? Force her to go? That's not what the 'dark brother' had in mind, I'll wager."

[ShadowWake]

((Phoenix - ctd))

Oh, how she wished to strike away the blade that the shadows had aimed at his heart. Despite her better judgement – teeth clenched tight like a vice – Phoenix dove into that part of herself that she had avoided for so long. The shadows clamoured, their voices very nearly drowning out her own thoughts, and she fought not to press her palms over her ears, focussing instead on her intents.

Let him be, she stated once more, Argenti’s form slipping into a haze of shadows on the opposite side of the fire, the flames themselves gaining a blood-red hue, He will stay with me - always. Is that clear?

We only wish... to protect you... he does not...

I don’t care-- Phoenix snarled in her mind, fighting to control her frustration, --what he does or doesn’t do. I am safer with him, therefore he stays. You know what I carry...

We know... yes... they returned and, though the words were impassive, she understood that the shadows were amused; they knew how little control she bore with her magic – enough to know it was nothing to be feared. Enraged, Phoenix spun on her heel, striking a palm into the darkness as though slapping a wall, a faint and brief flash of energy fizzling into the shadows. The voices in her mind quietened down to whispers once more, swimming about her thoughts like reprimanded cubs. You should not have...

The consequences of my actions are my own, Phoenix interrupted in a hiss, Besides, I thought you were here to protect me? With nothing further to say, the shadows went silent, burying themselves out of sight once more. Turning, Phoenix settled her gaze upon Argenti - green eyes hollow and drained with tiredness – and then dropped it to the frozen ground. Placing a trembling hand over her lips, her shoulders sagged slightly.

“I... I think I’m going to take a walk,” she whispered hoarsely, her hand moving to grasp at her cloak, tugging the rough folds closer to fend off the wind. “No, actually, I’m too tired. I think I’ll just try and get some sleep...” Still standing, Phoenix prodded the fire with her boot, legs eventually folding beneath her so that she was sat within a foot of the first flickering embers.

How long would it be before Nstif’ikta knew?

((Samir))

A small smile threatened to appear on the faery’s face as he said, "How do you do it?" Samir shrugged. “A magical spell that was modified so that I could use it,” he stated, for he was still bound to answer any question the faery asked. The elf wasn’t entirely sure what else would turn her into a male, but there was probably some way, somewhere.

There was a moment of silence, then Altus Vulnus said, "Your Avelate was right to fear what I might know, for his prediction that her memories are now mine is correct. Every last detail of her life and from her life, the lives she's seen, are as much a part of me as anything else." D*mn, Lilith though. Samir, however, just nodded. “I can’t say I didn’t expect it,” he said.

The faery, however, had now turned towards Caelen, who had gotten lost rather quickly during the fast exchange. Caelen hurried over to the healer and latched onto his pant leg. Samir followed at Altus Vunus’s signal. The faery then placed his palms on the earth, presumably signalling to Lysander that they were finished with their discussion. The faery’s next comment confirmed as much.

Immediately, the earth rose around them—or rather, they sunk into it. Samir gasped, caught in Lilith’s fear—a fear that he did not share. Shutting her eyes, Lilith froze—paralyzed with fear—as the earth swallowed her, cut her off from the sun. The earth pressed in, almost suffocatingly. A feeling of nausea rose within her as she envisioned the walls of this small cocoon pressing in tighter and ever tighter, slowly crushing the life out of her.

Then, it was over, and Samir was in a room. For a moment, he simply crouched, fighting to regain control over his breathing and racing heart. When he heard Altus Vulnus introduce him, he stood up, his face still rather drawn after the ordeal. Lysander was examining his nails, and Foertis had his back turned towards them. For a brief moment, Lilith was tempted to cut the mage’s fingers off. However, she resisted the urge simply because it was a very un-Samir-like thing to do.

"Foertis, Lysander, this is Samir. He's come from the north, seeking us out." Samir bowed slightly to the elf and faery, maintaining eye contact. Caelen—who had relinquished his hold on Altus Vulnus’s pants— tugged on Samir’s cape at that moment, distracting him. In Cetairiacelosian, he asked, “Did I do a good job?” his eyes hopeful. Smiling slightly, Samir patted his head. “Yes. And… I’m sorry about kicking you.” Caelen grinned again. “I get hurt worse by my teachers at school. One time—”

Caelen was cut off, however, for the blue-winged faery spun around, enraged by some comment that Altus Vulnus had made. "Then why the bloody hell did you let he bastard in?" Samir stepped forwards a bit, so that Caelen was more or less protected by his body should the mage lose control. The child, however, merely tugged on his cloak again, asking, in Fae, “What hell? And bastard?”

Samir stared blankly at him, then said, “Hell is where religious people believe that you go to after you die if you haven’t lived in accordance to their deity’s laws. A bastard is usually a male child born to unmarried parent. However, it can also mean someone that is stupid, mean, irritating, or disagreeable, as well as someone who isn’t genuine.” As an afterthought, he said, “But don’t say either of those two words, because you will probably offend many people.”

There was a moment of silence as Caelen contemplated this, then queried, “Why hell is bloody? Places not have blood.” Samir briefly wondered if he really should be telling the kid all this, but then brushed the concern away. The child would learn these words sooner or later, so it really didn’t matter. “In this context, bloody is used as an informal intensifier. Don’t use it either, ok?” Caelen nodded solemnly, and Samir wondered if he even understood the answer to his question.

"Where's Anahita? She should meet our new guests and introduce Caelen to the children. Anahita!" Altus Vulnus said. At that moment, a faery scurried around the corner and Lilith’s breath caught in her chest. The memory of another woman—Kalila—flickered through her mind before she forcefully pushed it away. For one thing, this woman was a faery, and had a purplish left eye. For another, you couldn’t bring people back from the dead.

"Anahita, this is Samir,” again, Samir bowed slightly, “and the child's name is Caelen. Introduce him to the others, would you?" The female mutely held out a hand, which Caelen cautiously regarded. Then, as if suddenly realizing that he had yet to study the other occupants of the room, he looked around. As his gaze flew to Lysander—he didn’t care much about the butterfly-winged faery—his eyes widened in awe. Completely forgetting Anahita, he scampered up to the mage and craned his neck to stare up into the elf’s eyes.

“Wow,” he said, his childish voice adding a sort of reverence to the word. “You real mage?” he asked, still speaking in Fae, his hands clasped behind his back.

((Selan))

As Tarn left to get her things, Selan said thanks, and tried to kept moving to avoid losing the warmth of her body. It was indeed a windy day. It's not that she hated wind. It was nice, it made the leaves dance, the trees sing, and the waters live, but it had also some other negative things, like freezing her body when she was soaked. She observed Hylas for quite some time, and then she watched herself. She was thinner than she had been, and although she wasn't as thin as to be considered ugly, she thought she was too thin.

She smiled at her own reflex in the water. "But we'll get some food and we'll get better, won't we?"

Right then, Tarn came back, Ane ... Selan ? I have your things! She laughed a bit, she had lost the habit at being called by her own name. "Thank you, Tarn! Now it seems I'll be able to survive this cold."

Selan went to pick her clothes and, for a moment, she wished that Tarn didn't see anything...inappropriate. She saw he had brought nearly everything she had, as in clothes. She quickly got dressed, hasted by the cold and the embarrassing feeling that was possessing her already. Her dress was a long white dress, with her small pieces of armor, the ones she took with her after running away from the faeries camp... and, of course, her gloves. She knew they weren't necessary, for she hadn't been able to cast a single spell since that day, but her hands were cold, so she put them on anyway.

When do we head for Oestin ? It is not a very far walk, but 'twould be best to reach the shell of a city before nightfall, hm ? Tarn asked this while she was getting dressed. "Good, I'm wearing my clothes now" she spoke to allow Tarn to look at her again. "In fact, I wanted to go to Oestin because...there's still something left for me to do. I have to kill a man. He's the one who received the title of 'lord' after I killed the last one. The fact is that someone took the name 'Ilyea', which is my family name, and tried to become servants of the Rau-lass, meaning that my name would be immediately linked with them. Besides, he tried to kill me when I asked for help, about half a year ago. I promise he would be the last victim, but I really have to do it. Anelia's mission can not be left unfinished."

Selan was ashamed at the fact that she still wanted to kill someone. But there was no other way. She had been suffering the burden of each of the deaths, even if those people were not good with anyone but themselves. She felt guilty; no one deserved to die, according to her. But...there was no other way...

((Argenti-- shall we end their day?))

Flickering, ethereal, the dancing flames mirrored the choleric rage Argenti felt, fallinf in pools of reflection off his hair. Calm down, he thought guiltily. Phoenix-- it's not right for you to act as though she did something wrong. Don't be selfish... Glancing up, he opened his mouth as though to say something to her, some apology, then stopped as the words made to spill from his mouth. The young human's eyes were transfixed by the light of the fire, her brow furrowed in a mirror image of his own frustration. What's she doing? He thought, alarmed.

No, she's not fool enough to go against the better side of caution. Actually... she could be; however, if it would endanger those she held dear, Phoenix would know better. Should know better. There. He was the fool, for even allowing his unhappiness at his inadequacies let doubt cross his mind, even for a second, where she was concerned.

Phoenix rose and drew the folds of her cloak closer around her thin frame. “I... I think I’m going to take a walk,” she whispered hoarsely, drawing Argenti's immediate attention. “No, actually, I’m too tired. I think I’ll just try and get some sleep...” Kicking out the fire, she sank down, resting within a foot of the embers. Argenti bit his lip in deliberation, before stepping over the glowing coals to lower himself on his companion's other side. No words were spoken-- wasn't pride Foertis's ailment, though?-- however, he brushed her exposed neck with his lips, striving to make understood in that contact that which was to hard to say.

Fitting his beautiful Phoenix's body against his, the faery drew his cloak over them both, stretching out an arm to make a natural pillow. It was the least he could do for her, still so alone after all those months.

[ShadowWake]

Tarns mouth dropped ever so slightly, as Selan related her real reason for wanting to go back to Oestin. How could this woman be an assassin ? Or at least, a killer in disguise ? Hopefully, Hylas hadn't heard; the last thing the hunter wanted was for him to start having doubts about the people who protected him and would serve as, as he called it, his family. Anyway, Tarn had already let enough doubts about his own reliability creep into both of their minds.

The golden gaze of the hunter had dropped down to the floor, and as he lifted the back up, he let then rest on Selan, now fully garbed. It seemed strange, this innocent-looking woman, who, having been wronged by a lord, decides to kill them to retain any dignity. How was it so foreign to Tarn ? He'd never had a name to be soiled, and the affairs of lords seemed a distant thing from his own life. Was this normal ? To assassinate those in the high-up game that posed a threat, or made themselves enemies ? Or was this too drastic, as Tarn thought, for no-one could really take the life of another without good reason.

"Are you sure you have to ? he asked after a while, his amber gaze still settled on her white-clad form; It is not right to take the life of another, and even though this man seems to have wronged you, is it really worth his life ? I guess you have tried to reason with this imposter; he continued, his deep voice smooth at this time; but why kill him ? Is he that much of a threat. Excuse me, Anelia; he chose the name deliberately; but this seems more like vengeance than anything you got me used to in yourself ..."

((Selan))

"Of course I'm not sure!" she answered to Tarn, feeling guilty. "Damn, he tried to kill me, it's not about the name, and yet I feel this is wrong, but I fear I might be harmed in the future if I don't do it...". Selan knew, as well as Tarn did, that killing wasn't the right option. "And while I recognize it will probably be vengeance, I'm just scared that he..." She stoped talking. After all, they were going to leave, so in fact it made no sense, to worry about that. Eventually, he would care for more important things, like keeping himself alive, rather than trying to harm her.

This was, in fact, the main reason that pushed Selan to change her mind, a change that would be more important than what she ever thought.

"Tarn. You are right. I am truly sorry, but I've grown used to do this. I've been alone for so long that I actually believed that no one would ever be with me again, so I started to do this...terrible things... I cannot be justified. Even if I was in danger. I am sorry."

Selan looked to the ground, following a leaf that was dancing around 1 feet up the ground. "This sword...you know? It's a magic sword, but against the atrox it's just a regular sword. Its magic only works against light creatures, such as us humans, elves, shifters, and faeries. There's supposed to be a temple somewhere that would change this sword, inverting its powers. I did some research but I don't really know that much. The only thing I know is that it was supposed to be to the north, but that could be wrong, too."

The woman looked at Hylas, sort of near to them, and then to Tarn. "You are right, it is Anelia who killed. Selan only killed shadows."

At that moment, she felt something, like a spark. And she smiled, from the bottom of her heart.

"Exactly ..." he muttered. The smile that lit up on Selan's face was enough to chase way the doubts that had crept into him. "I too, grew accustomed to solitude ... I believe now that it can do no good,; we cannot live properly alone, only survive to see another dawn, to breathe another gust of air, but nothing more. To live would be this, living together to pass around the mirth, or take turns in carrying a common burden, rather than lugging it on my ... one's own shoulders."

As those piercing ambers dropped to the river, letting its glint imprint itself firmly on his unusual retina, Tarn let the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips grow into a full grin. His face hadn't been used to this in many, many months; for the arduous task of living alone brought more concern and doubt than it did happiness. True, it was satisfying to know your efforts led every time to you seeing a new day, but it also became a liability. If you didn't keep your wits about you the whole time, then a simple tug at a loose end of the fabric of your life would undo its whole tapestry.

Again, the hunter raised his eyes to face Selan, loving the smile that spread across her face, a most beautiful sight. "Where to then ? I fear Oestin may tug at your old habits, as ever hard you try to bury them, though I don't doubt your willpower, and the determination you hold within you to see this through, for all of our sakes. But this temple ? 'The north' as only lead is rather ... vague. We could scour the whole land up there, every river, lake and hill, and not find it ... I also fear that it is too unsure a course to take; especially with Hylas under our guard ..." he muttered, the last words hushed so as to be unheard by the content boy.

True, he did not want to shelter the boy so much that his life became nothing more than a rising and setting sun, he wanted the boy to feel what he'd felt as a child. To feel life, breathe in its strong, enticing scent, fully, to always cherish the little he had, which was the fire that burnt within him. Everyone held a soul within them, Tarn believed; it grew as you were born to a spark, but only by living life to the full could it become a blazing fire in which to throw all hardships, all sadness, and let those swaying tongues of red and orange eat them whole. For too long now, Tarn's soul had flickered away to mere embers, it seemed. Now, with Selan and Hylas, bellows were placed next to it, and with every step into this new life, he hoped that it would pump air into his fire, and let it shine all the brighter, once more.

[ShadowWake]

((Hylas))

Selan and Tarn talked for a long time – adult things it seemed – and at one point the hunter left to retrieve the woman’s belongings, returning after a short while to hand her a bundle of clothes.

Bored with the discussions, Hylas shifted, swimming happily through the river’s currents in fur that kept in his warmth better than a blanket. How long had it been since he had been able to do thus? A long time indeed, for his grandmother had not wanted him to play alone - not since the darkness had come - and many of his friends did not bear such delight with the water.

And then it had become too dangerous to do even that. Experiments, the whispers had said and Hylas’ grandfather had taken his armour down from the shelf and had polished the dented metal until it had once more shone.

“Enticing children with false promises, Lietti,” he had growled to his wife, who had wrung her hands nervously and flashed an unknown look to her grandson, “Lies. We all know of their experiments. The humans aren’t enough for them, that’s what it is, I’ll wager. Tearing into childrens’ minds as though they were cotton-candy... it’s not right I tell you.”

His grandmother had shushed him with a few, inaudible select words and Hylas was hurried off to bed. No more was spoken in the boy’s presence... not until the news of his parents arrived.

“Ziek, my dear, come down for a minute.”

Looking down from the tree, he saw his grandmother’s soft-lined face, her hazel eyes fixed upon the tree branches and greying hair swept into a ragged bun – as it always was when she had been gardening. Just like his mother’s had always been. The lines upon her brow were furrowed deeply, matching those that graced the corners of her lips and Hylas leapt from his perch easily, shifting from his lithe martin figure as his feet hit the ground.

“Don’t do that, dear,” his grandmother chided, wringing her hands, “You’ll do yourself an injury. Now come on in: Granda and I want to talk to you about something.”

Hylas emerged from beneath the river’s surface, a frown pasted even on the otter’s muzzle. Shifting, he clambered up the river bank and over to his pile of torn clothes, shaking his limbs of water as he went. He would not think about it, he told himself, he had a new family now. One that he would not allow to be taken.

Pulling on his shirt and britches, Hylas wiped his dirty palms on the trousers before checking that his pendant was still tied firmly around his neck – which it was – and drawing on his boots. The jerkin was irreparable but the boy slipped his arms through it anyway; the chill wind was already cooling his damp skin so that it pimpled, the fine dark hair upon his arms standing to attention even beneath his shirt.

“Where to then?” Tarn asked Selan as Hylas zoned back in on the conversation. The hunter’s amber eyes were contemplative but his lips were curled into a smile – mirroring the woman opposite him. Hylas watched them, feeling happier. “ I fear Oestin may tug at your old habits,” the man continued and Hylas realised he had missed out on a lot of what the pair had said. Tilting his head curiously, he tried to piece together the conversation and failed, surmising only that they were no longer returning to the human city Oestin for some reason. ” as ever hard you try to bury them, though I don't doubt your willpower, and the determination you hold within you to see this through, for all of our sakes. But this temple ? 'The north' as only lead is rather ... vague. We could scour the whole land up there, every river, lake and hill, and not find it ... I also fear that it is too unsure a course to take...”

Tarn added something inaudible and Hylas frowned slightly. “Where are we going?” he asked, unaware of any interruption he had caused, “Are we going to find the faeries? Some of them live north...”

----------------
((Nstif'ikta))

The tent canvas billowed and flapped, snapping at the air like cracks of a whip, making sleep impossible. No matter, for Nstif'ikta needed no sleep: she took all the energy she needed from the souls she hunted and after the fall of Occalus, she needed no such rest to recover. Booted feet silent upon the rush matting, the Rau-lass Queen paced in a tight circle, crimson gaze narrowed in a frown and black lips pursed in thought.

"How many?" she hissed to the shadow, tentacles whirling around her pale face as she spun to fix her eyes upon it.

"Just less than fifty," the atrox croaked hoarsely, darkness wreathing about his form like smoke. Beneath the guard, the man was simply only tattered remains; his eyes had been removed under torture yet he could see as clearly as she - in fact it was often her own sight he used: a feat advantageous to the both of them.

"And how is our dear faery friend"? Nstif'ikta enquired, the frown deepening with the threatening tone, "Is he co-operating yet?"

The small atrox paused, tattered wing-stubs fluttering slightly before becoming still once more. "He is... uh... proving to be more difficult than the others... he seems to... cancel out our magic. We have not been able to use any telepathy or-"

"Then use force!" the Rau-lass Queen snapped angrily, her scarlet eyes flaring, "You have hands, do you not? A bound man cannot resist steel; draw it out with his blood if you have to! I want to know where the faeries from Tumulosus have disappeared to! I want to know where my fire-bird has gone! I want-"

Something thudded quietly in her mind - a ripple of energy like the aftershock of an earthquake - and startled into silence, Nstif'ikta's gaze widened, her taloned hand clutching at the wooden back of the chair hard enough to leave marks.

"Mistress?" the atrox enquired and the Rau-lass' gaze snapped back to his, causing the small being to flinch.

"Begin the interrogation proper," she hissed, pointed teeth baring in a feral grin, "It seems my fire-bird is in Aduro after all..."

((Melchios!))

The stone floor was hard. Hard and unyielding, just as stone ought to be. Yet despite that, the faery Arandein wished that the Rau-lass could have had something else-- a dirt floor, for instance. Soft dirt could be scuffed into a dusty bed for weary limbs.

Morteza's lip curled. Disgusting, that desire. In his pain-maddened mind he'd gotten to take pleasure from every single agony caused to his captors, for they were unable to use him... unable to know how close they were getting. For constant agony could either steel a man or break him, yet there was nothing for respite then renewal, reprieve then return. Nothing. Nothing!

Gritting his teeth in a gruesome, grime-and-blood coated snarl, he shifted to his knees, the chains that suspended his arms clinking as he did so. The second pair of chains, though-- those were the devil's gift, those were the maddening little clinkers that shouldn't be touched with a ten-foot lance. They were jovial little bells, laughing and jingling every time he moved his wings. Wings that pinned to the wall, pinned like a butterfly.

It was time. Oh, it was long past time. Melchios thought of his true torturer, the one he hated above all, the one whom he'd faced all this for. Two angels, two perfect little angels. What would one call a love triangle that went three ways, with the glorious femme fatale scorning them all? A love square? Two angels, two pretty, grey-eyed, black-haired mourners and he the only lion among them all. Yet the lion was trapped.

"VOMICA VOS!" He roared, his deep voice scraping the walls. Curse you! Now he'd get them both, get them all, two-faced Astrophel and black Signum. Oh, now was the time for them to die a death such as had never been seen, a death that would last them their entire lives. Torture, torture was what he'd undergone because of that lying faery! Ceaseless agony from that pitiful human! And the last one... the last one was like him. She was a commander in the flesh, not some pale-faced follower! She would be his ultimate weapon. And she could help him exact his vengeance, for they both needed each other... and he would not give away anything. An eye for an eye, his aid for hers.

Laughing harshly, he roared again, "VOMICA VOS!" Only this time, his voice rang with pleasure.

((Phoenix))

Dawn broke, as cold and chill as the night before but nonetheless dry, the endless blizzards having ceased at least for the time being. The hour was late – the sun having only just appeared above the mountain-scattered horizon – yet Phoenix felt as though she had not slept. Indeed her sleep had been plagued by nightmares – dreams that bore more of a reality than she’d like – and barely an hour had gone by without her waking in a cold sweat, pressing her tear-stained face against Argenti’s tender warmth.

Demon... her dear beloved Demon... how she longed for a return to those times, times where dreams and magic were just fanciful notions forgotten in a history that no longer existed and torture was seeing your meal escape into the speckled light of the forest when you had hungry cubs to feed. How simple and beautiful that life seemed now, now when she was beleaguered by shadows every hour of the day – in waking, in slumber – and nothing seemed as easy as it once was.

"Come now, my little fire-bird...” Nstif’ikta had said, ”Surely there's no sense in letting this continue? All I need is your co-operation - that's all - and then this'll be all over. Was this how you imagined to die? On your knees, whimpering like a child, while your allies are being destroyed? Your death will have no effect on anything... your life may do. Don't you want to live, my little fire-bird? Don't you want to hear your sword sing from its sheath - to feel it bite into the yielding flesh of an enemy? You will neither live nor die, Major... there will be no mercy.”

Did she know her prey still lived? Lying in the faery’s embrace, eyes wide with terrified wakefulness, Phoenix thought she did. As repeatitive as the nightmares had been over the past half a year, not once had she found herself upon the plains she so despised: that land between death and life – between consciousness and coma – that the Rau-lass Queen created for her mental ministrations.

Until now. That the Queen had attempted to contact her in her sleep, she had no doubt, but even now – when her strength was at its lowest – Phoenix had enough anger left in her to avoid the connection and had somehow managed to force her own wakefulness, severing the patchy link. One thing was clear, however: Nstif’ikta had no clue as to where on Aduro she was and that one small advantage was what had stopped Phoenix leaving then and there.

Besides, she told herself, watching Argenti as he slept mere inches from her, his features relaxed and untroubled, There was only so much strain you could put upon those you loved before they could no longer bear the burden. The healer had been her island after a shipwreck - a sanctuary in which she could forget those trouble except the most pressing - and leaving him would be like burning wood without planting trees. And she could not bring herself to do so, despite the protection it might offer... despite the fact that she knew it was the most selfless thing she could do.

No, she would not abandon him. Not even if it cost her.
And suddenly – as if the thought were there all along – she wanted very much to speak to Sorea again. Out of all of those she had known, the faery commander would understand – had understood – her reasoning behind her actions.

Pressing her lips gently against Argenti’s, Phoenix slipped carefully out from under the warm folds of his cloak, immediately feeling the harsh bite of the frigid air against her bared cheeks. Wrapping her own cloak about her, she wandered first over to the horses, giving them a quick pat before heading deeper into the forest to relieve herself.

A hare, startled by her presence, shot out from the undergrowth and in instinct, Phoenix’s dagger flew from its place at her hip, embedding itself in the animal’s throat and killing it instantly. Disbelieving, Phoenix stared at the small mound of greyish fur, mouth slightly agape and her hand still extended from the throw. Then slowly, realisation dawned and her mouth – too often drawn recently – curled itself into a grin, a bubble of laughter escaping from deep within her chest.

Maybe there were still simplicities she could hold onto. Moving over to the still form, she crouched and removed the blade from the hare’s neck; within a matter of minutes, she had gutted and skinned the small mammal and had brought it back to the camp. Another smile rippled across her face like a ray of sunshine and using the latent embers of the fire from the night before, she sparked it into life again and began to cook the meat.

[ShadowWake]

((Nstif'ikta))

Nstif’ikta sighed, rolling her eyes in an expression she had gained only in her interactions with faeries. Cursed race, she spat to herself, Born of magic and arrogance combined: so similar to us in so many ways and yet so... infuriatingly different.

The robes of the mage before her swirled about his ankles, scattering the light from the torches into panicky chaos as they passed and shifting the damp air as though it were solid. The walls of the dungeons were dry – apparently prisoners in Aduro were treated better than those in Acerbus – but the depth of the cells beneath the earth’s surface gave the space a humidity equivalent to that of the southern forests, though cold enough to encourage a frost along the worn stonework. In the central room, a brazier glowed for the guards – atrox mostly but also a couple of human mages – but the main cells were in darkness – a single candle lighting each.

” VOMICA VOS” the voice hollared again and the Rau-lass Queen let out a sharp, irritated hiss, hand rising in dismissal as the mage turned to indicate the cell in which the faery resided.

“If it is necessary, I will call for you,” she told the human, who nodded, unlocking the iron door to allow the she-demon through. The stench of unwashed bodies flooded her nostrils, the iron tang of blood tainting the air as though it were tangible, and Nstif’ikta smiled, pointed teeth glinting in the meagre candlelight as the heavy door clanged shut behind her.

Keeping herself just out of view in the shadows by the doorway, she cast her scarlet gaze across the faery chained to the wall, eyes tracing the lines of his muscled frame with clear indulgence before settling upon his torn features. Curiously, she probed his mind as always, finding absolutely nothing. With the absence of her telepathy he was even less to her than the atrox were.

Moving a few paces forwards – enough so that he could see the outline of her at least – Nstif’ikta ran a contemplative hand across her chin, resting her fingers gently upon her lips. “Decided to become a little more vocal, have we?” she stated rhetorically, her tone holding a chilling threat, ”I would think it would be wise to stay silent unless you have anything of interest to say: a useless faery, after all, is a dead faery... hmm?”

Stepping closer, the she-demon crouched before the pinned faery, resting her arms easily upon her knees as she balanced upon the balls of her feet. Her polished black armour glinted in the half-light, protesting only slightly at the change in stance, though her sword remained with the mages; she was not so much of a fool to take a weapon into the reach of one whom she couldn’t read.

”My patience wanes with you, Melchios,” she told him sharply, but her tone spoke more of regret than annoyance, a fact that she did not bother to hide, ”I enjoy games – especially those I create – but when a toy gets old, one must discard it for something more... usable. You understand, I’m sure.”

Reaching out a taloned hand, Nstif’ikta tilted his tanned chin, drawing him as close to her as she could without moving, the chains pulling uncomfortably at his glittering wings. Her gaze darkened. ”What do you know of Commander Sorea Pardai’s mages? Where are they and the others who served alongside her? What do you know of Major Jasmine Ambey? Answer these questions and I will consider sparing your pitiful existance.”

((Melchios))

“Decided to become a little more vocal, have we?” The she-demon stated, tentaculous hair undulating like so many living vines. The faery bared his teeth in a feral grin, noting with displeasure that she'd had the forsight to don armour but forsake a sword. Pity... a weapon would have been remarkably helpful.

Crouching before him, she continued. ”I would think it would be wise to stay silent unless you have anything of interest to say: a useless faery, after all, is a dead faery... hmm?” Growling softly in his throat, Morteza muttered in a lowing voice, "Or the only useful faery is a dead faery. Kill one, have the other." Pardai's dead, I have them both. Both of them-- help me! And you won't regret it.

”My patience wanes with you, Melchios." The Rau-lass's taloned fingers closed around his chin, drawing his face towards hers. The damned clinkers chortled merrily, and the pain! The pain that seared his back pulled his lips into a snapping, hissing feline's face. ”What do you know of Commander Sorea Pardai’s mages? Where are they and the others who served alongside her? What do you know of Major Jasmine Ambey? Answer these questions and I will consider sparing your pitiful existence.”

So the lion would test his mettle once again. A new tigress, a wonderful challenge. Settling back onto the balls of his feet-- such a perfect mirror of the demon!-- he murmured with a nearly philosophical air, "so... you called me a toy. Toys aren't much use, are they?" He purled, hands clenched into fists. "Sorea Pardai... such a sweet little thing." Thought she was better, now who's dead! I'm a master of manipulating the manipulator-- are you? "Such a shame.." he muttered, voice steadily dropping as his stance shifted subtly, "that you think me... pitiful?"

Pitiful! With the sudden force of an electrical jolt the faery's eyes widened and with an inhuman roar he pounced forwards, gripping the demoness's shoulder with hard, unyielding claws, his mouth beside her ear. In a voice hot with anger yet sweetened with the promise of reward, his hissed, "I know everything."

Gritting his teeth, he sprang back, yowling as the shackles snatched his wings. Jerking at the chains, he met her eyes, locking his onto hers. "I know everything," he repeated. "Did you know that there's another person you have to watch out for? And there's a fire-mage whom you'll find defied your soldiers and is thought dead-- but which one, I wonder!" He laughed, a rolling sound that filled the tiny cell and left it somewhat empty after it died away. "Here's hint: he was at Tumulosus." Melchios stared at his death or his salvation, seeking to gain mastery through eyes alone. "I will help you," he vowed in a voice heated with the perfect measure of zeal and fervor, "if you will help me."


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

((Lysander))

"Anahita, this is Samir,” Samir bowed slightly towards the innocent-eyed girl, “and the child's name is Caelen. Introduce him to the others, would you?" Anahita shifted back the distribute her weight onto her left heel, a move that might have perhaps held its roots in nervousness, then held out her hand for the boy to take, that she might lead him away. Caelen, however, looked about. Then, horrors of horrors, those brown eyes settled on him.

Darting up, the young elf halted abruptly before Lysander. “Wow,” he said. “You real mage?” He took an involuntary step back, more from displeasure than anything else. The slight motion caused the delicate fabric of his robes-- a darkened gold today patterned with black silk-- to swish softly on the floor. "Ceaidé," he muttered, staring at the ceiling as though it held answers for him.

"Yes," he sighed, "I am a mage. Anahita?" He demurred in a beguiling voice, though his eyes pinned the young woman with the force of fire. "Perhaps Caelen would like to meet the other children as Signum suggested," he snarled, the faery positively quailing beneath the venom of the look. "Just a thought," he added sweetly. Signum frowned at him, though he said, "perhaps Foertis, if Anahita's got her hands full. In fact," he added to the boy, "he's an even better mage." What! Of all the infuriating, positively false things that unfortunate man could say of him...! Hm... well, it was to get rid of the child. After all, neither of the other two could sustain such a place and Foertis-- ha! Only a fire mage, who'd suffered to many defeats before his magical onslaught to keep track of. Yes, it had only been a politvally well-thought move on Signum's part.

The aforementioned man glanced at Samir with an almost tired expression and murmured, voice hollow, "would you prefer it if we continued our previous discussion in the study?" Foertis's attention immediately flew to his superior, and Lysander was certain that if the blond could have interjected, he wold have. However, he was halted in his tracks by a certain little elf-boy. "Vado," the faery muttered.

((Nstif'ikta))

Melchios bared his teeth in pain, shoulders stretched back in an attempt to relieve the ache upon his wings and Nstif’ikta released him, allowing the man a chance to speak. Rocking back onto the balls of his feet, the faery crouched before her, his brown eyes wild.

Such a strange colour, the Rau-lass thought briefly, To hold so much depth. It had been a while since she’d had to use body language to descern another’s thoughts and though tedious, the process brought a few interesting results.

“So...” he answered, his tone purring despite the agony he had undergone. Nstif’ikta watched curiously, her face expressionless. There was much about the faery Arandein that intrigued her; his confidence was one. Not the desperate faith of a prisoner waiting for release, no – this was more... supercilious – and there was a fire in his auburn eyes that captivated the Rau-lass: just as her fire-bird had. “You called me a toy. Toys aren't much use, are they? Sorea Pardai... such a sweet little thing. Such a shame that you think me... pitiful?

Almost quicker than she could react, Melchios lunged against his chains, torn hands gripping her shoulders either in anger or desperation. His lips hovered at her ear, the faery’s hot breath caressing her pale skin and the Rau-lass Queen felt a ripple of pleasure, the unwarranted emotion shivering through her muscles like Phoenix’s magic. Never before had anyone caused such... feeling...

In a silent snarl, Nstif’ikta revealed her pointed fangs, her crimson gaze blazing in rage as quietly, the faery revealed his intentions. ”I know everything,” he murmured in a hiss and then finally retreated, a yelp of pain escaping his lips at the strain on his shackled wings. Unballing her hands from their fists, the Queen stood, hair snapping about her face as Melchios tugged at his chains, meeting her gaze eagerly.

How dare he! her mind hissed furiously but the frown upon her brow was once of perplexity. Fighting the urge to raise her hand to her neck – he had been so close! – Nstif’ikta waited for the faery to speak, fingers curling and uncoiling in her agitation.

"I know everything," the butterfly-winged man repeated, amusement in his tone, "Did you know that there's another person you have to watch out for? And there's a fire-mage whom you'll find defied your soldiers and is thought dead-- but which one, I wonder!" The Rau-lass’ eyes flashed menacingly at the cheek, yet she stayed silent – lips drawn into a narrow black line – as Melchios laughed, the sound filling the room before fading to nothing once more. "Here's a hint:” he finished slyly and Nstif’ikta ground her teeth in ire, ”he was at Tumulosus.”

Then suddenly his tone changed, no longer mocking and with more vehemence than a man simply begging for his life. “I will help you," he bargained enthusiastically, brown eyes piercing scarlet, "if you will help me."

The fervour with which he spoke... Nstif’ikta paused in silence, muscles trembling ever so slightly with the effort of reigning her emotions in. Oh, how she wished to kill him – to draw the blood from his dying body and make him scream – make him plead for her forgiveness. And yet here he was, a faery willing to aid her: a feat she had spent years trying to accomplish, done of his own accord.

”You are treading upon very thin ice, Melchios,” she hissed venemously, top lip curling in a sneer, ”You have given me enough for you to be rendered worthless, so why should I bargain with you?” She paused, watching the tattered faery as he stared, and then continued in a purr that was still threatening but nonetheless a softer tone. ”And yet, it seems as though we have a similar purpose in mind, my arrogant friend. The faeries make blood-oaths, do they not? In Acerbus, we have something similar – a pact, it is called – but the meaning is the same and it is just as binding.”

Swiftly, Nstif’ikta bent her knees - bringing herself down to the faery’s level – and entwined her hand in the faery’s long hair, yanking his head back so that his gaze was pinned to the ceiling. Bringing her dark lips close to his own, the Rau-lass smiled slightly, ruby eyes boring into him. ”To most, it is deadly,” she murmured beguilingly, the soft flesh of her lips mere millimetres from brushing against the tanned mouth before her, ”But to those willing it is less so. I will... consider your request if you will consider a pact to ensure your... loyalty.” Moving her mouth to his ear in a mock of his own move, the Queen grinned. ”Think about it,” she whispered, ”And I will return for your answer.”

Letting go of her hold uopn his hair, the Rau-lass stood again, eyes cold once more as she looked down at him. In the time it took to blink, her taloned hand lashed out, striking Melchios across the face - an audible crack echoing around the room as though it were scoffing his laughter.

”Don’t ever do that again,” Nstif’ikta snarled pointedly and then spun on her heel, calling for the guards to open the door.

[ShadowWake]

((Melchios))


The faery's deep, torn chest heaved with the violence of his passion, his gaze meeting Nstif'ikta's with a zealous, slightly questioning air. Having mastered her earlier choler, the seductive woman continued, ”And yet, it seems as though we have a similar purpose in mind, my arrogant friend. The faeries make blood-oaths, do they not? In Acerbus, we have something similar – a pact, it is called – but the meaning is the same and it is just as binding.”

To swiftly for his eyes to follow the demoness flew at him, driving him down his knees and jerking his head backwards. His breath left him in a harsh gasp, knocked out by the sudden ferocity of the move. Breathing in audible pants, he stared at the ceiling. He'd been right-- certainly, he had been! Look at the tigress act, see how she sought to break him around her tapered finger. The full lips came close to his own, so close that her strangely spiced breath mingled with his every time she spoke. ”To most, it is deadly,” she murmured alluringly, so close to his own mouth, so close! He resisted the urge to close that fine gap, to bear down on that soft mouth, and made clear the effort it took. ”But to those willing it is less so, she continued. "I will... consider your request if you will consider a pact to ensure your... loyalty.” Moving to his ear, sending a ripple of energy through her captive, she whipered, ”Think about it, and I will return for your answer.”

The woman unclenched her hand, letting him fall back. Morteza held her gaze half-mockingly, half-earnestly, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth. The fell creature's expression changed as though storm had hit, her taloned fingers lashing out lightening-swift, the cell ringing with the sound as though it imitated his own expression. The force sent him against the wall, his wearied form feeling the pain with all the agony of the long-suffering, though he twisted about to give her a ghastly grin. ”Don’t ever do that again,” she snarled.

Her absence left the place curiously empty once again, occupied as it was by it sole inhabitant once more. But he was victorious. Victorious! Like a sweet, booming harmony it rang in his head, it exulted in the faery, turned somersaults and cartwheels with the free dexterity of eddies in a river.

And why? Because he had done it. The Rau-lass queen, the Rau-lass gem, the bitch recognized him, and she would help him. Chuckling manically to himself, the faery Arandein tossed back his head and howled, the sound screaming effortlessly through the corridors of stone. But who first! And what to tell first! Not too much, oh no, never that, yet too little and he'd try her patience. Like his little pet he'd have to be, only so much more so. His little pet...

Two angels, one coin. The fallen star and the black healer. His, all his-- neither would know! They couldn't even guess the dedicated hatred of the enemy that they'd unknowingly made. Ah, the richness of it!

Melchios snapped impatiently at his tethers, pacing as far as his chains would allow for. Oh, what a day. What a fine, beautiful, fetid day, whose wondrous decay centuries of faeries would come to rue. Signum first, then. But no, why not Astrophel, mad little Astrophel, stabbed by his own general? The irony of the situation made him laugh, for that had been how his own pet had gained her last promotion. Though perhaps circumstances would be different, he reflected, for that one had been a traitor, whose death was justified. But for Astrophel to fall before the third lover, the unsuspected link of this crazy little square!

He thought too far ahead. Signum would be easiest. Promotions first, hard bargaining, his own squadron and poof! The angel was his. He imagined them, two perfect beings sharing a cell, and how the faery would loathe that! Signum would come to know hate, hate such as had never been felt, that would gnaw away at him and growing into a black wyrm, never leaving even if he were freed. Signum, then Astrophel... what to do with him. So many emotions, so many colors in that one. Mere hatred wasn't so foreign to Soryuu as to cause the destruction it would wreak in his angel, oh no. Soryuu needed suffering, he needed to find out everything about him, every painful little detail of his existence and make it come to life. First pain, then relief, then agony, followed by reprieve, that would be his Astrophel.

Morteza threw his head back and laughed, the sound rising swelling like a scream. I have you! "Vos es mei!" he cackled, over and over again, letting the sound reverberate until he felt the Rau-lass bitch could hear it.
"Vos es mei! "
"VOS ES MEI!"

((Caelen))

The elf stepped backwards a pace, his dress swishing softly. He said something that Caelen didn’t quite hear, but that didn’t seem to matter, for the next instant, he said, "Yes," the elf said with a sigh, ”I am a mage. Anahita?" Here the mage looked at the female faery—Anahita—for a moment. "Perhaps Caelen would like to meet the other children as Signum suggested. Just a thought,” he finished. Caelen frowned. Why would he want to meet the other children so soon? This mage was probably way more interesting than any of the other kids.

The faery they were supposed to find—Altus Vulnus—frowned, then said, "Perhaps Foertis, if Anahita's got her hands full. In fact, he's an even better mage." Caelen regarded the faery for a moment, then his eyes flew to the butterfly, then back to the elf, thinking. In the mean time, Altus Vulnus spoke to Samir. "Would you prefer it if we continued our previous discussion in the study?" Samir simply shrugged.

Making up his mind, Caelen scampered over to Samir, and tugged on his cloak. “Samir, Samir? How many classmates meet mage before?” he asked. Samir stared down at him blankly, then said, “Um… while I can’t be a hundred percent sure of this, I think that you’re the first.” A grin broke out on the child’s face. Then he ran over to the butterfly, and looked up at him for a long moment.

Pointing, he said, “Wings like Fae teacher. Not like her. She mean.” Then, deciding to take advantage of this opportunity, he ran around the blond healer, screaming, “I not care! I not do pushups, I not use grammar, I not stay quiet, I not speak good Fae! You not make me!” Coming to a halt in front of the blue-eyed faery, he grinned. “Feel better.” Then, his expression changed as he critically examined the faery, head tilted to one side.

“Not believe Altus Vulnus,” he said flatly. “Samir and Akio says Mage Ælfher have three magics, you only two; you not wear dress, either. And you healer,” he finished, as if that proved anything.

Then, he pivoted around and took a running leap at the elf, grabbing the aforementioned mage’s arm and pulling himself up onto the elf’s shoulders—a move he had practiced almost continually over the past six months. He twined Mage Ælfher’s hair between his fingers, saying, “You hair pretty. But why short? Mages have long hair? And what these…” he paused, releasing the mage’s hair with one hand, tracing the lines that crossed the elf’s cheek.

Samir hesitantly stepped forwards, reaching for him. “Come on, Caelen, get down. I’m quite certain that Mage Ælfher doesn’t want you messing up his hair.” Caelen stubbornly shook his head, re-seizing the bronze locks with his hand. “No. Mage Ælfher my daddy now. My teacher say everyone have parents and family.”

Samir opened his mouth to try to say something, but Caelen quickly cut him off. “No,” he said stubbornly. “Mage Ælfher my daddy, Lilith my mommy, and you my uncle.” During the journey, Caelen had decided that Samir wouldn’t make a bad relative, but he didn’t want the albino to be his father. He knew that he needed to have a mom, and he didn’t like any of his teachers. While he had never met Lilith, she had to be a cool person. She was an albino, after all. And if Lilith were his mom, then Samir couldn’t be his dad.

As an afterthought, he said, “And I not get down.”

“Caelen,” Samir said quietly, his voice worlds apart from the normal icy tones belonging to most assassins Caelen knew, “get down and apologize to Mage Ælfher for messing up his hair and bothering him. Now.” Caelen glowered at him, then said, in rapid Cetairiacelosian, “I don’t want to. Mage Ælfher is really tall, and it’s fun being up here. And he’s a mage.” Samir sighed, then pulled out a much nicked dagger that had long ago lost its edge.

Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he said, “Fine,” he said, “I just won’t let you borrow this anymore, now will I?” Caelen’s jaw dropped as he stared at the dagger. A look of pure horror entered his face. “No,” he shrieked, launching himself off of the mage’s shoulders and crashing into Samir, who had braced himself. Snatching the dagger from the albino’s unresisting hand, he slithered to the ground.

He cradled the dagger to his chest, watching to see if Samir would try to reclaim it. Seeing that the other made no such move—in fact, all he did was push up his glasses—Caelen turned and hugged Mage Ælfher’s legs, gazing up at him with huge, adoring eyes. “Bye-bye, Daddy,” he said, before sprinting to Anahita and seizing her hand. Holding up the dagger, he said triumphantly, “Lookie. Good dagger; good… um… not falling ability? Um… good throwing.” He smirked at the woman, then a thought crossed his mind. “I promise share,” he said sincerely. He didn’t want her to take it away so the other kids wouldn’t get jealous.

((Neomea))

Crap. I'm lost.

Neomea turned around and around, searching for something, anything familiar. Damned trees! They all look the same!

She tapped her forehead and bit her lips. C'mon! Think, Mea! There has to be a way out! Stupid forest. Stupid trees.... Well... there's always... that method...

Neomea sighed softly. Like I have a choice.

Within seconds, a snake appeared where Neomea used to stand. This snake was mostly green in color, with black and white patterns on its back. This snake was also rear fanged. This meant that its large fangs that were poisonous were at the back of the jaw. Its bite wasn't fatal, but it could cause extreme discomfort. With its size being only four feet and its width being less than that of half an inch, the Asian Vine snake was the perfect choice for a forest navigation.

She slithered up a tree and onto a nice looking branch. Let's see if I can get out easier like this... With a soft hiss, Neomea launched herself off of the branch and onto another branch.
--------------
((Kyros))

"I'm guessing you don't do magic?" Soryuu asked him as the rest packed for the desert.

Kyros nodded. "Of course not! Magic's stupid. All I need is this sword and-"

"You're not very good with that sword, either," Soryuu mused, looking rather amused. "Just what can you do?"

Kyros's face turned red. "What... what's that supposed to mean?! Of course I'm good at something! Just... not everything! I can cook, I can fight, I can... can... I can shift!"

"Yes, but so can the rest of the merchants."

Kyros glared at Soryuu. "Do you want my help or not?"

But Soryuu shrugged off the glare with a laugh. "Don't take it to heart, Kyros. I need to know what my bodyguard can do, don't I?"

"Whatever," Kyros mumbled darkly under his breath. He rubbed his head, looking at the forests. Neomea... I hope you warned them by now.

[Sponsored content]