Destiny's Bid

[Mickenzy]

The marble floors of the Temple’s High Fane normally seemed to echo endlessly if one passed through its grand halls, but the dark-cloaked figure that walked them now took extra care to go unnoticed by the temple’s inhabitants. Logan Demetrius was Grandmaster of the Hands, a secret organization within the Temple who operated at the behest of the Wisdom. Currently, the Wisdom of the Temple was Maevanne Trebalis, and she had requested a copy of a peculiar list of names be brought to her immediately; along with any information that could be gathered about the purpose of the list. Logan now made his way to deliver the documents to Wisdom Trebalis, employing all possible stealth to reach her chambers. Evening vespers were to begin shortly, so most patrons of the Temple were already within the inner sanctum, making Logan’s job all that much easier.

When finally he reached the door to Wisdom Trebalis’ chambers, he performed a kind of scratching with his gloved fingers instead of outright knocking. Patiently, he waited and listened as he stood off to the side of the door. Before long he heard soft footsteps approaching and the door opened, followed by the quiet sound of the Wisdom’s voice as she beckoned him quickly inside. He slipped around the corner of the door and closed it soundlessly behind him, kneeling before the Wisdom in her burgundy robes – the color for evening vespers.

“Report, Grandmaster,” she spoke with whispered command.

“Wisdom, I’ve brought the documents you requested. The list was taken from the Emperor’s private study by one of our contacts within the palace. The copy had to be hastily made, but it should still prove legible.”

Maevanne pursed her lips as she scanned the list of names. Each name had a location beside it, which she assumed represented where each individual might be found. Why was her cousin, Emperor Hadriel, interested in these people? She put the first scroll aside and unfurled the second one, which appeared to contain the report on the apparent reason for the list. Her dark eyes widened as she read on, and before she’d barely finished, she snatched up the list of names again. Logan remained down on one knee as he watched her go to her desk and hurriedly copy out the list again, then she returned and thrust the first copy back at him. He took it without question, only waiting for her next orders.

“Find these people as soon as possible; use every Hand if you must. In fact, it would probably be best if you did, I’m certain Hadriel will be sending his own Agents and there could be a confrontation. Keep this quiet; if word of what was in that report gets out to the people it could trigger a civil war. You must try and sway these individuals to our cause, or if not all of them, then try to figure out which one is the Seeker and focus on them. If the Seeker falls into Hadriel’s hands, he will come into possession of a power far too great for the likes of any mortal, spelling disaster for all of Aldegrath and likely for any outside lands, as well.”

“I shall move with all haste, Wisdom Trebalis,” Logan pledged solemnly. He bowed his head once more and slipped out of the High Fane as quietly as he had come.

Maevanne closed the door once more as the Grandmaster departed, hurrying back into her chambers to hide away the list and the report. At least it seemed that Hadriel had no more idea of who the Seeker was than she did. The Wisdom shivered as she left her chambers and made for the inner sanctum.

[Archangel]

The sun just didn't want to shine today.

Iriel glanced up at the gray sky, his mouth turned down at the corners, and stumped heavily across the sand, making his way towards the pier. He always hated walking in sand, and the weather made his arm ache abominably, and the business he was on made him upset, so his mood was deteriorating bit by bit every moment. He sighed, an exhasperated, unhappy sigh, and practically pounded the sand with his feet.

The planks of the pier, old and heavy and dark as they were, seemed to moan when the elf stepped on them. But not because of weight. The simple enmity and malice of the slouching, unpleasant figure was enough to cause even the inanimate wood to groan unhappily. His gaze seemed to scorch the damp air as he peered left and right, the scowl dark as the clouds.

"And where is the Harbormaster?"

There was a general reaction among the few men present at the pier that day, mostly consisting of lowered eyes, shuffling boots, and muttered words. A couple managed to point him in the direction of the Harbormaster's shack, carefully avoiding eye contact and generally minding their own business. The shack was small, squalid, and dripping with tar, and Iriel didn't bother to knock as he shoved open the door.

"What in the name of the gods...?"

His tone, the words dripping venom, was enough to bring the sentence to a stop.

"The gods, Mr. Corg, are not here. And it is not their names you should be calling now..."

The Harbormaster, a suspected half-orc and brutishly simple even without the dubious parentage, glared glassy-eyed at the intrusion.

"Why are you here, Iriel? You know the Council said..."

"Damn the Council!" It felt almost like a small explosion, the outburst that the slouching elf emitted making the Harbormaster reel the tiniest bit. "Damn the Council to a boiling, fetid hell, and damn the Priests too, and damn the gods and damn the Emperor and DAMN YOU! YOU, Mr. Corg, you bastard son of an ugly pig-nosed abomination! You, Mr. Corg, Harbor-Mistake of the worst order! Damn YOU, Mr. Corg, for lying your filthy, rancid snout off your boil-plagued face!"

Mr. Corg had wisely closed his gaping half-muzzle, and his eyes were wide as saucers.

"So you think you can cheat me, do you, Mr. Corg? You think you can cheat a cripple? You think that, because I'm only half an elf, I couldn't possibly notice? Or object? Your lies, you putrid cretin, are as clear as the hairy wart on your face!"

"I don't know what..." That was a real, honest mistake.

The tone softened, returned to its natural acidic iciness. Only now, it seemed that malice had returned with the composure. Iriel stepped forward, holding himself as steady as he could, but after all the mentions of his handicap, Corg could not avoid looking. The boot that fit all wrong, the arm with the immobile hand in a glove that stretched to his shoulder, the eye that did not move in sync with the other. Everyone knew, and no one had the guts, or the sheer stupidity, to mention it. Iriel, his plain brown robe practically glowing with his barely-contained rage, leaned in and let the creature see into his unsettling glass eye. "The components, Mr. Corg. The components for my experiments. You told me, on your honor as a Harbormaster, that these components, these delicate, important components, were pure. Were from a reputable merchant. Were exactly what I required. Did you not, Mr. Corg?"

The half-orc could only nod his head.

"And were they, Mr. Corg?"

This one was trickier. The result, if he chose wrong, would not be pretty. Cautiously, his glassy eyes squinting with the effort of decision, he shook his head.

"You...admit it?"

Thinking himself on the right track, he nodded again.

The next thing he remembered, Mr. Corg woke up with a healer standing beside him, patting his face with a damp cloth and adjusting his bandages.

And it was three days later.

[Kaisar]

Something about the contract had rubbed Alishondra Moonrider the wrong way from the very start. She still didn’t know why she’d accepted it to begin with, at least not until it was almost too late. She should have realised from the start the thing stank to the high-heavens of government working. The man sent to her to secure the contract had been just a little too eager to agree to any price she’d asked, and a little too exact in what his master wanted done. She had to have been out of her mind.

Alishi was an assassin and a damn good one thanks in part to her unusual heritage. Half-bloods among the Dark Elves were uncommon, made so by the fact they rarely left their underground world but her father had remained in the city long enough to sire her and at least give her a name before wandering off again leaving his daughter to pick a living amidst the dredges of society. As such she had that half-finished look that was common in all half-elves looking too much like the other to either side of her bloodline. Her childhood had been less then pleasant too, Alishi had grown up hard and fast learning the first and only rule of this world, ‘only the strong survive’.

The dark skin that was prevalent among the dark elves allowed her to blend so perfectly with the shadows she was all but invisible when Alishi took care to cover her long, white hair. She also had a natural talent for killing and the silence with which she could move made her job that much easier. Not tonight. Everywhere she’d turned something had gone wrong.

Her target, a slovenly little merchant who had a reputation for being more underhanded then the lowliest of thieves had seemed easy enough. No body, certainly not the thieves guild themselves would be too terribly upset with the weasels untimely demise. She’d broke into his little mansion in the cities upper-class district near the Temple with aid from the information she’d gathered through various informants and a couple of late night investigations. A quick clean throat cut and the arrangement of his corpse was so easy it was almost beyond ridiculous. Perhaps the nagging feeling that it had been too easy was what eventually saved her life.

Easy kills normally denoted some kind of trap much like the easy kind of thefts thieves ran into. A set up that rarely ended well for the ones involved. So as she meandered her way through the city taking an indirect rout to her current lodgings Alishi had been a little tightly wound. Her keen hearing caught the softest of noises and instinct took over where thought would have failed. She dropped to the ground in time to feel a crossbow bolt whistle dangerously close over her head.

She ran at that point. Using every trick she knew to evade her killer but everywhere she turned another bolt was flying at her. Eventually even her own endurance failed and Alishi had to stop to catch her breath, crouched in the deepest shadows in a place that gave her unidentified hunter no clear target unless he happened to be standing right in front of her.

Alishi cursed her own stupidity as her mind went over the whole deal again. It had all stunk to the high-heavens and she’d been blind to it. Why? The only answer her mind could come up with left a disgusting taste in her mouth. Magic. Alishi loathed magic, it was dishonest and its cost more often then not out weighed the reward.

Some bloody mage had manipulated her just enough to shut down her normally very acute instincts. The kind that would have told her it was a bad idea to take the bastards money. But tracking down that little bastard and his master would come later. First of all she had to somehow lose her own assassin. She just didn’t know how he was tracking her…Alishi’s mind drifted back to the money. Naturally she’d taken a few coins with her to pay a few bribes and purchase a few disposable things she might need. Her gloved hand fell to her belt purse. Mages often marked things so they or someone they wanted to retrieve that item could trace it later. She tore the pouch from her hand and upended the coins in the dirt. No point in taking any risks.

Her breath moderately restored Alishi scanned the darkness, thankful for her keen night-vision. She couldn’t see anything out there, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t waiting for her to duck back out into the street. She carefully considered her alternatives and then as if looking for guidance glanced up, a sudden idea striking her. She grinned wolfishly and prayed to the gods that there was some kind of locator spell on those coins because her shadow would be watching this alley all night long.

Or perhaps not, he might just get bored waiting for her to move and come in for a closer look. It would be the best way for her to deal with her unwanted shadow. She'd make the bastard eat his crossbow. After this problem was dealt with she'd track down the toady who’d hired her, bleed him dry and then the mage who’d befuddled her senses. Alishi really hated it when people used magic, especialy on her.

Alishi set aside her planning and moved a little deeper back into the alley ensuring her unseen killer wouldn't notice her as she clambered up onto the roof. Once there she began to slowly edge her way into a position that overlooked where she'd dumped the coins, drawing one of a dozen wieghted throwing knives from the numerous hiding places on her person. All it would take would be for him to come into her line of sight and then she'd be free to begin the hunt.

[Archangel]

They shouldn't hurt. He knew they weren't supposed to hurt. They were gone, how could they hurt? There wasn't anything there to feel pain. There wasn't anything there that could feel ANYTHING. But they ached. And burned. And itched. And hurt.

His right hand, up to the elbow. His right leg, up to the point below his knee. Even his right eye socket.

It ALL hurt.

He stomped angrily around his shack, letting the pain flare in him, letting the anger overtake him. It was small, and plain, barely large enough for him. Iriel could have afforded better once, long ago. But now, this was all he had. Sometimes, he tried to keep it neat. He would work for days, using a besom to brush out the dust, wiping rags over the tabletop and scrubbing the slats of wood that constituted his "windows". And yet, it never stayed clean. Mainly because he could never remember to clean it. Not for weeks and weeks.

And right now, the pain was too maddening for anything else.

Sometimes, he practiced his skills. He tried everything he had once known, about the magical arts and spellcasting. His sorcerer's blood responded still to thoughts of the arcane, and he could feel the magic surging within him. But most spells, the spells that mattered...he couldn't do. Not anymore. His hand could not form the necessary shapes. For hours, he'd practice, trying to make it work with what he had, trying to make the power come, even if it refused. And it always refused. Every one of these practicing days ended with him setting fire to something.

Usually a tree or one of the various woodland animals.

Other times, he worked on the Procedure. He even called it that in his mind, with the capital letter and all. He could read and write, and the capital made it seem so much more...official. His "ingredients", his materials, his components...they lay under a drop cloth, hidden in a corner under the strongest defensive spell he could remember that did not require two hands. He wouldn't let anyone see. Not a single person. He shut ever shutter, he closed and locked his one door, and he wouldn't allow a single person to come into his house unless the components were under their spell again. Every one of these days, he would take the ingredients out, arrange them on the table, and begin working on the Procedure. He had felt so confident...until the materials were shown to be impure. In disgust, he had broken a structure, and would be forced to work another three weeks to undo the damage. These days usually ended with nothing but stale and bitter sleep.

And still other times, he had to go into town.

He wasn't far from the nearest town. It was a middling seaport, with a harbor and a government service building or two, and even a small temple. Barely two days walk from major aspects of the land and a great crossroads, the Emperor's palace and the Temple's High Fane were not very far at all. Iriel hated it. If he could have lived by himself, all alone in the woods somewhere, he would have. Every day spent among the drooling idiots of Rothport, every day he clumped down to the market or the docks or somewhere, he cursed his fellows. An elf, a High elf by blood, a sorcerer! And here he was, trapped in this ridiculous village, ruled over by a farmer and his mentally deficient son who pretentiously called themselves "Viceroy" and "Chancellor" and other ridiculous names.... Idiots! Buffoons! Dolts! Despised by many humans, shunned by his own kind, barely even feared at times....

Needless to say, Iriel did not like going into town.

What he liked less was when the local constabulary showed up at his door, to "inspect his very lenient and incredibly generous incarceration".

His leg hurt. His arm hurt. His head hurt. And he was completely empty of food, in his stomach and in his larder. Trying to restrain his own annoyance, he strode to the door, grabbed a cloak, and plowed out. His leather glove, riding all the way up his right arm, was pulled straight as he adjusted himself. The false foot was not as hard to manage as the arm; it mostly did what he wanted, except bend at the ankle. It was that arm... He had to wear the glove, in part to cover it, and in part to actually keep it from falling off, as he latched the top to his robe, and under his robe, with clips and thongs of leather. His brown daily robes, dirty because he didn't bother to clean them, looked threadbare, as did his ill-matched boots. But it didn't much matter. He had put in his scarlet-red eye, the flaming symbol enough to show people how royally irritated he was, and as such would keep them away.

With a frustrated and exhasperated sigh, Iriel stomped off into town.

He didn't pray to any god. But he did hope, in his heart of hearts, that not a single person would talk to him today.

[JaySonic]

Standing in the center of the small grassy clearing, the moonlight made bright streaks in ebony hair that hung to the middle of his back in a braid and created ominous shadows around his features. He stood completely still, eyes shining as he looked back and forth, seeing farther into the line of trees surrounding him then most people would. Shadows shaking and figures coming in and out of the blackness could have been the creatures he was there to lure out or they could be the trees themselves playing jokes as their branches swayed in the wind.

The same wind was playing over the open, still bleeding wounds on his upper arms and bare chest, causing some discomfort but nothing he couldn't ignore. They were necessary, discomfort or not. He reached to feel the reassuring hardened leather that wrapped around the hilt of his long sword. The sharpened metal standing in the ground next to him had been as much of a partner as any human, elf, or other species he had traveled and fought with. Sometimes more reliable as well.

The sound of a twig or some fallen bark snapping underfoot to the left drew his attention, and as he turned towards the sound, pulling his sword from the earth, a branch breaking off and falling in the other direction pulled his view that way, back turned towards the previous sound. But before the realization that he knew the source of the second sound dawned, the creatures he had been commissioned to track down and kill burst forth from the trees all at once, lured by the smell of blood, fangs still red from previous victims, skin loose and sometimes missing in places exposing ribs and organs in some cases, all on four legs and showing speed the man wouldn't have thought possible.

Almost before he could lift his sword, the closest one to him, no more than six feet away, had closed the distance between them and jumped for his exposed throat, looking for an easy kill. Despite all it's speed however, as soon as it leaped into the air, it was struck hard in the side by two large arrows and crashed to the ground where two more pierced its skull. Glancing back, he swung his sword behind him one-handed in a wide horizontal arc, catching another one of the dog-like creatures right above the shoulder. Following through with the swing effectively decapitated the thing in a spew of blood, bone, and half-rotted meat.

The wind shifted, bringing the smell directly to him and he retched a bit, as he grasped the blade with his other hand and smashed the flat side down onto another rotting head, nearly crushing it, but he brought the sword up again and drove it point first into the things head, impaling it.

Yet another one attacked him from behind, but introducing a metal boot to its chest stopped the attack and brought it to the ground, even if it cost him a large gash right below his knees. It was promptly skewered with arrows before it had time to recover. As the man rested a little, he surveyed the field seeing two more creatures laying dead on the other side. As he guessed that was the last of them he heard a female voice call to him from the trees.

"Sir? Sir Gerald are you alright?"

Gerald cringed at the title but didn't let it show in his voice. He hated when people called him that, but even after he explained what he was, they took one look at his sword, his hardened face, and the pieces of armor he wore on his legs and arms and mistook him for a knight.

"Yes, I'm fine." He extracted his sword from the dead things skull and rested it on his shoulder being careful not to cut himself, and limped a little as he headed towards the voice. "I think that was the last of them."

As if determined to counter this statement, as soon as he neared the treeline, one straggler jumped from the bushes next to him, teeth flashing in the light, its wide eyes would be called desperate if it were human. Gerald raised his arm to catch the creature on the steel gauntlets he wore in case this situation rose. He cursed the beast and brought the pointed hilt of his sword crashing into the thing's eye and sunk it in as far as he could before jerking it out, taking a little personal pleasure at the howl of pain it emitted as it released its target. He stomped on its chest twice, keeping his foot there the second time and proceeded to cleave its head nearly in two from snout to the base of the skull.

"Filthy things. God curse your souls." He spat at the ground and entered the forest where the owner of the female voice, and her male companion jumped from the trees they were supporting him from and joined Gerald. She ran to him and looked at the wounds on his arms.

"We told you we were good didn't we?" The boy wore a triumphant smile. Gerald just pointed a finger at him.

"Yes, you are good, unless it was you who caused that branch to fall." The boys smile immediately faded and he looked down, obviously ashamed at the failure, and kicked some dirt around.

"Are you sure you're well Sir Gerald? Your..." He put up a hand to stop her mid sentence.

"Yes I'm fine Corrinne. And please stop calling me Sir. I am not a knight, just a priest who can handle a sword."

Corrinne and her brother Melkim were twins in nearly every sense of the word. They were both had seen nineteen winters, had the same height and build barring obvious gender differences, had the same colored eyes, and at this time were dressed exactly the same, dark clothes to mask them from sight during the night while they took their positions in the trees, but while Melkim had long, dark hair underneath his hood masking his face even more, Corrinne had bright, golden hair which she had to tie back if she was to continue to stay in the guards with her brother.

Melkim crossed his arms and sneered at Gerald's statement and took the cloth bundle which contained Gerald's cloak and sheath off his back and handed it too him.

"Well your not like any priest I've seen "'Father", but I'll take your word on that. Even so, until you get some attention on those wounds, your not going to fare too well for long."

Corrinne grabbed his arm and started dragging him back towards town.

"Yes, we need to get you patched up. So you don't bleed to death." Gerald gently detached her from his arm and smiled at them.

"That's not necessary, i can patch myself up. Step back." The twins gave him some distance as he crossed his arms over his chest. Nothing visually happened. No white or blue light, no sound, nothing. But as they watched, the wounds on Gerald's arms and chest began to knit themselves instantly, and when they were just a memory, he knelt down and laid his hands on his shin, healing the wounds there as well. When he was done, he put his cloak on, sheathed his sword, and stepped towards the two archers, who stared wide-eyed at him.

"See?"

Corrinne spoke first. "That was amazing."

Her voice snapped Melkim back to reality. "I always heard of healing magic like this, but I've never seen it with my own eyes."

Stepping forward again Corrinne looked straight into his eyes. "How do you do it? What do you have to do to learn it?"

Gerald laughed and put his arms around their shoulders.

"I'll tell you both about it when we get back to town and tell the captain about our success. It is too cold here either way." He started towards the path leading back to town and they followed him trying to glean information from him on the way.

[Mickenzy]

The cloying stench of the city’s alleyways followed him wherever he went in this part of town. He didn’t like it because it rendered his sense of smell almost useless, not simply because it stank of rotting garbage and other refuse. It had been a long night tracking this woman, and he grew frustrated when someone else interfered, sending her on the run just as he’d been closing in on her. It was the Emperor’s agents, he’d bet money on it; trying to prevent him from making contact with her before they did. Logan shook his head as he sprinted down yet another alley, watching up above for movement across the rooftops. They had a funny way of trying to gain an audience with someone. He wouldn’t put it past them to try and pin the attack on the Temple while they played the innocent.

Speaking of money…

Logan slowed to a stop, looking down at the ground a few feet ahead of him. There were coins scattered on the ground, glinting faintly against the muck of the alley. He was instantly on alert, knowing full well that in this part of town coins left unattended wouldn’t stay in one place for long. She was nearby, and it seemed she had laid a little ambush for her pursuers. He couldn’t help but smile a bit. Good girl. It gave him some small pleasure that she wasn’t a novice to the trade, and seemed to have a decent head on her shoulders. Even while he was thinking that, he had jumped up and snagged hold of a window ledge, using the piles of trash for a boost. With years of practiced effort, he scaled the side of the building with spider-like efficiency, the moon and stars never once giving away his position.

Cautiously, he peeked above the ledge of building, taking a moment scan his surroundings. Specifically, he was looking for the Emperor’s agents, guessing correctly that they couldn’t be far behind by this point. As much as Logan disliked them, he had to admit to a grudging respect for their skills. Another faint smile played across his lips as he spotted a piece of the night that was darker than the rest, only picking it out because it moved and briefly blotted out the stars. He checked over his shoulder, but found the coast was clear. It was all he could not to roll his eyes; must be training night that they had a less-experienced agent with them this night, and the fool had gotten too far ahead of the others in his haste to reach their quarry. Logan wasted no time on pity, however, hauling himself nimbly over the building’s edge and crouching low to avoid detection. He circled around behind the building’s thick chimney to a position that would bring him behind the Imperial Agent, and while it seemed the younger man was busy loading a crossbow, Logan sprang his attack. One hand shoving the Agent’s head forward, slamming it into the heavy weapon and dazing him, while the other hand seized his hair a moment later and yanked his head backwards; the first hand again swooping in with a vicious chop to the man’s exposed throat, cutting off any cry he might’ve tried to make. Logan’s knee jerked forward in a swift motion, crunching into the man’s back with a sickening sound. The man went limp, his spine crushed, and Logan quickly dragged him back across the rooftop and tipped him over the far corner, so that he would land approximately on top of the coins Alishondra had left as bait. She would easily be able to see the body drop from wherever she was lying in wait.

Logan didn’t wait; he climbed back down the building’s side as quickly as he could before the other Imperial Agents caught up to their companion. He hoped his little display would give Alishondra at least enough pause to not kill him on sight as he stepped slowly out into the ambush area and began patting down the Agent’s body for anything useful – money, weapons, or papers. He needed her to trust him.


Iriel was an intimidating individual, even to one such as Becca, a sorceress of sorts herself. It was her mission to try and earn his trust, however, and she would serve the Emperor until her last breath.

Her booted feet took her closer and closer to the deformed man as she weaved her way through the marketplace towards him. He looked angry, she noted warily. She’d been watching him for days, trying to get an idea of how to approach someone who was seemingly unapproachable. She was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t seemed to detect her vigilant scrying, but she remembered that he was handicapped to a horrific degree and she wondered if it was perhaps no longer in his power to do so. Her face fell at that thought. The poor man. She couldn’t help but feel bad for him, not out of any sense of pity (for she doubted he’d have any appreciation for that), but out of empathy. She could only imagine what it would be like if the vast majority of her powers were stripped away, her body broken… She shuddered and turned her pained eyes back to him. During her time of observing Iriel, she had resolved to help him regain his power if she could get him to trust her… to trust the Emperor.

Becca took a deep breath, her thoughts interrupted as the time was now upon her. Just before she drew abreast of him, she slipped a faded, leather-bound tome from a special pocket inside her long coat. As she closed the space between them, she thrust it out at him, making certain to pass it into his good hand. Her blue eyes were serene as she met his angry gaze, and she even managed a soft smile that lit up her porcelain face… the face of an angelic savior. A breeze fluttered by then, playing with the loose wisps of her hair that had come loose from the thin braids that circled her head before rejoining the rest of her flowing, blonde mane, the color of sun-ripened wheat. The same breeze served to carry her gentle words to his ears: “I’ll make you whole.”

And with that whispered promise, she left the tome with him, pulling up the collar of her indigo coat. In a heartbeat, she had vanished into the crowd (aided by an invisibility spell), taking her angelic presence with her. Becca Marshstrider would return to watching and wait to see how he accepted the gifted book of spells that could be performed silently. It was a high level tome, one that only Imperial masters typically had access to. It had taken many years of research and practice to compile and perfect the methods within its pages; spells that could be performed even if the mage should be somehow incapacitated, short of unconsciousness. Under any other circumstances, she would have been severely punished for removing it from the Emperor’s Arcane Library, but as this was a matter that rested close the Emperor’s heart, she faced no repercussions for taking it.

She hoped she would be able to pick up on another good time to face Iriel again… a man who seemed to trust no one.


A grizzled-looking man stood leaning against a tree along the path that lead into town. Clearly, he was a woodsman of some type – made all the more obvious from his hide-fashioned garb and his clean, but unkempt appearance. He was middle-aged, his long, brown hair shot through with silver, and his beard likewise gilded. He was eating a pear, seeming to simply be taking a break from hunting in the forests that stretched behind him, indicated by the hatchet that hung from his belt and the bow and quiver that were strung across his back. Sharp eyes the color of coal watched the party’s progress with more than a passing interest, however. He wondered if Gerald would notice, though he would be disappointed if he didn’t.

Without a word, he tossed the remains of the pear aside and stepped through the trees, passing out of sight before the group drew too near. A ranger by trade, Derrick had come into the employ of the Temple many years ago, when he had barely just become a man. It was not something he thought about often; a deadly mauling, his failure to protect his family… he had been at death’s door, orphaned by the very forces of nature he had once embraced. At least, that was what he had thought at first. The Temple had taken him in, brought him back from the brink, and opened his eyes to the realization that there were some things that were NOT of nature though they might appear to be. Nature had not forsaken him, after all. And so here he was now, living off the land as much as possible, only entering civilization to maintain contact with the Temple and carry out his duties as one of the Wisdom’s Hands.

The man he tracked now seemed to be somewhat at odds with himself, much like Derrick had been once upon a time. As the Hand ran with cat-like swiftness through the dense woods, he wondered what motivations drove the fellow. He was older than Derrick had been during his own trials of faith, he would be more set in his ways, harder to get through to. Even so, the hunter knew he had to try and reach him. If the fates had set their sights on the man, Derrick would do everything he could to set him on the right path.

These were the things that went through his mind as he raced through the foliage, taking ways that didn’t exist to untrained eyes; invisible roads through the trees. He would reach town before Gerald and his group, and when they arrived he would be leaning against the building they were to report to, waiting. He knew Gerald would recognize him from the road, and he wondered if the man would approach him, himself.

[Archangel]

The market was crowded, as usual. It wasn't often that Iriel could travel to town and be left alone in a sparse market. He tried to go during religious celebrations or official decrees, considering the place to be more hospitable if most of its visitors were off being buffoons somewhere else. Today was not the case. He needed food and goods, and there was no time to wait for the market to clear out.

His stomach didn't just grumble, it roared. He didn't usually let it get this bad, but the past few days had not been good days, and there had been too much sulking to do any shopping. His foot clumped heavily, and he cursed under his breath, as he pushed himself through the crowds, and the crowds deemed it wise not to push back. As the peasants and laborers backed off, he worked his way into the produce section of the market, looking for fresh fruit that could be cheaply bought.

Scurvy was one disease he was not fond of.

It was there, in the busiest part of the market, that something happened. He felt something slip into his hand, and looked up in time to see her. An angel. He instantly felt his entire body tense up, and a fire spell leap to his lips. She was no villager, and she wanted something from him. And hell comes to those who would take something from Iriel Giradella!

"I'll make you whole" was all he could hear, and as she slipped back into the crowd, he felt the invisibility spell almost as if it were a physical thing.

His eyes narrowed, alarmed, and his untrusting nature continued to control him. He could not follow her, and he did not try. But instead, he looked down at the book in his hand, inspecting it with his only good eye. It looked like it was bound in real leather, and expensive too. There was some quality about it, maybe in the barely-disturbed spine, that showed it had very rarely been read, but it also looked old...older than most unread books.

Definitely a spell book.

The entire village seemed to be watching him as he walked carefully to a small, unused corner of the road and laid the book down. "Look out, look out!" His gruff voice was laced with a kind of internal grumbling, as if he complained at himself as well as the townspeople. He stared down at the tome, eyeing it with his good eye, as the rest watched. He hadn't even opened it; he didn't trust it, or the angel, in the least. He didn't bother detecting for magic though, because he could feel the strength of the arcane coursing through it.

Instead, he set it on fire.

There were uncomfortable gasps as the book caught flame and burned. The color of the tongues of fire were bright purple, and Iriel watched smugly. But suddenly, the flames reverted to a brilliant emerald sheen, and the smoke rising from the book became dark crimson. It sparked, just once, a cascade of electric-blue sparkles, and then the fire went out completely. The book was utterly unharmed by the flames.

Scoffing a little, but with a slightly smug smile on his face, he lifted the tome again and sighed. It was not even warm. The green flames, the blue spark, the cool temperature.... He grunted, satisfied, and pocketed the tome in one large pocket.

Safe enough, I suppose.

As he finished his shopping, he debated opening it at all when he got home. Safe on the outside, maybe....

***

Two hours later, he had finished every word, and was working his way through the book a second time. This time, he planned on learning. Learning everything he could, by nature, be allowed to know.

What could this do to me? He wondered to himself, as he grew more and more needful for the book. Will I be who I was again? Will I be whole? He looked over at the Procedure, wrapped under the drop cloth, and moaned a little under his breath, his brow knit tight. He was used to thinking to himself, and used to answering, all alone in the tiny shack. But he was not at all used to being confused.

And who was this woman? Who was this angel? And how did she lay hands on this book?

As he made his way into the spell book again, he pondered how he could meet her again. And then, of course, he pondered how he could get more information out of her before he turned her into a statue, or slit her throat if she was too dangerous to hold captive.

Iriel was never good at trusting others.

[Kaisar]

The sound of a scuffle a little over to her right on the next roof over brought Alishi into a crouch, her other hand going for a second throwing knife as she caught a glimpse of two figures. What had transpired between them she didn’t know but one of the pair was thrown off to land in the darkened alley where her trap lay. He carried a crossbow. Whoever the other one was Alishi didn’t know, he didn’t seem like the one who’d been shooting at her but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an enemy.

Bitting back a curse Alishi continued to watch, her muscles wound and ready to release her weapons. She didn’t like complications and this man whoever he was, was definable one. Continuing to watch Alishi observed the cowled figure as he followed the body down to the ground and began very carefully to examine the body. Using his distraction to her advantage Alishi shifted to the opposite end of the alley and dropped noiselessly to the ground.

Alishi had to find out who this man was. It could just be he has nothing to do with her being set up and marked, but then again he could be working for them – who ever they were. When she judged herself close enough and her position in the alley obscured by the shadows, Alishi sheathed her weighted knives and retrieved a special one from a protected sheath on the inside of her wrist. This knife was dipped in a fats acting poison if he was an enemy he wouldn’t be a long lived one.

“Just what the hell are you playing at stranger?” she asked in a flat hostile tone. “And don’t you be movin’ none to fast neither. You do and you’re dead.”

[JaySonic]

Gerald checked his arms to make sure that his healing had gone well. Sometimes the wounds liked to open up again if he wasn’t careful, but they seemed to be holding up okay. The odd color where the wounds were would fade in a few hours and it would be like they never happened. Corrinne and Melkim walked silently behind him, sulking a little since Gerald had refused for the fifth time to tell them anything until they were back in town. In actuality, he didn’t want to tell the two one story, and then accidentally tell the captain of the guards a different one. It would be much easier to keep his details straight if he told them all at once. His past hadn’t caught up to him in nearly two years now. No point in needlessly endangering himself, now that he had finally buried that part of his life.

He glanced up at the forest canopy noting that it had given way to nearly open sky. He angled the party to the east some, the road becoming more worn from travel. It was the path only the more determined hunters traveled. It stretched the farthest away from Lugard, so the wildlife was less accustomed to human activity, less likely to ignore human actions, so it was more sporting. Lugard was a medium sized town that had grown out of a small fishing camp. Quiet and prosperous, it was the kind of place Gerald would consider settling down and living out the rest of his days if he ever left the Church. But seeing as that was a long time to come, he didn’t put too much thought into it. He noticed a man, most likely a hunter, leaning against a tree far down the path, eating something though he was too far away for Gerald to discern what it was. It seemed late to be hunting but he didn't put much thought into that either. He heard some mutters come from the twins and he looked over his shoulder to address them.

“We’re almost there you two, stop grumbling. If you’re so eager to talk, why don’t you tell me about yourselves? All I know is that you’ve been in the town guard for only a month.”

Corrinne immediately perked up at the idea and quickened her step to be right at his side.

“Okay then. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me anything.”

“Well…when we were little we lived...”

“Oh stop it Corrinne.” Her brother cut her off as he joined them. “You’re just going to bore him with unnecessary details. He doesn’t need to hear our whole life story.”

She glared at him and crossed her arms.

“But he just said he wanted to know.”

“So just tell him the major facts.” He looked up at Gerald. “Our parents abandoned us here when we were both small. The man who took us in says they couldn’t take care of us. But I think they were just drunkards or something.” Corrinne let out a sigh, but Melkim ignored it and continued.

“He was a hunter and he taught us all we knew. When he retired three months ago, we did some extra training and joined the guards to support him. He didn’t want us too, but we did anyway.” He spread his arms out wide. “You got hired to kill some beasts that had been attacking the people, we offered to help, for some extra coin, and here we are.”

"That wasn't fair. I was going to tell pretty much the same thing. You just wanted to hog it for yourself."

Melkim snorted in her direction.

"No. You would have told him the year we got abandoned, how cold it was outside that day, what we ate for supper last week, how many..."

Corrinne went over and pushed him.

"No I wouldn't have. Your such a liar..."
"I'm not a liar. That's just what you would've done. You alwa.."
"NO I would not have. You big..."

Gerald laughed to himself and let them bicker. They weren't bothering him anymore at least. He looked back up the path and noticed the hunter was gone. Most likely he finished his break and was now off stalking more animals.

They reached town within half an hour, and were greeted by a couple of guards and some townsfolk who knew of their mission and had come to congratulate them. The priest took it in stride, walking and shaking hands, saying thank you. All the while heading straight for the guard house where the captain waited for them. The twins hung back with the small crowd, basking in attention they didn't get often.

He rounded the corner of the building and stopped, staring straight at the same man who had been on the path earlier, who stared back, the smallest smile on his face. He looked older than Gerald thought up close, bits of grey scattered in his hair and beard. Gerald also noticed that the hatchet on his hip was unbloodied and his quiver was full, meaning that he had found no game tonite, or he hadn't been hunting. So much for the last two years. Gerald began to grip his sword a little tighter when the twins came around the corner. They stopped arguing when they saw the two men, and Corrinne touched Gerald's arm.

"Is everything okay?"

He loosened his grip on his sword and turned to smile at Corrinne.

"Yes everything's fine. You two go in and let the Captain know were back. I'll join you in a minute."

She nodded and went in immediately. Melkim looked back and forth looked at both of them before he did the same.

Gerald addressed the man as soon as the door was closed.

"I don't know if you were watching, but there is a clearing, northwest of the path we were on. Meet me there in three hours and we'll settle whatever business you have with me."

The hunter nodded and Gerald walked inside before the man moved or spoke. If this man was one of his pursuers, he hoped he was the last. Gerald had grown accustomed to the peace the death of the last one brought, and having it shattered now when he thought it was finally over upset him.

Should God will it, tonite will be the end of it. With one death or another.

[Mickenzy]

It was more than two weeks later when Becca finally decided to try and approach Iriel again. She wasn’t surprised that he’d been suspicious of the gifted tome - in fact she had rather expected it. Still, she was thankful that the precious book had endured his test; she’d hate to have to try and explain how she had let it be destroyed. By this time she was certain that he was already familiar with the contents of her gift, and possibly even begun to try and master of some them. Again, she had spent the time observing Iriel from afar – cautious, but curious.

It was a rainy morning when Becca came out of hiding again and showed up at Iriel’s door. Angelic as ever, she was swathed in a burgundy cape coat, modestly covering the white blouse she wore. Her trousers, which were also burgundy and made of some sort of felt material, were tucked into the tops of her dark brown boots. She had decided it would be prudent to wear her hair pinned back, only a few strands left hanging to loosely frame her lovely face. She wanted to make a good impression, but she also wanted to be prepared should things turn ugly. Becca wondered if Iriel would find the sword at her hip amusing; many others who had had met their end on it.

Iriel was a testy individual and Becca had doubts that he would ever trust her. Still, she had to try; her orders and her own heart demanded it.

www.sutlers.co.uk/acatalog/Tripcapbrown.jpg(reference link)


Logan finished his search of the body as Alishi spoke to him, leaving the coins the man carried in case they too were enchanted. He did, however, help himself to a dagger, which he slipped into an empty sheath on his right thigh. The only other thing he took was a folded piece of parchment, which he offered to the woman with an extended hand.

“I don’t play at anything,” he responded levelly. “People like you and I can’t afford to lest we lose our heads.” His words contained a double meaning, and they might have been interpreted as a joke if it wasn’t for the perfect seriousness on his face.

He reached up slowly, letting Alishi watch his every movement, and lowered his hood to allow her to see him clearly… a sign of respect amongst their kind. His hair was dark and cropped short, though it stood up messily after being covered by the hood for so long, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Deep brown eyes gazed back at her with an observant and wise expression that was only enhanced by the long-healed scar that ran from just over his right brow down to his cheek, crossing over his eye. His age couldn’t be certainly determined – younger than forty, but definitely older than twenty.

He waited patiently for her to either take the offered parchment, or refuse it. “I think you’ll find the contents interesting,” he said to her. “We shouldn’t stay here much longer, though - there are more of them coming.”

Logan remained still, on guard, letting her make the next move before he acted.


Derrick gave a slow nod of acknowledgement to Gerald, and strode away as the man went in to deliver his report. Almost three hours later, Derrick arrived at the appointed clearing early. He had indeed witnessed the carnage that was wrought there… more unnatural beasts. The grizzled hunter sighed heavily. He had only recently tracked down Gerald, and he took it as an omen that there were also more of the foul creatures present in the same area. Was this why the Temple had sent him instead of one of the others?

For now, he remained close to the shelter of the trees, keeping watch for when the other man would arrive. Who knew, perhaps Gerald might even surprise him. Derrick was too weathered by life to appreciate surprises much anymore, but in this man’s case, he might make an exception. The sun was setting and evening began to deepen, making it gradually more difficult to see all the way across the clearing. This didn’t unsettle Derrick, who spent more time alone in the wilderness than in any town or city. He remained relaxed, one rough hand resting casually on the hatchet in his belt, though he didn’t expect to need it - Gerald seemed like a reasonable fellow.

[Kaisar]

Alishi was loathe to trust anyone in this world but something in her wanted to trust this one. She eyed the parchment he held out to her and felt somewhat bemused as she stepped from the shadows and took it carefully from his hand giving it the briefest of glances.

“You do realise that I don’t accept anything you’ve just said at face value. For all I know you had a hand in planning all this though for hat reason I have yet to fathom. Of course I could also be wrong and you could indeed be a potential ally but then given the kind of world we live in that sort of stuff only happens in fairy tales.” She folded the parchment and slipped it inside her vest for later examination. Now was not the time or place of leisurely reading and she was very much curious about this fellow but not enough to place herself at his mercy. No, she would twist this around. Just as Alishi felt she should trust this fellow so too did she suspect that he might need something of her. A valuable bargaining chip for anyone and something she could turn to her advantage.

“I have a feeling you want something from me and this little display is possibly part of some display of fealty. You kill someone who’s irritated me I get all warm and fuzzy towards you.” Alishi shrugged as her keen hearing caught the sound of others hearing this way. “However we could no doubt stand here arguing all night about whether or not you are friend or foe but as you say there are others coming this way. Relocation is the best option at present.” She flashed him a mischievous smile.

“However, if indeed you feel the need to win my favour good sir and continue this conversation then I suggest we go someone a little more quiet. Do you place your life in my hands and follow me where we can discuss the matter where by if I don’t like what I hear you might well find yourself no longer among the living? Or do we part ways now leaving you very much alive and wondering forever more what might have been had you taken the chance?”

Sheathing her poisoned knife Alishi turned and started off into the shadows. “The choice is yours good sir.”

[JaySonic]

"Lord God in Heaven. Time and again you have tested me in my faith and determination to be a part of your Church, and for a period of time I thought I had finally been accepted as one of your faithful, one who follows your will wholeheartedly. But now you stand this next challenge in front of me, trying me once again. Should this be the last test you have for me, I swear to put my entire soul into rising above it and proving myself completely to you."

Gerald stood from his kneeling position in front of the window in his room and unclasped his hands.

Ever Faithful

He turned to leave, slipping on a nondescript brown cloak instead of the conspicuous cloth of his Church, grabbed his sword and headed for the meeting place.

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

He neared the clearing, wiping the blood from his sword on his cloak. A few stragglers from before had decided that since he was alone he was easier prey. Sadly mistaken as they were, they put up a decent fight. Gerald exited the tree line and glanced around for any sign of his invited guest, who was nowhere to be seen.

I'm surprised to not find him waiting for me.

He thrust his sword into the ground in the center of the clearing and sat down to wait for his arrival, saying a short prayer of empowerment to himself repeatedly.

[Archangel]

It wasn't as if he didn't know she was there. It wasn't like she was fooling him. His wards had detected her about twenty paces ago, and he was fairly sure she knew that he knew.

He was also fairly sure that this line of thinking was making his head hurt.

His eye flared, a bright and harsh glitter illuminating his one good orb. He felt that cold and creeping sensation on his skin, the one that said an unexpected visitor had appeared, and he could feel the existence of magic. His angelic benefactor would be coming for the book, he knew she was coming for the book, and his fingers were tightening reflexively as he considered what he'd do to her if she tried to take it.

It was his. His book. His salvation. And she'd be damned if she pried it from his fingers while he still breathed.

When he had first received the book, over two weeks ago, he had thought he would find the angel and extract information from her. More spells, more connections, and, most importantly, where she got this book. But his opinions had changed since then. Now, he wanted nothing more than to send her away, or kill her if she got too near. He was afraid she'd be coming to take the book away from him, and he didn't care if she had more, or if she knew of more...as long as she didn't take his book, didn't rip it from him, it would be ok.

The book was the only real way to become whole again.

He inclined his head towards the door, and sighed, exhasperated.

"Would you come in already? You're lingering, and it irritates me."

Surprisingly, he was being nicer than normal. He considered it a little bit of necessary hospitality, should he be forced to kill her soon. The words to one of the spells he had so recently learned came bubbling to his lips, and he felt a tingling sense of power in the thought that he could, if he so willed it, cast real magic again. He could feel the veins in his body pulsing, expanding, growing hot and heavy. It felt like the world was swimming, and yet every detail was so shockingly clear, so incredibly sharp. The old feeling of potency, of ability, made him bubble with anticipation. And he would never even need to speak it aloud! The beauty of these spells lay in their complete usefulness; if he was conscious, he could protect himself. And even attack.

He would be ready.

As she walked in the door, her coat flowing around her legs, he felt a thrill of disbelief. She was...well, he couldn't really find the words. Her visage, over two weeks ago, had come and gone so quickly, he had assumed he'd imagined her real face. But now that he was faced with her again, with her hair pulled up and her eyes wide, he found that she was even more...well...striking than he had imagined. Striking? Beautiful. Gorgeous. Enthralling. Exquisite. He felt so completely and utterly ugly when compared to her, and his grotesque deformities suddenly shamed him more than anything else in the world. His eyes widened even more than hers, and the spell that was on his lips fluttered away into his suddenly fuzzy mind.

After a few seconds to gather his composure, a few seconds of awkwardness as he felt his mouth sagging and his eyes bugging, he tightened up, feeling every muscle constrict. A spell, a powerful (compared to his usual one-handed spells) protection spell, draped over him in an instant, as quickly as he could think it. His face, slack for a few seconds, twisted into a fierce scowl, and he very nearly growled at her.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

He managed to spit the words out, even though he felt like choking on the bitter lump of inadequacy in his throat.

[Mickenzy]

Watching her fold the offered parchment away, Logan listened to Alishi’s proposal, a rueful half-smile forming amongst his stubble as she spoke. He knew he’d been right about her; she had a good head on her shoulders, and she even used it. The Grandmaster sighed grudgingly as she offered him the choices of following her at his own risk (which he’d already been doing anyway), or departing and leaving his mission unfinished (which he certainly could not do). How like himself when he was her age. The thought struck a chord within him and he actually gave a brief, quiet chuckle, shaking his head to himself.

“Lead on,” he responded, and went along after her. The pair faded away into the darkness like smoke, leaving the Imperial Agents far behind for the moment.


Derrick stood statue-like in the growing darkness beneath the trees, his ears keen to the sounds in the wilderness around him. He was almost beginning to wonder if Gerald was intent on keeping his own meeting time. At last, he could hear a rustling in the clearing that indicated someone was out there. The grizzled woodsman continued to listen, peering calmly into the gathering gloom, and was rewarded with the brief sound of metal’s hissing ring as it ground against dirt and grass. Gerald had brought his sword. Derrick wasn’t certain, but he thought he could pick out words being said in a sort of chant… was he praying?

Slowly, so as not to alarm the other man, Derrick moved out into the clearing from under the trees. The animal hide clothing he wore was soft and didn’t creak the way most leathers did, but the fur of the grey pelt that covered half his chest and folded over his left shoulder ruffled quietly in the evening breeze. He had his hatchet hanging from his belt, and his bow slung across his back with a quiver of arrows secured behind his left hip. As he drew closer, the handle of a long hunting knife could be seen poking out from the top of his right boot. Derrick stopped a good several yards away from Gerald.

“I came as you asked. Will you hear me?” he asked gruffly, folding his arms across his broad chest.


At Iriel’s urging, Becca seized the door handle and let herself into his home, though she waited a moment before shutting the door behind her. She hadn’t been expecting any kind of welcome coming from him, but his reaction was priceless. The blue-eyed beauty could almost see his mind quickly backpedalling and changing tactics. It was difficult for her not to smile a little.

“My name is Becca Marshstrider,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I’ve come to see how you’re progressing with the gift I gave you. I can see you are a fierce individual, so I shan’t waste much of your time.” Her voice was just as lyrical as it was no-nonsense. “If it suits your purposes to hear it, I have an offer for you; one that could secure yourself access to more tomes like that, and even grant you a position of power should you desire it… completely optional, of course.”

She thought it best to get straight to the point with the man. Normally, she might be more gentle, but this didn’t strike her as the appropriate time when she knew very well that she was putting herself at risk even being within his sight.

[JaySonic]

Gerald jerked his head in the direction of the voice, a look of mild surprise on his face. The short prayer he had been repeating to himself was more than that. It was also a small spell taught in the Church that heightened all of one's senses significantly. It was not very practical for battle seeing as it takes quite a bit of concentration even for a small spell. It is more suited to scouting potential camping sites to make sure there are not too many wild animals around or to see how many bandits just quietly surrounded you.

But despite this spell being in effect Gerald had not heard or seen this man. He let it go as just a matter of distance, he was rather far away. He stood and gripped his sword without withdrawing it from the ground and answered the man.

"If you say what I believe you are going to say than I would much rather end you right now, but seeing as you've been rather civil compared to my other pursuers, I will hear you out.