In Midnight

[Cassandra]

The hunter bent down over his kill, working swiftly and deftly, as if he had done similar motions a thousand times before. His keen knife, its shine lost to various patinas and hardening in the fires of time, slipped between the flesh and the skin of his prey. Working it through the softer fat layer, he slipped it neatly across the muscles, swiftly skinning the hare's corpse held fast between his knees.

With a wet thump, the front of the skin dropped down onto the ground, only to be whuffed at by the large grey dog sat patiently by his side. At his almost unnoticeable nod, the behemoth wolfed it down, licking at the red stain swiftly draining into the hungry earth. The hunter chuckled softly to himself, dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. He worked at the other side of the skin, soon dropping the rest of it and it being summarily removed. He stretched out, picking up a long slender twig and sliding it through the flesh and bone, before placing it on two tripods over the blazing fire. The canine looked up, the dancing flames reflected in its huge amber eyes.

A crack of a twig made him look up, glancing into the shadows. A slight smirk came to his lips as he leant back. The dog got to its feet, standing as tall as a Halfing at its shoulders and broad enough that one of the folk from the Moot could have ridden it easily. Its close-cropped grey fur was barely there but it peeled back generous lips from overly generous teeth, pale and gleaming. A low rumble permeated the air.

'Come no closer and old Charger here won't have you for breakfast,' the hunter said conversationally.

'I need your help, wizard.' A voice from the shadows spoke, soft and feminine. Tired and weary too, as if at the end of a very long road. There was a quiet echoing quality to it, as if a very soft smooth voice was repeating her words a bare thought after she.

The man chuckled again, softly and deeply, 'That's what they all say, my dear. They think magic can fix their problems, them that don't see it as an excuse to slay those of us who use it. So what problem is it that you have been having? A jilted lover, advancing illness, perhaps you are on the run from the authorities?'

There was silence for a time, and the figure approached slowly, just enough to be seen in the candlelight. The mage could dimly sense at least one other presence nearby apart from the woman, still hidden amid shadows. The dog's growl rose in pitch and volume as she approached, until the mage put a comforting hand on his head. Wrapped in a cloak, her features were difficult to see. A mouth rounded and pale spoke, her breath cloudy even in the warm summer air.

'I am possessed.'

***

Falcia knelt by Ilsa's bed as the little girl sat on it, hugging her adopted mother and crying fiercely. She held her close, eyes squeezed shut and valiantly ignoring the small voice inside that reminded her that were she not to go, her daughter would not be so heartbroken.

She whispered softly into curls of golden hair, smelling the rich earthy scents of her daughter. 'Aubrey and the 'Court will take care of you. And one day when you're all grown up, you'll marry Nicolayuth and have children of your own.'

Ilsa sniffled, 'And you'll be there?'

Falcia was quiet for a moment, unlike her other farewells she had been unusually honest with her daughter. 'I don't know, Ilsa. There is a chance that I will not be coming back from this trip. But then, there is always that chance.'

'But you never told me it before. Which means that you think it is more likely now. Maybe more likely than you coming back.' Ilsa's blue eyes were rimed with tears and bloodshot from the crying. Her skin was splotched and Falcia could feel the damp patches on her shirt from the bout.

She simply nodded gravely, and sighed, 'I have to do it, Ilsa. Please, just trust me on this.'

'But you won't even tell me what it is you're doing!' Ilsa's hands, now coming into their adolescent slenderness and awkwardness, clenched into impotent fists.

Falcia hugged her daughter close, and whispered softly into her ear. 'I can't.'

***

Falcia walked into the familiar office, the furnishings somehow smoother and gentler under the quiet gaze of lamplight. The moon rode high in the sky, and yet Henri was still at his desk, engrossed in a thick tome. She studied him fondly for part of a moment, before closing the door behind her with a quiet click. At the sound, her Adept Commander looked up. Dragging a chair over, she sat before him at the desk, a sheaf of papers locked against her hip. 'Henri, can I have a moment?' Her eyes were weary, as if she had not had enough sleep for several nights in a row and somehow haunted.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at her expression and actions, 'Erm, sure. What's on your mind?'

Falcia spoke without preamble, 'A couple of things. Firstly, I'm placing you as temporary Leader while I am on a journey. Secondly,' she took the sheaf of papers and dropped them on his desk with a quiet thump, 'I want you to hang onto my will. Most of my assets are going to Ilsa and Sevrecht, but the remainder will pass to whoever holds the Leader position of the Silver Court.'

Henri took the papers automatically, but his eyes didn't leave Falcia's face. When he spoke, his voice was flat and strangely emotionless. Falcia recognised the false face he wore to conceal his worry. 'A journey, you say. A journey you might not come back from. I know it might not be my place to ask, but... what's going on?'

Falcia smiled slightly, 'I cannot tell you. I am sorry, Henri. Suffice it to say that I believe it safer for all concerned that I go alone.'

Henri's eyes opened wide, the rest of his face remaining still mostly through an effort of will. She could almost see the panic writhing in his eyes, 'Safer for all concerned...' He shook his head and sighed, 'Except for you, obviously.'

Her voice was low and rich, wry amusement wrapped around each syllable, 'Oh no,' Falcia's smile increased a bare amount, 'myself especially.' The expression vanished. 'If I do not return within a couple of months, you may as well declare me dead and see to my holdings. If I return after that, I am sure I will be understanding.' She turned to leave, rising from the chair with her usual boneless grace.

For a moment, it looked as if Henri was about to leap out of his chair to stop her departure, but then his body settled again, once more in control. His eyes and voice lost their edge of panic, though when he spoke he sounded strangely calm. 'I have no call to stop you, and I'm sure you know better than me what you need to do. I'd offer my assistance if I knew there was a chance you'd accept it. Just be careful.'

She nodded slightly as she walked over to the door, leaving her reassurance drifting behind her, 'I'll come back if there's any chance that I can. Goodbye Henri.'

With a click of the door and the rustle of a cloak, she left, leaving Henri staring after her, the papers clutched tightly in his hands.

***

'Sevrecht, please stop it.' Her voice was pleading, quiet.

Angry grey eyes like stormclouds glared into her dark depths, 'No, you haven't told me where you're going, why you're going, only that you will probably not be coming back? You won't let me come along to help you, and you expect me to just sit down like a lapdog and let you go?'

'Don't make me make you get out of the way, Sevrecht.' Her tone was faintly threatening, 'You are lucky I considered it a courtesy to tell you I was leaving.'

'So what,' his expression seemed to fall out from his shoes, quickly covered up with an expression of uncaring stone-like stillness. Falcia noted idly that most of the Court seemed to have similar poker faces in times of trial. He continued, 'Is this it, then? You no longer want to stay with the Silver Court, or me, or your own daughter?'

'It isn't like that, Sevrecht.' She stood in her room, bags ready to be fastened to the various harnesses on Lilthya for her long journey.

His face twisted into a grimace, 'You're not going back to him, are you?'

Falcia gave Sevrecht a long cool look, colder than an unexpected plunge into icewater. Frost fairly rimed her words, 'No. Now get out of my way.' She moved forwards, but Sevrecht refused to move. She stopped, unsure of how to proceed. 'You can't hold me here forever. Sigmar, you can't hold me for more than an hour. Unless of course you're going to chain me?'

Their stares battled for dominance across the small room. Eventually, he glanced away, features locked down. His voice was rough, 'Just go.'

She moved past him swiftly, sparing a glance back to see him still locked in that position, statuesque with pain. The image lingered in her mind's eye even as she travelled to the stables and loaded Lilthya up with her packages and bags. The horse was unusually quiet, as if sensing her mistress' distress. They rode out into the mid-morning mist and the Marienburg marshes, and swiftly disappeared out of sight.

***

The elf was battered in some ways, his armour a little dented, his pride a little bruised, his hair could have done with a trim while his eyes were filled with a pale haunting. He stared at the letter with the silver seal with something approaching dislike, finally managing to bring himself to slit open the seal with a slender Asur blade and pull out the blotched parchment. The note was only a few lines long, one of them a familiar and delicate signature that was written above another, smaller seal of a cross within a circle.

He read the Reikspiel fluently, the faint sneer on his face soon replaced with numb concern.

"Dear Septin,

I am soon to travel on a journey that may well mean my death. It concerns the events that occured on the journey to find Sovereign and save Ilsa. As an old friend and ally that I have parted with in bad blood, I hope this letter reaches you.

I am truly sorry for everything. If everything works out, hopefully I will see you again and the stain on my soul will be cleansed. If not, may my memory be a kind one. You have always been a true friend.

With love,

Lady Kitiara Rosiari."

He stared at it for a few moments longer, before closing it slowly and slipping it back into the letter. The messenger who had given this to him was probably still in the building.

[septin]

Septin looked at the letter in his hand, hazel eyes boring into it, as if staring at it hard enough would cause it to spring forth with answers. When it didn’t give him the answers he wanted the elf shoved it into a pocket with a little more force than necessary.

“What are you doing Kitiara....” With that murmured line he returned the blade he had used on the letter to its sheath and strode out the door with an implacable mood to his step. The messenger who had handed that note to him would tell him where the note had come from, immediately.

***

The Innkeeper watched the quickly fading figure of the elf on his mount in the twilight of the evening. He had been a little shocked when the elf had turned up one day with a terrifying uncaring look in his eyes and begun staying in the Inn’s most expensive room. The elf’s eyes had always seemed like they were looking right through him even when they had him locked in a gaze. It had been truly unnerving. Even more frightening had been the times when the elf had told him he would be back in a while but to keep his room ready for him. He always paid for months in advance and had vanished for weeks at a time. He returned with garments in tatters and dried blood on him in at least one place. Now he was leaving as suddenly as he had come. He shook his head, there was no understanding the ways of elves, he was a fool for trying.

“But I do wonder what that messenger told him....”

***

Aararasse gave a snort to show how little he approved of this sudden and rapid departure from the stable. Aararasse was fully laden with all of the possessions Septin had taken with him when he had departed Marienburg all those months ago. Saddle bags bulged on his back, and pale ithilmar armour glinted in the twilight from where it was strapped on in a neat pile. The two swords strapped to the asur’s back were sure to scare anyone not looking for a fight. Septin patted the faithful steed’s neck as they trotted through the gloom of rapidly approaching dark.

“I’m sorry old friend, but I fear time is a luxury we do not have. Once more I find my existence ironic, so much time for life but always in a rush.” He gave a short laugh and thought back on what the messenger had said.

***

“Where did this letter come from and who gave it to you. Tell me everything you can remember, now.” He had cornered the man as he was having an ale at the bar of the Inn.

“What? Why are you....” The man had stopped and gulped when he had seen the elf’s expression. “Right...where from and who by...” Septin could see the cogs in the mans brain turning desperately as he recalled what he hoped would make the elf go away and leave him alone. “From down near the darkwald forest..yeah. Inn called the Frosted Peacock.” He paused and then added in hurried directions and landmarks.

“Who gave it to you, and where did they go.”

“Uhh...woman all in black, scary eyes and manner...kind of like you right now.” The man gave a nervous laugh and looked hopefully at his ale.

“Did you see where she went, human.”

“I, uhh, no I swear I didn’t see where she went. She just kind of, vanished after paying me. Can I go back to back to my drink?” The last part was nearly one long word as the man said it.

Septin turned around and left after that without a word.

***

A whiny from Aararasse brought Septin out of his silent reverie. He looked around and sensed a presence. His lips begun to arc into a sneer. Humans never got enough did they? He lightly whispered something to Aararasse and the horse stopped in the middle of the road.

“If you’re wondering if the tales about asur being wealthy is true let me inform you. I have more wealth than a dozen of your petty squabbling ‘nobles’.” He held up a ring from his hand for his silent audience and dropped it on the ground before drawing his twin swords with a soft whisper. ”Yet I also have more skill with my blades than any number of your sorry excuses for soldiers. So if you wish to experience the wealth and skill of an asur noble I invite you. Yet I also promise you it will be your last act alive.”

The night went very still around Septin and Aararasse. After a short while there was the sound of a very heated whispered conversation behind a cluster of rocks to the side of the road. Septin smirked as it went on for half a minute then a sound of a head being cracked by a heavy object echoed in the stillness, showing there was some enthusiastic leadership being deployed. Then silence and Septin felt no one was looking at him. He sheathed his blades and carried on down the dark road. He did not have the time to waste on clearing out brigands.

Kitiara was out there, facing what she thought was her death, he could but hurry to her.

Fool that he was.

[Cassandra]

She poked the fire with a stick, sending embers floating lazily on the night breezes in an upwards spiral. The soft crackle of the makeshift hearth was a comfort in the silence, disturbed only by the occasional forest sounds. A blanket lay close to the fire, while Lilthya lay down watching the darkness close by, a large expanse of black back to the warmth, sharp hooves pointed towards any predators that might come calling.

Falcia sighed softly, a conclusion to a choice unmade staring her in the face despite her reluctance to make it. She was most likely riding to her death. As such, she could not act as if she was not. She would have to behave as if the end she rode to was certain, and that meant that she could not lie to herself or those around her anymore. Not that there were. She reached out absently and put a slender hand on her mare's muscled back, feeling the warmth and softness of the only living creature to accompany her on this journey. She would wind her way along the edges of the Drakwald Forest, searching for the Amethyst mage who might be able to help her. If he failed, then there was only one choice.

The faint sound of wingbeats sounded among the gathering dark and she glanced upwards and a wry smile touched her lips as she spoke aloud, 'Oh quit stalking out there, being all foreboding.' She raised an arm almost without thinking, merely irritated to have the beast still following her. On her last journey, it could at least have the decency to show itself. At her words and gesture, a raven flew into the circle of light and landed delicately on her outstretched arm. Grey taloned feet gripped lightly against the cloth, then jumped deftly from arm to shoulder. Feathers leant into ebony locks and she sighed wrly. 'Don't get too comfortable,' she murmured, but the small warm body was at least a small consolation. It could remain for a short time.

You are so sad, my Queen. This course you are on, it worries me greatly. Please reconsider my offer. The hollow whispering soft voice was smooth and cool, though neither beast could hear it, speaking in cold echoes in the woman's ear.

No, I will not condemn another to my fate simply for expediency.

For your life, my Lady. Please.

If you are so intent on keeping me alive, perhaps my death will be a greater force for order than I thought.

There was silence for a few moments. She raised an eyebrow as the being within her searched for persuasive arguments. The quiet stretched on and she frowned slightly.

May I speak to you face to face?

'I have no intention of dreaming just yet, Dhaos.'

That is not necessary.

Twin furrows appeared between her brows as she considered it, faintly curious as to what the daemon would do. Another part of her looked forward to seeing his form again... for purely aesthetic reasons. 'Very well.'

Across the fire, the shadows and flickering embers seemed to dance and tremble, spinning to form a figure. Black clothes, simple in design, wrapped around pale skin so white as to be almost translucent. Dark eyes set under a shock of raven hair bored into her own, while the face was handsome, saved only from approaching feminity by a strong chin and defined cheekbones. He spoke, a similar but somehow warmer voice than the one that invaded her mind, 'My Lady, it is good to see you again.'

Her tone was wry but faintly amused, 'Likewise, I'm sure. So...?' She tilted her head, vaguely aware that he couldn't be really sitting there. It was probably all in her mind, which disturbed her somewhat in ways she could not quite fathom. The daemon was obviously more of an influence on her than she had previously suspected.

Dhaos nodded, 'Indeed, so.' He paused, meeting her eyes gravely, 'You're committing suicide. Not only that, you're travelling halfway across the Empire to do it. If you were going to fall on your sword, I don't know why you're wandering so far to do it.'

'Because my death is not certain,' she answered, though with little conviction.

Dhaos rolled his eyes heavenwards, he had taken on many of her mannerisms in the months they had shared a viewpoint, 'Letsee, if the mage can be trusted, if the ritual goes well, and if I'm ripped into a million pieces and sent back into the Aethyr, you'll just have to go back to Marienburg and explain to everyone that it's all okay now and never ever tell them why you went all this way into the middle of nowhere. That's assuming you even find the mage and get back without something from the Drakwald eating you alive. Have I covered most of the particulars?'

Falcia stared at him for a few minutes, then smirked, 'Is it worrying that I'd rather risk all that than spend another minute in your company?'

Dhaos chuckled, 'See, now, if I thought you were being serious about that, I'd be crushed, but that sounded more like flirting to me.'

Her eyes flashed flat almost immediately, 'I am deadly serious, Dhaos. You should know that from my being here.'

He stared back, unblinking for several moments, before saying in a cool, passionless voice, 'I am trying to protect you, Kitiara. Not just from yourself, but from the mage and from your Lord.'

'He is not my Lord.' It came out as almost a hiss. 'And what do I have to worry about from the mage?'

'He is a Death Wizard, my Lady. You revealed your possession to another mage and he sent you to a Death Wizard in the middle of nowhere, where it would be easy for a corpse to be dealt with. I don't think he is going to help you. I think he's going to do exactly the same as Illya would have done. Just faster.'

She looked away. She knew where Dhaos had gotten the idea, as it had been her own first. 'Then I shall die.'

He sighed, pain clearly marked on his handsome face, 'Am I really so onerous to you? Am I such a burden, so hateful? I do barely anything but speak to you when you are alone. You do not accept my power... nor my bed despite the fact you haven't shared the pitfighter's in... how long has it been?'

Falcia rose halfway to her feet, her hand on the hilt of her elven blade despite the knowledge that the man across from the fire was an illusion, before she managed to get her feelings under control, 'That is defintely none of your business. Now disappear and shut up. I am going to get some sleep. Maybe your raven can keep watch?'

At the words, Dhaos' image shimmered and dissolved and he spoke no more. She could almost feel the sullen hurt inside her though - or was that herself truly? She sighed a little, feeling the raven spread its wings and drift out into the darkness. She spoke quietly, 'You are a daemon, Dhaos, one that learnt to manipulate me through seemings of emotion and words and thoughts too close to my own. I cannot trust you.'

She curled up on her side on the soft blankets, feeling the warmth of the amber flames seeking her cheeks. She shut her eyes against the light, and soon her thoughts drifted to exhausted slumber.

[Cassandra]

Ilsa trudged through the doorway to the Silver Court, one hand hanging on numbly to her cloak, which was dragging morosely behind her. A thunderstorm had opened up behind her, and the cloth was soaked through, leaving a broad swathe of wet on the floor as she tread forwards. Her hair and face was also spattered with the rain drumming down. Flashes of sunlight in the distance made the downpour sparkle and a faint rainbow appear towards the harbour. Eyes the same colour as the sky from where the beams of light originated bored into the Courtiers sitting around on the various tables and chairs that were strewn around the main lounge area.

Someone nearby, some kind of scholar, she didn't really know his name. He was probably fairly new. He leant down and gave her a concerned look, 'Are you alright, little girl?'

She looked up, frowning, thoughts flashing through her head in quicksilver clarity. She could tell the truth, or she could deceive in the same way her mother had to her group. By saying nothing. She contented herself with a compromise, 'No.'

He knelt down in front of her, robes spread out so they lapped at the floorboards of silvery wood, 'What's wrong?'

Ilsa stared at him, then spoke quietly, though it carried farther than she intended, 'My mother is going to die.'

He blinked, 'Your mother?'

She smiled slightly, 'Falcia Schwarz.' Her blue eyes glimmered with unshed tears, 'She said she probably wasn't going to be coming back. She wouldn't say why, and I'm sad and I'm scared.'

The man didn't seem to be able to process the information, 'Lady Falcia is going to die?'

Ilsa sighed, leaving the man to his own shock and turned towards the fireplace. A train of cold water followed after, the cloak finally discarded in front of the flickering fire in a heap. She sat on a stool by it, drips sliding down her neck and soaked up by the pale blue dress she had on. After a few moments, she pulled her knees up to her stomach and wrapped her arms around them, staring into the hearth.

The 'Courtiers exchanged glances with each other and the shocked scholar, before a quiet muttering began.

*****

She lay on her back, hands linked behind her head as she stared up at the starfilled sky. A silvery moon dominated one side of the sky but no silver-green moon accompanied it. She had never placed Morrsleib in this place. Twinkles of light danced and glimmered beautifully above her, patterns and sparkles that moved very slowly as she watched. The sand was cool but warming to her body beneath her weight. It fitted to her form in the way that only fine sand can, a slight smugness to the thought that when she woke she would at least not have black sand absolutely everywhere.

No wind disturbed the black rolling desert that stretched from horizon to horizon, the silence perpetual and peaceful. A faint smile lay easy on her lips as her eyes glided almost closed. It was peaceful here, quiet and still. No demands, no worries. The silence stretched out to the end of the world.

Twenty feet away, a large rock a little larger than a heavy set horse sat among the sand of the desert. It was jagged, the wind cracking it into planes and a razorsharp edge facing towards the light of the moon. On the edge of the prow of the stone shard was crouched a dark figure, silently watching his mistress lie in the sand. Short black hair drawn into spikes fluttered in the windless air, and he sighed without a sound. His eyes roamed over her body, clad here in her usual clothes, sans the dark grey cloak. The gaze snagged on her face, itself gazing at the dancing stars. He followed her stare and pondered on them for a time.

He spoke, his voice like the wind missing from the wasteland, 'I was mortal once.' He could feel her attention on him, at least partly, though he kept his eyes on the vastness above. 'I followed my Lord faithfully, throughout all my life. I received gifts and was changed by them. I grew in knowledge and power and faithfulness. In the fullness of time, my end came upon me and when I left this life, my soul departed on the wings of a raven. I was reborn as his servant.'

Silence echoed from where Falcia lay, and Dhaos still looked up from where he sat, now considering the contours of the single lonely moon, 'I was placed within your blade to tempt you into service, and to give you power. When I was sent back to the empty places, I was called swiftly to continue my work, and found you once again. For years, my Lord has wooed you. Through me. And I have influenced you, in many ways.'

He glanced aside then, meeting the dark blue stare of the assassin. Questions lay within them, and he felt his eyes close in something approaching sadness. 'More than you know, my Queen. And we both believe you walk into death. It does not matter now.'

Falcia watched him even as he spoke, wary for manipulation and lies. His handsome face was lined with pale sorrows. She whispered softly, 'What have you done?'

He spoke without opening his eyes, 'Everything I could.' Finally a dark sliver appeared as he let a tired stare fall upon her, 'Do you wish the truth, no matter its sting?'

She ghosted to her feet at those words, familiar steel showing in her features, 'Always.'

He stared at her numbly, and nodded once. He waved a nonchalant hand and the scene shimmered and shifted like a mirage.

***

Falcia sat suddenly upright, gasping in deep breaths as if she had run a marathon. Her hands grasped the blankets in a tight-fisted grip as shivers shuddered through her frame. The night seemed cold, slivers of ice pushed deep behind her eyes that eased as she blinked rapidly. A teardrop ran from one abused eye down her cheek to patter on the hard earth. The embers of the fire glowed faintly, spreading a faint warmth towards her.

Her eyes focused on the far distance, horror faintly heard deep within them as she realised the depths of the deception perpetrated on her. A faint snarl touched her lips and then smoothed into a touch of pity and guilt. As the daemon had said, it did not matter now. She twisted slightly so she could sit up on her twisted blankets, a roil of nausea in her gut having little to do with her last meal. He had lied, and twisted her perceptions and her emotions like a master. Even while she was unaware of his presence, he had played her like an instrument, composing a symphony that reflected only what he was after.

Her soul, for his own Master.

She shuddered again, lifting up a hand to wipe her eyes, now slightly bloodshot. She had been twisted, a plant grown to a certain shape. A flash of resentment twisted in turn in her stomach. He had shaped everything, her relationships with everyone. He had helped her self-control, driven away those who were a threat, wooed those who would make it easier to woo her, manipulated her emotions and altered her perceptions. She was what she was now, because of him. And where she was now.

The anger faded slightly. He had been nudging her constantly, but the fact that she had resisted was mute testimony to the fact that he could only subtly manipulate her, not direct or control her. She put her head in her hands, composing herself with little difficulty. It had been easy since... since... since Isilecet had left. So long now. She could barely remember his face. A faint smile touched one half of her face with a wry smirk and then vanished as she reviewed her life since Dhaos had invaded her body.

I am sorry.

[septin]

The road was dusty, rough and stretched out for what seemed an eternity to the proud figure on an equally proud steed. Aararasse continued on through the gloomy night at a canter until the pale golden light of dawn showed on the horizon. At that point the horse slowed down to a walk and after a minute went to the side of the road with no discernible act from his rider. Septin patted Aararasse’s neck and dismounted to stretch his legs for a bit and to give Aararasse a rest from the journey.

They were making good time, even at a canter Aararasse was swift compared to human steeds. It should only take another day of hard riding to reach the Frosted Peacock, the place that calm shattering note had come from. After that...

“Asuryan help me, I have no idea what I will do after that.” Septin took a seat on a patch of grass beside the road and lay back, closing his eyes.

I don’t even know why I am doing this, do I. She rejected me and it should have ended there. Do I hope for some tear inducing reunion where she changes her mind? Foolishness. Thats not why I’m going. She is a old friend facing her death. Yes that is why. Death should never be faced alone.

He tried to still his troubled thoughts but found it hard to do so. After roughly half an hour of resting on the grass he returned to his feet and prepared Aararasse for the day of riding. If there was one thing he was grateful for it was having such a loyal mount that would carry him into a fight one day and then across the old world on the next without falter. After patting the proud mounts neck he climbed the stirrup and settled himself.

“Onward again for another day of travel through these dreary lands of men. Onward to the goal I haven’t realised myself. Onward as a fool to the flame.”

The day continued on with Septin humming or singing asur marching songs and one or two ballads he knew. The songs lasted him most of the morning and the afternoon. He turned a bit sour after the last of them, regretting his choice as he sang through it. It was a tale of spurned love, not the best choice for himself. With a click of his tongue he stopped singing and lightly whispered a word into Aararasse’s ear.

Aararasse sprang forward in a gallop, eating up the long miles of the road. After a while Septin relented and let the horse return to a light canter. He paused briefly to rest Aararasse in the late afternoon before resuming the ride to the borders of the Darkwald and the Frosted Peacock.

***

The sun was setting on the distant horizon, setting the world aflame with red and orange as the figure of Septin mounted on Aararasse arrived at the Frosted Peacock. It was a larger establishment than Septin expected. It does make sense I guess. The asur mused as he slowed Aararasse to a walk in front of the Inn. The Drakwald forest has a very bleak reputation and anyone setting up an inn would want it to be large enough to defend itself from any unsavory visits.

Septin dismounted and looked around the Inn yard to get a measure of the place. A eager but scared looking young man came up to him and offered to stable his horse. Septin flicked a hand in dismissal.

“I don’t plan on being here for that long human. Aararasse can look after himself while I ask a few questions of your master.” With that the asur left the young man looking slightly confused and frightened after meeting an asur to go into the Frosted Peacocks main doors. He pushed it back with a squeak of slightly rusted hinges and stepped inside.

The interior was already smokey from candle and lamplight with a smattering of travelers, merchants and their guards mainly, seated at tables. Septin just managed to stop his lip curling at the rough looking interior, not to mention the stench. The room had paused and was silent, looking at the new comer with suspicion. A few eyes had gone wide, they recognised an elf. Septin didn’t care about the many stares he was getting, he wanted information, and quickly. His eyes scanned the room and located the man who was the Innkeeper. He was hard to miss with a dirty apron and a slightly sleazy look in his eyes as he wandered around the dining room, greasing up his customers wallets to pry another precious copper from them.

A smirk came over Septins face and he pointed imperiously at the man, gesturing him to come over and speak to the asur. The man paused, mid purse grease and for a brief moment looked offended at the imperial way Septin was telling him to come, then he hid it behind hooded eyes and spouting numerous apologies left his customer to head over to Septin.

“What can I do for you, friend, elf.”

The man was like a ferret, Septin decided. His eyes were far to darting and indecently inquisitive. Covering his disgust only lightly the asur replied.

“I am looking for a woman who stayed at your inn not three days ago.” Septin gave a quick description of Falcia. “She might have been dressed all in black and probably did not stay for long. Would you know what direction she headed when she left?”

“Ohhh...Many people come and stay here, friend, elf. It is hard to recall all of them. My memory is not what it used to be, perhaps you can help my failing memory?” He surreptitiously held out a hand for a bribe. Septin looked down at the hand then to the mans face. The man grinned in what he probably thought was a conspiratorially way.

That grin quickly faded to a look of terror as Septin picked him up bodily by his shirt and slammed him against a table top.

“Now listen to me, human. You will tell me what you know of the lady in black who stayed here and what direction she headed and you will tell me NOW. I do not have time to play your petty greed induced games.” He shook the man like a rag. “Now, speak.” The last word held a razor edge to it.

The entire room had gone silent. Most of the clientele in the room silently edged back. Even those with weapons only loosened them, not sure they wanted trouble with an angry elf. The innkeeper held in Septin’s grasp looked terrified and after he got over the shock of being slammed onto one of his own cheap tables he started to speak, rapidly.

“Ah, yes...Four days ago you say?” The innkeeper stammered. Septin nodded implacably. “ Yes, yes...Four days ago...Uhh....All in black...yes, yes. I remember her. Ebony Rose she said her name was?” He looked nervously at Septin, who nodded after a moment.

Ebony Rose. Hardly a clever pseudonym for anyone who knows you Kitiara.

“Which way did she go, human?”

“Uhh...South, down the trade road.” Septin released him and stood back. Thinking a moment before he turned around sharply and headed out the door without a word to the innkeeper or anyone else in the inn.

***

Aararasse gave a snort to show his thoughts on a madcap gallop down the trade road for half an hour. Septin looked up from where he was studying the ground to the side of the road with a faint smile.

“Sorry friend. I think we only have to rush for another day at most. It depends on how much of a hurry she is in. I think she left the road here. I recognise the shoes she uses on Lilthya.” Aararasse’s head perked up at the mention of the black mare’s name. Septin laughed. “Yes, Kitiara will be riding her. You’ll get to say hello when we catch up.”

With that the asur remounted and set off at a canter after the trail he had found leading off the road. After an hour he stopped as the trail was getting hard for him to follow with the darkness and the lack of foliage for Lilthya to have disturbed. He stopped and made camp, rubbing Aararasse down and telling him to get ready for a difficult day of tracking tomorrow.

With that he made himself comfortable on the ground with a light blanket covering him and he slept. His dreams were not as troubled as they had been these last few months. Yet he still had the recurring dream with the face of his father staring down and one single line echoing in his head. A sword should never define a life.

A sword should never define a life. A sword should never define a life. A sword should never define a life. A sword should never define a life. A sword should never define a life.

Septin woke to the dawn sending streams of light through the sky. He found himself covered in sweat from the dream that simply echoed. He got up and with practice of many long years on the road broke camp and within the hour was back on the trail of Falica. He rode as quick as he dared without losing the trail.

She was not trying to hide her trail this time Septin mused as he rode with one eye on the trail. Not like the last time I went after her. He recalled that time with a grimace as he had ended up being trussed upside down above stakes by a vampire then stabbed by Falcia and Illya when he came upon them. He shook his head to clear the memories and concentrated on the tracks.

The day past uneventfully as he rode. He came across a campsite early on in the morning and then another in the afternoon. She was going at a very easy pace it seemed. He would catch her this night. A light supper when evening fell and he was off again. The tracks were fresh now and heading in a consistent direction. Even if he lost the tracks he would certainly run into her if he kept the line the tracks had been keeping.

Darkness fell around him as he tracked and he was left to his own private thoughts in the hours before he caught up to Falcia. What would he say? What explanation could he offer to her? Longtime friend, near lover, once-foe. Such a gamut of experiences and feelings for each other. What could possibly be said to her as she faced a death?

Aararasse slowed to a walk and Septin looked up to see why. Ah. I see. There in the distance the light of a campfire was easy to see in the darkness of the night. Well, here I am. I followed her with haste and precision. Now what?

He approached the fire carefully, dismounting from Aararasse and walking the horse the rest of the way. He got closer and soon saw Lilthya asleep and near the fire rolled in a blanket was Falcia. He stopped by the edge of the firelight and just gazed at her for a long moment.

I found you, yet you sleep. I pray your sleep this night is good. I think I will leave it to you.

With a sigh he turned around and found a spot to set up his own camp close by. The morning would bring with it much trouble he was sure. Let it come as it would.

The asur tossed and turned for a while before getting up and without even thinking took the harp he took everywhere from one of his saddle bags and settled himself with a back to a tree as he first tuned it softly, then began to play.

***

Over in her camp Falcia was distracted from the review of her life by the soft sound of harp notes echoing mournfully in the night.

[Hilldilly]

"What ails you, son?" The priest spoke. His native coast accent somehow contradictory the black robes of Morr that he wore. For a man of such grim occupation to sound so relaxed, it felt off. The priest himself was young, relatively. The effects of age had yet to set wrinkles into his face and no frown lines could be seen. His skin even held a healthy tan from days spent watching the river and those who made passage of it.

Nicolae didn't answer. Instead he just sat in the hand crafted wood chair that he had been directed to in entrance. The room he sat it was an office within this temple of Morr, complete with a pendulum driven grandfather clock and long softwood desk; littered with scriptures, books, and utensils. It was at this desk that Nicolae sat, with the priest sitting opposite. The scent of sweet incense was strong, covering that of death which lingered always beneath it; which only succeeded in making it that much worse.

"I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong, Nicolae," The priest continues. His use of the name an indication of prior familiarity.

Nicolae squirmed in his chair, apparently sent into a state of discomfort. "My apologies, curate," he replied, in his notably soft voice. He avoided eye contact, looking to his hands rather than to the man across from him. There was sweat upon his brow, and his tense demeanour did no better to dissolve any thoughts of concern for him.

"Now. Tell me. What is wrong?"

"Death," Nicolae blurted. "Erwin Buchner, age thirty-one. He-... He slipped in his shop, and fell right into the furnace." He reached into his coat and rummaged through a flat pouch, producing a torn piece of parchment. Unravelling it, he read aloud, "Jutte Acker. She died yesterday at the age of twenty-two. Got her hair caught on a loose bolt while running down a set of stairs, snapped her neck. Artur Sie-"

"Enough!" The priest interrupted. His face having turned to red gradually throughout the list. "Enough." He sighed, leaning forward until his elbows rested upon his lacquered desk. "This obsession with dying, Nicolae, it's unhealthy for you." He brought up two fingers, pointing them aggressively toward Nico. "Look at yourself. You've gotten worse!"

It was true. Nicolae hadn't been eating well, sleeping well, or even dreaming well. It had been since he left the College, as he was continuously increasing in frailty. Ever since he had been out in the open, where so many people die without rhyme or reason. It wasn't his first trip to this priest, and it hopefully wouldn't be his last. He hung his head, silent.

"You are not well." The Priest broke the silence. His voice calmed considerably. "People die, I'll die, and you will die. It is not the end, just the way that we must go from this world." He nodded in conclusion. "Don't you have anyone to look after you, family?"

*****

"Lady Falcia is going to die?" The words came from his mouth, yet he felt so dethatched from them. His head swam as he cringed. He felt sick to his very stomach, but that wasn't rare these days. He held those with ranking above him to an apotheosis of status. If one could die, so could he. “Die? As in, dead?”

Nicolae watched as Ilsa departed to the fireplace. He didn't in any capacity know how to talk to children, let alone comfort them. Yes, he had once been a child himself; but only briefly. Her ignoring of his further questions caused him nothing but addition to his sickly state. It would get much worse before it got better.

Her voice had broken his attention away from a book he was reading, ‘On Verena’, and he never cast his eyes at the tome, since. He didn't look to the other Courtiers any longer either. He avoided eye contact as he had before, his focus leaving the room. It was to his head and what he should do with this information. If anything, it was a child that told him this, not a superior. Though Ilsa was defiantly held to a higher regard in the Court, than he.

Beyond the din in which people muttered back and forth, there was nothing yet said as to what was next. Perhaps they were as deep in thought as he was, perhaps they were already planning. Nicolae couldn’t read minds, but he could read the situation well enough. It didn’t take an abundance of wisdom to meet this stagnant end, and that was most fortunate for Nicolae’s learned intelligence. Things rarely worked out this way, at least for Nicolae.

Back to reality. He brought his chin up he looked about to those present once more before standing. On his feet he regarded each and every person in the room, each one at a time. He cleared his throat gently before starting, "D-does... anyone know where we might find Lady Falcia?" His voice is soft, easily missed in the din by those not paying attention. “Usually?”

He was tense, as always with how such things went. Speaking in front of an audience was a phobia of his, but he had many phobias. For people to work on avoiding them would be kin to avoiding stepping on anyone’s feet in a room made from shoes. There was no time to be concerned about such things.

Nicolae raised his voice as he stepped forward from the table he once occupied. “Does anyone know where we might find Lady Falcia?” he repeated. He spoke much louder than before, and clearer than he had ever uttered a sentence within the Silver Court. He was motivated. Motivated wasn’t a state that he commonly found, but with the circumstances within his own life of late, nothing was as it usually was.

He stood still, his slight form alone from the group as he looked to them. He did not have the same connection to Falcia as the others, nor so much reason as they to go after her. What he did have was his youthful ignorance as to how the world worked, and his attachment to death. He was set to going, without even a second thought; regardless of his health.

[Rudger]

"With a hum, an' a ho, an' a merry lo.
Through the day, through the night.
Over fields of green, into forests of dark.
Whene'er he may please, Where'er he may go.
The ol' traveller walks.
With a rum, an' a tum, an' a merry song.

The light hearted voice carried on through the forest with little concern for what might hear it. The singer carried on humming the tune long after the song was finished. Just something that he had concocted of his own accord. Days were hard and nights long so it did well to keep ones mind off of the troubles that surround them. This was a good way to live life by in the eyes of the weathered traveller.

He had not long turned about from his travels to head back 'home'. Or rather, what had temporarily become home. It was a strange notion, realising that after so many years of having nowhere to go Rudger finally had a place where he could return to with no troubles. This thought only served to strike up his mood further still, and he started the song anew.

"With a hum, an' a ho, an' a merry lo..."

******

The path finally came upon his marked destination. The Frosted Peacock. A short rest place before moving on again. And he had arrived in a timely fashion. The sun was gradually disappearing behind the trees, and no man was safe out in Drakwald even at the best of times.

Rudger hurried on in, being greeted by the overly friendly Innkeeper. A wide grin plastered the man's face. He stood back bent and hands clasped together, as if ready to attend any biding that might be required of him.

"Ah...returning again I see. What travels this time old friend?" asked Sedrick.

"No tales that I'd like to share friend. Though food and a place to rest would much be appreciated."

"Of course, of course. The usual price, yes?"

"Yes, yes," Rudger handed over the usual amount and ushered the weasel out of the way "Now away with you. No man can sleep with your constant money grubbing."

******

The night passed calmly and without event. Indeed, it had proven to be quite restful after a number of days sleeping upon the ground. He rose early and was first downstairs. Sedrick was already awake himself, ready to take what money he could. His face picked up as he saw the first money bag enter the bar area. Rudger sat towards the back, a good distance away from the bothersome Innkeeper. He rolled out a tattered map, then picked out his quill and ink vial. Sedrick slowly approached.

"What is it that he are adding today?" he asked inquisitively, leaning over to spy upon the map.

"Nothing which concerns you Sedrick Weasel," he replied with a stern look.

"Yes, of course. And what of breakfast? Your usual I suppose..." he said with a hint of disappointment. Rudger simply nodded "Could I not interest you in..."

"No. Now leave me be!"

Sedrick scurried off to the kitchen and eventually more patrons began to filter down into the room. Traders, travellers, merchants and the like. They talked of this that and the other. The latest news, information on recent attacks, the troubles that beset today's travellers. Nothing unusual. The travelling itself had been altogether restful compared to past adventures, and he was reasonably glad for it. Sedrick eventually brought over his order of stew, bread and water.

"'Ere ya go. Now you sure there's nothing else I could perhaps be interesting you in?"

"No."

"A new horse maybe? Cloak?"

"No."

"Some fine wine?"

Rudger didn't bother replying and just ignored the man till he went away. And there he sat for some time, adding to the map, writing notes and eating a good warm meal. In fact time ran away from him and it was nearing dusk before he realised just how long all the notes had taken. People had left and new one's had entered without his notice. Sedrick approached once more.

"So...you shall be staying for another night?" he asked hopefully.

"It would se-"

The traveller stopped mid-sentence as he noticed the silence and a lone figure standing at the door. Most seemed stunned entirely, though he felt little amazement in seeing an elf any more. He looked with disinterested eyes for a moment as the person gestured to Sedrick. The man turned to Rudger.

"Sorry friend. Seems a more lucrative customer has just arrived."

Rudger shrugged and went to stand, but caught word of the elf's intentions. It was hard not to hear as he blundered in and told the world of his reasons for being there. You'd think ol' pointy ear would be more subtle. he mused to himself. Though it was not this blatant disregard that interested him most, it was the person which he described.

“I am looking for a woman who stayed at your inn not three days ago.” The elf gave a quick description of what sounded exactly like Lady Falcia. “She might have been dressed all in black and probably did not stay for long. Would you know what direction she headed when she left?”

Well...what are the odds...

Rudger watched the scene unfold in silence, not wanting to make himself known. He let the elf leave and waited a few moments before gathering up his maps and other papers. Bounding up the stairs, the traveller shouldered his way into his room and made ready as fast as he could. Not even a minute went by before he was downstairs again in full gear. He placed one coin in Sedrick's hand before hurrying out into the courtyard. The elf had already made well on his departure.

Rudger ran to the stable hand and nudged his shoulder.

"You see that elf boy?"

"Oh...yes sir! Ne'er 'ave seen one 'fore," the boy replied excitedly.

"A horse. Did he have a horse?"

"Why yes sir! A most well cared fer one too t'was!"

The traveller cursed to himself, looked about hurriedly and passed two gold coins to the boy, who's eyes lit up instantly. Rudger ran past him and took the finest looking horse there. He struggled with it for a moment but dragged it out eventually.

"You will tell no-one of this!" he snapped at the stable hand.

"Oh...no sir. No!" the boy shook his head.

Rudger hastily mounted the brown horse and set off from the Inn. Having overheard the elf's threats he knew which way to go and put the rather reluctant horse into a gallop. The elf would be hard to track and even harder to keep pace with. They could go faster and for longer stretches of time. Fortunately, Rudger cared little for his levied horse and would put it through its paces. Though that didn't account for why he was following in the first place. It's more likely that the elf isn't even looking for Falcia. And even if he was, then would she even need him there? He was sure that the Silver Court's prestigious leader could look after herself. But then the question of what she was doing all the way in Drakwald came to mind. These were all things that Rudger had to put to rest.

And who knows...it might lead to a good adventure, just like the old days.

And so he went on, tracking the elf as best he could. At times he needed to stop. Sometimes for rest, others to get his baring and then to make sure he was still following the right tracks.

******

He went on for the night, then through most of the next day, taking short rests throughout to give both the horse and himself some respite. However, the traveller refused to stop for more than two hours at any one time. You didn't catch up to an elf by sitting around all day!

By his account and the condition of the tracks he was nearly a whole day behind by the time he came across the first abandoned camp site. And this seemed like as good a place as any to take another short rest. He would catch up to them eventually, but it wasn't going to be easy.

[Cassandra]

Falcia's eyes twitched towards where the soft sounds began to drift through the night. Harp music. Isilecet?

That's ridiculous. He can't be here!

The notes rippled up and down into a pale cascade. They seemed to echo the cool and calm beauty of the star filled night, and its ineffable sadness. She rose, stalking through the trees towards where a faint light flickered and the music glittered. She drew to a stop as she spied the sight of the Asur through the trees. Gliding noiselessly to a nearby tree within sight of the elf, she leant against its firm support, rough bark scratching against her flawless skin.

Oh, it's the Asur. I guess your letter must have stirred him to action. I told you it was a bad idea.

Shut up.

A moment of surprised silence, then, As you wish, my Lady.

Septin played music on his harp, head bowed over the instrument, a look of confusion and wondering on his face. Her voice disturbed the night, dragging him from his music as his fingers stilled on the strings at its sound. 'Septin Thalhuin. I see now the letter was a mistake.' She spoke quietly, calm acceptance and a thread of sadness woven throughout.

Septin looked up, his expression a little startled. 'Oh, Kitiara.' A long pause hung in the darkness between the two, before he spoke again, quiet resentment simmering beneath the surface of the words, 'No, the mistake was in thinking I would simply accept your certain death without seeing it for myself.'

The phrasing made her chuckle, the sound echoing through the night, 'Oh, so you want to see me die? How morbid, Septin.'

'You know I didn't...' Sharp, angry and quickly cut off, it brought back memories, even as it was swiftly followed by a sigh. 'As prickly as ever I see. In what existence did you see me sadly putting the letter on my mantlepiece and silently accepting you dying?'

Falcia shrugged slightly, 'I had thought it would have taken it longer to get to you, and you longer to ride to my rescue.' A wry amusement underlined the last few words, 'Not that you can, of course. And if you try to stop me... well.' Then, I'll have to stop you. I don't want to have do that, Septin.

He will ask questions...

I told you to shut up. In reply there was only sullen silence.

He looked down and smirked as another chord rippled off the harp. 'Your messenger was quick.' Another pause, filling the silence with its tension. 'What is going on Kitiara? Why are you convinced you ride to your death?' Concern, worry, suspicion all fought for dominance in the words hard fought. He sent a long piercing look at her face, studying it with his hazel eyes. They were gold, familiar and filled with an aching passion that held fast behind the darker emotions.

Falcia considered the question for a few moments, unsure whether or not to answer, or if to answer whether or not to give Septin the truth. He deserves it. In so many ways.

What?!? He'll try to kill us!

Shut. Up.

However, she was no fool and the same thought had occurred to her. Slowly, she unsheathed her swords, holding each lightly in her hands. Her words were equally slow and matter of fact, 'A daemon of Obscuras has taken up lodgings within me. I am going to a death mage with experience of such things to get rid of it. If I don't find him before the dangers of these lands do, I will die. If the ritual goes awry, I will die. If the death mage is not to be trusted, I will die. If it fails, I will die. That is why.'

Her face was expressionless, but her hands tightened slightly on the sword hilts as she faced Septin's reaction to her sudden revelation. Some part of her worried for a violent storm from him, another part excited at the thought of a real fight after so long.

This is a bad idea. For once, she did not silence the daemon, watching Septin instead. She could not afford a distraction.

Silence echoed between them for a long time, before finally he spoke, not looking at her. 'I see.' Slow, dirgeful music rang out in distinct chords from the harp, somehow thickening the tension in the air. 'A daemon, has taken up lodging inside you. For how long exactly.' The words were flat, even though it was obviously a question, the controlled anger a barely held presence in the background. His hands went white-knuckled on the harp, nails lightly scoring the wood.

Far too long. The daemon didn't feel it fit to respond. 'Apparently it has been there since before Isilecet left. I became aware of it at the Grand Tournament in Mousillon when it was forced into the open to save its own existence from the horrors unleashed there.' She kept the almost bored tone in her voice, hoping not to accidentally trigger Septin into violence. We saved each other.

He repeated himself, 'I see.' His voice was similar to her own, as if the emotions risen were too strong to release. 'And you haven't felt the urge to do something about it until now.' His elven face was a blank mask.

The hidden accusation stung as Falcia regarded him, a little heat tinting her words despite herself, 'I researched out those who would help me instead of kill me out of hand.' A wry smirk painted itself on her lips, 'Do you blame me?'

He let out a sigh, his face becoming troubled at her words. 'I... don't know. Part of me does and another part does not. But the part that does not is still injured at the lack of confidence.' He looked up to the night sky, barely seen through the intervening branches. 'I saved you once when you had lost all control and tried to burn an inn down around me. Why does possession matter I say now to myself?'

He's taking this a lot better than I thought he would. Maybe he's not as self-righteous as I thought.

How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?

Another wry twitch of her lips, 'I actually did manage to burn the inn down. Fairly spectacularly.' She eyed him, more immediate worries weighing on her mind, 'Are you going to attack me or try to stop me from my course?'

He didn't look down, keeping his gaze pinned on the distant stars. 'I think... Kitiara...' He glanced down, at the harp clenched in his hands, then over at his swords. 'I... am afraid of my swords. I will not fight you unless I must..' A light smirk touched his face. 'Yet I would like to know more on your course of action. Would you begrudge an old friend a demand to travel with you this one last time?'

It's a bad idea. She merely ignored it this time, tired of instructing it to cease its babblings.

She made a thoughtful noise, eyeing his swords in turn. There was a light metallic sound as her two blades found their sheathes. She met his eyes even though he looked away, her own faintly disappointed, 'Afraid of your swords? A pity. I was looking forward to a spar.' She shrugged one shoulder as if meant nothing to her.

It does mean nothing. Doesn't it? The memories of two bodies clashing, steel chiming, the flood of battle lust and joy that made her laugh, the test of skill and yet a reaffirmation. They had a draw that she did not think she could fight.

A laugh, shockingly loud and unexpected exploded through the clearing, 'Oh, if you would have a spar I will give it to you. Yet I will not raise my hand with intent to kill you.' There was warmth once more in the tone, and it made her shiver to hear it. But there was one more possibility, one more potential that made her a little glad to have Septin travelling with her, even as it made her worry for his safety.

'What if it took over completely?' She tilted her head to one side, her voice more curious than afraid. Somewhere, she knew the answer. She needed to hear it.

'I would consider my odds for subduing you versus killing you. And make my choice.' She relaxed at his words. As if you could ever say anything else.

You know as well as I do that that cannot happen unless you allow it.

Her eyes drifted slowly to the harp, memories beckoned from its quiet beauty. Something similar she had given to a once-lover as a present. The same music had glittered in her life. Her lips twisted into a little smile, 'You are so alike. Always were.' She saw the question in his eyes and clarified, 'You and Isilecet. Proud, loyal, arrogant, swordmasters and acrobatic, handsome. You even both play the same instrument. Only one thing really seperated you.'

She met Septin's eyes, unaware that her irises had darkened to circles of jet, no flecks of deep blue flashing deep within. Her voice echoed softly on an elven word, 'Nwalme. Do you remember? Torment. Something you had, and he never did. He drifted through life, smiling. To him, a road was a pathway to adventure, to joy, to battle. To you, a grim duty, a dark and dangerous path that needless had to be trod.'

Septin looked down to his harp, silent as chords, minor and major alternating, echoed off nearby trunks and bushes. 'I do my best to be a positive influence on this world. That is all.' It almost sounded like an excuse. Another run of notes drifted up and down the strings, 'Did I ever tell you of Aenarion, the first Phoenix King?'

Falcia rolled her eyes upwards, as if trying to remember, 'Didn't he blow up or something?' Her grasp of history, especially that of the Asur was somewhat lacking. But she had remembered that story.

He twitched slightly at the comment, a faint expression of pain moving swiftly across his face. His voice came out deep and strong, as if to wash it away, 'Aenarion the Defender, first of the Phoenix Kings. He held back the daemons when chaos first came to the world. In doing so he drew the Sword of Khaine, the Widowmaker. A fragment of Khaine's great sword come to the world. He was able to crush hordes of daemons by himself upon his dragon. In his final fight he even defeated four Greater Daemons of Chaos. Yet, the price the blade took for all that power was Aenarion's soul. He is the greatest hero of our nation, and yet... I find myself wondering if it was worth the cost. He died alone and in pain, his last act being to return the Sword of Khaine to the altar from whence it came. I am not sure how dear the price of justice should be any more.' His golden eyes grew cloudy and troubled as they stared into nothingness.

Falcia watched him, knowing the look, knowing the problem. Septin felt lost among the world, unsure what he was living for, fighting for. Away from family and friends, with a goal that seemed impossible and left nothing but pain behind it for the Ellyrian Knight. The fire of his passion and his need to protect others was burning him alive from the inside. From here, he could travel almost any path, both noble and vile. She sighed slightly, unable to help him, 'Everyone dies alone, and most in pain.'

Oh, alone?

'Apart from perhaps myself. Unfortunately.' Yes, thank you. Everyone without an unwelcome daemon locked in their head. She sighed, 'Will you spend the rest of the night here then?'

A ghost of a smile haunted his lips, 'It seems to be a great deal of effort to move my camp a hundred yards over for a few scant hours, unless you would like the company?'

'Not afraid I might disappear into the night?'

Supreme confidence, 'I can find you again. Also you would have already gone if you were intending to.'

A smile, quiet and sad, her voice echoing with the same thoughts, 'I suppose that is true. Septin Thalhuin.' His name upon her lips trembled, almost a whisper, almost a farewell. Why did she feel like this?

'Yes, it is, Kitiara.' Her name, her real name, made her hair stand on end. Or was that the cold? His golden eyes watched her, the locks of brown tumbled carelessly around his stern features, softened by his thoughts and their melancholy. She could drown in them.

Faint music swirled through her memories, flashes of red and blue and that familiar gold.

She opened her mouth, taking half a step forwards, before catching herself in the motion. She shifted her weight back with a brief nod, twirling into the darkness and disappearing amid the dark trees.

Septin watched her go, until even he could no longer espy her form. 'Sleep well, Kitiara...' he whispered, to himself.

[septin]

Septin leant back against the tree, strangely calm considering what had just happened. His thoughts flittered about in his brain. Thinking, considering.

She is possessed by a daemon. His hands tightened breifly on the harp. That doesn't matter, it is still Kitiara. Still Kitiara. What does that even mean to me? Kitiara is Kitiara. Just like I am me, events transpire and I take action. He shook his head as the memory of the previous letter he recieved from her ran back over in his brain.

Yet she was under the influence of a daemon...what are her actions and what are the daemons? Can I trust anything she may say or do anymore? One side rose up and said no, if she is under the influence of chaos there is nothing that can be trusted. Kill her and ensure she does no more harm. The other side of his soul, the part that held temperance and mercy as high values also spoke. All things must be given a chance for redemption. She thinks she can remove the daemon. Help her try.

Ah interjected the side bent on swift justice. But how can it ever be certain she is free of its influence? Once the demonic has a grip on your soul can it ever be lifted?

Septin growled to himself "Such a complicated net I have woven for myself. I am both spider and fly it seems."

He stopped playing the harp with trace of regret, yet he could play no decent music with his head in such turmoil. The asur got to his feet with the harp tucked under an arm and twigs lightly crunching under his footfall returned it to its casing on the saddle-bags. That task done he tried to return to the sleep his harp playing had been avoiding. His twin swords lay next to the bedroll forcing him to look at them as he settled in. He was growing to loathe them. Every drawing would mean more blood spilled. Another death on his soul. Aenarion in some ways had it easier, Septin mused. His evil was clearly defined. I have no trouble with clear evil like daemons. Kitiara's possession is no such clear cut of evil. Even if it was, how do my feelings for her come into it?

With that dark question on his mind Septin returned once more to sleep.

***

The night went past without any further troubled wakings or forboding dreams for the asur. He woke to the sound of bird calls and the pale light of early morning filtering through the trees. He rose without undue haste and had breakfast silently. Then he broke camp and cleared his fire. Aararasse was loaded with the saddle bags and armour once more but looked like he didn't mind as Septin explained the hard riding was over.

The whole process took the better part of an hour. After that was done Septin walked Aararasse over to where Falcia had made her camp. Her camp was only a few hundred yards away and easy to find again. When he arrived Septin saw that she still slept. With a faint smile at her sleeping form he led Aararasse over to where Lilthya was awake and watching them. He left the two horses to talk and took a seat near Falcia's fire, his back against a log.

It was only an hour or two until Falcia's eyes fluttered open and she spotted him sitting there.

Falcia rose to her elbows and turned over to face the asur, "Good morning"

Septin smiled at her. "Good morning. It looks like you didn't run away in the night while I slept."

A wry grin stole onto her features, 'I was too tired.'

Tired from what I wonder? Have you too been having sleepless nights?

"Too tired?" He raised an eyebrow. "The lazy manner of your travel, it doesn't seem likley you'd be very tired..."

Falcia rolled her eyes heavenwards, 'It was a joke, Septin. You do know what one of those is, right?' She pushed herself up so she was sitting comfortable, legs curled up to one side.

Again that faint smile hovered on his lips as he replied. "Perhaps I find it amusing sometimes playing up my lack of humour." He continued to laze against the log, fully armed, Falcia noted. "So are we simply continuing the way you were afore?"

Falcia raised an eyebrow, 'That was the plan. Do you have a better one?'

"Well, no. I do not. I was simply confirming it." He rose to his feet. "You spoke of wanting a duel, mayhap you would consent to spar with me this morning?"

Her eyes sparkled a little bit as she rose to her feet, 'Of course.' She stretched lithely, almost feline, before gathering up her swords and wrapping them around her waist. 'What do I get if I win?'

Septin blinked, a little taken aback. "We have prizes for spars now?" He continued on. "I'm not sure what I can offer you that you would want, anyway."

Falcia eyed him from the corner of her eyes, 'You could make breakfast.'

Septin considered that for a few seconds. "Very well, if you win I will make you breakfast, sparse prize that that is." He then started off to an area of open ground.

I wonder if you have kept yourself in good condition. The pitfighter was never one for the finesse of swordplay as I recall.

Falcia raised an eyebrow, 'Have you tasted my cooking?' She followed easily, watching him for a few seconds.

Her cooking? Oh yes. Now I recall. That monstrosity she deigned to call a stew.

Septin spoke back over his shoulder as he found a suitable place. "Yes, and I believe I never want to experience it again." He finally stopped and waited for her.

She chuckled, stepped forward and her came out of their sheaths swiftly into her hands, feinting at his face. Septin's swords arced like lightnight out of their sheathes up to deflect her strike as he took a step back. She laughed softly, eyes bright, then twisted and spun in a full circle, bringing her longsword flickering toward Septin's throat, while her shortsword jabbed for his stomach. His eyes looked a little startled, as if he had forgotten how fast she was but that didn't stop him from swatting the blow to his stomach aside while he slid down and under the blow aimed for his throat, his leg sweeping at her ankles at the same time.

Falcia yelped a little as she realised shed overbalanced herself. She leapt a little awkwardly into the air and threw herself sideways, continuing her action and rolling across the ground. Septin rose quickly from his leg sweep and darted after the now rolling Falcia, blades ready to dart in and finish the spar quickly. Falcia heard him coming, and stopped her roll, swords still held in her hands lifting to block a strike. The asur quickly caught up to her and his blades began flickering down, trying to get past the now highly disadvantadged Falcia's defences. Falcia considered this for a moment, and then lashed out with a foot onto Septin's knee. With a grunt Septin backed up after narrowly avoiding a badly injured knee from Falcia's boot.

Falcia slithered to her feet and crouched back, more on the defense. However, her face was split by a wide smile and her eyes danced happily. Septin gave her a stern look as if smiling while fighting was poor form then resumed the attack. Swords moving in complicated feints in an attempt to either confuse her or give him a disarm opening. Falcia watched intently, parrying and dodging, the very rare block when she cant do anything else, not taking the bait to attack. She took two slow steps backwards, nearer to the tree line. Septin pressed the attack, intent on finishing this spar quickly still. He got more aggresive in his feints, trying to strain her defence even further. Falcia waited patiently until in his anger, he overreached, then she flicked her longer sword into a slice along his arm.

Septin gave a hiss of surprise as her blade opens his arm. He stepped back and winced a little as a line of red went down his arm. Falcia paused for a moment, but didn't put her swords down, as if asking if they should continue or not. She was also grinning manically.

Well. I guess that means you've kept in better condition than I thought. I had forgotten to treat you as a near equal in swordplay...

Septin grimaced and with a wry smile offered Falcia a salute with a sword. "I would take this to the end but I fear we may need ourselves un-injured out here in the Drakwald." He sheathed his swords. "You win your prize Kitiara."

Falcia let the shortsword slide back into the sheath, flicking droplets of septin's blood onto the grass from the tip of the other. Her gaze was very intent, 'Mmm.' She seemed a little distracted, staring at him.

Septin looked up from his swords to see her staring. He looked back into her eyes, faint curiosity sparkling in his own eyes. "Your breakfast?"

She blinked, 'Hmm. Oh, right.' She glanced away for a moment, as if weighing up a decision, then spoke, still not looking back at him, 'Do you ever think about that night at the Ball?'

The asur continued to gaze at her. He looked taken aback by the question. "I..." His face coloured slightly at the memory of sensual dancing, wine and finally her rejection that night. "Sometimes...."

You set my heart and body afire that night, then extinguished it to ash with a few simple words of dismissal...

Falcia then looked over, meeting his eyes, 'And I. I regret that I never had that night.'

"You....what?" Septin's voice sounded utterly confused by this revelation. "You...regret sending me away from your door that night?" His voice changed as the sentence progressed, ending on a note of faint hurt combined with wonder.

Why did you send me from you?

Falcia continued quietly, 'I didnt expect Aurelia's workings to leave me so dreadfully tired. I was literally unable to make good on my promise.' Her voice was faintly wry.

"I...see." The elf looked as if this new information is a bit to digest. Then his eyes lanced up at her face. "Why are you telling me this? Didn't you make your choice?"

Are you playing with my hearstrings once more as women do?

Falcia sighed slightly, her eyes simmering with a restrained anger, 'Yes, I thought I did. And we've barely talked or seen much of each other for months. And I think I know why.' She met his gaze, and he saw a flicker behind it. Something else. 'I was being manipulated. It tried to kill Illya. It chased off Isilecet. It sent dreams, whispered warnings. It didn't want a noble Asur or an Inquisitor near. An ex-Khornate, a weak man of shaky faith and half afraid of the woman he professed to love would be easier.' She shook her head, and then snorted, 'And I go to my death, not even knowing what my real choice would have been.'

"It did, what?" The last word of the sentence was like a lead slab falling down. Falcia watched Septins face and saw his cheeks pinch tight with anger over several seconds. After a moment he spoke again. "Kitiara. Can you inhabitant hear me?"

Falcia nodded, once.

"I have a message for it." He looked directly into Falcia's eyes and tried to lock onto the strangeness he saw in them. "Hear me, daemon. I will find a way to end your existence, and I pray it is a way that is slow and torturous for you. If you were not hiding as a coward in the woman I have both hated and loved you would know the anger of an asur on a deeply personal level." The anger went from his face after that as he gave a large sigh. "I am sorry Kitiara. I had to let it know I will brook no more interference in your life." He moved quickly and before Falcia could respond cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Heat and an electric buzz. He felt it again and knew it wasn't a lie. After a short moment he pulled back and said softly. "I still give hope to you choosing me..."

[Cassandra]

He half-knelt before her, her gleaming steel flecked with his blood. 'I would take this to the end but I fear we may need ourselves uninjured out here in the Drakwald.' He sheathed his swords with a brassy ring. 'You win your prize Kitiara.'

She sheathed the shorter blade, crimson droplets scattering like rain onto the hungry earth as she half-heartedly cleaned the other. Her heart thrummed in her chest with joy and battle lust, her eyes shining brightly with it, her breath quickened with it. She stared down at him, knelt but unbowed before her feet. His eyes were golden in the morning sunlight as it hit his face, glowing from within like two amber stones, his hair almost the same colour as the tree trunk behind him. The rivulet of scarlet slowly staining the rip in his shirt. Beneath she could see the palest gold flesh, muscles clenching as he steadied his balance. She was vaguely aware he'd said something, 'Mmm.'

Septin looked up at her curiously. 'Your breakfast?'

The gaze brought her back from the minute study of his features, stealing away some of the fire in her blood as the stillness and conversation brought it down. She blinked, 'Hmm. Oh, right.' Breakfast, yes, that's what I want, or do I want it? You said you were sorry Dhaos, do you promise not to interfere in this anymore.

I already did.

She took a deep breath, glancing away from him so her unsubtle eyes wouldn't track the play of sunlight on his face and skin. The shiver of desire was echoed by one in the past, and a question never answered and often asked, 'Do you ever think about that night at the Ball?'

Septin blinked, 'I...' She could hear his breath catch, an answering need like a burr in his voice, 'Sometimes...'

She looked over, gazed into the amber orbs, 'And I. I regret that I never had that night.'

'You... what? You... regret sending me away from your door that night?'

'I didnt expect Aurelia's workings to leave me so dreadfully tired. I was literally unable to make good on my promise.' I wanted you, how could you have thought any different after that dance, and the kiss upon my bed. You set me aflame.

'I... see.' He spoke quietly, before renewing it with anger growling through his tones, 'Why are you telling me this? Didn't you make your choice?' Bitterness hung on every syllable.

Choices, choices. Every time I turn around I face them. But here, I am a week's walking from almost certain death. And I chose to act as though that death was certain, as if no consequence would pass beyond the pale. So I make this choice.

She told him about the daemon's interference in her life, the romance, almost killing Illya, driving away Isilecet, driving away Septin. It tolerated the pitfighter but even then things had been strained and distant between them, often seeming like no relationship at all. It had isolated her and she had not even noticed.

'It did, what?' She looked over to him, saw the fury rise. Her hand closed a little tight on the longsword still in her grasp.'Kitiara. Can your inhabitant hear me?'

She nodded.

He rose, standing in front of her, staring into her eyes as if by that he could stare into her soul and where Dhaos lurked, 'I have a message for it. Hear me, daemon. I will find a way to end your existence, and I pray it is a way that is slow and torturous for you. If you were not hiding as a coward in the woman I have both hated and loved you would know the anger of an Asur on a deeply personal level.' Each word was a leaden threat.

Okay, I take it back. Not only is he self-righteous, he is seriously creepy.

She was about to relay this to Septin, a twitch of a smile on her lips, but he interjected, refocusing his gaze on her orbs of black, 'I am sorry Kitiara. I had to let it know I will brook no more interference in your life.'

Then he moved, snake-quick and soft warm hands embraced her cheeks and lifted up her head to his. Warmth pressed against her lips, trembling and soft. Lightning shot through her, heat along her arms, her hands, her skin. She knew that within a moment the kiss would deepen and they would be lost. He pulled back, leaving behind a shiver and an unsatisified need that clawed at her self-control. She barely heard his words, even though they whispered close, 'I still give hope to you choosing me...'

She frowned a little, a soft moan slipping out between her lips unbidden. It was difficult to think through it, pulled up against his chest, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Choose you?

She looked up and saw his golden eyes, burning as he gazed back at her. But soon I will die.

Septin...

***

'Paper is so fragile, ink on the page so little, why then can they cause such wounds?' He spoke quietly, a roll of parchment turning over and over in his hands. 'A child can rip a page asunder, a drop of water smear the ink. Why then can they combined rip the heart?' His words were sad, pain riven through them that found their echo in her.

She whispered, 'Septin...'

'No, there is nothing you need to speak of. This page and the ink on it speak all your words in advance. Which is saddening.' He pinned her with his gaze, hard but glimmering, 'By the very fact this page has said all your words I know the words to be true. Otherwise why would you let a page speak for you?' He laughed, harsh, bitter and ugly. 'One who has never been afraid to disagree with me, rage at me, insult me. It seems the only words you cannot say to me are the ones I would have liked to hear from your lips and not read on a page.' The letter tore and crumpled in his fist as those eyes flayed her alive. 'See? Paper is so weak, yet you have managed to use it to injure me more deeply and completely than your blades ever will, Kitiara.' A sad smile that broke her heart, pain through it so deep no balm could ever soothe it. 'I will go, I have troubled you far too much with what you pushed aside. I leave you to enjoy the meeting you have prepared with your true love. I pray you prosper.' And the words were bitter, bitter. He turned on his heel and strode off, and she saw the glimmers slowly glide down a pale cheek.


Back...


She cleansed the saddle slowly, saddle soap clutched between fingers working mainly on their own as she dipped the soap into a pail of water and rubbed the gelatinous pale gold material over the worked leather. The grease from Septin's steed slowly rubbed away, as did the blood. Her slow grief peaked at the thought, imaginations of Septin's last moments at Sovereign's hands. The blood washed away into the pail as she worked slowly, numbly, keening silent into the night.


Back...


She unburdened her troubles to him, curled up on a sumptuous bed, her face pressed into the pillows. A warm hand caressed her shoulder as his words rolled over her, 'Do not think my heart is stone, Falcia. I will not leave you to cry alone in the darkness." His voice was soft, 'Please, sit up and look at me, you do not need your pillow to tell your nightmares to on this night.'

She sat up, smiled at him tiredly, 'I did not know you had so many worries weighing you down.' He reached out and entwined his hand and fingers with one of hers. 'Yet, know that you never need to bear your burden alone, in darkness. I will always aid you when you ask. I will even aid you often when you want no aid.' The tingle of his lips upon her cheek and whispered words in her ear, 'You never need to be alone.'

She held him, suddenly, embraced him so tight he could barely breathe, but he spoke anyway, 'Pain and sorrow build up without release. They can cause you to make foolish choices... It is for the best you told someone of your troubles. For your specific worries, I can but offer advice for some. Some I would be more hindrance than help. Sovereign at the very least will not possess your daughter, Ilsa, while I draw breath. If in all my long life I can save but one life, stop one evil, that will be it. I swear to you Kitiara.'

She spoke, his assurance burning steadfastly, 'Thank you, Septin. Sorry for breaking down on you.'

He chuckled softly, 'It is not a thing to apologise for Falcia. The burden can oft get too heavy.' His eyes were hopeful and wry, 'I for my part just hope I have a friend nearby when the burden becomes too much for me.'

She spoke, meaning it, meaning it to the depths, 'Always.'


Back...


Lightning coarsed between their lips as it touched, he felt silent thunder roll and all thoughts of anything else except for her was violently expelled from his mind. He felt her hands move up to brush against his chest, leaving fire in their wake, to finally rest on his shoulders. She leaned in on him and he felt his arms wind around her waist. The warmth of her body burned him through the material that made her dress. The lightning burned and coarsed through him till he felt his entire body was sparking. Falcia's hands tightened and gripped his shoulders. He stopped trying to think.


Back...


'I do think I cannot resist your offer, for many reasons. The most pressing of which is I would like to say I have your heart one day, and you mine.' She watched him, the idea sweet, though she did not wanted him disappointed. 'I know you said you had no heart to give... I would be willing to accept only what you offer, until your heart is restored.' He sighed softly, his eyes tracking over her features in a wistful wanting, 'But that I could aid in its restoration...'


Back...


It was dizzying, unbelievable. It almost felt as if she was floating as they danced, or spinning like a top without knowing way was up. Her mind reeled and only the gold of his eyes kept her tethered to the world. The music snuck along her veins and made her a puppet of its goals, as faster and faster they whirled through the steps. The final stanza, a whirl and then she gasped as he leant her back, her skirts pooled onto the marble floor like spilt milk. His hand seemed to burn through the layers of fabric in the dress to spark an inferno on her back, supporting her from falling onto the ground in a helpless heap. The strings shimmered in the air as she panted, trying to catch her breath, his eyes, by the gods, his eyes. He drew in air, gasping for it as if he had run a marathon, his gaze suddenly seeking hers as if realising what he was doing.

She could feel his exhalations on her lips, the hazel almond-shaped eyes blazing with passion, and then a kind of hopeless surrender. He drew her up, keeping the same distance between them as he didn’t look away. She didn’t resist, didn’t move, as slowly he let go of her hand and lifted it up to caress her cheek. His eyes slipped closed, he leant forward.


Back...


She glanced away, sliding her hands into opposite sleeves of her voluminous dress, warming them along her arms. ‘“To cry or show other extreme emotion is to show a weakness, and weaknesses are exploited and death will surely follow.”’ She let the quote hang in the air for a breath of a moment, ‘In some ways, I’ve never left my old world behind. Though if there was ever a time that I wished I had more control it was tonight.’ She blinked and glanced back to find him undoing the ribbon of his mask and letting it fall, placing it to the side.

His familiar features looked back at her, his expression far easier to read without the barrier of flame and porcelain, concerned eyes and a softness to his mouth that was different from his usual grim-faced or smirking façade. He smiled wryly, amusement in those golden orbs, ‘I never believed I would find fault in words such as those... and yet, I do.’ He lifted up his fingers to touch his forehead, as if against a headache or a memory, then raised it towards her to gesture his point, ‘More and more, I find it is better to lose control for a brief moment... for those close to me.’

‘Perhaps,' she whispered, 'though that does not excuse the pain I have caused.’

‘That is true, and yet, you can only strive to not cause more pain to him. To move forward. As you always do, Kitiara.’ He stared at her earnestly and reached out to clasp one of her frozen hands in his own, warming it between his palms.


Back...


She raised an eyebrow as he first looked wary of her hand outstretched, raindrops pouring off the cool and pale skin, and then reached up with a smile. She leant backwards, using her weight to pull his surprisingly light frame for his build, up onto his feet. He staggered slightly and then drew himself to his full height, easily towering over her. She released the grasp only to find that he did not, instead adjusting it so he could keep her hand in his. She spoke archly, ‘Can I have my hand back?’

Muscles flexed in his arm as he gracefully pulled her closer, forcing her to step forwards a few steps or fall on her face. His words as he caught her gaze sliced through the thrum of the rain and the thunder like a blade, ‘You saved my life, Kitiara Silverprow.’ The warmth of his hand as the grip tightened both calmed and frightened her, especially as he moved suddenly. She tensed as his arms wrapped around her and embraced her. She could feel his hair tickle her cheek as it passed, the pressure and faint warmth through the sodden clothing and the chill of the wind. He whispered softly in Eltharian, ‘Darior harathoi senthoi.’ Her eyes flickered from side to side and as he stood up again her face was fixed in a stunned expression.

A sudden grin spread over his features, lighting up his hazel eyes, ‘I may tell you the meaning of those words one day, Falcia of the Silver Court.’


Back...


He moved his face towards hers, whispered words for her ears only. Words slow and filled with a yearning passion, 'For better memories, mayhap we will remember this moment, this day, when the darkness in us closes in...' He leant down, his lips found hers. Gentle and caressing in the first moment of contact, the kiss deepened, spreading lightning through her limbs, awaking old desires. Their breath whispered quickly, coming faster. His words were stunned, 'That was... more than I expected.'

'You...' Her eyes slid from his lips to his eyes and she smiled back. 'I think the memory will stay, when the darkness in me...' She leaves the sentence unfinished, they both now what she is referring to.


Back...


Blades whistled through the air, he hard-pressed and stepping back, fighting for each inch of bitter ground, an expression of determination on his face mingled with horror. Faint chanting murmured in the background. Every so often, she would try to turn and slash at the source of the murmur and he would lunge forwards, forcing her to block, to turn her attention onto him again. 'This isn't you,' he whispered through panting breaths, 'It doesn't have to be you.'

'What do you know?' Sweat trickled down one side of her face, marking a track in the soot coating it.

'Falcia, listen to me. Listen.' The blades traded blows again, ringing out in the main tune to the soothing background chant. Slowly, it began to wind its way up into a crescendo. She shivered and blackness came upon her.

She awoke again, manacled securely to a wooden post in a barn. Her securings tight and unable to move more than a few inches on either side. Even her throat had a chain across it, pushing her head against the post, though this had been loosened slightly and a sack wrapped around it. A small comfort. Cool water trickled across her face, a softness gently moving along it. She opened one eye to see him, drawing a wet cloth across her grimed face. He rinsed it in a bowl, sat back on his heels and watching her with an odd mix of pain, concern and wariness in his eyes. The dark shadow stood at the back, his eyes on her also.

He spoke as he rinsed the cloth, then slid it slowly over one of her cheeks. It came away black and the silence stretched out. Finally she spoke, 'What do you what?'

He eyed her, 'I want you gone, I want Falcia back. If not, then you're never leaving this place. We'll give you to the villagers, to burn.'

'What do you care, you hate her anyway.' The words spat out like barbs. She was gone now.

He blinked, as if surprised himself, 'I... I don't.' He blinked once more, and then focused on her, 'I don't hate her.' A shiver of anger slid through him, 'And you will release her, you will release her to me, to us, or I promise that I will take the body you inhabit and bring it to hovering just above death and leave it there for days before it ends. There can be no quarter with evil. If your desire to survive is as strong as hers...' He stopped and thought about that last sentence. 'You will relent.'

She snarled at him, her lips curling back to reveal her teeth, 'You're lying.'

He leaned in so that his face was a mere inch from hers and spoke with a deathly flat tone. 'Try me, monster.'

She stared at him, that he would be willing to do this. Her voice was slow, husky, 'What if I vow to do no harm to you or yours and you set me free? Surely you care nothing for her or mankind?'

He reached out and grabbed her hair pulling her head up roughly, straining against the chains and half-choking her. In the same flat tone, he spoke into her ear again. 'What would you know of what I care for? I will grant to you I care little for the mindless mob of mankind but I will stop evil where I find it, you are evil. Also...' His face gained a puzzled look again then returned to lead. 'Also I care enough about those directly in front of me. It would sully my honour as a knight and noble not to help those more powerless than me when they are in need.'

Her eyes were wide and she struggled to draw in a breath. He finally let her go and she gasped in a deep draw, before her eyes closed in submission.


Back...


He leant against the stall and smiled at the black steed stabled there, his Asuryan finery an odd contrast to the simple woods and straw. Her own dress also out of place, but matching his. He gives the horse a name. Lilthya - wind-runner. He turns to her and smiles and calls her beautiful.


***

Falcia stared at him, her breaths easing in and out as all the memories they had collected over the years they had known each other cascaded through her mind. If they had not been randomly picked to dance together at the first Shadow Court Ball, they may never have met. He didn't step back or away, still looking down into her embrace, his wistful words of being chosen lingering in the air.

She closed her eyes, 'Chosen, even if I should soon die?' She couldn't keep the need from her voice.

Septin drew a deep breath, considering all the torments of that question and then with a sad sigh he replied. 'Even if you should die within the hour... I would take that hour... An hour, thirty years, three hundred years. I may gain pain from this thought but... What matters the centuries if they do not contain love, brief or long...' He smiled at her, bittersweet. 'So yes, even if you are soon to die...'

He wet his lips and uttered the phrase he had held in fear for years and over the last few months had drove him to turmoil. '...because I love you.'

Her lips parted in surprise, though she had known. It had been obvious, even the sizzling hate between them after his first murmured compliment to a human woman had began a chain of events ending in recriminations. Hate and love were so close, so very close. He loved her. Do I love him?

Don't ask me.

Her hands flexed against his shoulders, the fingertips digging into his flesh. The thought of the daemon within voyeurising over the situation was somewhat offputting. But not enough to put her off completely. She let her mind steal down a forbidden road, the answering shiver almost primal. 'You love me...' she manages to whisper out, the tone of her voice burning him. She wanted this, she didn't want this. She couldn't think. Oh just get on with it already.

She sent the voice a dart of spite. It replied, the tone almost bored, You want him so bad you're almost falling over, he loves you, you're about to die. You made a promise. Just get on with it. Who will know, who will care. He wants it, you want it. Just please stop the what ifs.

She looked up at Septin, the golden eyes warm, liquid, and alive with fire. She leaned in, her body melting against his, her lips reaching and seeking and finding. He groaned, deepening the kiss as the familiar lightning scorched through her, searing and burning. The rest of the world narrowed, disappeared as unimportant. The bastions of control melted beneath the onslaught.

The sword dropped to the ground.

[septin]

Night had fallen over the outskirts of the Drakwald once more. The stars glimmered pale through the branches over-head with low moonlight illuminating the ground and boughs of the trees. Septin was looking up through the branches, his stern face softening as he thought back about the happenings of the day. Lying at his side, full clothed now, was Falcia. The asur shifted his gaze to her and he gained a faint smile. Her raven hair hung loose over her shoulders and she looked the most peaceful Septin had ever seen her.

I pray you have peaceful dreams if only for this single night.....

He lifted his gaze back to the stars out above the trees and let his mind wander through the day past.

***

It had been after midday before either of them had regained enough composure to even give thought to breaking camp. Septin had managed to cook a late breakfast hurriedly at some point in the morning for Falcia. He had presented it to her with a florid bow telling her that she was awarded her prize.

Even Falcia had blushed a little at that comment.

Now Septin voiced a thought for lunch, which he was certainly cooking, they both wanted to eat something edible.

“Before you do that, Septin,” Falcia arched an eyebrow at him. “Find a water source and have a bath. You stink after coming haring after me for half a week non-stop.”

“A bath for both of us would seem to be in order. If you believe I stink, think how I must feel about it. Yet I say both of us should be clean or neither.”

Another hour or two was lost in that process.

Finally in the mid to late afternoon, without really talking about Falcia’s destination they both broke camp with their usual efficiency and after saddling the horses rode for several hours until the evening was well under way.

On the ride they spoke of no grand plans, nor the troubles of the world. For the first time in a decade at least Septin simply enjoyed a talk of the small but fascinating things in life with a woman, a human woman. His brain buzzed for that ride and he wished it could continue, but evening fell and they made camp once more.

The elf cooked dinner without even needing to be asked and Falcia washed as part of the silent agreement.

Then they had sat sharing a blanket near the fire, leaning against their saddlebags and talked the night away until sleep had come over them.

***

"A pfennig for your thoughts?"

Septin blinked as Falcia’s words cut him out of his rememberance.

"What?" He looked down at her. "Oh." Then he smiled. "My thoughts? I have just been observing the beauty of the sky, thinking back on the day....Maybe if I force my will upon them the stars will halt their course and keep this night forever.”

Falcia smiled back at him, sadness evident in her smile. “But, they won’t.”

Septin's smile also took on a saddened note. "No, they will not. The night sky does not listen to my wishes...." His arms moved around her to pull her tight. "Yet, still I will try..."

Falcia didn't reply, merely closing her eyes again as if eager for sleep.

Septin gave a soft sigh and whispered to her as he loosened his grip to a gentle embrace. "Sleep well, with dreams of peace yet to come, Kitiara." With that, he too closed his eyes to try and sleep.

***

I was after midnight when Septin’s eyes snapped open and he shook Falcia gently awake. Her eyes fluttered open and she opened her mouth to make an inquiry only to have Septin place a finger to her lips with a near silent “Shh..A horseman approaches from the direction of our trail.”

Falcia’s eyes immediately took on their usual predatory glint at the thought of someone stalking them. Septin nodded, once and whispered again. “You the bait, I the trap springing closed.”

With that he got up quickly and without even putting on boots picked up Falcia’s swords and tossed them to her before grabbing his own and vanishing behind the nearest tree.

[Rudger]

For a full five days he had gone onwards and upwards, down and through, day and night. All for the sake of tracking a single elusive elf. His muscles and mind wearied from the forced travelling. No real food, no real sleep. All for the sake of making sure that the Court's leader was in good health.

Most confusing to him was that he didn't even share an especially loyal bond to most of them, and yet he had felt obligated to go about this tiresome business. And so Rudger drove the horse on, with an encouraging kick or two. It shifted, neighed and shook to how its dissatisfaction with the current situation.

A complete stranger had stolen the horse away and immediately put it on a difficult journey, of which it had no prior knowledge of. Not only this, but it had been forced far into the Drakwald. Worst of all places to be. It gave out another disgruntled sound, but was met only with scorn. Rider and horse shared no love for each other, which in the end had perhaps slowed the pace significantly as each struggled with the other.

But Rudger knew that he was finally coming upon them. Their speed had slackened some. Two camp sites lay within but a few hundred yards of one another, the fires of one still giving off a dull glow. Everything had been hastily put away and the distinct tracks of two separate horse were clear to see.

I must be gaining on both elf and lady.

The weary traveller struggled onto the horse and spurred it on once more. It shouldn't take long now.

******

Night crawled closer as he approached his target finally. The tracks had become gradually more fresh and now he was sure that they could be no more than a mile away. Probably much less than that.

With hood drawn up and face mask in place, Rudger brought his horse to a stand when he heard movement. He knew not from where nor what had made the sound. He slowly dismounted and placed a cautious hand upon his swords hilt. Lowering his stance the Courtier edged onward, with eyes and ears as sharpened as his tired nerves would allow.

Wide eyed and stumbling slightly he came across a small clearing in which a lone figure sat, with their back turned. Small whimpers came from them, though it was hard to discern their features in the fast fading dusk light. Rudger slowed his advance and drew the sword out slightly. Whoever this person was would not catch him flat footed. Though it could very well have been Falcia he had every right to take caution. Many wicked tricks circulated these forests and he would not fall victim to one.

Fallen dead leaves slowly cracked beneath his boot as he edged ever closer. But Rudger had blundered in his assessment and was unaware of the second person. The ambusher initiated their trap. The once weeping person had spun about, weapons drawn and ready. Before the traveller could react with his own weapon a new assailant leapt out from the surrounding trees and threw Rudger to the ground in a single push.

The traveller did his best to come out of his roll with feet firmly placed on the ground but could only manage to get one. His attacker reacted with lightning speed and beset him again, with force behind their strike. It was all Rudger could do to block the attack. A sly kidney punch was nimbly avoided by the ambusher and their fellow now moved to engage. With just a few steps they were at him. And even as the first attacker continued their strikes, the second began also, giving Rudger much more trouble than he could reasonably handle.

With a fierce lash he gave himself some ground, enough for him to back away safely. His tactical retreat was soon foiled by the firm trunk of a tree which blocked his path. He stood with his back against the bark, watching as the two approached again. One struck out low, but connected with only wood as the man stumbled aside. The other went high, aiming for his head. This was avoided by a well timed trip.

Rudger found himself with no further option and produced his pistol, much to the disdain of both assailants.

"Now..." he struggled through gritted teeth "Ge-get back! Not a step closer or...or I shoot," he blurted out in between coughs and splutters "You devils will enjoy no spoils tonight!"

The two stood silently considering him. One shifted suddenly, as if in surprise and slowly lowered their weapons.

"Rudger?" came the familiar voice.

He was caught off guard more by this than any of the attacks. A confused look passed across his eyes and the traveller slowly stood, bringing down his hood and face mask as he did.

"Falcia! By the...it is. I...you-" he seemed lost for words "It shouldn't be so surprising. I had come out here with the intent to find you. Or at least your tracker. I suppose I did not expect to be leapt upon by my own comrade. That was certainly a sly trick!"

"What are you doing here? I did not summon you. I asked specifically for everyone to stay back at the Court."

"Oh? But I was not there at the time this was mentioned. I came with haste from the Frosted Peacock. Tracking the trail of an elf who would do the same to you!" he replied, suddenly remembering the other fellow that was there "And this?"

"I am the one whom you have been tracking human."

"Wha-...I...What the hell is going on here? Am I not owed an explanation? No...I do not ask. I demand Lady Falcia. Tell me what is happening!"

[Dintathra]

The wanderer growled, muttering curses under his breath as he swept yet another clawing branch out of his face. Once more he questioned his reasons for being here, petty as they were. Once more he spat out the name of the woman that had unduly set him on this fool’s errand. “Falcia.”

His voice was thick with malice, each syllable pronounced dripping with poison. He said it once more, letting the words hang in the air like a curse. “Falcia Schwarz.”

The elf bothered one last glance to the sky and the stars, or tried to at least. Drakwald’s foliage crowded overhead, black leaves and graying branches, reaching up and around, covering everything in his surroundings. No doubt this dull display continued for miles ahead he mused, knowing full well that the vast forest stretched out in dark tendrils across the dying province it inhabited. Every month he’d lose a caravan or two to the beastmen bands that claimed Drakwald home, and every month he’d wish the Man-king and his electors would get around to burning the entire accursed place down.

Barely any light carried through to the ground, the weak pillars of silver moonlight few and far in between. If not for the sharp eyes of his kind, and a life spent in darkness to perfect them, he doubted he’d see anything much at all. Once more he wondered how the man that blundered ahead of him must feel, the choking darkness twice as intimidating to his muddied eyes.

Dintathra had recognized the man as Rudger, another member of the Schwarz-woman’s boorish Silver Court. While he himself kept his distance from whatever dealings the guild deemed a suitable use of their time, he had made it a notion to keep the different members under his eye. For Aurelia’s sake of course, so that she didn’t spend her time with anyone too undesirable. That he should stand to gain from the information himself was a simple bonus, dumb luck even. Ever since it was first created the Court had, more often than not inadvertently, interfered with some of his business in Marienburg.

Up ahead there was another crack as his guide snapped another branch, oblivious that he himself was being followed in turn. The elf had spotted the sole Courtier by the Frosted Peacock, the final step in trail Dintathra had found leading to Falcia. The elf was less than pleased to admit it, but it was pure luck that he had stumbled unto Rudger, to lead him further on his mission.

He paused momentarily, waiting for his tracker to once again start upon his trail before following. Seconds passed as he waited, and he found himself drifting back to the moment that had set him upon this idiot quest.

“Falcia.” He growled with a sigh.

******

“We HAVE to go! Lady Falcia is in danger!” Aurelia stormed across the room, tussled clothes clutched close to her bosom. She stared at him, wide-eyed, sparkling green eyes locking with his as he sat, comfortable, in their bed. “I don’t understand! Why don’t you care!?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head softly, “I do care.” – He lied. – “But I don’t think it is in our place to go after her. If Lady Falcia has decided to face this threat on her own, who are we to say otherwise?” He rose to his feet, striding confidently to catch his lover as she rushed back and forth. He clasped her hands in his, holding her close. “Trust me; I have known your mistress for a long time. She is more than capable to take care of herself.”

She tore free from his grip, glaring back up at him, “This isn’t the same. This isn’t like any adventure she runs off on! You didn’t hear Ilsa!” Aurelia looked away, gazing into the wall. “She was scared, really scared.”

“We have to go help her...”

He took a step after her, hands clasped into fists, a steady anger growing at the back of his skull. “No.” He folded his arms over his chest, his face grim, and his pale eyes stern. “We are not going. We have important business over the next few weeks. The House of-“

“I don’t care about your stupid house, or your money! My friend is in danger, and if you’re not going than I’m going alone.” She glared back at him and Dintathra found that even now she was beautiful. He played with the thought to take her back to bed momentarily, but thought otherwise as she started towards the door. “You’re determined to do this then? To run after her, into the wild?”

“Yes.”

He sighed, “Fine, than I will go and you will stay.”

“But...” She began to protest, her resolve already softening. “We should both-“

“No, I’ll travel faster on my own.” He began to undress, the expensive red silks falling to the floor. “Tell Arnaud to bring me the key to the armory, I’ll be gone before nightfall.”

******

His reflection was cut short as the area ahead became loud with commotion. He heard the ringing of blades, and cursed inwardly that he’d lost focus so entirely of the situation at hand. With one hand on the hilt of the dagger at his hip, he crouched and darted into the darkness, slowly edging closer to the sound of fighting.

While the untamed bush of Drakwald naturally meant hard travel, it did lend itself well for someone meaning to remain hidden. Sneaking slowly amongst the massive trunks and roots, Dintathra climbed ever closer.

“Now…” He heard Rudger speak, the crude language of man making him cringe even now. “Ge-get back! Not a step closer or I shoot,” He had finally come close enough to spy upon the scene unfolding up ahead. He snickered quietly under his breath. Rudger stood backed up against a tree, pistol held out in front of him. Of the two figures that had cornered him, one was unmistakable.

Septin Thalhuin, self-righteous warrior and self-proclaimed protector of life. Tall, lean with a mane of brown locks, he was the epitome of the asur knight. Dintathra cocked his head to the side, a slight pinch of sullen rage at the sudden memory of their last encounter.

The second figure wasn’t quite as easy, the outline of her body muddled by black cloth and leather. Her stance however, and her choice of arms, spoke volumes. Falcia Schwarz, mistress of the Silver Court and the reason he was out here in the cold in the first place.

“You devils will enjoy no spoils tonight!”

There was a pause, a moment of absolute silence. Then Falcia stirred, speaking, surprised; “Rudger?”

Dintathra did not wait to listen to rest, climbing ever closer. As he neared the last few steps, he unhooked the crossbow pistol at his side, the handle gripped tightly in his hand.

"Wha-...I...What the hell is going on here? Am I not owed an explanation? No...I do not ask. I demand Lady Falcia. Tell me what is happening!"

Before they could reply, he acted. With trained grace, he sprung from the shadows, taking a firm stance behind the asur. With a familiar click, the first arrow fell into place as he pressed it sharply into Septin’s neck. He couldn’t help but smile as he spoke; “Now now, one does not demand things of the infamous Falcia Schwarz.”

Falcia and Rudger turned but before Septin could move he pressed the tip of the bolt even further against the elf’s skin, piercing it. Beneath his hood, he grinned widely. “Weapons on the ground.”

They paused, unsure, but eventually conformed. As soon as the sound of the steel hitting the soft earth could be heard, he took a step back, swinging the crossbow in his hand heavily against Septin. The elf went down to the ground with a groan. Dintathra aimed the weapon at Falcia next.

Still aiming squarely at Falcia’s heart, he pulled his hood back with free hand.

“I’m here on behalf of my lady Aurelia Sylandris to take you back home, Falcia. Please do come quietly.”

[Cassandra]

'I’m here on behalf of my lady Aurelia Sylandris to take you back home, Falcia. Please do come quietly.'

Pale white hair whispered out from beneath the hood, eyes cold and calculating sighting down the crossbow towards her chest. She recognised him by his voice and the frightening ruthlessness in his gaze as much as by his features. A slight smile touched her lips at this unexpected reunion between the four of them. Septin lay on the floor, hand to his head, unable to move or playing possum. For Septin, the latter was extremely unlikely. Rudger stood by one side, blinking, eyes darting towards his pistol in the neat pile of weapons on the ground.

She spoke, softly, calmly, 'I'm afraid I can't do that, Dinny.'

She saw his eyes narrow at the hated nickname, his lip curl slightly. 'So I assume you are going to make this difficult?' He thumbed back the cocking mechanism with a quiet click.

She faced him down, 'You aren't going to kill me.'

He adjusted his aim, the tip hovering somewhere near to her right knee, 'True, probably with this little tableau we have here, I'll shoot you in the leg, keep the Asur unconscious and close at hand to make sure of your co-operation.' Her eyes flickered towards Rudger and he smirked, 'Oh, and if the mon-keigh causes trouble, him I'll kill.' He said it with the same breezy effortlessness as someone would use while discussing the weather.

Septin growled from his place on the ground, trying to rise and failing, 'Lay a hand on her, Dintathra and being dragged through the streets of Marienburg by a rope will seem a kindness.' Dintathra sent him a contemptuous smirk.

A soft low voice manifested in her mind as soon as the Asur began to speak, Now isn't this interesting. If I do nothing, you have to keep me. However, if I do nothing, someone in this group will probably be killed. You do not wish to lose any of them, but it seems events have manifested themselves in conflict.

Do you have a point?

It's a simple one really. You need to deal with the Druchii, and you cannot without my help. So let me give it.

She ignored them both, eyes slowly closing. The darkness was complete behind them. Very well. What do you have in mind?

***

Dintathra glanced back to see Falcia's eyes suddenly snap open. The irises were pitch black without a flicker of blue even to his elven eyesight. Her breath steamed on the air as if it were an early frosty morning as she exhaled a deep breath. Long delicate fingers lifted into the air, pointed towards the elf. There was a shiver of cold in the air as the temperature plummeted. As he watched, the black poured across the whites of her eyes, leaving only empty blackness behind it. She murmured words, her voice riven with an odd echo, as if a second voice speaking half a moment behind, or before. 'Aneesha, kal ah fera...' Her hands jerked forward half an inch. Dintathra reflexively pulled the trigger.

The bolt sped through the air, and she moved with impossible speed, lifting the leg out of the way and letting it scuttle harmlessly into the bushes. As she did so, her skin began to whiten, the faint colour in it bleaching out to the sterile white of old bones.

The shadows beneath the trees amid the dark night had all unnoticed begun to writhe at her strange words, and tendrils of shadow crept along the forest floor. One looped around Dintathra's leg, spiralling upwards, while another dropped onto his crossbow arm. A thick one ensnared Septin on the ground, somehow more delicately than the others, cradling more than constricting. Rudger managed to dodge one as it leapt sluggishly towards him, making the sign of the hammer as he stared at the surroundings and at Falcia.

Her gaze was intent on Dintathra, and her dual voice whispered out soft words, even as the tendrils winched tighter, 'Do you realise why I can't come back with you now, Druchii? Do you understand now? Or do I need to make it more obvious for you?'

Septin groaned, 'Falcia! No, don't let it use you!'

Her eyes, those strange, terrible eyes fastened on Septin at those words. Rudger dived for his pistol on the ground, scooping it up and pointing it at his guild-mistress. 'Y-you owe me an explanation, F-Falcia.'

Her gaze gathered around the company, and she sighed, 'You were not supposed to come.'

Rudger's pistol twitched nervously, the point weaving in erratic patterns.

Her head fell, a twist of dark hair tumbling to before her eyes as she closed them. The winding tendrils abruptly loosened, thinning away into harmless shadows once more. She looked up to see the looks of horror in each of her friends' faces.

'Leave me alone,' she whispered softly, the echo somehow more intense than her words themselves. 'Leave me alone!' She shivered, a tarry tear sliding down one alabaster cheek, lips swiftly darkening to black stains. Her form abruptly shivered, and then a flock of ravens took to the sky, heard whirling overhead until they could be heard no more.

The three men stared at where she had been. Rudger slowly pointed the pistol at the elf who had threatened to kill him. 'What,' he grated, 'by Sigmar, is going on?'

[Kai-Loq]

The voice seemed to come from between the trees, but not even the keen eyes of the Druchii could discern its source. It sounded tired, annoyed, and sad at the same time - the low growl of an old man who had travelled at too fast a pace and had slept without a fire for days on end.

'There's a deamon inside her. She's off to get it out. It'll likely kill her. I followed her to see that whoever does it, does a decent job. I didn't know how... how bad it was, however.'

A short chuckle, then a deep sigh.

'Oh, do keep your crossbow out of my face, elf. You've wasted one bolt already, it'd be a shame if you'd have to crawl through the bushes looking for the others as well.'

The voice seemed to move, round and round the clearing, yet no other sounds were heard. No footsteps, no breaking twigs, no rustling of leaves. Just the voice.

'Now. Children. Are we going to play nicely and let ol' Henri come out, or are you still adamant on cutting each other to bits?'

[septin]

Now. Children. Are we going to play nicely and let ol' Henri come out, or are you still adamant on cutting each other to bits?'

Septin half stumbled to his feet with a muttered oath to Asuryan, his eyes still groggy from the blow he had taken to the head from Dinathra’s crossbow.

“Henri? Is that you?” The asur looked around the clearing and waited for a reply. When he got nothing but pointed silence he looked irritated.

“I think the mage wants us to answer his question.” This was said with a sneer from Dintathra.

Septin pointedly ignored the dark elf and with a great deal of effort gathered up his swords from where they had been thrown and started to prepare to break camp.

“Henri.” Septin’s voice was flat and hollow. “Get in here and start tracking Falcia. Now.”

The was a short moment of silence as if the mage was thinking this over.

“Why?”

Septin’s fists clenched to the point of whitening his knuckles and when he spoke his voice was no longer flat but sounded like frustration, greif and fury, were all narrowly leashed. “So I can follow her. I will NOT ALLOW HER T...” He took a deep ragged breath and continued, more controlled. “I will not let her face death alone at the very least.” He then murmured to himself. “And I need to ask you if it is easier to transfer a daemon than expel it...”

[Rudger]

“I will not let her face death alone at the very least.” He then murmured to himself. “And I need to ask you if it is easier to transfer a daemon than expel it...”

It seemed that an answer would be given until the sound of a gun being readied was heard. The group, those with a currently physical form at least, turned their attention to the shaky traveller. His weak hands seemed barely able to lift the pistol, let alone keep it in place for an effective shot.

"Elves? Daemons? A chance meeting of all of us in Drakwald? Falcia in distress?" he spoke as a man much out of his element and certainly in a confused frame of mind "I will have a full explanation...immediately!"

He looked wide-eyed with a mix of fear and forced aggression on his face. The rest seemed rather unimpressed and in no mood to explain the situation in length to him, Septin perhaps least of all. Rudger felt the presence of Henri all around but could not discern his exact location.

"Rudger, this is no time for su-"

"Show yourself old man!" the traveller snapped, but with no result.

He swept the pistol around, though eventually brought it to rest on the two elves again. They, to him, were the immediate threat.

"You!" he shouted at Dinathra, thrusting his pistol forward "Throw down your weapons and stand over there, next to him! And you," he turned upon Septin "Throw down your weapons also. No-one leaves till I have my explanation."

The man seemed to be well dug into his view point and showed no immediate signs of leaving it.

[Dintathra]

Piercing blue eyes, the colour of ice and winter, fixed the human’s gaze in their own. Dintathra sighed, annoyed, as he turned and glared at Rudger, his entire body shaking unnoticeably with sullen rage. Cold, blue fire burned throughout his veins at the thought of how it this all had played out. Shadows, mages, daemons! And now this wretched mon-keigh dared to settle his aim upon him, threaten him. An unmistakeable itch crawled throughout him, urging him to dive back among the trees and the shadows and let loose his bolts and blades upon the insolent fool. He ignored it, forcing the bloodlust back and burying it beneath cold contempt and discipline.

With a groan he turned back to Septin, the high elf still nursing his head with one hand, seemingly lost in thought. “You don’t simply transfer a possession, Asur.” The tone was mocking, Dintathra sneering, “This is no simple wraith, some foul incantation of some fool necromancer. You do not force a daemon into another vessel, especially into one it does not wish to go to. It will tear and bite with claws and talons unseen, destroying your mind and leaving you mad, or dead.”

The elf chuckled, “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate such an ironic end to your hypocritical ways. To stoically throw yourself in harm’s way for a woman that neither needs nor desires your help.”

Septin looked up at the dark elf, his mouth a thin, strained line. His fists were clenched, knuckles whitening. He snapped, “Did I ask for your advice, druchii? No? Then shut up!”

Dintathra shook his head, “Would that I bothered with your permission to speak, but I-“, the elf was cut short, his words drowned beneath a loud bang. The crossbow in his hand exploded, splintering into pieces and jerking his entire arm to the side. To his side Septin took a step back, clumsily, clutching at his chest. Thick, grey smoke hung in the air as Rudger once more raised his voice, “I TOLD YOU TO DROP THEM!”

Dintathra went to his knees, his hand held tightly to his chest. He stared, wide-eyed, something wild flaring in his eyes as they found Rudger. His voice trembled with barely contained anger as he spoke, already he was grasping for one of the blades at his side. “I’ll kill you.” He started to rise from the ground, “I will end you, human.”

He tried to spy the human’s expression, but his face was hid behind smoke and darkness. There was a soft ringing of steel as he drew the dagger from its sheath, but before he could act the fourth voice spoke up again.

“Enough!”

The mage lingered in the shadows, but his presence was stronger, the darkness growing thicker, choking the last lingering light. “Have you forgotten where you are? This is Drakwald! If the beasts in this place didn’t already feel the Ulgu that Falcia drenched this place with, that gunshot will no doubt bring something foul our way.”

Dintathra paused. The mage’s words rung true. A stray beastmen was dangerous enough on its own, but to face a herd. He had no plans to die just yet. He sheathed the dagger, swallowing his pride, choking the rage clawing its way from his core. When he spoke, his face was a pale mask, his voice void of emotion. “Can you follow her trail her, shadow mage?”

The shadows spoke, “Yes”

“Then lead, we will follow.”

[Cassandra]

The ravens swirled, a dark shadow amid the pale darkness of the starstrewn sky, spiralling in circles until at last they found a clearing and descended, down, down.

A kneeling figure, crouched sobbing with her hands pressed up against her face. The moons painted her lines in silver, and dark things watched her weeping, and moved on, unwilling to disturb that twisting sorrow.

She rose and ran, winding through the ways of the forest, nearly noiseless, a shadow in a deeper darkness. It was an hour before her distress quietened and weariness came upon her, and she curled up in the trunk of a rotting tree and closed her eyes.

My Lady, you knew this would happen when you asked me to help you? Why do you cry so much?

You did not warn me about my appearance.

You shaped the shadows and sent them slithering at your allies. Whether your eyes are blue or black mean little after that.

Silence stretched out as she stared numbly into where the faintest trails of twilight and the promise of dawn were staining the eastern sky.

So what will you do now? You have lost your equipment, and your horse. Go on foot to the mage? That will only take you two or three weeks alone without supplies in the Drakwald.

I will have to go back. The thought was quiet, still and resigned.

She pulled her knees in closer to herself.

She could hear the daemon sigh. I do not understand you, Falcia. You revel in power and then discard it in fear and loathing. You push yourself in this quest you fear and then return to those you fled from crying out to leave you to your loneliness. Are all women this fickle, or is it just you?

An unbidden twitch of her lips was swiftly drawn into a stern grimace, I need my things, and I could do with the protection. It is purely practical concerns.

Mentioning purely practical concerns, you do realise it's possible they're going to try to kill you, right?

You think I should travel through the Drakwald alone, on foot and with no supplies?

Touché.

Azure streaks were strewn carelessly across the sky now, pale gold glimmering on the far horizon, reflecting off the canopy and far-off fields. She got up slowly, sighing as she stretched cold muscles and looked down at her skin. It was once again faintly tanned.

She turned around and grimaced as she realised she had no idea where to go now.

Falcia?

'Mmm?' She answered out loud without really thinking about it, her mind on other matters.

Do you love Septin Thalhuin?

Trickles of cold dripped down her spine and she stood up straight, 'What is it to you? Besides, don't you think a few days before my likely death is the best time to talk about this?'

If you put it like that, it's the only time.

She frowned even as she picked a direction at random and started walking, her mind stealing to the various memories of the elven knight. She found a smile lingering on her lips like a stolen kiss, an echo of fire in her eyes and stomach. 'I guess. Not that it matters.'

You were always scared with the elves, always scared of the look in their eyes when you grew old and ugly, when you could no longer fight. You are frightened of your death, of growing old, of never seeing Ilsa get married. You are scared of it in ways that battle could never touch you.

Her steps increased in speed, as if she could leave the voice far behind. She whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse, 'Yes.'

I don't want to end either.

She stopped dead, and looked down. 'You'll just be reformed in the Aethyr. Like after I banished you.'

Probably. But I won't be me. I won't remember some things, and I won't have as much of a... personality of my own. I will be the tool of my Lord in the most primal of ways. And, I do not want to leave you either. I am... very fond of you.

She swallowed, 'You're a daemon. Get over it.'

I can offer you something. I can't make you take it, and I can't promise you the worth of it. But you'll know exactly what you're getting into. All I ask is that you leave this place, and go with Septin.

She frowned, 'Go with Septin? Go where?'

Ulthuan.

***

The woman sat on a broken tree trunk in the midst of the clearing, long delicate pale fingers holding her frail but lithe form up as she leant back. Hair that seemed to cascade forever spilled in a torrent of raven locks that shone blue and deep brown in the dawn's light. Gold shone in a halo just above a golden circlet, set on the brow with a deep glowing sapphire. Rosebud lips were framed by a narrow face that led up to high cheekbones and delicate slanted almond eyes. Eyes of a dark blue, flashes of a lighter hue darting in them like fish swimming in the ocean. Ears like seashells rose to unusual points that fit the rest of the ensemble.

She wore an elven gown of blue, trimmed with gold and with gems and intricate embroidery and runes woven on the edges in elaborate beauty. The fabric folded and spilt on the woodland floor. On one hand shone a ring of gold, another sapphire set in it that glinted and twinkled in the sun. She didn't seem surprised as the group walked cautiously out from under the trees.

She smiled, her voice light, melodious, and achingly familiar with perhaps just a shade more music in it, 'Dhaos said you were here, Henri, and that you could find me. Apparently it's been waiting for just this sort of situation.'

Henri frowned at her, then blinked, 'Falcia?'

She nodded once, her eyes seeking out Septin. 'Can't you tell for yourself, Henri?'

He fell silent, walking towards a tree stump and sitting down on it heavily, his expression brought down in a sour scowl as he stared at the woman as if wishing her to spontaneously explode. 'So you're letting him out now, then.' Flat, tired, bitter. Henri sounded like he'd aged years in the previous days.

Her voice was calm, even as Septin continued to stare at her. Dintathra and Rudger looked like they were going into collective apolexy, but she replied to the mage's words, 'I could always talk to him, Henri, and he to me.'

'Letting it out. Letting it change you.'

She turned her head then, gazing at him with alien eyes, 'There's been a lot of changes.'

'Who am I talking to?' Cold accusation filled the mage's voice now, his eyes dark and hard, returning the thing's stare.

She raised an eyebrow in an achingly familiar gesture, 'Falcia. When Dhaos is influencing someone their voice goes all echoey.'

'Great. That's great, Falcia. So can you ask the thing, pretty please, if it'll drop the whole elf act? I've had it with elves.' Henri's voice sounded very very tired now, hopelessness seeping through.

She looked sad at his words and sighed, 'I'm sorry Henri, but I haven't.' She gave him a glance from the corner of her eye, 'Will you let me speak to Septin?'

'You haven't been stuck with these two.' Henri growled, gesturing vaguely at the two elves. 'Although I noticed you had your fair share of the Asur. I don't care about who you decide to love and who to hurt, but excuse me if I don't find this the time to engage in romantic adventures. As for talking to him, go right ahead. But you're not leaving my sight again.'

A slightly amused smile snuck up on her lips, and she rose with a boneless grace and walked slowly towards Septin. She paused at a safe distance and inclined her head slightly, motioning towards where a vine with white flowers wound about a dying tree. 'Walk a little way away?'

He didn't look away, his expression neutral though various emotions flickered rapidly behind his golden eyes, his gaze picking over details in her face, her costume. He nodded and they stood by the tree, some ten feet or so from the others. She dropped her voice to give them a semblance of privacy, 'Septin. I... I am sorry for freaking out... earlier.'

He shook his head slightly, then waved a hand at her, 'Falcia, what is... is... this?'

She licked her lips, now pointed tongue appearing for the briefest moment. 'It's hard to explain. Dhaos gave me an offer, and I said I would have to talk it through with you before I gave it my answer. It gave me this day as an incentive.'

He frowned, 'So, this is an illusion?'

'Yes, and no. I don't understand it myself.' She took a deep breath, 'The offer is this. He remains alive, a voice in my mind, and no longer interferes in my life apart from this. In return, I stay like this, and I go with you.' She swallowed again, looking acutely uncomfortable, an odd expression on her new face, 'Which I would like to. My lifespan would be extended, and our... err... fertility would be the same as any other elf.' A pale blush extended across her cheeks, and her eyes gazed aside into the forest as she spoke as if to herself, 'Dreams of such simple things I thought beyond me now.'

She closed her eyes and turned back to Septin, her head halfbowed, 'So, I guess we await your verdict.' A brief, sad, half-smile. 'I always thought whether I lived or died would be decided by a man sat in judgement. I guess I was right.'

[Vermis]

The door of the quiet tavern burst open and Sevrecht clattered through the open portal, a temporary shadow in the thick beam of bright sunlight like a solid mass thrusting into the dim ambience of the room. It was a glorious day outside, in the independent port of Marienburg. The sky was blue, the sun was blazing down, and a refreshing breeze blew the worst of the odours of urban muck away and far over the surrounding marshes.
The weather put Sevrecht in a marvellous mood, and seemed a brighter and greater influence than that as his day refused to fail. An easy morning's work; a cage full of rats (kicked under his usual table); a purse newly filled; and an early retirement to the Cod and Anchor.

"A pint, Voorghes!" was the usual cry. "Aye, Sev!" was the usual response. The barkeep busied himself with pitcher and stein and soon Sev was quenching his thirst. Voorghes had scuttled off to retrieve bread and whatever form of stew was on today's menu, which left Sevrecht alone to hum cheerfully (though somewhat tunelessly and tonelessly) and gather his thoughts.
My, it was a good day. Nothing could go wrong on a day like today. So why did he have that niggling feeling in the back of his head that something was wrong? Should there be? He wondered for a moment.

Oh, yeah. That. His hum trailed off and his mouth twisted in a slight grimace. The Lady Falcia, granted him one of his infrequent audiences. So infrequent they were more like intrusions on his daily life, rather than the norm. A mysterious trip. Wouldn't be back for weeks. Might not be back at all. Not so much change there, then.
What was the trip? She wouldn't say. Like everything else, it was not for him to hear. For wizards, for elves, but not for thick old Sev. Can't tell thick old Sev anything. He was only her lover, after all. If he was that much. Thinking about it, it wasn't likely.

But my, it was a bright day.

She'd gone off to find some elves in the forest. She was mad for them. Insatiable. That was the answer that popped into his head. Was it the right one? What did it matter? It didn't make too much difference to him at this point. It probably made little difference to her, either.

My, it was a good day.

Let them have her. Years he'd spent chasing Falcia Schwarz and shuffling his feet pathetically around her, and moping like a wet, underfed poet, and that was better than when he finally had her. If she'd ever truly decided to let him have her. No more. It was too tiring. Too much for too little. Let them have her.

He started to hum. He twitched his nose, probed a nostril with one rough finger. The smell of Voorghes' thin stew wafting into the room was good.

Sevrecht Tarvis, ratcatcher, ex-pitfighter, survivor of too many of this world's horrors, was ready for new adventures.