2:25 The guidance of the ancestor.

The Master Inquisitor walked all the way around the slender, pale skinned female, who obligingly removed her hood to reveal her radiant red hair.  The few tell tale grey streaks that poked out in the mane tried to indicate her true age, but the easy way in which she had slipped in the second story window of the Bone College made them seem out of place.  When the mage- whose dark hair at the roots of his four mohawk spikes were more obvious when he stood near the natural redhead- had inspected her twice in both directions, he decided to stand just to her left side, nearly behind her.  It was a small relief for the female, who wondered how he could possibly be comfortable appearing before her in nothing but burial bandages.

"This side, isn't it?" he asked distractedly, crossing his arms as though perturbed.

The woman bit her lips for a few moments, trying to think of a suitable question.  "What are you looking for?" she asked at last, unable to think of any other option.

"Excellent- we've worn off on you," the Halfling replied.  "Have your familiars found the female we sought?"

A shrug of her shoulders troubled her river of hair just slightly.  "With what the operative described to me, the real question is if there was anything of the female to be found.  But there's these- I know enough about them to realize that you ought to have them."

And with that, the woman reached into the satchel on her left side and produced two stones- one a smooth, white flecked obsidian oval and the other a sharp-faceted quartz with what seemed like a liquid blue core at its center.

"This is answer enough, yes, answer enough," the Master Inquisitor replied, extending his slender, burned and mottled hands for the woman.  It seemed that just touching the stones excited him, as his dark eyes suddenly flashed with what that woman refused to allow herself to believe was sheer madness.  "A thousand gold, as agreed.  On the table to your right.  No use to me.  I can't eat it."

"We hadn't agreed upon a thousand gold," the woman warned quietly.  "I'm not out to cheat you, Master Semnemac."

"Of course not, of course not," the Master Inquisitor replied, his eyes darting up and fixing upon the green beauties of the woman he was addressing.  "No insult meant, no accusations.  But there were two.  I know.  And your own time is valuable- you could have sent these with your familiars."

The female, not surprised that the male famous for sniffing out even the best kept secrets would have known about both her operatives, smirked her amusement.  "Thought it would be best to come myself.  When it comes to the College, I pride myself on my- customer service, as it were."

"Ah, yes," the Master Inquisitor smiled easily.  "This is wise of you.  We will get to the bottom of whatever questions arise in our minds."

"Of course," the woman replied.  "Insatiable curiosity is a quality to be expected of everyone in this place."

"The answers discovered all have their price; the truest ones rest quietly in the bones, move with power in the flesh, and run deeply in the blood.  May the Lord Torturer be pleased with the chorus of screams that herald your footsteps."

And the woman that most in the Bone College called only "the She" bowed with a quiet smile to the Master Inquisitor.  There was a soft knock at the door, and the moment he turned his attentions from her presence, the She was gone- back out of the window, the way she'd come.  By the time Lady Kaionne actually entered, the only thing that had changed about the Master Inquisitor's room at all was the fact that the rather large purse that had been sitting on his study desk was gone- replaced by a leather bound tome of some sort.

"Perhaps Alpha is hiding his coins in plates of acid, or is sleeping on the gold like a dragon- again?" she asked, stunned.

For a few moments, the Halfling stared at the Shifter furiously, as though he'd never seen her before.  The Shifter, reminding herself not to be upset, reached out her right hand, palm up, so that he could see a deep scar that ran from her fourth finger to her wrist.  At the sight of the scar, a quiet embarrassment came over the small-framed male.

"Kai-"

Kaionne lightly brushed her outstretched hand on Semnemac's chilly hands, and was surprised to sense the presence of magic strongly in whatever he held.  "Peace, Alpha.  We have recovered Ourselves.  Now, your question."

"Is the She not gone as well?"  Semnemac nearly whispered, still deeply troubled.

"Ah," Kaionne sighed.  "All these years, and this one has yet to meet her- it almost seems that she is not real.  Yet, she has done much for the Bone College.  Has she brought Us Questioner Seyashen's girl?"

With a sheepish smile, Semnemac merely held out the quartz stone with the blue center.  "Does this look female yet?"

"An answer, Alpha.  It is good to see you return to transmutation."  Kaionne passed Semnemac with a kiss on the cheek to get to the journal on the desk.  She hardly had to flip through half of it before a confused look settled on her wolfish features.  "These are your dreams they are writing."

"But they didn't find the Nameless," Semnemac insisted, sitting down on the floor to lay both stones in front of him.  "They trapped another girl, instead."  He held out his own right hand, palm scarred from the fourth finger to the wrist, and Kaionne placed the journal into it.  After just a few moments of browsing, the Halfling began to nod.  "Questioner Seyashen is thinking of checking on me- and take this dark stone to your study room for later use."

"I'll do so immediately," Kaionne replied as she took the obsidian stone.  She easily and quickly moved past him and through the hanging curtain to the open hallway.  The Master Inquisitor continued to read- at roughly four times the speed of most other literate creatures- until Seyashen cautiously tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm here, Master Inquisitor.  It's unlike you to let me sneak up on you."

The Halfling, who seemed unusually tired to his student, merely sighed in response.  "Water and flame are necessary, but one orphaned by flood or wildfire will be angry when you tell him so.   Here, read this- slowly, for comprehension, not completion."

Seyashen took the journal and found he had to read rather slowly indeed- most of it was written in a form of Elven with which he was mostly unfamiliar.  What he could understand of the journal at first seemed to document Arlwynna- the rest days that she took to gather potion ingredients or to travel to Cormyr, her insistence upon sewing all her own garments, and her fondness for practicing not only ancestor worship, but divination rituals.  Just one day after this realization, the Phoenix commandeered her shop and home under the guise of interested buyers.  From that point forward, the journal turned into an experimentation log.

"I am working, Pharen- speak, if you have anything useful to say."

Seyashen looked up from the writing to find his mentor holding one hand to his brow as though he had a terrible headache.  He began to move forward, but found the Grand Torturer's hand on his shoulder.

"How can you possibly get anything done through all that din?" Pharen replied just moments before the glimmer of his outline became visible for Seyashen.  "The echoes of the souls you ripped from their bodies are- deafening."

Semnemac closed his eyes and waved over his shoulder as though he were batting the spirit's words away.  "Their pleas are my psalms- the endless cacophonies, the soul tremors in the screams- helps me focus.  Slip free to touch the beyond-ness of immortal truth.  The pristine quality of it-"  Picking up the quartz stone again, he ran his hands along the edges and bowed his head as though he would soon pray.  "Eternal, perfect in its brutality.  The material reality- that which appears real at first glance- so close to the ethereal and to the wild, fantastic imagination that they each carry within themselves each other's offspring like a depraved, inbred family- I can see the cracks, yes, the dawn- it's here.  Right here.  In the make of the thing, that's the answer- Questioner, you've finished with the log?"

Seyashen looked up with an embarrassed half smirk.  "I'm- only about a third of the way through, Master Inquisitor.  It seems like they were toying around with soul trapping because they realized that the girl talking to them was actually in the stone of Urmlaspyr.  I hadn't thought of that- good realization on the part of this writer.  Interesting that she seems in greater torment right at the end of her cycle- right when the body decides that it will not have a child... the dreams she charts- are all familiar-"

"You said you would bring back Arlwynna," Pharen crabbed.  "I'll help you get to your girl once I have mine."

"Here she is, then," Semnemac shot back acridly, putting the quartz crystal down and gesturing to it.  "If you can get her out of there, do it."

A few moments of bitter silence passed before Pharen finally whispered, "You know that I can't."

The Halfling nodded slowly, looking like a patient parent.  Without another word, he turned back to the crystal stone, leaned forward to sniff it, then moved his right hand from left to right over it very slowly.  Seyashen was dumbfounded to watch the stone slowly grow and change from a solid object into a female form.  The edges became softer, the high polished surface melted into soft dark flesh, and by the time Semnamac reached the raven-haired woman's feet, she quickly sat up and opened radiant, yellow-green eyes.

"You- now what do you want!?" she cried immediately.  "Wait- no.  I'm sorry, I- where am I?"

"Tell her I'm here," Pharen demanded.  "Tell her she must get away from this place- get a hold of that armorer and run as far from this gods-forsaken place-"

"Where have you been?" Semnemac smiled gently, laying his hands in his bandaged lap.  "A question for a question, an answer for the same."

"And you've just given me- okay, I can do this, I think.  I'm- a little woozy, but- I was in a palace made all of crystal, with a perfectly blue lake," Arlwynna replied.  "I slept on a bed that looked like ice, and I bathed in the lake every day- and I could feel other spirits, doing the same.  We couldn't talk to each other, we were too far away.  But I- I don't know, I just knew they were in the same city, or something, somewhere."

"You're gracious- that's much more than just one answer," Semnemac admitted.  "I owe you a few, and I pay my debts.  This is the Bone College, the study hall of those who travel the unending path of Afflux.  This male behind me, he is Questioner Seyashen, who your great grandfather approached so that we may bring you back from that palace- which is now a permanent part of you."

Arlwynna looked around herself, then struggled to get herself to her feet.  Kaionne moved forward to support her right side while Semnemac simply allowed her to use his shoulders and arms for balance.  "I had always wondered about this place- about you all, what you were like.  Is it true that you torture people here- oh, that's a question."

"Wouldn't you expect questions here?" Semnemac volleyed.  "They are our passion, our lifeblood.  All the various forms and planes of existences are to be questioned, to be pulled apart, to be deeply studied.  When torture is necessary to further understand that which is being researched, it is done, without remorse or moral equivocation.  Not every answer can be discovered by being polite."

Arlwynna giggled for a few moments, and as she did, Kaionne moved back a half step to allow her to stand on her own.  "Oh, I- ah.  It felt as though I wouldn't be able to stay up, but- I suppose I can."

"Try walking- to Questioner Seyashen, over there," Kaionne suggested.  "The female will go and get you food.  You speak of sleeping and bathing, but not of eating."

Seyashen looked up from the journal to catch the pleasant eyes of the half Drow.  Three baby steps were troublesome for her, and the Tiefling quickly moved forward to keep her on her feet when she began to totter.  "That's good for being kept in a soul gem for weeks."

"You spoke to my ancestor, right?" Arlwynna laughed quietly and shook her head.  "Oh- that means you're going to give me a question."

"No, only the Master Inquisitor does that," Seyashen smiled.  "The title, after all.  Pharen- your ancestor- is very concerned for your continuing to live here."

"Oh, I'm moving as soon as I can put more than three steps on the ground," Arlwynna said, her face immediately becoming grave.  "The war between Sembia and practically everyone else around it isn't really over- that truce is just a glorified time out- and I'm sick of the way the guards can't seem to do their jobs.  Where else could I get my shop broken into by a known gang in the light of day?"

"Emmech, for one," Seyashen replied.  "But their war against Thay is beginning, not ending."

"How can anyone tell the difference between the ending of a war and the start of one?" Arlwynna sighed quietly.  "Death is death, even when it consumes those who do not yet know its name."

Both Semnemac and Seyashen stared at Arlwynna with shocked eyes immediately, and when Kaionne stepped into the room with some warm oatmeal, she paused at the door, knowing that either something very wrong or unexpectedly right had happened.

"Say that again," the Master Inquisitor urged, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Two mistakes may have produced the right answer to a question not asked."

"I- said- that death is death," Arlwynna repeated, concerned.  "Even when it consumes those who don't yet know its name."

"Those are not your words," Semnemac replied simply.  "You heard the Nameless."

"I'm not sure, but- okay, I know there was a girl- this sounds silly- but there was a girl in the palace whose voice I heard every night.  She cried all the time, but I couldn't make out much that she said- she was too far away.  I thought perhaps she'd lost her mother, and since she only cried at night, I told her stories.  She seemed to like the one of my great grandmother the best, for some reason.  She was executed, in her old age, along with two younger Shadar-Kai, when my mother was very young, and-"

"Gods, how I repent me," Pharen lamented.  "Miye was a stubborn, prideful bitch of a woman that cawed my name like a damned raven.  I never loved her.  But she didn't deserve-"

"-she never forgot it.  She touched her grandmother over the rail of the cart, when it went by, and her grandmother said-"

The Master Inquisitor closed his eyes and covered his face.  "And she said, 'They cannot kill us.'  The Humans made sure all of her children and grandchildren were right in front of the gallows, searched through the crowd specifically to find them and bring them."

"Oh, gods, don't," Pharen choked, the outline of his spirit fading slightly as he turned himself into a corner.  "Don't."

"They flogged her, and she smiled.  She laughed at them," Arlwynna continued, closing her own eyes to remember the tale as her mother told it.  "She screamed at them, 'This is nothing!'  At her age, she still remembered the tortures of Thultanthar."

"They stripped her naked and derided her, goading the crowd, who cried out that they wanted to see her magic.  They wanted to see the power of the Shade mages displayed before them, like a sideshow at a circus," Semnemac continued, laying down on his side with his face still covered.  Kaionne moved to his table, put the oatmeal down, and knelt down to put his head in her lap.  "But she would not do it.  She only said, 'Cursed be Shade, and cursed be its children, who share my blood, but not my heart.'  They did not understand her, and they began to throw stones."

Pharen's image nearly disappeared into the corner, now pulsating with a radiant shock white. "There was barely enough of her left for them to hang, at the last.  And they told me justice had been done.  Somehow I knew even then that it had been the worst mistake of my life.  Though she was descended from a Human, Corellon Larethian turned his face from me the moment I turned mine from her.  And... I- bloody well deserved it."

"Then, do not turn your face again, Pharen," Seyashen encouraged quietly.  "There is still a choice you can make- choose well."

"Is he here?"  Arlwynna started, an energy jolting through her body at once.  Seyashen let her go, knowing she would want to kneel, which she did instantaneously.  "Oh, most honorable ancestor, I know it is you that has worked for my safety.  I thank you for bringing me here.  If you will it, I will live my life here, and enlighten myself and others through diligent study, as you had done in your early youth."

"Gods, she couldn't be more earnest- or more wrong," Pharen despaired.  "Why should she pray to the male who sent the only mate he could claim to her death?"

"Speak, Nameless, with these borrowed words." Semnemac muttered, crossing his arms over his chest with his eyes still closed, "Plead for your lives, miserable mortals- the compass shattered, a crest aflame.  Plague the child with boils- let them scream, I tell you!"

"Do what you must, Alpha," Kaionne soothed.  "Old watchdog is here."

"Is he always like that?" Arlwynna asked quietly, turning her gaze to look upon the Shifter and the Halfling who was in a near-fetal position on her lap.  "I'm sure there must be a way-"

Kaionne looked up with a warm smile.  "Worry not.  It is the spirits.  Either they will spur an answer, or I will make sure he does not hurt you.  The oatmeal may be cold by now, yes?"

"Oh- you're too kind, miss- um-" Arlwynna began as Seyashen helped her over to Semnemac's table.

"Lady Kaionne," the Tiefling supplied easily.  "when she's not presiding over a vivisection."

Semnemac sat up and opened his eyes, but was immediately wrapped in the protective arms of the Shifter behind him.  "The tongues of the whips, the blessed spikes that expose the bones- the charred bones, yes,  unformed child of ash- speak!  You will vomit until your gut bursts- and then I'll take specimens from the inner flesh."

"Gods, why does this building still stand?" Pharen asked disgustedly.  "Is the town guard aware that he did things like that to living creatures?"

"You know, she only cried at night- maybe she had the dreams, and was afraid," Arlwynna suggested, forgetting the oatmeal.  "I don't think I'll ever forget them.  They were so vivid- especially the one with all that fire."

"Yes, that's the worst one," Seyashen admitted.  "It was the first one I got- tore my nerves to shreds.  I thought I was being burned at the stake."

"You were," Semnemac pronounced in a markedly lucid tone.  "And I, and she, and every magic worker who touches their dreams or speaks with the spirits.  This is the beacon, and the calling, and the end."

"Yes, those execution records," Pharen nodded, having turned around.  "The Phoenix are led by Dresan Hawke, who I've discovered keeps all the old records in his own manse.  But, there's a problem."

"The problem is that Dresan Hawke is a shark who pretends at being a jellyfish," Semnemac commented, suddenly reaching up to mercilessly yank on one of Kaionne's braids.  Arlwynna fixed the pair with an utterly confused look, at which Kaionne simply shrugged.

"Well, it's clear that he's not going to let us just walk into the house and take them," Seyashen began.  "Perhaps he can be persuaded to simply let us take copies for the Bone College.  It may take a few months, but the scribes are careful, and-"

"No, no, no, boy, you don't understand," Pharen sighed with frustration.  "There won't be any reasoning with a man who thinks that razing the entirety of Cormyr to the ground is a good way to solve customs charges and taxes on magical equipment.  You'll have to acquire the records some other way- they're hidden in the manse, but I can at least tell you precisely what seals you want to look for."

"Good enough, Pharen, thank you," Seyashen nodded.

"Most blessed ancestor- you continue to shape the world with your guidance, besting death, as your mate said you would," Arlwynna smiled peacefully.

And Pharen's ghostly image, visibly struck by his descendant's words, moved forward and placed his hand over Seyashen's hand.  With an understanding nod, Seyashen reached that hand forward and brushed Arlwynna's cheek.

2:24 Infection.

Down under the feet of the common citizens of Urmlaspyr, the cavern of assassins and rogues commonly referred to as House Darkness was hissing with the energy of a long fuse just lit.  In her office and private room, the sinewy dark Elf whose clear, pale red eyes normally caught every detail was scrambling to find a small scrap of paper.

"Perhaps it's...argh, ssussun.  Well, he'll get it."

There's a letter in that pile that you'll want to get your hands on before you leave.

Bahlzair slowly turned his body away from the small stack of papers that the Drow woman accidentally knocked over, feigning as though he hadn't seen it fall.  Instead, he turned careful attention to a sticky spot where she may have previously dropped mead or some sweet confection.  In just two days, he'd learned that this female, Nedstra, kept everything she touched, had a furious sweet tooth- and was absent-mindedly filthy.

She also appeared not to have previously realized the value of having a spare male around- Bahlzair was the only one of his kind in the entire den.  So even though she'd originally commanded him to be taken down to the potions master- an older Drow who squawked at having to work with a slave- he was instead scrubbing out her sticky, half-rancid office and living space with a filthy rag.  When he'd first been awakened by a swift kick to the ribs, he had taken the time to braid up his hair so that it hung in one long strap- and after forcing him to strip absolutely naked, Nedstra often took the opportunity to yank it as though it were a bell pull when she wanted his attention.  All in all, it was more tolerable than a snake-headed whip, which Bahlzair figured she did not have.

This was the third time she'd done it.  Bahlzair sat up without any physical indication of his annoyance and turned an emotionless gaze over his shoulder at Nedstra, who had crossed her arms over her chest.

Watch the master work, Shadowfire.
"Have you seen- you know, why is this so long, anyhow?  What are you, a follower of Eilistraee?" Nedstra demanded.  Bahlzair couldn't tell whether she was genuinely annoyed at this possibility or simply upset that she could not find whatever scrap of paper or trinket she was really looking for.

"It was cut twice in my eighty years," Bahlzair signed back, noting with some annoyance that his hands now smelled like the moldy rag he'd been using.  "But that is not because I believe in Eilistraee."

Don't worry- that's what Imylshalee is for.

"I'll have Imylshalee look to it," Nedstra spat back.  "Meanwhile, tell me if you come across a statement of- ssussun, slaves don't read- nevermind, get back to work."

Bahlzair looked back down to the ground, catching a familiar presence with the edge of his peripheral vision. He didn't need to look back up to confirm what he'd seen- one remembers feet with six clawed toes relatively easily.

Is it over here?  Check and see if you put it near that glass-

And predictably, down went the wine glass, shattering to the floor, its crimson contents throwing themselves across a few of the previously dropped papers.  It took Bahlzair a supreme amount of self control to keep himself from sighing.

Here comes that old windbag- probably to remind you of your duty to the Il'haress.  Again.

With footfalls thunderous enough to shake the platforms beneath her, the squat and hefty priestess of Lloth made her way up to the room, nearly tripping over Bahlzair in her effort to get to Nedstra, who had begun to fret with a bookcase full of clutter next to her sleeping cot.  Imylshalee, who stepped with a much more athletic tread, only made her presence known with a brief vocalization of her haste.  Bahlzair found himself wondering what she looked like while recovering, and grit his teeth instantly.

You don't have to destroy everything you like, Shadowfire.  Watch me.

A ebony-black finger jutted itself in Bahlzair's direction at once.  "Why wasn't that male brought to me when he arrived?  Why did I have to find out through a hideous nightmare that his presence is displeasing to Lloth?  Would you like to have us all cut off from Her guidance again?" the substantial Drow huffed.  While part of her tone was really due to her anger, Bahlzair believed that most of it was probably the result of her charging up from her place near Lloth's shrine up to Nedstra's room.

Nedstra straightened up and turned to bow slightly to the priestess with thinly masked annoyance.  "Is there anything I can do to help you, Yathrin?"

Look at that pitiful incline of her head- as though she were in her mother's place!

"You could start by paying proper respect," the priestess immediately retorted.  Bahlzair turned his body again on purpose- for a creature that was supposed to be attuned only to the words of Lloth, the old codger did a wonderful job of picking right up on the promptings of someone who was most certainly not even the Spider Goddess's ally.

"Of course, Yathrin," Nedstra replied with a bow from her waist, mildly confused.  Velryne rarely spoke up about proper etiquette, since they had been cast so far from the watchful eyes of other noble Drow that keeping it up was almost a mockery.  Nedstra chalked the sudden requirement to Imylshalee's presence, since she wasn't from House Dhuurniv, and may be baffled by the apparent lack of protocol and etiquette.

"And, know that this male's presence is a disruption that must be immediately remedied," Velryne concluded. "As I said, I received a most grotesque nightmare- it would be impolite to describe it- won't he at least stand up and bow?"

"He's deaf-mute," Nedstra explained with a touch of embarrassment, as though Bahlzair's utterly false disability had somehow really been her fault.  "He's a slave, but he has to look at you, or he won't know that you're even talking to him, let alone what you're saying.  Let me get his attention-"

Will she want him to bring her food and drink too, as though she'd walked across the Underdark to get to you?

Nevertheless, Bahlzair received the expected yank to his braid, and sat up.  When Nedstra simply nodded her head toward the priestess behind him, Bahlzair turned all the way around with a practiced stupidity that was nearly comical for him, bolted to his feet at once, then took a knee again to bow deeply.

"Much more than he did for Imylshalee, or for me, at first," Nedstra nodded.  "Must have been on his own on the surface for some time.  But a few good blows, and he miraculously remembered his place."

These miserable Dhuurniv bitches are getting off topic.  Again.

"Oughtn't we send him on to the new Greycastle woman as soon as possible, Yathrin?" Imylshalee gently suggested, still standing some steps behind the priestess, as was respectfully required.

"Yes, thank you," Velryne replied, raising an eyebrow at the young Drow female behind her. "Greycastle's pet did send for this male specifically, and now that we have him, it's best we send him on to her.  He'll do us not a bit of good, I'm sure of it."

It's a plot.  Imylshalee is trying to twist Velryne around her finger, manipulating this dream of hers into a reason to override your position.

"What sort of dream was this, Yathrin?  Are you quite sure it was this male you saw?  Other than how he survived in the first place, slave or not, I don't see how he is an affront to Lloth's desires."  Nedstra crossed over to her desk, waving her arm at Bahlzair so that he would get up out of the bow and go back to work.  Bahlzair made sure to start right near to the desk, where the stack of papers had fallen before.

And above him, his arms planted in a classically self-satisfied manner on his hips, stood a deep blue-black skinned, six horned creature whose mysterious smirk could only be accurately described as demonic.

Fourth from the top, Shadowfire.  Leave me a bit of blood on that glass.
"I'm certain of this- Lloth is most displeased by his presence.  There was a pool of blood, and a babe brought up through it by a hand with six fingers-"

Brought on by too much mushroom wine and an overstuffed belly- as most of her 'visions' are.

Bahlzair, taking advantage of the priestess's gory description of Lloth's relatively over-dramatic warning, got about the business of drying the spilled wine off the scattered papers.  No one noticed when a small sealed note was folded within the nasty rag.

"-and the knife trembled, then burst into flame.  It's the very knife Imylshalee showed me, I swear it.  I'd know those runes anywhere.  The thing's doubly cursed, and we cannot have him in this place without drawing the Most Glorious Goddess's fiercest wrath."

Be sensible.  Imylshalee is young, and the Yathrin is prone to liquor-soaked flights of spiritual fancy, but you have got to be the one with her feet on the solid ground- the one to make the tough decisions.
"I will take this under strong consideration," Nedstra nodded quietly.  "Certainly your vision isn't to be ignored.  Know this- the Greycastle's woman seems to have heard of a grand attack on the Stingers, and her latest letter- you should have seen the messenger, Imylshalee- now calls us to take their place.  I don't know why she's acting as though the entire gang was wiped out while we slept, but the fact is that she doesn't intend to send us any more supplies- we're supposed to forage, as they did, to survive, while sending her the best of whatever we claim.  If she wants this male so badly, she should have to pay for him, do you see?"

Suspicious.  Nedstra may be just making this up to keep her new slave about her- her mother's fears of abomination would be allayed, but it won't do to replace that with insubordination.

"That's interesting," Velryne replied quietly, folding her hands in front of her like a patient first year wizardry student.  "Esvele was a powerful wizard, and her protege is of course more than some petty mage, but it may be best to check on the Stingers.  They are fierce, famously sadistic, and thus, unchallenged.  There's no use making demands when our aid is worth less than we think."

Ssussun, what use is this male to anyone?  Look at the glass he's bumbling around, as if he could do anything better than bleed all over the office.

Imylshalee frowned and repressed the impulse for a few moments, but eventually caved to the temptation and cut behind the two female Drow to get at the glass that Bahlzair was sweeping up with his bare hands a little less than cautiously.  "Excuse me, I'm just concerned- get away from that glass near those papers, male.  You'll get blood all over the mistress's correspondence if you keep this up.  Oh, Nedstra- hadn't you told me that you would send me with this bill and the poison to the Phoenix last night?"

She disturbs your male and calls your name?  Impertinence now, insubordination tomorrow.

"That'll be quite enough, elg'caress," Nedstra said with a polite tone that somehow rendered her curse all the more biting.  "You should leave the cleaning to the male."

"What would you do, mistress," Imylshalee replied just as politely, turning her head slightly to look up at Nedstra with a smile, "if I threw these bits of glass in your eyes?"

"What would you do, dajjin'sl, if I forced you to swallow your blade?" the priestess replied with narrowed eyes.  "I'm the best mage you'll ever know, and she who you just tried to scare is the assassin of assassins.  Get up and let the male do his work.  So long as he is here- and I do hope for our sake that it is not much longer- he had better be useful."

Imylshalee stood, allowing the glass to fall back to the floor, but took a very slight breath that indicated to Bahlzair that she had managed to cut herself.

Behold, Shadowfire.  Get to work with that letter before she realizes that it's gone- and that you can read and write perfectly well.

Bahlzair finished sweeping up the glass and stood facing the three Drow women, who were busy staring polite little holes into each other.  Beyond them stood Graz'zt's image, holding a gleaming web-thin silver strand that connected all three females to his six-fingered hand, which he held playfully aloft like a gleeful puppeteer.

What do you think, Shadowfire?  I'll put their heads on a ring and tell Lloth to marry me.  She'd refuse- I'm more beautiful than she, and there's no plot or lie she can weave that I don't pull tighter.  Without shunting goo out of my ass, too- that's a definite cosmetic plus.

And Bahlzair's face at last echoed the faintest hint of that demonic smirk.

2:23 Stung.

Years in the field had done many things to Aleksei, but thankfully, the experience had its good effects as well.  About five feet into the tunnel, where light from the half-rotten homestead above failed nearly completely, he found a splintered rod of some sort by nearly stumbling on it.  After making sure the thing was dry enough, he split it in half over his knee, sat down, and rubbed the two pieces together, breathing on them lightly occasionally.  There arose an acrid, irritating stench that almost made him gag, but he stubbornly continued, figuring that this would be his only chance at light.  After a great deal of time, he had one semi-functional torch and one rather worn torch candidate.  Other than a few splintered pieces of rod that were the result of his cracking the thing in half, there were no other bits of anything else usable.  While he wasn't completely sure who may be following him down, or indeed if anyone would, he allowed the flame to burn the floor for a few moments.  He noted with some surprise that while the ground beneath it scorched normally, the rod was just as slow to burn as it had been to catch fire in the first place- it was as though the fire was having a difficult time consuming the perfectly dry wood.  Shrugging it off as either Bahamut or Io's blessing, he picked up the rod and moved forward.

The tunnel clearly wasn't made for someone his size, and after just a few minutes, he found that he had to hunch his seven foot frame to avoid grazing his head on the ceiling of the pathway.  By the time the worn bit of the rod nearly burned down to his fingers, the tunnel height began to grow again, and he was greeted by a stone portal with two significant gaps between its four pieces.  He pushed the burning piece of rod through the largest gap, shoved his hands through, then grunted and strained until he had pushed the rounded edges of the portal back far enough to allow him through.  On the other side, in the dim, flickering light, he was able to see three different paths- one that descended to his left, one that ascended before him, and one that descended to his right.  All apparently diminished in size until they resembled the tunnel that he'd just left on the other side of the portal.  The first interesting thing about the descending right hand path was the presence of scrawl similar to that which Amilie had read before, but when Aleksei picked up the bit of burning rod to inspect it, he noticed that there were also burn marks- not unlike the one he'd left on the floor- on the walls.  He walked a few feet beyond the first burn mark and urinated, not having anything else with which to mark his progress.

Slow to burn as it was, his makeshift torch only lasted a few more minutes after that, and he was soon left to grope about in utter darkness.  Deciding that he would find either the end of the tunnel or something else to burn, he got down on his hands and knees and felt his way forward.  The ground beneath him was still packed hard, cold, and unremarkable, and he wondered how long ago the cause of the burn marks had passed through.

About an hour after he began crawling forward, he began to hear distant, muffled voices.  Instantly concerned that Amilie's theory of slaves might be true, it was only hard-won discipline that kept him from rushing forward toward the sounds.  Instead, he slowed himself down and tried to note if there were any etchings anywhere, getting up to smooth his hands down the walls as well as sweeping the floor.  As he continued, the sounds of the voices grew louder, as though two male creatures were right in front of him, or next to him.  But it seemed the more attention he paid to the feel of every inch of the place, the more absolutely without mark that it seemed- until he realized that the ceiling of the tunnel began to rise again.  Some exceedingly careful searching made him realize that he had encountered a portal similar to the one through which he'd had to shove his way some hours ago- but there were no gaps through which anything could get through.  After a few minutes of exploration, listening to the increasing anger in both voices just beyond the portal, Aleksei decided that it would be a good idea to simply crack the stone himself.  He backed up a few feet, got a running start, and smacked his scale-plated shoulder into the stone, only to feel a sharp jab that- just for a moment- terrified him with the thought of a broken bone.  He dropped heavily to his knees and gripped his arm, checking for the damage he was sure he'd sustained, and was utterly surprised to hear the rasp of slow-moving stone.

Even more surprising was the light that suddenly poured in from the other side of the portal.

Along with oil-filled pots that were blazing with light, there were scattered pickaxes, hammers and chisels on the floor before him.  The sources of the voices, two apparently Human males, kept up a weak physical fight in spite of his sudden presence.  Both were nearly skin-and-bones thin, made frail by some blight- their sallow skin looked more like yellowed paper than anything else.  As Aleksei let go of his arm, which was sore, but unharmed, and stood up to walk through the portal, one of the men managed to stab the other with some small implement, and struggled to his feet to run toward the open portal.

"Don't let 'im past thee, lad!" the wounded man cried plaintively, his sickly eyes fixing the Dragonborn at once as he sat up on his elbows.  Without delay, Aleksei bent slightly to clothesline the fleeing man, slung him over his shoulder, and walked over to the wounded man.  Behind him, the portal eased itself shut with a quiet rasp.

"What is this?" Aleksei asked calmly, putting the offending man down carefully.  "Who is leaving you here to work with cold stone when you are sick?"

"Nae, lad," the wounded man panted, a laugh not far from his wavering voice.  " 'Tis nae sick.  'Tis poison-work thee sees 'ere, an' th' hag's magics.  And dinnae trubble thyself with who's i' th' right of it, eh?  We're both sinners, 'e and I.  'Tis but our own wickedness come fer us, is all."

"I am not understanding," Aleksei sighed, sitting down and looking over to the still-gagging man as though he could explain his companion's words.  "Who is poisoning?"

"We're all doin' th' poisonin'," the wounded man responded woefully, allowing himself to lay completely on the ground.  "But we wasn't doin' our fair bit, so says Perry.  So down we comes, th' pair of us, to carve th' way t'rough this 'ere cursed rock."

Aleksei looked behind himself to the portal for a few moments, then got up to inspect it more closely in the light of the firepots.

"All th' movin' I ever seen it done, it done when thee comes," the wounded man said, having shifted himself slightly to keep an eye on Aleksei's movements.  "All th' stone 'round 'ere's cursed, I tell thee.  We hits it, it grows back.  We burns it, it grows back.  And i' th' nights, I hear a wee lassie speakin' to me- speakin' magic t'ings.  'Tis th' stone 'erself, I t'ink.  Just yesternight, I tell 'er, 'Begone, hag,' for I cannae stand 'er whisperin' a moment longer.  An' 'tis she, I t'ink, done somethin' to me laddie 'ere, who's nae lifted a finger to me in 'is life."

Aleksei put his hand to the stone to feel the carvings, and pain gripped his arm again, as though he had slammed himself against it a second time.  He jumped back slightly, and noticed that a slender, blood-red tendril ran along four previously seamless parts of the portal, which seemed to soak in the tendril as though it were dirt instead of stone, crack apart and pull open.

"Th' lassie likes thee, eh?  Now she's 'ad thee for a dram, mayhap she'll leave us die in peace."

Suddenly struck with the realization that both men were quite near to death indeed, Aleksei turned around to see if there were anything that he could do to either save the men or make their ends less miserable.  But the man that he had put down like a sack had slumped to one side, his eyes rolled up in his head, and the other, who'd spoken his last words mere seconds ago, had no breath passing in his chest when Aleksei put his head down to him to check.

"Ja vse eshhe ne ponimaju."

As he thought this with some degree of frustration, Aleksei heard the portal begin to slide itself shut.  He turned to look at it one more time, finally noticing a third set of scrawling just to the left side of the portal.  He rolled his eyes, deciding at last that he would have to learn to read the lettering of his own language.  There was no telling what Amilie wondered about being able to decipher writing that the Dragonborn should have recognized right away, and while his war excuse had been valid some decade or so ago, he had since had more than one opportunity to at least learn to read and write his name.  Ylyssa had longed to teach him not only what she had glimpsed of Draconic lettering, with that photographic memory of hers, but also the wealth of her understanding of Common, Elven and Sylvan- although what she thought he would do knowing any of the various dialects of the Elven language was absolutely beyond him.

With a sigh, Aleksei moved away from the bodies of the men and along the pathway whose upward gradient went from gentle to rather sharp within just a few minutes of walking.  It narrowed and shortened considerably from the landing hall that it had been by the second portal, down to the size of the tunnels that he'd made his way down before, but it was lined with flame pots.  Some had gone out due to lack of tending, but the rest lent sufficient light for him to see his way- which was pocked with pickmarks and scuff marks.  Instead of a bare, empty smell, there was the damp aroma of physical effort, whether it were the attempt to chisel at living stone or at someone else.

When the tunnel opened up a third time to allow him to stand at full height instead of hunching over, the Dragonborn felt sure he knew what to expect- but was completely wrong.  Instead of another portal, he came upon a perfectly circle shaped hole in the wall, which he discovered was covered by a fur only when he reached forward to move it.  Seeing that there were cell bars before him, he quickly moved all the way into the cell, leaving the fur to flap closed behind him, and surveyed the area around him.    There were four other holding cells in the circular area, one his immediate left occupied by a shivering female, one to her left that seemed to serve as a cache for personal effects and weapons, and two females per cell in two cells that were immediately across from him.  Just on the left side of the final cell was another perfectly circular hole that Aleksei figured probably delved into another hallway.  All five cells appeared to be guarded by just two characters, made utterly recognizable by their wickedly spiked leather armor.

Stingers.

They were inattentive, calmly chatting to each other over some mindless card game that involved them nearly throwing the cards at each other.  Aleksei assumed from this behavior that all the cells would either be locked, or the inhabitants of the cells were physically incapable of getting away- or both.  He scooted over to his left to catch the female's attention, and found that she had already turned strangely hopeful chestnut brown eyes to him.

"Skazhi mne, chto delat'," she whispered fiercely, weakly holding up her left hand.  Mageflame glowed at her fingertips, illuminating her matted brown hair and highlighting the determination in her face.  Aleksei was only slightly less surprised at her ability to cut through his language barrier than at what fight she had left with what clearly was either the last or the next to last reserve of her living energy.

"Pozvonite v odin iz nih dlja vas," he replied calmly.

With a smirking nod, the woman slid far toward the other side of her cell and began first to sniffle, then to whine.

"Bert's beard, there goes the hag," one of the guards sighed after throwing his card.  "Go and see if she's on about the little girl again."

"I've 'alf a mind to take 'er back to th' Phoenix," the second guard replied, getting up from the table.  " 'Tis them wha' ha' shoved 'er in one o' our holes.  Perry'd've pushed 'er back up, an' 'e knew th' trubble she'd be." 

He cast a careless eye toward the newly occupied cell, but didn't really notice the strange scaly creature inside until it was too late.  Aleksei gracelessly lunged forward, grabbed the guard and yanked him back as hard as he could onto the bars.  Given the brute strength of the seven footer, this force summoned a wide river of blood from the left side of the guard's unarmored head.  His wounding, however, did not go unremarked.

"Oi- attack!  One of them's got Terry-boy!" the first guard cried to some unseen reinforcement elsewhere.  Aleksei easily snapped the head of the second guard to the right, snatched the string of keys from his belt, and let him drop like a sack of potatoes to the floor.  Doing this allowed him to discover that his own cell was unlocked, however, since the door opened slightly with all the movement, so he took the opportunity to surge out and grab the first guard.  The Human male, who was busy attempting escape through the cleanly cut circle  in the far wall, was caught by a low-slung sliding kick that landed him on his behind.  Aleksei was quick to roll to his knees, flip the Stinger over so that the spiked armor was no longer a danger, and crush the male's windpipe with a solid elbow to the back of the neck.  Just as he did so, he heard a sharp feminine voice report down a corridor somewhere above him.

"Attack!  Attack!"

The way the Common sounded in the female's mouth struck Aleksei as strange and familiar at the same time, and he found himself raising his eyes upward to catch the source of the cry.  The woman whose fingers had shone with mageflame knocked on the bars of her cage to get his attention.  "Ja mogu otkryt' vorota. Davajte ubezhat', prezhde chem oni vernutsja."

"What are you saying?" one of the women in the cell next to the hallway finally whispered.  "Will you get us out?"

"You are able to move quickly, yes?" Aleksei began, scrambling up to try each one of the five keys in the lock.  The third one worked, and the door sung its protest as the two women pushed on it at once.

"Yes, yes," one of the other women replied eagerly.  Aleksei noted first that she was some type of Elf, then that she had received a moon-shaped slice in one shoulder.  "And who of us can't, gets carried.  Just let us out, quickly.  That last one's an archer- a good one."

Aleksei found that the first key worked for that cell, but also that the door was either rusted or somehow fastened shut.  It took a few minutes of concentrated effort to get the thing to budge, and when it did, the entire thing popped free and nearly collapsed on him.  The two women inside quickly rushed out of the way when he reacted by pushing it forward instead, barely restraining themselves from squealing their delight at freedom.

"Come now, let's get the hag out, and we'll go," the one who'd first spoken encouraged.  But Aleksei was listening to the dull roar of coming feet and the echo of voices.

"It is better maybe for you open this door, yes?  I will stand here, and make sure you are leaving safely."

"He's not coming," the oldest woman harumphed, her grey-streaked head slowly bobbing.  "I know one soldier too many what's the same way.  Make it good, girls, you'll not see this laddie again."

"What a terrible thing to say!" the Elf-woman snarled, fussing with all the keys until one finally whined all the way around in the lock.  "Come on, it's open, come on."

"Here-"

And as the door opened, an image of a flaming bird leaped up from the outstretched arms of the brown haired mage, who immediately sunk with her effort.

"Oh goddess- grab her up, girls," the Elf-woman commanded with authority.  With nearly the same breath, she whirled around and grabbed the back of Aleksei's readied sword arm.  "Sir, when you make it to the Dale, ask for Faera."

"I will do this.  Please to go now, through the last cell's fur back," Aleksei nodded, not taking his eyes off the entryway.  He felt a comforting tap on his arm, then heard the scuffle of the ladies doing as he'd asked.  He thought about turning around and leaving with them, but felt as though he had to stay and face whoever would come up after them.  He was not sure why the portal that he knew stood between Amilie and Udala and the Stingers had opened for him, but as far as he was concerned, if it would open for him and for the mage, it could open for the Stingers.  Not wanting to alert them to the fact that they seemed to have a previously undiscovered route up to the city, Aleksei decided to crush whatever meager force was coming up to meet him.

Looking around himself, he noted that he could do without the two firepots, since there were also long torches that had been weighted to the ground.  So he broke each of the chairs that the guards had been sitting in, slammed himself into the table to break that, chucked the results down the hallway, and threw the firepots into it.  They burst upon smacking into the walls and the floor, oozing the sizzling oil that had been burning within.  The result was a glorious fire that made the Stingers' upward charge difficult- the fire took serious hold just as the first of them started coming into the room, so the first three jumped through the flames while the others found themselves first blinded by the light of it, then lit aflame.  As could be expected, the poison on their spiked armor was just as flammable as the oil, so Aleksei went into all out battle with three opponents in the circular cell room accompanied by the screams of most of the rest of the company.

The three who had bested the fire came at him without pity, and it took him a bit of work to repel them, at first.  But his vast martial training bested what meager swordplay they seemed to have learned mostly from sparring with each other, and even as more Stingers swarmed up from the burning hallway, the dying ones had to yell advice to their doomed compatriots over the sound of clanging metal.  Aleksei began to feel his kilij become the extension of his arm, the sanguine rhythm of his killing punctuated by gored stomachs, falling heads and severed arms and legs.  The blood of the fallen began to paint masterpieces on the walls, began to dance in perfectly calculated arcs off the tip of his sword, began to sing to him in the way that no bard could.  He allowed himself to sink into the familiar, barbaric delight of sheer destruction, immersing himself in the glorious freedom that was simply stripping life from one victim after another.

He moved so effortlessly and seamlessly- bending himself under charging attackers, swinging away from one blade to parry another, wrenching one Stinger's arm so that the outstretched sword parried one coming from his fellow- that the archer, atop one of the cells, had a very difficult time placing her mark.  She was well aware of just how his scales covered certain parts of him, and was carefully aiming for the leathery skin on the back of his left shoulder.  Finally, when he slammed one of the last of her compatriots to the ground in a choke-hold that crushed his windpipe, she had a prime shot.

Aleksei felt the arrow at once, but it wasn't enough to disturb his bloody reverie.  He continued somewhat unsteadily, grateful for the fact that there was only more struggling Stinger left in this nest.  A few minutes later, the vision in his right eye began to blur and his muscles began to scream their discontent.  By the time he felled that last man, Aleksei had to allow himself to slam heavily against a wall.  His body had come alive with pain such as had rarely been matched in his lifetime.  His breath came in pants, his head spun, and the shadows in the room seemed to stretch themselves into his functioning eye.  He tried vainly to choke back vomit, but finally simply rolled himself to one side as it forced its way out of him.  Somewhere beyond him, a creature of significant weight hit the floor, and he found that he could not force his body to respond to the imminent danger- he couldn't even sit himself back up straight against the wall.  Yet, through his agony and dizziness, he could still tell the familiar lilt when he heard it.

"Sword-brother," the quiet female voice sighed as its source straightened him, then bowed her forehead against his own.  "You are freeing me also; thank you.  You die with honor."

Aleksei closed his eye, fully expecting some dagger, or perhaps his own sword to run through his throat or ribs at any moment.  But instead, he simply heard the footfalls of the female Dragonborn, thumping down the hall that had been aflame, then disappearing into silence.  The seething pain diminished in intensity, but left him unable to move, drifting between conscious suffering and a sort of restless, dreamless sleep.



Above ground, where the fresh air breathed on the healthy, rosy cheeks of a Halfling buried deep in a comfortable embrace, her Human companion shot straight up in the palette bed as though she'd been branded with a hot iron.

"Goddess!"

"Huh?  Whaa?" the Halfling managed, well-startled.  "Matter?"

The Human, not unlike a spooked deer or hare, stayed still, but trembled with the physical anticipation of what move she'd make next.  "Hurt- no, dying- I- we- he- oh, Goddess!"

And by this time, the Halfling had come to her right mind.  "It's what you cast the spell for, isn't it?  Gimme my crutch and let's go."

"But the walk-"

"Crutch and let's go, I said," the Halfling crabbed in a nearly threatening tone.  "Didn't you expect your hag's hymn to work?   It worked.  So pack as much of your witchery up as you can, give me what you think I can carry, and let's go."

"I- oh- yes- yes, okay, yes," the Human managed at last, somehow dashing out of the bed over her companion toward her alchemic reagents.

"And calm down, Ami, you cast the spell, and it worked, okay?  We know he needs help, as you thought he might before he even left.  He probably just tripped some fool trap, or decided to drink bad ale, but he'll be alright, now.  We're going- Hag and Hop are on the trail."

2:22 Sister's keeper.

One veiled young woman, sitting on the ground behind Le Lune Silvestre, reading a book.

Apparently, anyway.

In her mind, she was counting to two hundred.  Beyond her, she could hear a distinctive male voice singing-

"Leo sisi kunywa, ndugu..."

-and the well-made tavern doors slamming shut.  She got up and looked around her.  Two women gabbing their way up the lane back toward the centre of the city, one visible guard, one unexplained male deeply considering the meaning of the first finger on his left hand.

"Kesho silaha zetu ladha damu..."

The woman tucked her book under her arm and marched resolutely away from the voice, heading in the same general direction as the guard, who seemed shocked to see her approach.  She supposed it wasn't every day that a priestess of Lliira was seen outside of a festival, but put on her brightest smile and waved to him as she walked past.  Three houses down, on the right side of the street, was a small house, upon whose door she knocked delicately.  A brightly dressed Elf quickly answered, taking a half step out of the house.

"Didn't like the night air, Ellie?" the Elf asked sweetly, then backed up slightly.  "Well, come on in."  When the door closed, the young woman was presented with a bag and pointed toward a closet door.  "Go ahead, there's nothing but roots in there."

Back at Le Lune Silvestre, the guard had just gotten punched for asking the Orc not to sing as loudly.  It had actually seemed like a reasonable request, but there was the little matter of reputation to uphold.  After laying the guard out with a right hand that could have shattered a brick wall, the Orc turned and sang his way up the street until a nicely dressed courtesan bent delicately down to inspect a ribbon on her garter that was, of course, perfectly fine.

"Huh," the Orc snorted, crossing his powerful arms over his chest.  "Girl like you'd bear a chieftain many healthy princesses."

The young woman picked up her curly haired head first, then slowly brought her upper body back up as well.  "Looking to feel like a chieftain?"

"Funny, too," came the response.  "Think you're good?"

"Why don't we find out?"

So the Orc reached forward and grabbed a fist full of the woman's hair, yanking her head back mercilessly and roaring into her face.

"Oooh," the woman managed in a strained, but teasing voice.  "Power- I like it.  My room's two houses down- and I'm an upstairs girl."

The Orc threw her forward a few steps, releasing her hair in the process.  "Let's see it."

On this side of Le Lune Silvestre, there wasn't a soul on the street that wasn't paid to be.  This western face of the tavern was the one that faced the predominantly Human area of the town, and most of them didn't frequent the place.  It wasn't for lack of curiosity, or because Humans were berated or physically mistreated, but instead because the prices for things strangely went up for them.  The quality of the food and drink was always excellent, and the Elven waitresses were famous for their sweetness, but a simple, common ale cost a startling 30 gold for a Human while the nearest half-Elf would pay a third of that amount for a stout.  This didn't keep roving Human males from picking over the various consorts that were to be had in the lanes nearby, so a few Human females risking their overall night's earnings for just a few customers that would pay top dollar frequented the area.  Only one other male was in the street at this time, however, and while he looked a little concerned at the Orc's handling, a sidelong glance and a snort from the powerfully built creature encouraged the much smaller Human to keep his reproach to himself.

After a short walk, the strange pair came to a cottage just hardly big enough to accommodate one family.  With a wink, the Human female opened the door and beckoned her prize inside.  The door was hardly closed behind the Orc before he made his move toward her, throwing her hair up over her head at once.

"Thanks for the concern," the female said laughingly.  "Honestly, I really am experienced with that sort of thing.  It smarts a little, but I was raised in Zhentil Keep.  I've put up with far worse."

"Talk all you want," the Orc responded with a sigh, satisfied.  "Bag?"

"Upstairs, like I told you.  Throw me on the floor, and I'll make a bit of noise."

He took the peasant shirt and trousers off, standing in unashamed nakedness for a few moments.  "Can't stand the clamhands?"

"It's awful," the woman laughed smilingly as she began to walk up the rickety wooden stairs that sliced the house in half.  "I never know what's in their trousers until they pull it out.  All petting and cuddling and smoothing- may as well be women."

So with little effort, the Orc walked up the stairs, hoisted the woman up by her waist at the top of them, walked straight into the small upstairs room with her and slammed himself and her down onto the floor as though he were a wrestler.  After a sharp intake of breath, the Human shook her head slightly as though she'd just splashed water on her face.

"Fabulous.  Makes me wish you could stay a while- so get going.  Even if your new pet were lame, she'd have to have gotten to the mark by now."

"I'm her pet tonight," the Orc responded.  "On probation.  Little impetuous, but smart.  In like a wind, quick."

"Big compliments, coming from you," the woman marveled.  "Never told me I was smart."

"You got a mouth, ask questions.  Clothes."

"Under the pillows- path's clear, and the other girls shouldn't come back unless they're worried that I'll snap like a twig, too."

With a forcefulness that took her breath away, the Orc sat on top of the woman and leaned down into her face with a snarl.  "When I'm ready to break you, you'll break."

Mi'ishaen re-wrapped the bootstrap around her leg for the fourth time, still amazed at it.  It wasn't easy to make boots that fit hooves instead of feet and legs that jagged awkwardly backward where most folks' stood straight.  But Stitches had done masterful work, turning out armor so well fitted that Mi'ishaen felt as though she hardly had anything on.  Dyed jet black, studded, padded and enchanted, Mi'ishaen had been hard pressed to take it, even with Rashiira's nearly offhanded belief that her ability would pay for it.

"Don't worry," she had shrugged.  "As I've said, we're useful to each other.  Go enjoy yourself until I find a project for you."

And this night had been that project.  Or perhaps just one of the many that were to be requested in the future.  Rashiira's words seemed to the Tiefling as uncertain as a changing wind.

A heavy hand weighted her shoulder, but she wasn't surprised at it.  "You're kind of late."

Stone gave Mi'ishaen a gravelly voiced snort.  "Other business- kept it short.  What's doing?"

"Two Elves.  Look full blooded to me.  Bunch of Humans running in and out, but just servants.  No scary guards, just five strategically placed, casual looking Elven fools counting their fingers or something equally as obvious.  I heard that most of them are great bow-masters, so you'd think they'd post up, but I've seen nothing of the sort."

"Race don't give you smarts.  They're mages, not rogues," Stone shrugged.  "Not many good spellbows."

"I need a leg up to the second level- I'll clean the prancers out."

"I got the finger-counters.  Closet window, right side?"

Mi'ishaen nodded, and the Orc moved into position first, kneeling down with his hands cupped at his chest level.   Mi'ishaen made it easily to the back corner of the house, then moved forward quickly to put her right hoof into Stone's waiting hands.  As soon as the two made contact, Stone launched the Tiefling  upward, sending her soaring like a shot arrow up toward the second story window, which she took hold of immediately, pushing her lower body away from the wall so that only her tummy hit the wall of the house with a cushioned thud.  She reached a hand up and pushed at the window to find that it was strangely unlatched- it swung open, but not far enough to smack on the walls.  Inwardly marveling at either the unwary trust or the haughty pride of the Elves, Mi'ishaen carefully pulled herself up and into the window.

By the time she had pushed the window open, Stone had spied the first guard casually making his way toward the rear of the house- probably after the shadowy figure who'd taken off like a dart from the corner of the house.  Posting up against the back wall and waiting until the guard had walked about four steps past him, the Orc suddenly moved forward, grabbed the much-smaller Elf's entire head against his shoulder and punched him straight in the throat with spiked knuckles.  Nodding at what was a clean job, for him, he waited until the blood stopped gushing from the holes, then laid the guard down and pressed himself against the back wall of the house again, waiting for someone else to get curious.

Mi'ishaen, who had stuffed a few biscuits into her mouth, opened the closet door just enough to tell that there were no guards on the upper level of the house at all.  Turning to her left first, she found that the door to the bedroom on that side was locked.  Nodding to herself, she pulled out one of the hairpins that she'd bought from the market earlier that afternoon.  She had no trouble picking the simple lock, and eased the door open carefully.  Inside, she was greeted with two sleeping figures on a double bed- either both Elves were sleeping in the same room, or the guards who were absent in the halls slept with their masters.  The Tiefling crept just close enough to note that both were at least of Elven descent, and that neither of them matched the description that Rashiira had carefully relayed to her the day before.  With another quiet nod to herself, Mi'ishaen backed away and scanned the room, forcing herself to take her time.  On the desk to her right, she noted a set of keys, and swiped them immediately.

Stone sat the fourth guard next to the other three and turned around to find the fifth behind him with his slender arms crossed.

"Why, thank you," the Eladrin smiled craftily.  "I've been trying to get rid of those half-breeds for years. While Dresan is right about many things, his toleration for Humans and their ilk is unbecoming.  Mixing with their kind gives you creatures like... say, Nithraz, doesn't it?"

Stone said nothing.

"A barbarian, I see," the High Elf continued as though the Orc had responded.  "Well, I won't tell on your little spree- if you'll be a good boy and do something else worth my silence."

The Orc turned his head to one side momentarily, then smiled as though he'd understood what the conditions were.  He turned calmly, whipped a knife out of a pouch and cut one of the guard's fingers clean off the hand.  Sticking that one into his mouth like a cigar, he sliced off another and turned to hand it to the visibly disturbed guard.  His shaken response prompted Stone to narrow his eyes and growl, playing the barbaric beast the Eladrin had expected him to be.

"Not hunter, prey.  Hunter eat prey.  Eat."  And Stone snapped his head to the side to quickly make the finger disappear into his tusked mouth.

"Of course, of course," the utterly terrified guard said quietly, his eyes darting around to see if anyone were around to help.  "No need to overreact- I- just- was- not hungry, eheh."

"Take," Stone smiled, instantly forgiving.  "Share, yes?  Come, take."

Seeing no other solution, the Eladrin moved forward to fib his way out of the situation.  But the two steps the guard took toward Stone's gristly offering were his mistake.  The minute he reached his hand out, Stone grabbed it and pulled him into an embrace that easily crushed his lungs.  Not wanting to visibly damage him much more, however, he let him drop to the ground, then sat on top of him and strangled him to death.  That done, he spat the finger out of his mouth, opened his victim's mouth and crammed it in.  The second finger he dropped on the ground near its original owner, glad for prejudice and simple ignorance.

After pocketing some exposed gold and a small ring, Mi'ishaen closed the door to the room she had been searching, leaving both inhabitants asleep.  Breaking the hairpin that she had been using in the door, she turned and sneaked down to the doorway that was on the other side of the closet she'd entered.  That door was open, strangely enough, and the bed had only one inhabitant.  Mi'ishaen assumed that this meant that the second guard was up and about for whatever reason, and so allowed her impulse to get in and out as quickly as possible to take over.  Seeing that this was the Elf with the longer hair that she'd seen before, she left the broken pin at the center of the dressing table.  However, while there, she decided to go through the drawers, finding a scroll and a darkened gem of some sort.  Deciding that it would be worth enough money to at least pay for the daggers, Mi'ishaen pocketed the gem to sell to the shark-like merchants that worked with Spectre.  Turning her attentions to the other various options in the room, she spotted a leather bound notebook at a short table just next to the sleeping Elf.  It was simplicity itself to swipe the thing- and while she couldn't tell what was in the book by its cover, she knew that at least the cover itself was expensive enough to warrant its taking- but her hunch had been right, and the bed's second occupant returned, closing the door softly behind itself.  By the time that person turned, Mi'ishaen had ducked around the other side of the dressing curtain and crushed herself into the corner.  There were a few breathless moments of concern as the person ambled around the room, but the hiss of the bed covers and the soft grumbles of the sleeping companion were comforting.  Mi'ishaen counted to one hundred, concentrating on stilling her beating heart and breathing as quietly as she could as she finished sneaking the book she'd taken into the largest pouch she had, which was behind her.

Stone had found two keys on his stooge, and nodded satisfactorily when one of them opened the side door. He assumed that the other was for the front door, which actually served as the entrance to the apothecary shop.  He took a few moments to sneak a peek at the front room through the curtains in the archway, and was amazed at the assortment of poisons and potions on display.  He found himself wondering if the kidnapped half-Drow that they were trying to find traces of were being forced to resupply her shop remotely from wherever the hell it was that she was being held.  Behind him, a window opened.

"Too good for stairs?" he asked without even turning around.

"The Elves have got their inner guards sleeping with them, right in the same bed," Mi'ishaen replied with a note of disgust.

"Had your girl in your bed, once," Stone commented, raising an eyebrow as he turned to look at her.  "Haul?"

"Dunno what's important.  Just took stuff that looks expensive- and keys.  A whole string of 'em."

"Seems wrong," the Orc frowned.  "Phoenix are stupid.  Wouldn't use locks.  Would use alternate dimensions, just to say they did."

"Cellar," Mi'ishaen noted with a brevity that her compatriot appreciated.  She fit keys into the cellar door quietly and carefully until one of them turned, then stopped.  "Wait- trap."

Stone nodded and moved the Tiefling out of the way by yanking on her tail lightly.  She flicked it instinctively, nearly catching him with her new tail knife, which made him smirk and give his head a slight toss to her.  When he turned to the small string that ran from the floor to the door, however, he was completely focused, and analyzed the situation for nearly an entire minute before placing his fingers on the bottom of the string and pulling while he cut the bottom.  He shifted his head to the side, and Mi'ishaen opened the door just enough for her to get inside.  Certainly enough, the rope ran clear through the door and was holding up a jar roiling with mageflame of some sort.  Mi'ishaen put her hand to the side of the rope that was on the inside of the door and stuck her other hand around to tap Stone and let him know that he could let go.  When he did, the weight of the jar surprised Mi'ishaen, who nearly moved forward.  Stone, having had the feeling that this would happen, quickly moved around the door and got his hands back on the rope.

"Go."

Alchemic ingredients lined the walls of the place, making Bahlzair's set up in the collapsed Avariel city look like child's play.  Mi'ishaen identified a few roots and herbs whose properties she still remembered, and was gratified to find a few useful poisons and healing potions.  When she stepped farther into the room, however, she noted that there was a large burn mark at the center of the floor, and some of the more delicate ingredients had been thrown to the floor as though by an earthquake.

"What happened here?" she marveled quietly.

"Fight," Stone said simply, putting the rope into the extinguished jar.  "Fire mage against alchemist, and the mage won, of course.  Look out for fire runes; they're loud, and they hurt- hey, that our girl's livelihood."

Mi'ishaen looked up from the poison shelf and shrugged.  "Who cares?  Look, I've got what, five potions, and this is a well-stocked apothecary.  I leave this here, it's like passing up a bag of gold sitting unguarded in a whole treasury.  What's five potions gonna hurt her?  At least it's going in my pouch instead of some Phoenix's."

"Wouldn't let your shadow hit a church, huh?" Stone replied with some small measure of disdain.

"M'lord works for a criminal coterie, so give the high horse a pass, won't you?" Mi'ishaen spat back.  "Oh, hey, here's another one of these stones."

"Another?" Stone echoed, interested.  "Don't recognize it."

"I'm taking it- if nothing else, they're probably damned expensive," Mi'ishaen noted.  "Give me that rope that tied that trap up too- okay, I'm done here, Sir Tenderheart, let's go."

"Go; I'll clean," the Orc sighed, his eyes narrowing at the epithet.  The Tiefling nodded, and both exited the cellar quietly.  Mi'ishaen slipped back out of the window in which she'd entered before, allowing Stone to pull it closed for her.  He carefully looked over the room, checking for anything out of place, but when he saw nothing that struck him, he moved through the curtains into the front room and easily picked the lock to the iron strongbox behind the wooden counter.  He was surprised to note that nothing was there, but shrugged and left the strongbox unlocked anyway.  After checking to see that there were no further witnesses- and indeed it seemed the Urmlaspyr guard was dreadfully slow to even come toward the direction of the half-Drow's shop- Stone exited the apothecary door and broke the handle from the outside to keep everyone as confused as possible for as long as possible.

As he wound his way quickly back toward the entrance to the tunnel that had been marked for him, he heard the echo of a little boy's voice, scolding.

"Ach, back to sleep with thee, Sparra, 'tis but a dream.  Tieflin's dinnae fly, eh?"

"But 'tis true, I swear it," came the plaintive female reply.  "I seen the tail dairtin' over me hed!"

And Stone smirked, because Sparrow's brother was unknowingly sparing her from having her neck snapped for being a witness to a Spectre operation.  He made a mental note to tell Mi'ishaen to avoid hopping rooftops over sleeping street children, since he really didn't enjoy killing them.

2:21 Magic in the stone.

"But your knowledge of the tales of the Raven Queen rivals my own," Svaentok laughed lightly, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.  "I don't see why you should be embarrassed at Shanna's invitation.  If anything, you should deeply consider her words."

Silveredge bit her lips and pushed a loose strand of her braided hair behind her ear.  "I thank you for that compliment," she began quietly, falling easily behind him when the path between the burial walls fell too narrowly to accommodate them both.  "She mentioned that she had said much the same to you, when you first came."

Svaentok nodded quietly.  "She did.  And I would have accepted her invitation, but Aric advised against it, warning me that my prowess in battle was a great source of pride for me- a pride strong enough to make me just as evil as those I had marked for destruction."

"That's not light counseling," Silveredge marveled.  "And Aric, though he is to be honored, is a caster, not a warrior.  You must have been furious."

Svaentok snorted quietly, pausing for a moment to think back to that time.  "Utterly irate.  I took up my glaive to show him who was the true master- then I agreed to the monastic path without his having to say another word.  For in the midst of that seething rage, I realized that he was absolutely right."

Silveredge put her hands to the stone, looking up at the smooth walls and ceilings that were beautiful in their functional simplicity.  She turned her gaze down the hall that seemed to stretch away from herself and Svaentok into a dimly lit infinity with uniformly cut arches that led to seven resting places.  One would not have believed that a war had happened in Urmlaspyr until they witnessed the silent testimony of all the clean burial places, or all the altars that held only ashes, or a treasured ring, or a fingerbone, because that was all that was left of the deceased.

"I overheard Shanna talking to Aric about personally overseeing Vhalan's teaching, if that's what you're worried about," Svaentok said quietly, turning over his shoulder to fix his gaze upon Silveredge's wide silver eyes.  "I know that last scrape with him was- a little less than endearing, but when he came to his senses, he submitted not only to his blindfold, but to his shackles.  He hasn't done that since I arrived.  And having Niku chained to him instead of sitting in a pen was a stroke of genius on Sakhma's part."

"I am confused about the way people treat Vhalan while giving him the title 'Brother,' " Silveredge admitted.  "I had offended him by touching his holy item- while I hadn't expected to be attacked with a weapon, I was by no means beyond reproach.  Shouldn't I too be punished?"

"He ought to let Aric take that old mace back to the traitors it came from."  Svaentok turned away and began walking down the corridor again, his face somber.  "Vhalan's not being punished; Aric is trying to help him to fight the encroachment of the malady on his mind and soul.   He's losing ground; unstable even while at his best.  This slow decent into feral mindlessness must be torturous for Aric to watch."

"I don't understand what you mean," Silveredge persisted, following Svaentok closely.  "He's just one man, not a beast."

"Not yet, at least," Svaentok sighed.  "Let Aric explain it to you, if he can bear to talk about it.  He and Vhalan were great friends, once."

"From what you've said, I will believe that they are greater friends now than they ever were," Silveredge stated simply.  "May we both be blessed with such people as will remain with us when we are in the grip of troubles we cannot dispel alone."

Silveredge thought of her companions as she and Svaentok continued to walk down the silent hallway lined with arches.  She had not seen Bahlzair or Seyashen for some time, nor had she heard of any developments.  She had, however, heard that the Urmlaspyr guard was complaining of the highest rate of murder that they had come against since the city was still part of Sembia.  One of the captains had met with Aric, suspecting that the cult had suddenly begun guiding people toward death a little bit more quickly than they would have preferred to go.  Aric promised complete compliance, so the guard questioned each member ferociously- when he got to Silveredge, he was still brusque enough to push her gaze to the floor.

But no one mentioned Vhalan, who was apparently never questioned at all.

Word of the robbed Hawke guard struck Silveredge rather deeply, and though she tried not to react, she had found herself before Aric, who had easily gotten her to confess her worry for Mi'ishaen.  Aric had suggested that perhaps the Raven Queen had woven her into Mi'ishaen's life as a counselor and a tempering force.  While he seemed to share Svaentok's concern about how strongly Silveredge cared for the Tiefling, he listened intently and expressed his hope that their shared fates would be positive in nature.

After some time, the two Shadar-Kai reached the level of the catacombs where a few warrior initiates were working on shaping new burial places.  While they worked with pickaxes and chisels, a few mage and monastic initiates sat in meditation, spiritually preparing the new spaces for the dead that would lay there.  Quilafae, her raven perched tenuously on her shoulder, spotted Svaentok and moved up to him quickly.

"Is it wise to bring a dedicant to oversee the first years?" she asked with a wise smirk.  "She might have pulled a good trick on Vhalan, but he's unraveling these days."

"I'm sure Shanna will send you a second-year warrior soon, but you'll have to be patient.  Everyone has had their hands full dealing with the Merry Mercies.  Erahgwyn was nearly arrested just this morning because one of them thought he was the Rooftop Reaver, and Sakhma's had most of the mage initiates in a conference about his situation for hours now."

"The Rooftop Reaver is a Drow, and if they're really looking for him, they're in the wrong temple," Quilafae sighed.  "How many dark Elves do they think get away with not being in the service of Lloth?"

"That's the trouble.  Here he is, in the earliest hour of the morning, putting out a dish of his own blood at the behest of his beloved, who refuses to come out of the temple to meet him..."

Silveredge didn't want to disrupt the conversation, but felt a strange, warm sensation that pricked its way up her arms and reminded her of Mi'ishaen's balefire.  Moving quietly and in shadow past Svaentok, Quilafae and most of the initiates, she stood in front of a solid stone wall that was currently the end of the catacombs, and looked around.  While three separate braziers threw off enough light to keep the acolytes working without fearing blindness, it made no sense that the heat that Silveredge felt seemed to be coming straight through the stone wall.  The Shadar-Kai felt as though she knew that there was some sort of magic item either on the other side of the wall or buried within it.

"What's the matter, Sister?" one of the initiates asked, wiping his brow as he looked up from his chisel work. "Not claustrophobic, I hope."

"Do the mage initiates also put enchantments in the stone?" Silveredge asked, kneeling immediately so that she was at the same level as the young man speaking to her.

"That's dangerous," the initiate replied, taken aback.  "If there were anybody going to put enchantments here, it ought to be the Shepherd.  We're all only just learning- can you imagine the number of wraiths or wights if some lack-wit botched the place up?"

"Let me have a look at it," Svaentok interrupted, having moved past Quilafae to stand just behind Silveredge.  "Go ahead and follow Quilafae back to the training room- mage and warrior alike.  Monastic initiates, go find Aric and tell him there may be a danger with the expansion."

"Elder," came the chorused reply as the warrior initiates put their tools down and helped the monastic initiates to their feet.  A few of the mage and monastic initiates were a little unsteady due to the interruption, prompting those around them to carry them on their backs up the narrow hall.

"Anybody'd think that you're the elder of everybody in this place," Quilafae commented offhandedly as she herself moved off.  "All my warriors are off like spooked fillies, carting all your little spellcasters without a moment's thought."

"I would expect the monastic initiates to respond the same way if either Shanna or Sakhma were to warn them out of someplace," Svaentok replied evenly, not even turning around to look at the Drow.  "I hope they won't stop to worry about path-rank when their safety's at stake."

"But it might be nothing-" Silveredge began, looking up at Svaentok with apology printed in her face.

"I sensed that there was something strange here as well," Svaentok said firmly, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet.  "Aric has trained me to be attuned to the presence of magic, but you go beyond that by nature- you actually feel it, like anyone would feel wind in their hair or water on their face.  If you can let me know where it seems strongest, I can try to divine its nature."

Silveredge turned back around, looking up at the ceiling and around her at the walls.  Her eyes fell on the abandoned tools, and she somehow felt a sort of kinship with them.  "I'm not sure.  I don't know how to tell; I only know that there is magic here somewhere."

"Empty your mind," Svaentok counseled, kneeling behind Silveredge without touching her.  "Focus on the natural silence here, and any aberration will then cry out to you."

Silveredge closed her eyes and sat with the tops of her feet flat to the floor, laying her hands in her lap.  After a few moments of feeling only her heart fluttering in her chest, the unnatural warmth returned.  With her eyes still closed, Silveredge put her hands to the floor and began crawling toward what seemed to be the source.  Oddly enough, it was toward the right of the hall, and Silveredge had to brush a few chisels to the side to continue her advance.

"It's not silent here," she noted quietly, afraid to disturb the sensation.  "There's a bird, calling.  It's not loud.  But it's like a warning, somehow."

Svaentok frowned- not a single thing about the fresh carving looked suspicious.  There were no runes, no obvious traces of alchemy work or any sort of signal that some initiate was trying to bewitch the area.  So he moved forward calmly, laying his hands on the walls and the floor slowly as he went.  Silveredge stopped moving and opened her eyes to watch him, and as she did, she could hear Aric's slow and steady advance down the hall.  She was just going to turn her gaze toward him when there was a loud ripping sound, as though someone had torn fabric. An intense burst of heat suddenly leaped out of the floor before her accompanied by the screeching image of a flaming bird that immediately shot up through the ceiling, leaving no physical trace of ever having existed.  When it died away, she realized that Svaentok was gone.

"It's alright, it's going to be alright," Aric instantly counseled, knowing the utter panic that would shoot through Silveredge's mind like an arrow.  "Svaentok's thread has proven to be rather difficult to cut on many occasions.  And, I recognize that cantrip, though it has been many years since last I saw it.  Come, daughter.  We will have visitors, soon."