2:32 Clay soldiers.

The tavern was relatively quiet, with only a few die-hard drinkers sitting at the bar, which Valryn attended with his customary buisness-like manner.  Illiam took the opportunity to give the place a thorough cleaning, and with the help of a few tenants and waitresses, was busy getting the booths and tables ready for the evening rush.  MacSairlen and Amilie had already been asked to move twice in order to accommodate the cleaning, but Aleksei had avoided the issue entirely by sitting at the bar and being a good sport- otherwise known as taking on three drinking contests at once.  Udala, meanwhile, was busy moving her things out of her room, cleaning various pieces of it as everything was cleared out of the area.

"Cer'ain fee canno' stand anofer hand, yeah?" Illiam asked, her radiant red eyes focused on the well-splinted Halfling.

"I'll live, trust me," Udala smiled, hobbling her way back through the tavern toward her old room.  "You know I've never had much."

"Sure," Valryn smirked.  "Just your oils, your knives, your hammers, your fifteen to twenty chisels..."

"Keep it up," Udala warned, glaring at him over her shoulders.  "I'll go get my staff- and take the ribbons off first."

MacSairlen, pretending not to notice Amilie's focus on Udala's progress, closed the log he had been skimming, sat it on top of the pile on his left side and picked up the last log on his right.  "Damning stuff.  An I were a ranking official of the land, I'd not waste a moment in skelping whatever creature's left in this operation."

"They took Cormites too," Amilie commented, taking her focus away from Udala and crossing her arms over her chest.  "This isn't just someone else's problem."

"Aye, aye, lass," MacSairlen soothed, realizing that he'd inadvertently hit a bitter spot.  "I can see the Cormites, and even if there were nane, this is- a larger scrape than I think Nithraz realized."

"He knew about this?" Amilie hissed at once.  "And did nothing about it?"

"Well, thou durst not whether he's done naething or nae," MacSairlen replied simply.  " 'Tis like that he's done plenty, only that thou seest it not.  Why bring this to me, and not himself?"

"I was told you were an honourable man," Amilie huffed.  "Though I wonder, having met you."

"Honourable, to be sure," MacSairlen laughed, lifting his eyes from the log.  "Which is why Voyonov keeps looking at me over his flagon."

"If he stares at Udala too hard," Amilie sighed, "she'll know that he's worried about her ability to get all of her things out- especially her tools.  I can't look at her at all, or it'll be a good argument, so he's doing me a favor."

Choosing to ignore the accidental indication that Udala would take more offense at Amilie's attention than Aleksei's, the Purple Dragon looked up sharply.  "He strikes me as one accustomed to cutting favors," he snorted, closing the log and laying it in front of him.  "With streetwalkers.  Thieves.  Killers- said he would find the Rooftop Reaver, and not only has he nae found him, he has nae so much as given a proper name."

"If you're thinking he's keeping secret information, he's not," Amilie replied, frustrated.  "He pointed out that the Drow that log is talking about is the Reaver you're looking for- which, for the moment, makes him a victim.  First of all, he can't go reporting to his cowardly commander when he can hardly stand.  That poison took hours to run its way out of him; he almost died.  Second, nobody can prosecute the Reaver at all if some Drow coterie has him."

For whatever reason, one of the drinkers at the bar attempted to get away from it, only to collapse to the floor.  Aleksei, who figured that would happen, calmly finished his drink, put his flagon down, and easily picked the soused man up.  After a quiet word, the two went outside together.  Udala, who had just began to bring her heavier toolbox out of her room, instead walked back toward her room to wait for the situation to clear.

"Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth, which he decided to call by his own name, is a peck of trouble of her own," MacSairlen continued.  "He's supposed to be searching for her as well, and surprise, there he goes- drinking himself into an early grave."

"No, I doubt that- he handles it well," Amilie mused, remembering the morning after the night she'd met him.  "Remembers everything you tell him- even things you may not want him to."

"Then it's definitely choice, nae the fault of the drink, that instead of doing his duty, he's sitting here, peering at me over his eighth pint," MacSairlen scoffed.  "I should clap the man in irons this second."

Aleksei re-entered the tavern, his hair bound up in his leathery tendrils- which indicated that he'd had to get too physical to allow his blond locks to remain free.  Realizing that Valryn was giving him a concerned look, he relaxed the tendrils and allowed them and his hair to fall into their natural places.  He seemed to give him a short explanation, which was followed by a sharp nod from the dark Elf and another drink.  Illiam didn't even bother to look up, continuing to scrub at a stubborn spot on the floor.  Udala peeked around the corner, and seeing the relaxation, felt free to carefully heft her equipment out.

"I've heard tell, through his people, of an Elf who is dedicated to turning a bunch of renegade, drug-using thieves and run-aways into a tribe truly worthy of the name," Amilie replied defensively.  "He isn't the only one with that kind of heart.  The Dragonborn- whose obvious drinking habit seems to him to be the least of his worries- might really want to try his hand at reshaping the Tiefling and the Drow.  Maybe it's some self-inflicted punishment for a crime too hideous for him to talk about.  Maybe it's a gods-given quest.  Maybe it's an unhealthy infatuation that will wind up putting him at the wrong end of a set of daggers or a poisoned drink, but you can't seriously think that the creature responsible for nearly single-handedly wiping the Stinger's influence out of the Dark Quarter is the type who would withhold necessary information from the defenders of justice?"

"The creature responsible for that near-lethal bit of vigilante work's also responsible for threatening and putting a heavy choke hold on his patrol partner," MacSairlen replied sourly.  "in public.  If the followers of Tiamat- who lay claim to his soul- had any questions about his being radge, he proved every one of them in front of a major spiritual leader."

"There's evidence of major illegal activity in front of you- guard-sanctioned coterie kidnappings and executions- and you're stopping to quibble with me about a male whose life choices are hardly any of my business," Amilie charged fiercely.  "Are you going to do anything about the documentation in front of you, or shall I take it to someone in a higher post?"

And at just the moment that the word left her mouth, Udala hustled back into the room.  Although she said nothing, the concern in her gaze zagged into Amilie's heart like a radiant bolt of lightning.  Five steps behind her appeared Nithraz, Trelwynen, and four other guards, swords drawn.

"Amilie Bejart, Udala Njenkoru and Guardsman Aleksei Voyonov, by the authority of the sovereign independent state of Urmlaspyr, I command you to come with us, accused of aberration," the half-Orc pronounced, ostensibly standing just inside the door of the tavern while the rest of the officers fanned out around him.  Illiam, who had just begun to work on the bloodstain at the foot of one of the booth benches, looked up at him as though he were mad, and only catching Valryn's calm first finger resting on his own lips kept her from immediately voicing her opinion.

"Here is your armor," Aleksei replied without even turning away from the bar.  "Take it, and me.  But these ladies are innocent, not doing anything unless I am asking.  Leave them alone."

"You were all seen cavorting with each other in an inappropriate manner," Nithraz replied grimly, glaring at the Dragonborn's back.  "And you have additional charges for doing so while you were supposed to be defending the people of Urmlaspyr."

"Which 'e done," Illiam squawked, sitting up on her knees and the tops of her feet.  "'E done wha's clear you wouldn've, clearin' out fem Stingers.  We'd've all been dragged to gods-knows where if 'e'd no' taken feir 'eads off 'em, an' fem women ain't abberashuns.  Udala's a healfy gurl, I ken- fere's loads o' men wha's 'ad feir go wif 'er, wif naery a peep o' abberashun."

"Sir, take your woman in hand, won't you?" Nithraz asked, looking to an astounded Velryn.  "She's spoken quite enough, considering she's not been spoken to."

"I beg your pardon, sir," Velryn replied with an even voice and a fierce glare, "but it's you and I who would be beaten beyond recognition, according to my rearing.  And the woman- whose name is Illiam, please note- is right.  I have never seen Udala commit an aberrant act, and she's lived here for nearly as long as Illiam has owned this place.  What proof have you of your accusations?"

"The eye witness of every thing that moves in Pete's Peppered Pots," Nithraz shot back bitterly.  "They saw these two women together, cavorting with this male."

"Fere's not 'alf a brain 'twixt fe 'ole lot o'fem," Illiam crabbed, "Fe way I 'eard it, fe sport were runnin' fe Stingers from feir door just like 'e done 'ere, and fis is 'ow fey pays 'im- wif rat tongues.  Plague an' balefire take fe lot."

"I say again that these ladies are not before doing wrong," Aleksei sighed, turning away from the bar and standing.  "It is me who is tempting them, like devil-"

"That's not completely true," Udala began, stepping forward.

"Aye, 'tis," MacSairlen whispered while staring directly at Amilie.  "The accused was also supposed to be searching for nae one, but twa criminals."

"This is true," Aleksei admitted.  "I am failing to find Mi'ishaen and the Reaver.  I make no excuses for how I am acting.  As the Wyrmkeeper is saying, I am having history of doing same thing.  And as I am walking toward destruction, I am taking others- innocents, who are not doing wicked things if I am not encouraging them."

Nithraz looked from Aleksei to Udala, whose glower was unmistakable, but Amilie's look of terror made him wonder at her.  "What have you to say about this?" he demanded, draining all the remaining color from her face. 

Unable to think of anything at all to say, she simply burst into tears.  Udala immediately thought to move toward her, but was shocked into stillness when Aleksei suddenly moved forward and picked Trelwynen up by his throat.  Illiam, similarly surprised by the movement, got up from where she was and darted to the other side of a center table.

"Why make those who you are protecting to act like this?" Aleksei demanded in a throaty rumble worthy of a dangerous brute.  "I am doing much worse things than choking Elves for the crying of a woman.  Take me now, while you are still having chance of fair fight."

"No," Amilie managed through sobs, nearly unheard.  MacSairlen kept his eyes steady on her, not allowing himself to weaken- he could sense that any crack from him would prompt her to defend him more vocally.  Illiam moved toward her, wanting to be supportive without knowing just how close to comfortably get.

The Dragonborn closed his functional eye, dropping Trelwynen out of the air with a step backward.  "Do not pray now," he breathed, turning his blind side toward Amilie.  "Wait until I am going to gallows."

"Arrest him," Nithraz commanded, not stepping forward to help the old Elf to his feet.  The four guards kept an uncomfortable distance, knowing they were little match for the creature they were supposed to be arresting.  Aleksei turned back to the bar table to pick the armor up, walked up to Nithraz and slapped it into his chest, pushing him back two steps- which meant he was outside.  Standing to his full height and striding proudly away, he left the winded half-Orc, the struggling Sylvan and the timid guards to follow him.

Above him, unable to be seen against the dark sky, a rogue with black leather armor turned away.

2:31 Prodigal son.

There were some inhabitants of Urmlaspyr that claimed that the Bone College had actually been built of bones, and that the souls of those who had once inhabited those bones were thus trapped in the building itself, haunting all those that entered, and sometimes preventing unwilling members in the cult of Afflux from leaving.  Most inhabitants ignored this quietly whispered belief, or if it ever came up in public discussion, threatened to burn those that had expressed such thoughts for witchcraft.  Aric, the "bone rattler" that most in the town looked to when they were afraid of spirits- real or imagined- held his peace about the place in which he'd learned some of his most powerful offensive spells.  He normally kept his distance from the place as well, but on this occasion, it couldn't be helped.

He did not have to even glance at the ornately carved walls to remember every picture, every word, every detail imprinted there.  He could have closed his cloudy grey eyes against the sight of the plush red carpets that rolled like the blood that they symbolized, and the Afflux-sealed banners that hung over the doors to the torture rooms, all the while still knowing precisely where he was.  Not a single poker or thumbscrew seemed to have moved since he had last set foot in the place- a fact that somehow gave some small, strange measure of comfort to him.   Perhaps, had anyone but Semnemac been guiding the course of the Bone College- this centuries-old, multi-level torture chamber- it would have degenerated into a sickening menagerie of various types of undead or an evil coven filled with macabre practitioners.  Yet here it stood, nothing more sinister than a center of intense study- albeit one that easily waved away moral boundaries that even most black mages would recoil from in horror.  As the Shepherd, he couldn't be glad of the atrocities that occurred in the "sacred" halls, but his natural practicality always reminded his agitated conscience that the "experiments" carried out there could have very well been worse.

Kaionne revealed a small, yet genuine smile at Aric's approach.  "The female hopes you will pardon the closed doors," she purred, opening her arms to him.  "It is not for lack of trust."

"Of course," Aric replied warmly, moving forward to grant the Grand Torturer the hug she sought.  "I sensed Semnemac's disturbance from the moment I turned down the street.  This seems to be- an unusually difficult struggle for him.  I'm afraid there is a situation in the catacombs that stalled my attention, but it has also revealed some unforseen allies.  As we speak, some of the Firebirds are 'reading the guts' on our behalf."

"Ah, an old practice- this one has not it used in quite some time, despite her- title," Kaionne sighed.  "But the old methods usually prove to be the best.  If Semnamac were teaching... well."  The Shifter, who had misted up with worry shook her head in the vain attempt to calm herself.  "There is a young lady inside- Arlwynna- who has been helpful.  She is skilled with herbs and roots, but also has a natural talent for hearing the voices of the earth that the female believe crosses over into divination."

"Interesting that she is here," Aric noted thoughtfully.  "Was she looking to deepen that natural talent into an educated understanding of the craft?"

"The story of her acceptance as a traveler through the Axis of Afflux is... an interesting one," Kaionne chuckled lightly.  "We will have her tell it for your amusement at another time.  For now, be wary.  Questioner Seyashen, whose side she will not leave but on pain of impropriety, has been trapped in some sort of nightmare since he laid eyes on the Cormite scrolls he sent for.  She believes that this reaction proves that her ancestor has led us to the right documents, and that the answers he sought are close to him.  However, with Seyashen's inability to help her..."

"And Semnemac?" Aric urged gently, placing a hand on Kaionne's shoulder as she turned to open the doors.

A short, huffed sigh escaped the Shifter, and a grave look crossed Aric's face at once.

"He- has not spoken," Kaionne managed after a few moments.  "Not a word, since the spirits howled in his ears about every mage that speaks with the spirit world being burned- that is why the female sent for you.  He will not leave this chamber, yet horrible screams come from here- his students fear the worst, beginning to talk among themselves about various types of merciful killings.  Even when the female nears him, he recoils- folds himself up like a new pup and covers his eyes, as though he didn't remember-"

"Enough," Aric soothed, his worn voice barely audible.  "I will do all I can."

Kaionne breathed deeply, composing herself, then opened the doors to Semnemac's private study.  At the table near the window, a lovely dark-skinned female of some kind of Elven descent pored over three open scrolls.  Nearly half the room away, laying on a well-dressed palette with a mere loinscloth covering him for decency's sake, was the pale, freely sweating form of Seyashen, whose eyes jumped under their lids.  And in the far corner, pressed all the way against the stone wall, sat Semnemac, utterly naked, and rocking back and forth rapidly.  It was clear from the darkening blotches on his skin that he'd either been rocking for some time or with a great deal of force, and his hair lay in strips all over his head, caked with sweat and dirt.

"My son," Aric began, his eyes instantly locking onto the miserable-looking Tiefling, "do not fight the message of the spirit.  Let her do what she can to tell you what she needs.  Lady Kaionne, I'm afraid you'd better go.  Semnemac is doing his best to restrain a spirit who longs to destroy all around her- even him."

The Shifter lifted her head for a few moments, but then nodded, knowing that this was no place for pride or a stubborn nature.  "He must be so tired- please-" she breathed as she moved behind the Human male to shut him in and herself out.

"I will do all I can," Aric repeated, trying to steel his heart.  Beyond him, Arlwynna looked up with a weary smirk, then turned her attentions back down to the scrolls.

The moment that the large wood doors closed, an inhuman growl arose from Semnemac's lips.

"She's gone," Aric began, allowing a fourth of his natural voice to resonate in the room.  He took a few moments to focus his gaze upon Arlwynna, surrounding her with a ward.  "Now- let her take the reigns.  You won't hurt your traveler- only me."

Semnemac's growl came to a gurgle in his throat, then finished in a hiss that fizzed between his teeth.  Then suddenly, he slammed his back against the wall with all his might and began hitting himself in the head with closed fists.  Aric began moving toward him slowly, and as he did, he heard Seyashen begin a low, pitiful moan- while still quite asleep.

"I think nothing of returning to this place- to the mage you need me to be," he repeated quietly.  "Release the girl- and trust in me, young speaker.  Stop holding the spirits back."

"Father, please help me," Arlwynna sighed, putting her face in her hands for a few moments.  "I don't know what to look for without Questioner Seyashen...would you believe I soaked those blankets in water?  They touched him, and all this steam rose up.  It was like spitting into a hearth fire."

"Who did he say he was looking for before?" Aric asked gently.

"There's a spirit that he's certain is Shadar-kai visiting him-and a lot of mages here- with hauntings of being cut up, poisoned, blasted with magic, beaten, stoned and burned to death," Arlwynna sighed, putting her hands back down on the desk.  "He and the Master Inquisitor call the her The Nameless- but I know her too, and... she's only a girl, a scared little girl.  I'd bet anything that she's from Thultanthar, based on what I've been told of that place, so... I don't completely understand why we have the Cormite execution and deportation records.  It's on my ancestor's word that we sought to retrieve them, but what creature in Cormyr would do any of those things to a child?  Cormites are relatively honourable people."

Semnemac stopped hitting himself and let out a blood curdling scream, which nearly stopped Aric's breath in his chest.  He glanced over to Arlwynna and was at first gratified that the ward held- then he realized that the screamed spell had not been meant for her at all.  He closed his eyes for a few moments, lifted his right hand to inscribe a letter into the air and breathed deeply, causing the letter to glow for a few moments.

"You cannot use your banshee wail, little daughter," he pronounced.  Semnemac watched with curious eyes as the letter faded into darkness, then turned an angry gaze toward Aric.

Within moments, out of thin air, an ominously dark cloud began to form.  Seyashen's moan grew louder, as though he were in grievous pain, and he began arching his back, which caught Arlwynna's attention.

"Hey, hey now- what hurts?" she began, getting up from the table edge and moving toward Seyashen.

"Get back," Aric warned without having to turn around.  "Stay away from him, for now.  Go back and search the scrolls for conjurers- any female put to death for that art.  I have my thoughts, but- start there."  The reek of acid began to permeate the room, but Aric managed to maintain a relatively equal distance between Semnemac and Seyashen, focusing on catching Semnemac's erratic gaze.  "I may prevent you from harming us, but I mean you no harm- show me what it is that will break your bondage to this world."

Semnemac curled himself into a ball, furiously shaking his head.  Seyashen shuddered, then began making sounds of protest, tossing and pulling himself away from some danger at his feet.

"Then, speak to me as a prodigal of this house- one who stood between the lands of life and death," Aric urged.  "Let me release you both from this suffering."

"There aren't any Shadar-kai conjurers listed here," Arlwynna fretted, looking over her shoulder to see Seyashen.   "A bunch of Shadovar practitioners, but... no one at all young enough to sound the way the Nameless did in the palace.  She's so young... she just isn't here... we might really be looking for someone else.  No Cormite judge would have ordered the burning and stoning of a small child."

Thunder rolled within the cloud, pressing Arlwynna's hands to her ears, but Aric, unfazed, reached out one hand toward the cloud without even looking at it.  "Begone," he rumbled with more than half the power of his voice.  The echo of it in the room was nearly as strong as the thunder itself.  The cloud retracted quickly, then disappeared, leaving only the tang of acid in the air as a reminder that it was ever there at all.  "Who am I speaking to?" Aric asked, still using half of his natural tone, but careful to keep himself calm.  "A young woman furious with her fate, or a little girl born into rage and fire?"

Semnemac stopped all motion completely for a few seconds, putting a dark glare into Aric's eyes that seemed to bore into his soul.  Then, without warning, he tackled the scarred old Human, who groaned with pain.  Seemingly happy with this, Semnemac sat atop Aric and tried to find what might hurt him the most.  Arlwynna, able to see this, moved a single step toward the two older males before bare fear stopped her.

"You react very poorly to the positive mention of Cormites- and worse still to the one talking to you," Aric breathed, steeling himself against the waves of pain.  "Cormyr has done wrong by you, hasn't she?  What has she done?"

At first, Semnemac leaped up and crushed himself against the corner, then suddenly Aric felt a column of intense heat descent on him.  He closed his eyes briefly, lifting his right hand up, folding the ring and pinky finger slightly and bringing the remaining three upraised fingers down slowly in front of his face as though he were splitting it in half.  "Of no effect," he breathed.  The sensation of being burned dissipated immediately, though when he opened his eyes again, he could see the walls of the column of flame around him.  "Can you hear me, my daughter?"

"Just hardly," Arlwynna replied loudly.  "That thunder- really hurt."

"There's no one under the age of thirteen, you said?" Aric asked, watching the column around him rage for a few more moments before dissipating.

"No," Arlwynna despaired.  "And no Shadar-kai- but maybe... maybe she wasn't listed as Shadar-kai," she suddenly mumbled thoughtfully, running her fingers down the pages again.

Seyashen's moaning became outright wailing, and Semnemac's eyes darted to him at once.

"It's familiar, isn't it?" Aric coached, now sitting up with great effort.  "The poisons, the agony- the fire.  You enjoy seeing what it's like to cause that pain to others, don't you?  You are avenging the fate of the one who would not harm others with her arts- but did she ever think to do that?  To her own people?  Her own family?"

Semnemac's gaze snapped back from Seyashen to Aric, but instead of being filled with rage, there was a look of uncertainty.

"I want to help you reach peace," Aric urged as he struggled to get back to his feet.  "Daughter, stop looking for Shadar-kai.  Look for Cormite female conjurers that were of childbearing age-"

"Talk to me!" Seyashen finally screamed.  "Please!  I feel the burning, I see the stones, but why don't you speak?  Please, speak!"

"What if it can't?" Arlwynna suggested, watching the hornless Tiefling squirm uncomfortably on the palette.

"Questioner Seyashen, the spirit that you are trying to speak to was a Cormite, correct?" Aric asked calmly, deciding that he simply would have to wait for help to get back up.

"Yes," Seyashen replied, panting.  "She hears you, she's shaking her head yes."

"Back to the beginning, then," Arlwynna said, starting at the top of the list.  "She must have been executed for conspiring with Semmites."

"She dealt with Semmites, yes, but no, she isn't a traitor- definitely not," Seyashen breathed, trying unsuccessfully to calm himself down.  "No, don't cry- don't cry.  It was a mistake- she made a mistake.  It'll be all right-"

"We know she didn't do what they think she did, little spirit.  But what else should we know?" Aric whispered to Semnemac's trembling form.

"Well, wait," Arlwynna began, carefully looking through a few entries.  "There are some women here specifically executed for infidelity.  The punishment for that is public beating, then stoning, even if the woman is obviously pregnant.  Better to kill the bastard than allow it to suffer through life ostracized, I suppose."

Semnemac's gaze shot up from Aric to Arlwynna, who didn't even realize that she'd insulted a spirit present in the room.  Aric noted the drastically changing countenance and raised his right hand at once.  "Her pain will not satisfy you- our lives are not enough for you."  Semnemac's eyes shot back to Aric, seizing his spirit and draining power at once.

"No, no- stop, little girl, she wants you to stop," Seyashen replied.  "She wants to comfort- no, to protect-?  What?  Don't cry, please don't- wait- oh!  Her tongue- it's... just gone..."

"Okay...?" Arlwynna began, turning her body around so that she could really go over the scroll closest to her.

"Female Cormite conjurers- perhaps even necromancers- early in childbearing years, who had their tongues cut out," Aric replied wearily, warding himself against the spirit's entropic force.  "Punishment for treason, usually..."

"There's only one- and she is a necromancer.  She was tortured, whipped, stoned and burned, instead of just burned," Arlwynna murmured, almost to herself.  "And by the goddess- at just fifteen years old.  Only her first name appears- Abethann."

"Yes," Seyashen agreed immediately.  "That's her name."

"She was publicly disowned," Aric sighed sadly.  "The Nameless, indeed.  Both mother and child could claim such a title."

"Stoned for infidelity," Arlwynna mused.  "Which I suppose is understandable, but tongue cut out for- conspiracy?  High treason- how could she have done that at fifteen?  They did this all in front of the whole town- as though torture death sentences were great sport."

"Depending on the populace, it is sport," Aric sighed, nearly to himself.

Semnemac leaped up suddenly, stretching out his hand and attempting to inflict boils on Arlwynna.  Seyashen sat up and leveled a dread gaze on his tutor.  "See your death," he pronounced gravely.  Semnemac looked at Seyashen with surprise, and when he did not show any sign of fear, Seyashen became confused.  Aric twisted his hand in the air, binding Semnemac without having to say a single word.

"Well, don't worry, Abethann," Seyashen whispered after a few moments.  "It's Aric who stopped her- my spell- failed."

"Not because of its caster.  For all intents and purposes, my son, you're speaking directly to Abethann's daughter," Aric explained.  "Semnemac uses his own body as a conduit for spirits, instead of merely speaking to their spectral forms, as you do.  It's extremely effective, especially if the spirit was, while alive, physically unable to speak- but this method is also why his grip on sanity is...perhaps a little less firm than the rest of us would prefer."

Seyashen breathed, laying back down.  "That would guarantee that the spirits are treated properly- that their desires are truly understood- and listened to- it's brilliant."

"I'm sure he'd disagree, if he heard you say so," Aric smiled.   "He's aware that allowing an angry spirit with extreme magic tendencies to have full reign in a fully functional body that is already very much attuned to high-level magic practice is... perhaps a bit more dangerous than brilliant.  He expends a great deal of energy choosing which spirit may enter, and then controlling it once it does.  This child is a true necromancer- for all his trust in me- in the man I was, anyway- Semnemac hasn't allowed her to do half of what she wanted."

Semnemac sat down, looking around himself with curious and fearful eyes.  Seeing this, Arlwynna walked over and sat at Seyashen's feet, a short distance away from Semnemac.

"Hey, little girl- hi!" the Shadar-kai smiled, waving a hand in salutation.  "Remember me?  I'm Wynnie!  I told you stories, remember?  About my great-grandmother?"

Semnemac blinked a few times, then recognition crashed over his face, bringing with it a radiant smile.

"Oh, Abethann likes that," Seyashen reported.  "I'm sure she knows it's Master Inquisitor Semnemac, but she's enjoying the smile, nonetheless.  She's close to you- looks like she wants to comfort you, because of Miye."

"I'd be satisfied if we didn't have to call the poor waif 'little girl' or 'Nameless,' " Arlwynna noted.

"Who says you have to?" Aric protested.  "You've clearly laid solid groundwork with her- why don't you name her?"

"Oh, I- I don't know if that's my place," Arlwynna managed, visibly crumpling.  "I just got here- I- I can't speak with the dead, or do necromancy.  All I do is make potions, do a little divination- that's it."

"No, Abethann likes the idea," Seyashen urged.  "She really likes it- please, do it for her."

Semnemac scooted himself over to Arlwynna, taking her hand and looking into her eyes.  In his gaze, Arlwynna saw the beautiful crystal palace in which she told stories to a child too far to touch- or that she thought had been.

"He is brilliant," the half-Drow nodded.  "I didn't understand, until now.  That place- you weren't lost in it; you were it.  Is that right?"

Semnemac nodded slowly, his chin tucked nearly to his chest as he did so.

"How about... Te'valshath?  It means 'lovely palace'- because it was so beautiful, and I'm sure you are, too."

Semnemac looked over to Seyashen, who paused a few moments before nodding.  "Abethann agrees," he reported. 

"Abethann and- Te'valshath- are both here- literally in the stone of this place.  This town is their focus- it's where they died, and they have unfinished business here," Aric sighed.  "It's clear that Abethann was merely trying to get a message to a mage who would listen- it's the daughter who is the one most in danger of becoming a  true wraith.  Her rage is understandably fierce."

"Abethann is from Marsember," Arlwynna offered.  "We can go back to the birth records and see if there's an Abethann whose birth is recorded fifteen years before this date."

"The Stonerows," Aric sighed, remembering.  "They're on the second floor, right side, all the way on the far wall.  All official Cormite records, as well you know, should have a dragon seal on them."

Arlwynna curtsied, then let herself out of the study room.  Aric watched the doors close.

"So many years, and not a speck of dust out of place."  The grey eyes perused the room until they fell upon an unfamiliar journal.  Semnemac made a whining noise, wrapping his arms around himself nearly instantly.

"That's out of Arlwynna's shop," Seyashen explained.  "The Phoenix had captured her because they thought she might be able to help them get in contact with the spirit who was causing the nightmares.  Apparently, while there are quite a few petty necromancers, there aren't many of them skilled, or even trained, in divination."

"You say 'petty necromancers,' " Aric began, moving slowly toward Seyashen.  "What do you mean by that?"

"They use spirits like anybody would use a hammer, or a wheel," Seyashen explained.  "No respect, no care for their wishes or needs.  All they care about is power.  Many mages were getting the messages, but no one was acting on them."

"Well," Aric nodded as he sat in Semnemac's chair and began to look through the journal.  "Semnemac must have received them as well, but waited to embody this child until he had help- a kind of help beyond that which I could offer.  The path of Afflux has done you well.  May it continue to make a responsible bone rattler out of you."

"I'll still end up a dangerous lich in a cave somewhere, won't I?" Seyashen smiled sadly.

Aric closed the journal and looked over his shoulder at Seyashen.  "The threads of fate are just that- threads.  They twist.  They strain.  They get dirty, but they can be cleaned.  And the pattern, the great tapestry that the Queen herself was fated to weave- it can change.  But have faith, Questioner- your fate may be brighter than any of us could imagine."

"Can faith and inquiry exist together?" Seyashen mused, almost to himself.

"That is an excellent question," Aric conceded.  "And one whose answer changes from soul to soul."

Chains of Destiny 2:30 Misdirection.

Bahlzair gently pulled the sandy brown hair of the young Human female back behind one ear with a quiet sigh.

She had been tired when she arrived- and understandably so, since she had arisen early that morning to begin her trek to Shadowdale and returned in just fourteen hours.  Bahlzair made sure that he was cleaning when she arrived, as it seemed that the longer he scrubbed at some imaginary spot on his knees, the more enchanted the general female populace became with him.  He'd looked up, caught her eyes, pulled his face into a boyish half smile, then looked back down to his work.  Just that had been enough to give her pause, and once she paused, Bahlzair sat back on his ankles and really looked at her.  Had he been working with a Drow female, such defiance would be rewarded with a good beating, but because the woman was Human, he could nearly feel her own rebellious spirit radiating within her.  She sat down, smiling shyly at him, and he lowered his eyes to get back to work.

"Hey," the female interjected, kneeling down next to him and lifting his head after having watched him for a few moments.  "All you ever do is clean, or fetch or carry, and nobody even thanks you, so- thank you."

Bahlzair played shy, lowering his eyes away from her own and pulling his lips in slightly between his teeth.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that some other female- he wasn't sure whether it was a Drow or not- was able to see the encounter.  He moved his right hand as though he were going to touch the hand that the woman had placed on his face, but then turned as though he had thought better of doing so.

"Wait," the Human whispered, pulling his gaze back to her.  "Do you- want to touch my hand?  You can.  Don't be afraid.  I'm no one special; I won't tell."

Looking deeply into her eyes with a breath he would not release, Bahlzair slowly brought his hand up to her own- touching it gingerly at first, then resting it gently on top.

"There- isn't that nice?" the Human burbled, her joy at this small show of Human-like affection radiant enough to light the dark quarter.  "You don't get touched a lot, do you?"  Bahlzair simply shook his head- a minuscule movement that barely moved their hands, and the female huffed quietly.  "Huh.  No appreciation, no tenderness- not even kindness- I couldn't live a life like that..."

Bahlzair smiled sadly, turning his head to lean against the inside of the woman's palm, then returned to his work.  A few moments later, her dove-white hand had been placed over the one that was scrubbing the floor, and Bahlzair turned his blood red gaze up toward the brown eyed female again.

"...and neither should you."

Of course, Bahlzair was interested in the female's reaction to kissing his mouth, and allowed her to explore it as deeply as she dared, even though her attempts to move his tongue were agonizingly painful for him. It was either blind luck or some benevolent god's intervention that kept the messenger from killing herself that way, since he would have thought nothing of delivering another unmarked package of "fresh meat" to the cook.  She instead laid herself on his shoulder with the garbled excuse that perhaps her long trip had not only worn her out, but sickened her.  Bahlzair, figuring that he was still being watched, picked her up and carried her into the apothecary's room, which was strangely, but conveniently empty.  There, after pulling tenderly at her hair and wondering how much potion reagent he could boil it down to, he picked the message from Esvele's successor out of her pack and looked it over.

"You waste my time by provoking me to send another missive, especially because you could divine most of this information merely by sticking your head out of that hole in the ground you've claimed as a holdout.  The Stingers, sorely in need of the services the Drow male could have provided, have been wiped out by a single Dragonborn, as I foretold.  When I send my emissary for that male, I expect him to return with him without any further hesitation.  Had you requested a chew toy from the Underdark or wherever else, it would have been provided you, but you cannot claim this captive as though it had been your idea to take him in the first place.   Remain in constant contact with the Phoenix, as I am loathe to listen to another one of Dresan's rambling complaint letters against you.  Do be wary, as there is little standing between yourself as swift retribution from not only your own house, but revenge from other houses in the names of the daughters lost at the hands of the creature that you harbour.  I expect you will also have to take firmer control within your own ranks, as there is obviously a breakdown in communication between you and those you presume to lead.  You are, of course, far more familiar with the manner in which the Drow express their displeasure than I could claim to be; therefore, be prudent, and do as the long-standing ally of your house has required of you.  I, a Human, could hardly present much of a case against those of your own kind, if they truly make up their minds to destroy you.  
-E"

Bahlzair studied the message for a few moments, memorizing the shape of the curves, the slant of the lines and the space between the characters.  Then, searching through the workshop until he found a free bit of parchment that should have been used to record a potion recipe, he drafted a kind revision of the original letter. The work, hastily done, barely had time to dry before Imylshalee entered the study room, so Bahlzair slipped the true letter under himself and left the forgery out.

"Well, Suspolin was right, for a change."

Bahlzair squinted at the paper, frowning with effort, which brought Imylshalee a little closer to the situation.  She tapped the table at which he was sitting, which prompted him to look up with a start.  Apparently terrified that she'd caught him at a forbidden task, he slid himself away from the table and dropped into a kneel.

"What's this you're trying- oh, the Greycastle pretender's letter."  The Drow female reached across the table and tapped Bahlzair on the head to get him to look at her, then crossed her arms.  "You were trying to read this?"

"Yes," Bahlzair signed without hesitation.  "Some of the letters are beginning to mean something."

Imylshalee grunted to herself.  "Well, stop it.  This isn't meant for you to practice with; let Suspolin give you some lists of ingredients to burn your eyes out upon.  What's the matter with this bitch?  Is she dead?"

Bahlzair turned his gaze to the Human on top of the table next to him, then reached out a hand to feel her head.  "Not yet dead," he signed, "but feverish.  It seems someone had poisoned her on her way."

"Oh?" Imylshalee replied, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.  "And that someone wasn't you, Master Poisoner?  Suspolin made no secret of the way the little wench was pressing her hands to your face.  You didn't want to force her to stop?"

"She did kiss me," Bahlzair signed.  "And I tasted the poison on her lips.  I give thanks to the Spider Queen, for it is she who must have strengthened my blood against whatever it was; I could not tell the substance by its taste."

Imylshalee frowned, clearly uncomfortable with this explanation.  "And instead of preparing an antidote, you stop to read the message she carried?"

"At this stage, there is no drought I can pour down her throat without choking her," Bahlzair signed in reply.  "I could only wait.  So, as I waited, I passed the time trying to decipher that paper.  I did not wish to leave her alone, lest she die while I were away."

"Then stay there still, and I will carry this up to Nedstra," Imylshalee pronounced.

But just as she turned away, another messenger- the same Human who had managed to bring Bahlzair into the cavern in the first place- arrived.

"Here's the word from Dresan," the healthy woman panted.  "He's in a right state.  Curses and balefire, from the moment I crossed his threshold to the moment I left his sight.  You'd think they'd arrest and burn the like of him.  Says he wants your response and the second half of shipment this very day, by your own hand, or he'll open the maw of Baator under our feet."

"I told Nedstra that he'd respond that way.  I won't draft him anything new, but I will bring him the invoice at last.  Go get that for me, and I'll go pick up the rest of the shipment from Velryne."  Reaching over the table to yank at Bahlzair's hair, Imylshalee handed the forgery back to him.  "Go take this to Nedstra, and be back as soon as possible.  If this woman dies, you'll get a beating to make your house matron cry."

Bahlzair bowed, listening to the departing footsteps of both messenger and assassin.  When he could hear them no longer, he got up, listened to the Human's breath, then left with both messages.

Nedstra, busy with splitting the payment from a recent haul between three very displeased young women, at first allowed Bahlzair to stand at the entrance way to her area for nearly half an hour.  It took another fourty five minutes to answer all the complaints about why the haul was being split as it was, but Bahlzair, knowing that Imylshalee would be gone out to deliver the poison, soul gems and dye that Dresan was demanding in tones fit for a demon, did not mind the wait.  When he did have Nedstra's attention, he stepped forward with both letters in hand.

Nedstra looked at both letters- first, one at a time, then one beside the other.  Looking up, she found Bahlzair's intent gaze on her.

"Where did you get these from?"

"Imylshalee," Bahlzair signed, using the meanings of her name to create the name instead of spelling it out.

"She had both of them?"

"The messenger that fell ill in my arms brought the one at your left hand.  Imylshalee handed me the other," Bahlzair replied.  "But I left with both."

"What happened to the messenger?" Nedstra asked, curling one fist under her chin.

"She was poisoned.  I sat down to study the characters of the letter you have at your left hand while I waited for her to get to a treatable condition, and there Imylshalee found me."

Nedstra leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest.  "And she handed you this letter, the one at my right?"

"Yes," Bahlzair signed back.  "She read that one, but not the other."

"Of course she didn't," Nedstra huffed to herself, looking down at both letters.   She got up with a sigh, rummaging through her belongings to come up with a clean sheet of parchment and a fresh quill.   "One Dragonborn decimating the whole hive of Stingers.  Tales of discontent at home.  Demanding that I 'request' a 'chew toy' in the place of the male I clearly intend to be paid for, all in a tone haughty enough to be a queen's.  Well done, bloody thin-boned bitch."

The Drow female had drafted a reply in minutes, hardly waiting for the ink to dry before sealing it with wax and handing it over to Bahlzair.  "Put this right into Imylshalee's hands- no one else's.  And when you do, come straight back here and tell me how she responds."

"But the first messenger-" Bahlzair began to sign with one hand.

"If she dies, she dies," Nedstra spat acridly.  "Let her go with whatever gods or demons will have her.  You do as I've told you- now!"

Clambering with practiced awkwardness, Bahlzair hustled away from the eyes of the self-appointed matron of the ridiculous piece-meal "house."  Peeking into the apothecary's study, he spied Suspolin working at her table.  The Human female had been moved from the front table to the thin pile of hay upon which Bahlzair himself was used to sleeping.  Deciding to leave that area alone, Bahlzair turned himself back around the corner, stretched out his hand, and visualized his hand picking up the quill and ink pot that he'd left on the table earlier.  As he pulled his hand back in toward his chest, the quill and ink pot pulled themselves around the corner and floated at his eye level.  Taking them up, he pushed himself between the platform and a ramp that led beyond the apothecary's first-level work space and had a look at Nedstra's reply.

"While I am willing to work together with Dresan, I protest at making any contact with the Stingers.  I do not intend to turn this place into a slave's nest, and it was my understanding that they are capable of making their particular poisons on their own.  I would be inclined to take over for the Rattails and relinquish the male known as Bahlzair to you for just two hundred gold more than we are currently receiving.  However, if that is not possible, I will start negotiations at one hundred seventy five gold with replacement supplies.  We cannot be expected to do the quality work that we do while scraping around for armor and armaments as the Rattails and the Stingers might be satisfied to do.  They are untaught bands of psychopaths, held together by shared mania.  We are professional assassins,  guards and mercenaries, held together by training, if not by blood.  We must receive the same consideration and respect as is paid to the Phoenix, who can, truth be told, do much less than we can, as can be understood from the recent robbery of Dresan's very home.  Please consider these terms seriously.
-N"

Nedstra's handwriting was clunkier and more firmly pressed to the paper than her Shadowdale compatriot's, so it was even easier for Bahlzair to scribe a document that looked fabulously like her original work.  He spent only a few minutes doing so, then checked his surroundings for witnesses.  Finding none, he pulled himself back out of the space between the platform and the ramp to the second level areas, walking back into the apothecary's work space as though he didn't have a freshly used quill and inkpot in his hands.  Suspolin, as he suspected, still had her back turned to the entrance- an unwise position overall, in terms of being stabbed in the back.  The Human female looked rosier than she had before, which Bahlzair took as an unfortunately healthy sign.  Putting the ink pot and the quill away, he drew a bowl of water from the water barrel just inside the door, sat down at the front table and began tearing strips from the original document.

An hour later, Imylshalee returned from her trip to the Hawke manse, and the original letter from Nedstra was nothing but a soaking mass of pulp at the bottom of Bahlzair's bowl.   Seeing her entrance easily from his position, Bahlzair left his doings,dried his hands and ran out to bow before Imylshalee with the note raised above his head.

"Nedstra actually handled something in a timely manner," Imylshalee mused, picking up the letter.  "And she sealed it- she never seals things."

Bahlzair had to stop himself from smiling when he heard the crack of the wax seal being broken.  A few moments afterward, his hair was yanked at.

"You've done well bringing this right to me.  From now on, always bring Nedstra's correspondence to me first- but don't go talking about it."

"Yes, mistress," Bahlzair signed quickly.  "I must go and report your reaction to her letter, as she requested- what should I say?"

Incredulous amber eyes stared at Bahlzair for a few silent moments before responding.  "Tell her I gave it to a rested messenger to be delivered right away.  Go quickly- she may be impatient by now."

So Bahlzair got back up and dashed up the ramps that led to Nedstra's area.  She had indeed been impatient, as was evidenced by the remains of a half cup of wine and the center jellies of a dozen unfortunate boiled cream treats.  She hated the centers, as Bahlzair realized- though he wasn't quite sure of why yet.  It couldn't have been the flavor, since she would indiscriminately devour most types of fruit merely because they were sweet.  She hardly allowed him to bow before she shot him through with a question.

"Well?" Nedstra demanded immediately, leaning back from her desk.  A map of the Dalelands sat upon it, smeared with the cream from the treats.

"She took the letter, read it, then told me to tell you that she gave it to a rested messenger to be delivered right away," Bahlzair reported.

"Interesting," Nedstra mused, poking at one of the separated raspberry jelly centers.  "Did the messenger die?"

"No," came the signed response.

"Excellent.  Go back to Imylshalee and tell her that I want that very same girl to go out again tomorrow- unaccompanied.  Let me know what she thinks of that."

And Bahlzair bowed immediately, more to hide his contemptuous smirk than to show any deference.

2:29 Wicked things.

In what would have been the brilliant noonday sun, if it had been anywhere else but the dark quarter of Urmlaspyr, Aleksei sat on his palette, tensing and releasing each muscle.  Udala was busying herself in the mostly-completed kitchen on his right, and on his left, Amilie sat at a tatty round table with Darelove and Fairwillow.  Snakesoul, who seemed to never speak, leaned on one of the new beams that would soon support a wall and a front door, looking out into the seemingly endless maze of torchlit backstreets.

" 'Dark Elf brews strong poison- nearly immediate kill.  Burned through two abduction teams and a messenger from Nedstra.  Mentioned him to Greycastle's apprentice, haven't heard back.'  And a few days later, 'Elf is with his own below; should get him from Nedstra tomorrow or day after.  Took in new batch; one clearly too old.  Won't be able to get much juice out of her before the end-' "

"This is disrespectful way to speak of elder," Aleksei sighed.  " 'One who is not respecting his elders shall not live to see the age they ridicule,' this is old teaching of my father's land."

Greenstar, who had previously been laying on the bare floor next to Aleksei's palette, rolled over and wordlessly took the Dragonborn's half green-scaled hand up into his own.  After a brief glance to check if the Elf were going to do something strange with it, Aleksei left him alone.

"There's wisdom in that.  Many cultures have similar maxims."  Amilie allowed her slender fingers to flit through a few pages before stopping to read again.  " 'Will continue to torture the witch.  Same dreams as Dresan's camp; vivid, complains of girl crying from the stone.  Need to get as much as possible before the creature dies.'  So, what did they do to you?"

"What didn't they do is a better question," Fairwillow sighed.  "Just ask Aleksei how I looked when he saw me first.  But it had seemed as though it were more for entertainment than for information- the Stingers weren't very well organized.  There was never a clear leader, only a person or two who seemed less crazy than the rest every now and again.  When I was taken, that one person was Perry."

"You met the guy, or heard of him?" Amilie asked, an eyebrow arched high.  "Did anyone see you go?

"Yes, got brought right to him right away.  And as for anyone seeing me go- actually, a guard muttered something about how we 'gypsies' are going to make havoc in the marketplace- as though we were going to run into the center of town and rob everyone blind," Fairwillow shrugged.  "I didn't think too much of it at the time.  Plenty of people complain when we show up, and use worse slurs than that, to boot.  Of course, some of us really do steal or lie to get by, although Deadriver is doing his best to make that unnecessary."

"He who deals with the immovable mountains with a nature that bends like water is wise," Greenstar muttered, almost talking to Aleksei's hand.  "You can blame experience, but if that's so, then your mother passed it to you in the womb, for you are the son of her heart."

Aleksei looked at Greenstar for a few moments, noting the intensity with which the Elf was poring over his hand.  "Much of that is having scars, little brother," he suggested calmly.

"That's well said, big papa.  We all got our share, on the inside," Greenstar replied.  "Scars scare most folk- they're good for keeping namby-pambies who would wind up doing you wrong at a healthy distance.  But they won't hide you from everyone.  You know that."

"Funny they would look for this out-of-the-blue Drow before tapping Arlwynna," Amilie mused.  "She's the best apothecary- and poisoner- Urmlaspyr has to offer.  She's practically a savant- and prices fair.  Just about every weed I've got passed through her hands first, and she's taught me to substitute things safely, when I didn't have enough gold for what I really needed."

"Perhaps this Arlwynna was too tough to capture," Darelove suggested with a shrug.  "If she's the only good apothecary, people would notice her missing."

"Or maybe she was elsewhere- she's wont to go to Cormyr or to the Dalelands for trade," Amilie nodded, flipping through a few more pages.  "Oh, wait- no- the Phoenix had her?  The Stingers made note of a Phoenix capture- I don't get it."

"I don't even know what the Phoenix are," Udala snorted, trundling over with a bowl of stew and sitting it on the table.  "But I guess everyone else here does?"

"They must be a mage's guild of some sort.  The Stingers were constantly chatting about how I was going to get kicked over to them, because I'm a magic worker," Fairwillow sighed.  "But they seemed to have trouble either contacting the person in charge over there or getting them to do anything about me.  You know how mages are always in their scrolls and records and books."

"So they must have had trouble getting Arlwynna away from them, as well," Amilie concluded, closing one log book and going back to another.  "Which leads them to ask the Greycastle witch for this poison-making Drow."

"Bahlzair," Aleksei supplied, laying back on his palette and closing his eye.  "But it is foolish to think that anyone is being in charge of him for long.  If this Greycastle is sending him to Stingers, I would be having no one left to fight but him when I am arriving."

"He's with other Drow, apparently," Udala shrugged, returning with a plate of bread.  "If there are any females in there, he'll get whipped into shape- literally."

"No, Bahlzair is not like this.  He is beyond Drow," Aleksei sighed.  "His blood is bitter; peace and docility are strange to him.  There will be nothing left of this Nedstra, whoever she is."

There were a few moments of thoughtful silence, during which Greenstar turned Aleksei's right hand slowly to the left, peering at the space between his first finger and his thumb.  "One purpose, all enduring, so indelibly written on your soul that Tiamat, however strong she may be, cannot completely warp it to her will."

"And what is this purpose?" Aleksei asked, nearly indulgently.

Greenstar looked up, noticing that Aleksei was a little more than half-asleep.  "The power behind your sword arm- the heaviest part of your name."

"Lyosha, do you trust anyone in the guard?" Amilie asked suddenly.  "I'm wondering if Greycastle will try to put some moves on Nithraz- or if she already has him."

Udala poked at Snakesoul, who had been sustaining a silent guard since she had come out of the tunnels.  "You can eat the stew, you know.  I cooked it, and I'm no good at poisons.  You're pale as a sheet of paper anyhow."

"Don't worry about her; she'll go get something if she wants to," Darelove offered, turning her head over her shoulder for a few moments.  "I bet she's waiting for danger- or Smokedog- or both, knowing Smokedog."

"Who comes up with these names?" Udala crabbed, making her way back across the room to the mostly-safe cooking spit area.

"There is torturer I am first meeting," Aleksei replied thoughtfully.  "He is not good man, but he is honest man.  I am not much trusting Trelwynen, who is asking many questions that he is not really wanting answers to.  There is Human male who is very young for his rank.  He is treating Mishka well, and is writing name I am asking him to after she is destroying the paper in the prison book, even when the male in charge of the book is saying no.  There is older male much like him, but he is not from this land."

"MacSairlen," Greenstar supplied easily.  "You're concerned about him going after Mishka- bit of conflict of interest, huh, big papa?"

"I don't know a guard by that name," Amilie frowned.

"Me neither," Udala called from across the room.

"He's not from here," Greenstar repeated.  "He's from- ah, Cormyr."

"Bert's beard," Amilie protested.  "Not a chance.  I'm not reporting anything to a Cormite."

"And a year ago, if someone had said you'd be soaked in rum, getting cozy with another female and double-teaming a Dragonborn twice your size, what would you have said?" Darelove smirked.

"They killed my grandmother," Amilie explained bluntly, wiping the smirk right off the stunned female's face.

"Some one of them did, yes, but if Lyosha trusts the man, I doubt he'll put you to the fire," Udala commented.  "And if he tried, he probably wouldn't survive the repercussions."

A breathless, slender young Elven male with a staff tucked under his arm puffed his way up to the mouth of the unfinished house.  "Gra go deo, Snakesoul- have you seen Smokedog?"

The fair skinned female shook her head, then looked beyond him to the endless darkness of the alleyways.

"Hey, Oakarm, that you?" Fairwillow called, turning around to see the young male.  "What do you need?"

"Deadriver sent me for Smokedog because first off, a lost brother used the sigil to mark a teleportation circle, and second off, there's a blood sucker in- oh... no offense, Snakesoul."

The female turned her pallid head, smiled a porcelain fanged smile, and rested a tender, if chilly, hand on the young man's head.  The two stayed in that position for a few moments, then returned to their separate worlds.

"Well, is it feral or is it like Snakesoul?" Darelove asked at once.  "Big difference."

"Semi-feral," Oakarm replied.  "I think Deadriver wants to help him punch through bloodlust and into the acceptance of the other side, but the crew around him's gotta trust him first, and that trust's sliced awful thin for the poor guy.  Seems like the old chief and a Shadar Kai girl are the only two that'll stick with him."

"And who's the lost brother?" Fairwillow asked, turning all the way around in her chair.  "Son of anybody we still know?"

"Ironfeather," Oakarm answered with a shrug.  "I got nothing.  Folks dropped out of the family before he was born, but gave him a tribe name and taught him the sigil.  Didn't save his friend from getting got, but sure lit up the mole like a Black Pepper pot.  Nobody in there trusts the vampire, but everybody's got all the faith in this bad news bitch who's busy cutting the backs of their knees.  Took this to show her up."

"What a tribe name- Ironfeather," Amilie echoed.  "Might there be a reason behind it?"

"It's in the soul," Darelove nodded.  "You gotta feel the soul of the child.  Folks name their kids before they come out, so its not like it's a gender thing.  It's like, an experience.  Name like Ironfeather, this kid's made to handle some tough shit, but he's gonna be calm about it- flexible, I guess."

"He answers to another name too, but I don't remember it," Oakarm shrugged.  "Look, if you see Smokedog-"

"Can I help you?" Udala interjected, watching the approach of a strange, sandy haired male.

"Just a messenger, no better than this guy," the male replied, indicating an indignant Oakarm.  "Looking for a Voyonov- big blond scaly guy, looks like he's seen his share of fights?"

Aleksei, with a deep sigh, took his hand away from Greenstar, turned around and stood up.  "I am Voyonov."

"Great," the male smiled openly, reaching into a worn cloth sack.  "Here's for you, from the Dragon Coast, apparently," he began, pulling out a tattered note.  "And this is complements of my employer.  No tip needed, eh, mate?"

Aleksei looked at the small potion vial strangely, but took both that and the note from the waiting hands of the messenger.  "Bol'shoye spacibo."

"Thank you very much," Fairwillow immediately translated without thinking.

"Oh, I know," the messenger grinned, already turning to leave.  "And pazhalusta."

"Unbelievable," Amilie noted, putting the log book down at last and looking at Aleksei.  "I've literally never heard anyone else speak your language until today, and now here are two that do."

"I'm using a spell," Fairwillow admitted.  "But that man-"

"Isn't," Greenstar finished.  "I didn't sense any razzle dazzle from him."

"Well, that's not your everyday messenger," Udala huffed, hustling back from the far side of the room to get a look at the rapidly disappearing male.  "Most folks I know toting other people's scribble around can hardly speak Common, let alone anything as far-fetched as Draconic."

"Northern Arkhosian dialect, to be precise," Fairwillow mused.  "May I see the vial?"

Aleksei ambled over, grateful to be able to walk without any difficulty, and handed the vial to the slender female while handing the note to Amilie, who opened it at once.

"Hmm- do you know an Ymilsano?"

"Perhaps," Aleksei shrugged.  "It is many people I am meeting whose names I do not know."

"Well, this fine gent writes like a high born aristocrat.  He says- 'Esteemed compatriot- my apologies for the hasty departure.  While the cargo was recognized, I was not, and I found myself attacked.  To preserve the lives and livelihoods of the men who could not be convinced that they were not my crew, I ordered the cargo reloaded, and we left that very night.  Though I did not know it at the time, I am now most certain that we were followed.  Some other ship crossed our path before sunrise, and was attacked- we turned around to come to their aid, as there is strength in numbers, and I thought it most cruel to allow others to die without taking action.  When the powder cleared and the day dawned, I realized that we had defended a true pirate ship, and destroyed the ship flying the Urmlaspyr banner.  Upon inspection, my men and I found that not a single seaman aboard the thing wore the colors of the land; I am consoled by our ignorance, but not pardoned.  Fortune has truly desired to make a pirate of me; I shall fight it no longer, but instead strive to raise the mental and martial quality of the men who follow me as though they'd known me all their lives.  The poison was sold to the pirates we defended, which made us sudden, but strong allies.  The captain invited me to his private quarters and spoke frankly with me concerning Urmlaspyr, and his words have sparked this letter.  I hereby earnestly pray you to leave that place, and upon doing so, send word to Marsember at your earliest convenience.  I cannot enter detail, but I must tell you that wicked things are afoot in that land, and I would preserve you against finding your way into the guard, as I fear you may naturally do, given your affinity to fighting and your bent to protect those weaker than yourself.  I write to you as a comrade at arms; as you defended my life, I feel I should do no less.  You are an honorable creature.  Therefore, wash your clothes and your whole being when you leave that place, that not even the dust of it should settle upon you.  Neither let the shadow of my tale stretch long over your mind; let your memory of me sink quietly into silent seas, that your honor be not stained.  With highest reguard, Ymilsano.'  Goddess, I wonder what that pirate told him."

"You see?" Greenstar smiled, self-satisfied, as he lay back down on the ground.  "Doesn't take a mage to taste your aura.  Evil may have been etched into your heart, but it won't seep into your blood- unless you stand by and let it."

"Would you stop it?" Amilie spat at last.  "Tell him to stop that, please?  There's not a shred of evil in him, and I won't-"

"Your goddess is smart," Greenstar soothed, popping a mushroom into his mouth and splitting it in half between his teeth.  "She saw the seed of love in a heart iced over, and put her hands over your eyes.  Let it melt, mama.  What you don't see is still there, but you don't have to fight it.  Yeah, mama, take the warmer way down."

"This is a literacy potion," Fairwillow said calmly, putting it down on the other side of the luke warm stew bowl.  "So either Captain Ymilsano knew that his 'esteemed' reader could not, in fact, read, or that messenger was a little bit more than he appeared to be.  Greenstar?  Little help?"

"Huh?" Greenstar managed, having swallowed one half of the mushroom whole.  "Oh, the sandy blond?  He's got a good mama, sure does.  Takes care of all the kids in her playground.  Can't get a read on him; just see her.  And that's how she likes it, all eyes on her, yes, sir.  Ain't bad to look at, neither."

"A messenger with a warding spell?  I don't like it," Darelove frowned.  "But what are we going to do with these log books?"

"Udalka is right," Aleksei counseled, laying a hand on Amilie's shoulder.  "I am much trusting MacSairlen, but if he is doing something harmful, I will do whatever I must to stop him.  There will not be burning, or hanging or stoning."

Amilie pursed her lips, leaned back, and crossed her arms over her chest.  "I- can't believe I'm about to trust a Cormite, but- MacSairlen it is.  I'm not from here- and you're not, either.  Maybe right now, that's a good thing."