2:35 The diagnosis.

The stone walls of the study were lined with meticulously organized, blindingly clean wooden shelves.  Potions were all on the eastern wall, the one farthest from the door.  Spell books sat calmly, organized first according to content, then to author, then to publishing date, on the northern wall.  Scrolls lay in a rack large enough to accommodate a good winery's entire stock, just below the books.  Treatises and studies were organized like the spell books, but were on the right side of the entrance archway, which opened to the western part of the fort that now served as a 'castle' to the Merchant Council.  An enchanting workstation sat next to a potions workstation on the southern wall, and above them were written works describing various methodologies and practitioners.  Neither of them showed signs of hard wear, nor was there a speck of dust to be seen.  On the left hand side of the archway was a five shelf bookcase entirely dedicated to works that the mage whose master work room Nithraz found himself in had written herself- and it was nearly full.

"So he's not cursed?  There's no demon?" Nithraz asked again from between his palms.

"Off the chest," the older woman insisted, leafing through one of the chronicles from the right side of the archway.

"There is nowhere else to sit!" Nithraz exclaimed.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Stand!" the mage replied at once, utter exasperation dripping into her tone.  "Respect the space or leave it."

"I won't stand for your disrespect," Nithraz growled, lifting his head out of his hands slowly.  "You act as though the requests of the Council are a waste of your time!"

"They often are!" The book snapped shut and deep brown eyes fixed their bitter gaze on the half-Orc.  "You barged into my study like an anxious puppy just two hours after yesterday's dawn, trotting me down to the second level of those filthy dungeons to research a male for three quarters of an hour.  You only permitted me to run two tests, when the information the Council claimed to need would have required four more.  You sent messenger after messenger to ask after my progress- good Saint Cuthbert forbid that I have any other duties to attend to, such as caring for those wounded in prison, or continuing years of ongoing research, or casting even a casual glance at the works and writings of my apprentices.  You've wrecked my schedule, disturbed my peace, and now sit on reagents that you can't even pronounce, let alone replace- I am NOT one of your dirty, lazy little thugs, I am a recognized and established scholar, and you cannot force me to work more efficiently through continued harassment.  Get. Off. My. Chest."

Nithraz took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, then exhaled slowly, getting up as he did.

"Good."  The mage moved swiftly to the shelves of treatises, replaced the one she'd removed and took out another.  She flipped through a quarter of the loosely bound pages in silence, then stopped.  Now knowing better than to try to rush a discovery, Nithraz remained silent.  Somewhere down the halls, the head cook's shrill tenor could be heard- he was apparently working with clods and wet wits, according to his belligerent hollers.

"No patience," the mage muttered, clearly talking to herself.  Shaking her head clear and looking up, she pressed her finger to a page and turned slightly so that Nithraz could read over her shoulder.  "That."

The half-Orc pursed his lips, not wanting to admit that the long paragraphs, all composed of sentences so artfully long that only other scholars could hope to get anything out of them, completely escaped his comprehension.  Of course, since he wasn't standing next to a woman famous for her poor perception, his bluff was quickly called.

"I'll explain," she began, pivoting so that she was in front of him again.  "The Dragonborn-"

"Voyonov," Nithraz supplied quietly.

"Ser Voyonov didn't show any negative response to sacred items.  I had three bottles of foul, cheap wine lightly splashed with blessed water, and there was no intestinal distress, no skin lesions.  I'd asked for the worse vintage because I wanted to mask the salty taste of the sacrament, but his reactions, guarded as they were, indicated that his palette was too sharp to be fooled.  Nothing he did or said gave me the impression that he held an obsession, a demon, or suffered mania-"

"A 'master'," Nithraz snorted.  "Not a title befitting a lazy drunk."

"I realize the term carries with it a strain of honour that you may not think possible in a male like Ser Voyonov, even when preceded by 'drunken,' which is clearly his preferred state.  But this description most closely fits the specimen."  The mage held up a smooth, but frail hand to counteract Nithraz's attempt at interruption.  "For more comprehensive analysis, I need bodily fluids, a good muscle sample, and to expose him to a cursed or demon-touched item."

Nithraz shifted his weight from one foot to another, annoyed that there wasn't even a convenient bit of wall to lean on.  "All that to tell if he's possessed?"

"No," the mage replied with a sigh.  "To discover a possible phlegmatic imbalance or a mind-infecting disease in its incubation stages- although no mental disease I'm acquainted with takes longer than a week to produce noticeable signs."

"Had the Council heeded my advice, he'd already be in the nuthouse, or in the basement of the Bone College."  Nithraz glanced over at the wall full of potions, then snorted.  "Take whatever you think you need."

"Good," the mage replied, putting the book away and turning to a small chest under one of her workstations.  As she moved, a messenger peeked into the archway, catching Nithraz's eyes first.

"Ah, High Captain- um, is the court mage in?"

"Yes," the mage replied in a surly tone, as though she'd been branded in the back with a poker.

"Oh- I don't mean to disturb you, Master Ranclyffe-"

"Talk.  The sooner you finish, the sooner you leave."

Nithraz stared at the older woman, who had pocketed a small, sharp instrument in one side of her robes and two slender dishes in the other.  Wincing slightly at some stiffness, she stood and turned around to level her matronly gaze upon the Halfling messenger who seemed much smaller in her presence.

"Well, here 'tis," the young female smirked, taking a single step inside the study to hand Nithraz a small square of parchment.  "Come up from the dark quarter with two guardsmen, both cut up real bad."

Nithraz opened the note and looked up at the messenger at once.  "Is this some sort of joke?  This isn't a message; it's a collection of unfinished angles and curves."

"Languages you don't read are still languages," the grey haired woman insisted immediately, walking over and snatching the note away from Nithraz.  "Before you blame her- begone, girl- no, wait!  A gold piece, in the dish outside.  Take it."

"A gold piece?" the Halfling intoned, slightly concerned.  "That's-"

"The High Captain isn't usually found on the third level of the eastern spire," the mage breathed, turning to her shelves full of potions.  "No doubt you've gone twice the distance you originally intended just by climbing up and down stairs; away with you."

"Thank you, Master Ranclyffe," the Halfling smiled, dipping down to pick up the gold piece that Nithraz was sure hadn't existed in the earthenware dish just outside the study archway when he'd entered.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the mage uncorked and sipped at a neatly labeled potion, then put it back in its place on her shelf.  "...because it's not Loross..."

"And what is it?" Nithraz pressed, as annoyed at her delay as he was at the room's lack of seating.

"Real.  'And rage filled their bellies, so that they growled for destruction, but could not be filled.'  Fragment of an epic... quite ominous... not one I remember."  The mage folded the note and looked up at Nithraz expectantly.  "Well?  The Dragonborn!  I certainly don't know which cell he's been shuffled to now."

"He wasn't moved again just to confuse you," Nithraz sighed as he moved out of the room.  "The fiend  couldn't take a joke, so he and Voyonov got into a short fight.  Turns out guy couldn't take a punch either- Dragonborn almost snapped his neck."

"I see," Master Ranclyffe remarked.  "He was sober at the time?"

Nithraz found himself grinding his teeth, and pursed his lips in the effort to stop himself.  "I... couldn't honestly tell.  He seemed sober, but flopped down like a doll when the guardsman came back down the hall to see what happened."

"Interesting."

When the two got down to the main floor of the castle, greeted by a handmade rug that spread out in a circle with a carefully dyed sunburst at its center, Nithraz was stopped by a guardsman who pointed toward the castle gates.  There, nearly held up by two other guards, limped Trelwynen.

"Wyn!" Nithraz called, turning up the hallway to come closer.  "What happened?"

"The start of an uprising, is what," the old Elf replied, his voice hoarse.  "Abberants boldly walking the streets, the guardhouse burned to the ground.  A rutting archer raining down arrows, sending the guards running like rats.  Beggars, tarts and bartenders alike taking up stones from the streets like weapons in Voyonov's name-"

"Ser Voyonov's name?" the woman repeated, lifting her gaze slightly as she thought.  "Very interesting."

"It's not a puzzle, woman, it's life and death out there!" Trelwynen charged, the force of his statement prompting him to cough for a few moments.  "Some guards are gone missing- those brave enough to stay get beaten enough to hurt the runners."

"Don't fuss," the court mage muttered, almost to herself.  "Healer can pretty you up again."

"You've got to do something," Trelwynen urged.  "Put that traitor on the gallows; make a display of him to the other lawless aberrations and drunks."

"No," Master Ranclyffe groaned..  "Idiot.  If he dies, you've made a martyr.  Better permanent assignment to the Dark Quarter."

"Do I need another council telling me what to do?"  Nithraz looked from guard to mage in annoyance.  "Let me do my job!" he crabbed, turning back down the hall.

Neither party found anything to say to the high captain.  Trelwynen sniffed at the mage, who simply ignored him.  Nithraz sighed deeply as he walked past the main hall and down the first level's stairs to the top level of the dungeons.  The drowsy guard sitting at the wooden table perked up when his commanding officer clanked down the steps, taking a deep breath and sitting up.  Nithraz passed him with a polite nod to find Aleksei, who was in the cell on the far right, close to the stairs leading down to the second level.  The Dragonborn's hands had been shackled, but his feet were not, and he was sleeping on his side with his back turned to the cell door.  Nithraz knocked on the bars- not hard, at first, but more insistently the second time.

Behind them, the guard got up, rustled through the other cells, and found a small stone.  "This might be heavy enough," he noted with a smirk.  "Toss it at his back."

"Voyonov, wake up," the half-Orc ordered, taking the rock, reaching his arm through the bars and throwing it at Aleksei like a dagger.  "Get up.  The court mage is here for you again."

The Dragonborn grunted, rolling over onto his back before turning and standing up.  "I am here- what is it I can do for you, Gospozha Ranclyffe?"

"Do you know of anyone who was talking rebellion in the Dark Quarter?" Nithraz interrupted before the mage could begin.  She, irritated, raised an eyebrow at him, then turned around and seated herself at the guard's table- scaring off the guard when she did.

"This is not good, to disrespect those older than you.  Also, she is woman," Aleksei warned.

"I think you have better things to worry about than the feelings of the court mage, who isn't always respectful herself," Nithraz replied acridly, crossing his arms.  "Answer the question."

"The question is coming very late.  It is now better to ask who is not talking of rebellion," Aleksei shrugged.  "Some guards are taking bribes, ignoring problems for good price, so all guards are being suspected.  For some days after I am first going there, everyone is asking what do I want, how much do I want.  But I am not wanting money."

"No, we already know what you wanted, and you had it, too," Nithraz snorted derisively.  "You'd think you'd been employed as a bodyguard to the whores.  You never so much as named the Reaver, whom you convinced us all that you know.  When I find him, I'll take great pleasure in hanging you both."

"His name is Bahlzair," Aleksei replied, sitting back against the wall of his cell.  "The name alone will not help you find him."

"It would rule out a few innocent Drow, if you care," came the sour retort.  "I could send guards out with it to get some information, some clues at least!  I could check if he's gone to the Pirate Isles, or to Cormyr, or Sembia by now."

"This is no good," Aleksei laughed quietly.  "Anytime you are looking for sneaky person, this method will not work, and Bahlzair is very sneaky.  Your questioning will tell him you are looking for him, and he will only move.  You will be waiting until he is making visible mistake- and that, for you, will be very long, costly wait."

"And that's worse than what you were doing, then?"

"Always he is expecting challenge.  I am not usually failing this, but other things are becoming very important; I am finishing these first."

"Whatever drinks were in front of you, sure," Nithraz muttered, turning away to find a seat of his own.

Aleksei closed his right eye and let his upper body relax.  "Even to finish bad ale is more than you can do.  Never am I seeing before any guard so scared of evil that he will not try to do what is good."

"Gods- he's all yours," Nithraz grunted, leaving the second chair alone and thundering back up the stairs to his office.  "Take all the time you can stand, and whatever bits of him won't kill him to lose."

The grey haired Human female looked up the stairs after the high captain for a few moments, mildly amused.

"You've put a bug in his ointment, Ser Voyonov," she scoffed.  "Deserves it."

"I am maybe letting myself become too angry with him," Aleksei growled, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. "But I am thinking of the wounds in the faces of the young women, and the people that are missing still.  To him, because I am not doing as he wishes, I am not doing anything.  This- ah, Common- still it is difficult."

Master Ranclyffe smiled, rooting through the bag she'd brought down with her.  "I'm sure the difficulty lies in finding a curse word strong enough to express your feelings, yet mild enough to be used in the company of what you consider a respectable woman."  Deciding to leave her tools alone, she got up and moved her chair closer to the bars.  "I have lived long enough that such words are not offensive, but useful, especially when describing an overblown sense of righteousness- or a dry, feet-first childbirth.  Both immensely painful, believe me.  You'd agree, if you had the appropriate equipment to do so."

Aleksei stood again, smiling wearily.  "You are dealing with this place for many years, Gospozha."

"Long enough to regret it," the older woman sighed, leaning back in the chair.  "When I was but a war wizard's headstrong daughter, gazing upon her father's maps and charts, I wondered what wild land this place was.  Well, pfft- now, I know.  A ruling council filled with money changers.  Nobles that are only nobles because they can afford the title.  Commoners treated like animals, Dark Quarter people considered living rubbish- why should the High Captain attempt to protect land with the obvious kiss of Shar forever imprinted on the sky?"

"That kiss is why it is most needing protection," Aleksei grunted.  "Always it is the most infected wound that needs the best treatment, yes?"

"Don't waste words," the mage scoffed, her voice harsh.  "I have a title, but since even my students believe me a doting hag, it mainly wins me quiet mornings- or it used to, until you came along."

"Nothing I am saying to you is wasting words, Gospozha," Aleksei replied, meeting her deep brown eyes with his own hazel gaze.  "I know this."

The two remained in silence, looking at each other for a few moments.

"I don't think you do," Master Ranclyffe answered, arching a curious eyebrow.  "I have read an entire thesis dedicated to people like you.  My biggest question is how you came by the training.  First of all, drunken masters are rare, and at least two are required to be in one tavern on the same night to initiate a chosen student.  Second, you're a soldier, not a monk.  Finally, many would-be trainees don't make it through that first night, let alone the next day."

Aleksei turned his head like a curious puppy, then allowed a wry smirk to pull its way across his features.  "Almost I did not.  Always I am sleeping very heavily, because of my size.  On morning after first pub crawl, the masters are thinking I am dead, for I am not moving.  They are listening closely, they are checking mirror, but nothing is telling them that I am yet living.  Only when staff father is smacking me in the back with his weapon am I awaking instantly to trip and choke him, thinking that truly he is attacking me."  He laughed softly at the memory.  "I am very sorry at once, but he is not taking apologies.  I am drawing wash water for all the masters with small cup for entire day, and ever after, they are awaking me with throwing bottles filled with sand at my back from across the room."

The Human female folded her lips between her teeth in the effort to keep herself from laughing for a few moments.  "Was it difficult?" she managed after she had calmed herself.

Aleksei cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, which were stiff from sleeping on the floor.  "No, because I am enjoying company and challenge.  Yes, because my soul is at war."

"Is the war over, Ser Voyonov?" the court mage asked seriously, her voice small.

"No."

"Never surrender."

Aleksei looked at the Human, surprised.  She leaned back in her chair again and folded her hands in her lap with the resignation of a schoolmaster about to impart an unpleasant truth to a fire-breathing parent.

"Wyrmkeepers aren't the only ones that can sense that pact mark.  It's perhaps not visibly obvious, like the cloud over the Dark Quarter, but it's just as frightening to a magically ignorant soul who can do nothing but fear he who bears it."

The Dragonborn had nothing to say, and felt it would be impolite to simply shrug at anyone older than himself, so he simply absorbed the statement and stood at attention, as though the mage would give him an order sooner or later.

Master Ranclyffe nodded and pulled the note from her bosom.  "Pardon the storage.  Something I learned from my son's pirate wife- convenient, if somewhat indecent."  She began to hand Aleksei the note, then pursed her lips in disapproval at herself.  "Just listen.  'I jarost' napolnjala ih zheludki, oni zhazhdali razrushenija iz-za jetogo, no byli nedovol'ny.'  That's just as it's written, with my abysmal pronunciation.  Recognize it?"

"Yes," Aleksei grumbled to himself, closing his eye.  "But to make into Common-"

"Don't," the grey haired woman said flatly, closing her own eyes.  "Talk; I'll manage."

" 'Oni ubili detej Io v techenie mnogih dnej, no Io ignorirujut ih krov'. Zatem voznikla den', kogda deti Io skazali drug drugu: »My boremsja vmeste, brat'ja, ili my umiraem»'."

"Blasted verbs."  The Human female squinted her closed eyes for a few seconds, but made no other show of effort.  " 'The children of Io were killed day after day, but Io ignore- ignored?- their blood' ... argh, genders... last sentence?"

Aleksei moved closer to the bars, wanting to give the woman some sign that she was doing well.  "Zatem voznikla den', kogda deti Io skazali drug drugu: »My boremsja vmeste, brat'ja, ili my umiraem»," he repeated slowly, clearly and quietly.

"Yes... 'There came a day when the children of Io spake unto each other, saying, 'Brethren, we fight together, else we die.'  Close enough?"  Master Ranclyffe opened her eyes and jumped slightly at Aleksei's closeness, but briefly stretched out her hand- surprising herself- when he moved back a step.

Aleksei nodded, reaching through the bars to catch the delicate hand in his own.  It seemed the court mage was not used to physical contact, since her face collapsed into mild disgust, then the barest flicker of tolerance.  Aleskei looked down at her porcelain hand, mentally comparing it to a small bird, and imagining the thousands of potions it had made and pages it had turned.  "This is how Io is making dragons to live in peace on the islands he is making with his blood- you are studying the faith of Io?"

"Oh, no," the mage replied with a faintly embarrassed smile, drawing her hand away from the studious hazel eye.  "I believe only in my grave, I'm afraid.  Someone sent this with two battered guards, and Nithraz would have impudently thrown it back, had I not snatched it."

"It is Dragonborn bow sister," Aleksei mused.  "I am certain.  She is surviving Stingers den, and is free, like the other women."

"I see."  The mage scooted her chair farther forward, close enough to nearly put her head on the bars.  "Might she be the type to start riots?"

"This... is demand for action.  Perhaps Dark Quarter is in more danger than I am finding before.  She is pretending she is the Human, and is making Dark Quarter and guards to be Io's children," Aleksei nodded, thinking as he spoke.  "She is saying that she will not stop until the guards work with the people, and not against them.  She is... giving me second chance to die with honour."

"I disagree, Ser Voyonov."  The court mage again folded her hands in her lap, but looked down at them, wondering what Aleksei had seen in them.  "Of course, Nithraz could come to me to get the Draconic read, but neither of us know the lore well enough to understand the intention behind that passage.  She is making an Io out of you- and expects you to turn your attentions elsewhere while Nithraz answers her challenge and either succeeds, discovers the greater danger she's attempting to flag, or dies."

Aleksei frowned in thought for a few moments, then stopped, smirked, and began snickering.

"Counter-argument?" Master Ranclyffe smiled lightly.

"I am in chains, behind bars," Aleksei replied, trying not to laugh.  "What god is like this?"

The mage arose to replace the chair by the guard's desk.  "A dangerously infectious one, Io."

"Dangerous, perhaps, Gospozha Ranclyffe," the Dragonborn laughed, unable to help himself.  "But you are checking if I am sick before.  You are ready to scrape scale or take skin, but you do not, because already you know I am well.  And certainly I am not avatar of Platinum Dragon.  Please to call me Lyosha."

"My previous analysis was incorrect," the Human stated strongly, turning her back on Aleksei's cell.  "I now realize that you are a victim of brainworms, which, due to years without treatment, now force you to attack in complete confusion.  I shall immediately seize everything you've touched due to possible infection, and I shall examine every living person to come in close physical contact with you in the last three weeks."

"I am not understanding," Aleksei said wonderingly.

"Of course," the mage threw over her shoulder as she walked up the hallway.  "Because you are Exceedingly Confused.  I shall tell the high captain to ignore every word you've ever said."

"But Gospozha Ranclyffe-"

She stopped at the foot of the stairs that ascended to the main floor of the castle.  "Trizelle."

2:34 Chessmaster's queen.

Eagle was far more claustrophobic as a vampire as she had been as a mortal.  She discovered that she couldn't bear to sit down in the meticulously clean planning room, even when Dark offered her the seat for the third time.  The former Sylvan remained standing just behind the cushioned wooden chair, watching Stitches dart in and out of the room like a small child playing hide and seek.  The copper-and-grey haired female, who was calmly sitting at her desk with a few reports out on her table, kept picking small bits of something out of a deerskin laying on her lap and dropping them onto the floor.  Knowing that her guest was becoming more than uncomfortable, Dark looked up from her reports to give her a small measure of reassurance.

"This is 'big game' indeed- you always came through on your promises, and I- well, I thought I'd forgotten what surprise felt like."  She dropped another bit of whatever she had in her lap to the floor, almost as thoughtlessly as though she were removing a hairball or a harmless insect, then used her left hand to pull a paper that was on the far right side of her desk closer to her gaze.  "This is... unusual for Nedstra."

"Strangeness abounds in House Darkness these days," Eagle commented, shifting to her left foot and fiddling with the bottom of her crossbow.  "Started with Stitches's evil twin getting down in there- that male just reeks of wrong.  He'd kill just to watch the blood spatter drip, looks like.  As for the messenger, I'd expected more resistance, I really did.  When I realized that the woman was really all on her own, I kind of regretting putting the powder in her pillow.  I could probably have just misted by, picked her pocket while she was lying there naturally; there was really no need-"

"No need?" Dark asked, lifting her eyes just far enough away from the paper before her to catch the coppery eyes of the female before her.  "We don't survive by assuming our enemies are having an off day, but by crushing their bones to powder when they do.  You were... gentler than I expected.  I certainly didn't think The Only would make you more merciful."

"He's not as terrible as he pretended at first," Eagle sighed, holstering her crossbow and crossing her arms in a vain effort to keep from fidgeting.  "Pleasantly calm, always calculating, yes- reminds me of you, really, but- he's not vicious."

"You thought he would be a monster," Dark smiled, turning her full attention to another piece of correspondence as Stitches skittered in on her right side.  "I won't argue with you."

"Oh, the way you say that," Eagle groaned, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she leaned her arms on the back of the chair.  "You could just admit that you don't agree."

"Alright, I don't agree with you.  But I will not argue with you.  And that's enough."  Dark waited until Stitches scurried back out of the room again, then picked up another one of the pieces of paper with her left hand.  "I don't like this- well, I do, but Nedstra shouldn't.  The matron and that half-done priestess are getting far too polite- how is she allowing this to go on without comment?"  Her right hand, as if thinking on its own, plucked another piece of whatever-it-was from the deerhide and let it splat to the ground.

"And the priestess carried that note over the borders herself- I wound up stripping all my armor, dumping my weapons, and playing a fresh-turn so I could scare her into a good panic.  I know you don't like that, but I wasn't getting it any other way- and to be honest, once I got started, it was kind of fun to watch that big glut run."

"She ought to thank you for the exercise."  Dark looked up to watch Stitches scurry back to her side, then put her hand on his shoulder to convince him to sit still for a few moments.  "I doubt she'll connect that experience to Spectre, so... no need to actively kill her.  This silence from Greycastle's apprentice- she's reading between the lines as well, and is waiting to see who's going to survive to take the reigns."  Her right hand plucked another piece from the skin, but simply held it at Stitches's level instead of dropping it, and Stitches carefully used his lips to take hold of it.  "Good boy, Stitches.  And thank you for this, Eagle.  Thorn probably won't admit that he's grateful for the time to heal that wrist, but I'm not ashamed to say it.  Now really, as far as I'm concerned, The Only's debt to Spectre is completely paid."

"He'd like to continue to work with you, if that's alright," Eagle smirked, shifting from foot to foot as she looked from Stitches's quivering form to Dark's commanding gaze.  "He knows you usually observe and choose your operatives, and so asked me to check with you personally- didn't even feel right writing you a letter.  I don't think he'll ever tell you, but he is quite grateful that you allowed me to stay, after-"

"You kept a paladin-led campaign from storming us," Dark replied, raising an eyebrow.  "Gods know what supposedly benevolent deity brought those killer 'heroes' thundering down there, but-"

Eagle leaned back on both feet and came around the chair to be closer to Dark for a few moments.   "Lucien's lair was right in their way, She.  You put operatives on the defense way before you had to-"

"And he's merely guilty that he repaid me by turning one of the best operatives on the job- Tess, you found the lair," Dark replied, sitting back to look up into the coppery eyes of one of the most versatile archers she'd ever known.  "Didn't you tell him that you made the decision to park yourselves right in his coffin-room?"

"You're still the reason I was anywhere near there.  He's grateful to me too, I know, and possibly a little guilty, but if it weren't for you planning eight to ten moves ahead, like you always do, not only would half of Spectre have been burned out like rats, a seven hundred year old master vampire, who helped to save this whole rotten place from the Shadovar and the Semmites, would have been staked and burned dishonourably in his sleep."  Eagle, realizing that she was fighting a losing battle, turned toward the door and took one step toward it- just enough to be able to see Stitches clearly.  "Just- say yes, She.  He has to use stealth just to exist, and he's an incredible swordsman with multiple Human lifetimes of experience; frankly, I've never known you to turn down a good opportunity."

Dark thought for a few moments, then nodded, beginning to shuffle papers to the left side of her desk with her left hand.  "I'll consider it.  I will say, I am quite wary of those seven hundred years' worth of experience."

"If you think Lucien will suddenly decide he runs the place, don't worry," Eagle smirked, turning back around and assuming a comfortable at-ease position, hands on her hips.  "He'd never survive the tunnels.  Funny, for a male who has to sleep in a closed coffin."

"No, completely understandable," Dark replied thoughtfully.  "If I'd had to sleep in a deadbox for centuries, I'd long for open space myself."

"I sleep on a cold slab myself," Eagle soothed knowingly.  "He laid me on it when he thought I had- well, never mind.  Just know that it's that kind of logic that escapes most mortals- that ability to think of things in ways so foreign to your own position- that's why he'd like to be working with you, instead of around or against you."  A moment of silence stole between the two women, during which Stitches fidgeted until Dark held another chunk of whatever she had in her lap down for him.  Eagle looked down, but the transaction was too fast for her to really get a good look.  "Oh- almost forgot- you might want to check up on the word from the catacombs- Lucien says Vhalan is moving out on a quest somewhere with Dodge's ladyfriend.  He's concerned for Vhalan's stability- his hunger awakens us all much more often now.  Aric may be getting too old to keep restraining him."

"I wouldn't let The Only lose sleep over it; Master Aric's merely managing himself a little more tightly after that last rash of mage burning.  He's still got it, I know- stares into my operatives like a banshee ready to wail."

"You think he knows about Spectre?" Eagle asked, a look of concern crossing her stark features.

"Knows?"  Dark paused to laugh and shake her head slightly.  "He may as well wave his hand over his scry-water and call through a mirror like Master Semnemac.  It's just he hasn't come against something he can't handle just by walking up to the front door and saying the magical or spiritual equivalent of 'I see you, and I know exactly who you are.'  Thanks for the tip, of course; I'll send for Silent, see what he's seen."  Having moved all the papers, she reached for her ink pot- which was just out of her reach.  Eagle quickly moved to the left side of the desk and pushed the pot closer to Dark's fingers, brushing them lightly in the process.  The red haired woman didn't respond to the gesture at all- physically or verbally.

"Assignment for me?" Eagle asked, eyebrow raised as she looked up from the desk.  "I'm still an operative, you know."

"If you still work with Spectre, then you take your cut for all that recon work you've put down," Dark laughed lightly, sitting back again.  "As long as you keep avoiding that, I'm forced to wonder how you expect me to settle your score."

"I'll go see Sweetheart, he's-"

"She's," Dark corrected immediately, patting Stitches as one might a faithful hound.  For a few moments, Eagle could swear she heard cat-like purring.  "It's important to her, she let me hear about it last time."

"Gods, I don't know any other male who wants to be-"

"Mnn-mnn, Eagle, I don't either, but I won't abide judgement," Dark reminded, laying the skin that had been in her lap on her desk with her left hand.  It was folded when she placed it, but when it opened, Eagle was slightly surprised to note that small bloody hunks laid there.  She leaned back slightly to look down at Stitches, who instantly gave her a red-stained grin with an unsettling purr curling from his parted lips.  Dark got up and moved toward a chest of drawers that served as her filing system on the left side of her room.

"Feeding him cut meat?  You are just spoiling him, She!  He's Mama's little boy- and Mama's spoiling Stitches rotten, rotten, rotten, huh, Stitches?" Eagle managed, trying not to laugh as she centered her balance on both feet again.  Stitches gurgled, his fingers twitching slightly as they rested on the floor.  "I'll see her, get a few potions, a few weeds to bring back to the lair for the foundling.  She's taking much too long to turn."

"He's trying to reverse his work?" Dark asked quietly, searching through the leather-bound files.  "At such a young age, he may simply kill the thing."

Eagle bent just slightly, knowing that Stitches would peek the rest of the way around the desk to meet her gaze.  Surprisingly, Stitches's face was etched with a distant concern, as though he had actually assigned some interest to the situation.  "Exactly, that's what he's worried about.  But he won't put her on the healer's doorstep, because he's concerned that she may turn there, and then be alone with both the Pelor Puffshirts and the Cuthbert Crazies ready to turn her into another Vhalan- one without an Aric on the defense."  Eagle shrugged, running a hand through her hair and taking it out of the black ribbon it was bound up with and handing it to Stitches, who carefully began tying it around his left wrist.  "He's being unusually stubborn about it.  Reminds me of you and... well... anyway, do I have work?"

"After you get a detailed list of reagents from The Only and needle Sweetheart for every single weed and dram your heart desires, come back, and I'll see what I can do with you," Dark replied.  "And- thank you... both of you."

"She, come on," Eagle pleaded quietly.  "You had me fooled for a moment, but... please, you can't keep blaming yourself.  Let it go."

Dark let her hands hang in the drawer for a few moments.  "Forgetting failures doesn't pay, Tess.  You know that."

"Rashiira.  Be reasonable with yourself.  The rest of the entire team survived, and came back mortal- and there are hundreds of living mortals in these caverns, because you moved swiftly, on good intelligence, to protect them all.  How was that a failure?"

Dark closed the files, leaning on the cabinet and holding her body sharply erect.  Eagle, desperate to get her message across, had a hard time keeping a respectable distance as she tried again.

"I've had this same conversation with Lucien over a hundred times, Rashiira.  It was an accident.  You cannot expect that the only people that have bad days, or that make mistakes, are our enemies or our competitors.  Every single one of us was all blind slices and wild thrusts- all the preparation and foresight in the world couldn't have predicted what happened when those nutters got in there, and I am one person, out of the twelve that you sent."  Dark remained silent, and Eagle rubbed the back of her neck, hoping she hadn't pushed too hard.  "Lucien is a valuable asset, and you know it- and my eyes are even sharper now than before.  So think it over.  For me."  Waving to Stitches, who wiggled his fingers at her in response, she left, and Dark took a few breaths before digging into her files again.

Stitches whined quietly for a few moments, and Dark looked over her shoulder at him.

"Don't start," she warned quietly.  "Now fetch me Pox, Stitches, go on.  Go on, Stitches, fetch Pox for Mama, fetch."

Stitches nickered his disagreement for a few seconds, then moved out of the room on all fours like an ungainly dog.  Dark dwelt in the silence he left behind for a few moments, then opened her top drawer and got back to work.  Finding the paperwork she wanted, she pulled it out and closed the drawer quietly behind her with her shoulder.  She walked back to her desk slowly, discovering and pulling out the previous letter that she wanted on her way.  When she sat down, she moved the deerskin of meat cubes to the floor, then spread out the papers again.

Alright, let's see- Illance merchant has all but closed shop due to illness- good enough.  Sick, cornered, easy to kill- I can put a green operative and a guide on that.  Once he's gone, a few well placed attacks should bring the other milliner's prices down- those hatpins are just perfect for dropping nobles, but even they oughtn't pay more for the hat than I did for the poison.  Rogue murderer in Daerlun- not good.  Clean, organized kills, well-concealed locations, variety of weapons- but targeting prostitutes.  Might think she's god-sent, doing society a favor.  I'll put three seasoned assassins on that one- looks like Eagle's got her job after all.  Could put two semi-seasoned operatives under her and watch her teach them how it's done- but- no, better give her the goods, in case we're dealing with a Zhenterim hired hand instead of just some holy nutjob.  We don't like Zhennies- no, we don't.  In fact, better yet- catch her, but let her live with Hammer for a few days.  Been too long since the old girl used that forge for anything but metal; it'd be nice to hear her make that bird sing.  Who knows- in her delight, she may actually utter a complete sentence.

Dark laughed to herself, looking up to the ceiling for a few moments, then shaking her head clear and getting back to her paperwork.  She shuffled a few reports, then pulled the Drow notes right in front of her.

This Bahlzair- one male throws them into this tissy?  As though they've never had a slave male down there before?  They can't have forgotten literally torturing Stitches out of most of his wits- and they're being strangely gentle with a creature who's practically biting that hand that feeds him clean off.  Manipulative he may be, but no one's this good.  This smacks of magic work, mental puppetry on a large scale.  Nedstra's so dizzy, so- disorganized- it's incredible, even for her.  And for Velryne to take off and do correspondence when she's got a shrine to attend to- absolutely atrocious.  I'd better check in with my divination expert before I put boots down there, to see if whatever's pulling the strings will mind when I pull a few of my own.

"Please, Dark, for the love of every drop of blood in your body, don't send this bloody creature in me room, eh?" Pox crabbed, hustling into Dark's office and pressing himself to the wall.  "He's got the stink of rutting- oh, gods, it's you what's feeding him bits of- oh for the love of-!"

"If it makes you feel any better, Pox, it was an animal this time," Dark soothed without looking up.  "I haven't cut up any two-legged race for him in weeks now- nearly a whole month."  Stitches peeked his head around the corner, and Dark picked the skin up off the ground, then patted her lap so that he would come all the way into the room.  "Stitches only gets that when he makes the kill, right?"

Stitches, instantly scurrying in, smiled an eerily bloody smile.

"It's a fright, it is, to see that grin," the old Human complained, glaring at the ash grey Drow.

"Come now, Pox, he's the only child I can have," Dark beamed, looking at Stitches as she spoke.

Pox rolled his chestnut brown eyes, crossing bare and wrinkled arms over his barrel chest.  "I says ye ought to take a proper male mate, instead of taking that thing for a son- pet- toy?  Argh, whatever.  Give's the job, then, and let's to it."

"As you will have it," Dark breathed, looking up at last.  "It's House Darkness.  Greycastle's pet is doing just as she would have done- sitting back, watching a deteriorating situation crumble until it falls, and I mean to take advantage of that hands-off approach.  If we can complicate the Drow strike team just enough-"

"We can paste us two parts into a whole, eh?" Pox asked testily.  "I'd not thought ye to be one of them ones what think we ought to be patched up with them traitors."

Dark chuckled for a few moments, causing Pox to fix her with a concerned look.  "Really, Pox?  I have every intention of being on more pleasant terms with House Darkness, but it'll be an unusually chilly day in Baator before I ever consent to allowing Spectre disappear like that.  I want Nedstra and her house mates dead, and from what I can tell, her matron does too.  The difference between what Matron Dhuurniv wants and what I want is that the Dhuurniv bitches are the only ones I want dead, and when they are, I intend to let the survivors know that we took the brunt of the force."

"Well, that does leave whoever's running the show afterward in your debt," Pox admitted carefully.  "But what's that do for the rest of us, really?"

"I'd be upset to have my plans questioned, if your curiosity didn't speak so well of your intelligence."  Dark, seeing that Stitches was no longer hungry, simply began patting him again as she spoke.  "Careful snipping will crush Darkness's loyalty to House Dhuurniv, which in turn crushes their loyalty to the Greycastle pet, who loses the last of her magic-less mercenary forces and thus becomes more vulnerable to plain-arms assault.  If we don't make a move against her ourselves- which, actually, I don't prefer to waste operatives on a lich, or a known lich's close friends- I'm sure I can sniff out a few landless adventurers, get a few lawful good types to put a stake in her on our behalf.  Also, there's the happy side effect of Hawke's pet mage losing his second-string poison contact.   He's hard up as it is, according to the raging letters he's been sending over to Shadowdale and to Nedstra.  When I convince House Darkness that he's more trouble than he's worth, he'll be forced to either go above ground, thus exposing the Phoenix for the brainwashed parasites they are, or to start sniffing for us- which, with a bit of patience, means that we get him out of that manse long enough to put a bolt in his brain.  I certainly think that pot's worth your chips, don't you?"

"If you think you've got the hand for it, sure," Pox mused, rubbing absentmindedly at a mage burn scar on the side of his neck.  "But them castles you're building me are on some mighty distant clouds.  What'll you do to keep them bitches from getting in our takes and tills in the here and now?"

"The length of their own leashes," Dark shrugged, crossing her arms.  "House Darkness ladies are fit for bit and saddle as soon as they offer their services.  It'd be at least easier for them if they were all Drow, but they're not- and even the Drow down there are culturally separated from the Underdark.  Their racket will continue to consist of running alchemics and extorting petty nobles for 'damage insurance,' because that's been their bread for years.  If the young lady whose attentions I am courting proves to be a more ambitious and intelligent asset, we can prepare some new markets for her team- which will need some hard pruning- but the repressive way in which their organization is designed, denying the very nature of practically every rogue in existance- that alone will keep them from becoming what we are.  And besides, how many of me do you think there are around here?"

"Alright, alright, you sold it," Pox replied warmly, sitting down in the wooden chair in front of the desk at last.  "What kinda boils and plagues can I fix the missus?"

"Missus!" Dark exclaimed with a short, sharp laugh that caught both Pox and Stitches off guard.  "Never mind that- oh my, two surprises in one day.  First, find and debrief Spark.  I want her on anti-mage duty; I want every caster, male and female, sitting in a pool of their own offal before the strike team even gets to Nedstra's door.  I expect chaos while she's doing that, which is a perfect time for you to set some mindfire on the blankets of the big shots- those'll be exclusively female.  Get some shakes infection, if you can spare it, ready to go on dagger blades like a poison.  For your trouble, take everything you can carry, whether the previous owner is alive or dead, and leave my cut with Dragon- don't pretend you don't know what that means I want.  Savvy?"

Pox got up, nodding slowly and eyeing the too-still Stitches.  "Spark's still here- was testing her summoned weapons, last I heard- won't take but a minute to get her up to speed and get going.  Are you- gonna send-"

Dark smiled craftily, taking a blank bit of parchment out from under the other papers on her desk.  "No, I won't be sending Stitches with you.  Stitches has a mission of his own."

And as if on cue, Stitches pulled himself to his proper height, standing straighter than Pox had previously thought him able.  The new posture was oddly natural- his severely burned hands on his hips, his head held just slightly aloft- though his hair was filthy and matted, and he wore not a shred of clothing, his manner indicated that he was to be respected, and that Pox and Dark were both unspeakably far beneath him.

"It's good, isn't it?" Dark chuckled, focusing her attention on the letter that she'd just begun.  Stitches glared down his nose at her as though she'd insulted him deeply.

"Too good," Pox scowled, confused at the Drow's reaction.  "I don't know how you set any faith in this thing, Dark, I don't.  The thing could kill you in the coldest blood, you know."

"Some secrets are best left to bone rattlers, Pox."  Dark laid the skin on the floor and waved her hand over it, and Stitches plopped back down onto the floor to organize the chunks of meat as she moved forward in order to write more neatly.  "Thank you for your time."

Pox silently shook his head, leaving the room in disgust.  "Right, fine.  Off to get Spark and go topside.  Won't come back 'til it's done."

Dark finished her letter without looking up, or even making any noise indicating that she'd heard the parting remark.  She blew on the ink for a few moments, then set her ink pot and quill back on the far left side of her desk, as per her custom.  Stitches picked himself up into a crouch, his gaze pointing meaningfully at the door.  Dark looked up to see why he was reacting so poorly without a word.

"Update, mum?" a young Human male asked, peeking in sheepishly.  "I seen Pox go out, figured I'd sneak in before somebody else come.  Lot to tell."

"Go ahead," Dark replied, sitting up straight and leveling a cool gaze at one of her greener operatives.  She merely reached out her hand with the intention of getting Stitches to sit, and the Drow flopped down on his behind on his own.  She noticed that he'd piled the cubes up carefully, and was prepared to tie the skin somehow, so she reached into her top desk drawer and pulled out a ball of twine to hand to him.

"Big leatherface's arrest's causing some real trouble with folks, seeing as they know now that Nithraz didn't have nothing to do with his being there.  His acting like he did's now making a bloody saint of the guy- folk're even starting to admit if they're aberrant openly, saying an aberrant couple was brought together and blessed by the big bloke hisself, and it ain't as wrong as we all've been thinking.  There's quiet talk that neither Nithraz nor the Merchant Council care about the dark quarter at all, and folks's setting up to take care of their own selves- and there's real quiet talk of making their own laws, wearing weapons open in the street so's nobody can force nobody to pay hush money."

"I see," Dark breathed, raising an eyebrow.  Nedstra's racket just went from difficult to impossible.  I like it.  She briefly noted that not only had Stitches tied the skin, he'd also managed to replace the twine in his hair.  Independent image awareness, for a few days running now.

"Yeah, and there's a woman you might wanna see- Sofiya- leatherface arcane archer like to make bow toting an art.  Pair of eyes you got out there didn't even believe it was her, she been stuck down with them Stingers so long.  That's why he ain't said nothing in the last update; thought he was seeing a copycat, wanted to see if it was the real deal, and it is.  She ain't killing common folk, and the dark quarter folks's taken to leaving food and drink out for her near the place they seen her last."  The young man paused to shrug.  "But she ain't a replacement, he told me to say.  It ain't nobody can replace Eagle."

"Her skill set is certainly unique," Dark smiled graciously as she began to gather the papers on her desk back into one bound file.  "Thank you for the update, but do please refrain from speaking as though you were part of the Merry Mercies.  I should be very hurt if you ever called me demonkin."

"I'd never, mum, I'd never," the Human stammered at once, his face paling.  "Not even think it, I wouldn't.  I apologize, truly I do."

"It's forgiven, considering you likely thought I was Human," Dark said grandly, rising from her desk to hand the dry letter to Stitches and turn back to her cabinet full of bound papers.  "You'll find most Humans that were not born in Sembia do not use such slang for other races.  It's a most disagreeable reminder of Urmlaspyr's roots, in my opinon- quite out of place in an otherwise civilized city.  You'd do well to leave that out of your absorption of the culture here.  Go find Stone for Mama, Stitches.  That belongs to him, yes?"

Stitches stood up for a few moments, looking at the letter, then took Eagle's black ribbon off his own wrist in favor of tying it onto Dark's left wrist.  This task completed, he put the letter in his mouth, dropped to all fours, and was off before Dark could even begin to thank him.  She felt the smoothness of the cool satin on her wrist, but denied herself the pleasure of actually looking down at it.

The young Human smiled, his face returning to its natural, rosy nature.  Stitches scurried past him, prompting him to back up a half step to watch him go.  "Boy, he's quick- I'll watch my mouth, mum.  Where shall I go next?"

"Oh, that's up to you," Dark replied.  "I do thank you for lending me your time.  Now, see what you can come up with for yourself to do- remember to clean up when you're done, and come see me if you have any questions or concerns.  I'm always closer to you than you think.  Thank you for your time."

"Of course, mum," the young Human replied with a brilliant grin.  "It's you what's doing me a solid, keeping me around like you have.  Shall I tell you what I'm up to?"

"If you want help, yes," came the buoyant reply.  "But don't feel beholden to me- if you're looking for some lone wolf work and training, you're welcome to prove how good you really are.  Do be aware that other operatives may kill you if you become dangerous- or if they just don't realize you're on their side."

"I'll try and talk 'em down, mum; fewer dead there be, better day for me," the Human replied, moving down the hallway as he spoke.

"Fen pass fy marks down 'ere, li'ul bruffa!" another operative called from somewhere farther down the hall, laughing loudly at his own joke.  Other voices either laughed with him or groaned at him.

Dark chuckled to herself, then began to search through her files for her records on the Stingers.  A few minutes later, her gaze finally settled on the black ribbon on her wrist.

2:33 Dare.

Many of the initiates thought that Betzal's disappearance from Aric's shoulder boded ill for Semnemac.  The large raven left the Shepherd's side immediately after the morning rituals- he came after Aric called him, but only to leave again, so Aric calmly left the catacombs without him.  Instead of accompanying the man in whose room he suddenly appeared the night after his own initiation, Betzal elected to spend time with Niku and Silveredge.  While Shanna and Sakhma both attempted to convince their own people and the gathered Firebirds that Betzal had always gone where he pleased, the catacombs were even more silent than usual.

Silveredge was deeply concerned about moving forward with her induction into the fold of the Raven Queen without Svaentok, but Shanna explained that because he was not her direct elder- as he would have been, had she chosen the monastic path- his absence would be of not consequence to her.  Still, the Shadar kai was uncomfortable with the step, and it showed- until Betzal appeared to make every attempt at preparation more challenging than normal for her.  The completely black dress got picked at, talons kept getting wound into her hair, and Niku was consistently pestered with wings flapping in his face.  He strangely knew better than to snap at the large bird, but Silveredge still spent time putting her hands over his muzzle so that his barking would not echo throughout the halls.  Eventually, she had to stop giving so much thought to concerns about Svaentok in order to get anything ready for her own step onto the unfamiliar path of spirituality.

The day burned quickly into sunset, filled with activity and preparation.  Black feathers were gathered, then handed to each initiate.  Willow branches were cut to be strewn along the path to the sacred space on the second level, and torches were dyed black and tied with deep, royal purple ribbons for the mage initiates.  Martial initiates lined the catacombs, their weapons cleaned for the occasion.  Monastic initiates meditated in the central sacred space, seated in a circle with their palms upraised to encourage openness.  Sakhma had encouraged them to dedicate any spare thoughts to Svaentok, which caused a few worried tears at first.  Aric, who had been obviously tested by his early morning summons to the Bone College, had been encouraged to rest when he arrived back at the bustling catacombs, but he insisted in having as strong a presence as he would have in any other initiation ceremony.  He took a nap when he was certain that the sacred space was spiritually balanced, then reentered it to sprinkle it with ashes afterward just to be sure.  To calm the fears of those who were deeply pricked by Svaentok's absence, he took a moment to lead a mediation centered on the direction of his fate, whatever that may ultimately become.

Once Silveredge had been dressed in the long-sleeved, empire-waist dress with long train, she had been led out of the catacombs and not allowed to return.  Her long silver hair had been washed, trimmed and braided back so that her face could clearly be seen.  This had the startling effect of showing off her slave ring piercing, which no one knew how to safely remove.  Silveredge suggested simply braiding back the hair near her face and leaving the rest of it to veil the piercing, but when Aric asked her, via he courier who scampered back and forth between the shore and the catacombs, who she was hiding from, she smiled shyly and sent word that she would allow her hair to remain as it was.  Much of her time since then had been spent in meditation, during which she seemed to take comfort in the rolling of the sea tide as it ate away at the sand near her bare feet.  Niku, who seemed to be aware that this was an important moment in her life, refused to be separated from her for a moment.  He lay at her feet, refusing food, water and attention from all others.

When the moon rose, Vhalan appeared behind Silveredge suddenly enough to spook Niku for a few seconds.  He barked a few times, putting himself between the vampire and Silveredge.  Vaguely amused, Vhalan squatted down in the sand for a few moments so that Niku could sniff him.  Beyond him, eight warrior initiates, eight mage initiates and eight monastic initiates waited, their weapons reflecting the moonlight and their dyed torches illuminating their encouraging faces.

"I promise you, pup, I've not changed since the last time you checked for warm blood," Vhalan sniped quietly.  When Niku sat down, satisfied but still watchful, Vhalan stood up and offered the hand that Niku had so closely inspected to Silveredge.  "Come, seeker."

Silveredge, who had gotten up the moment Niku began barking, first curtsied, then took Vhalan's hand.  She fastened her platinum eyes on his own infliction-tainted ones, eliciting a smirk from him.  The two walked up the beach, led by the large hound until they reached the first of the initiates, who parted in half to make way for them.  As they passed, they fell into a line behind them, softly chanting until they reached the top of the beach, where Vhalan turned and placed a blindfold on Silveredge.  Both couldn't help but smile at the strangeness of it- normally, it was Vhalan who was left blindfolded in his room after a feral episode.  This night, the vampire calmly led the warm blooded Shadar Kai down into the catacombs, trailed by Niku, who somehow knew that he couldn't run in front of them any longer.  When the pair arrived at Shanna, who was standing at the first warrior's post, she positioned Silveredge's arms so that they would be a cradle before her, then laid something heavy and covered in velvet into them.  Vhalan placed his hand at her elbow as Shanna turned and preceded Vhalan into the central sacred area.

"Who enters this sacred place?"

Silveredge caught her breath, stunned at the full force of Aric's rich tenor voice.  The vibrations seemed to sink into her skin and rattle in her bones.

Vhalan let go of Silveredge's arm and knelt, his features made all the more gaunt by the flickering light of the torches held by the initiates.  "I, Elder Vhalan, Lord of the Warriors, bring to you this seeker, who wishes to know the chill of winter, the weight of the thread of fate, and the gates of death.  She wishes to use her talents for the honor of the Raven Queen, and for the betterment of all creatures.  I have tested and seen the beauty of her soul; now, let her speak for herself."

"Seeker," Aric called, sending a shockwave through Silveredge's bones, "the elder has ushered you into my presence, and into the sight of the Raven Queen.  By what name shall you be known unto me, and unto Her?"

"Jyklihaimra," Silveredge replied without a second thought.  In seconds, she heard the shimmering sound of chains, then suddenly felt the piercing of talons into her right shoulder.  Behind the blindfold, she squeezed her eyelids slightly- though she was used to many different types of pain, Betzal's talons were somehow more difficult to tolerate.

"Seeker, the Raven Queen has opened her hands to you.  Step forward, as into the throne room of Letherna.  Let the elder who has taken your soul in his hands now take his place in the inner circle."

Silveredge waited for a few moments, thinking that someone would usher her forward, but realized that she would have to carefully make it to Aric on her own.  Betzal shifted on her shoulder, squeezing his talons slightly.  Her heart quickened as she took one tentative step forward, then another, then another, and still another.  Then suddenly, she remembered the look of the room in which she had seen the woman who was surrounded with chains, and as she did, the memory stretched itself into a vision.  At the dais, the woman- the Raven Queen- stood, surrounded by the many ravens that had cawed at Silveredge's presence when she first entered.  The Raven Queen's arms, still laced with chains that sprung from her skin and wrapped around her like vine tendrils on a sturdy tree, stood open, and she slowly nodded just once, her dark tresses tumbling around her shoulders as she did.  Silveredge moved forward, hearing the willow branches scrape the walls as they dragged in the train behind her dress.  After a few moments, she could hear Vhalan's footsteps- a whispery sound, just before her own quiet footfalls, and she used them to help her avoid bumping into a wall or an initiate.  To the world behind her closed eyes, it seemed as though she were descending from the back of Letherna, past the black flames and the chain bedecked pillars, under the leaf-less trees filled with curious dark birds, and toward the pale skinned Queen.  It seemed the goddess of fate and winter was prepared for the event, with her black tresses pulled away from her face into a cascade that flowed behind her back, and a jagged, perfectly carved crystal crown gleaming as it thrust angular arms into the air around her.  It seemed as though she had pulled icicles down from the parapets of Letherna and set them onto her head.

"Seeker, before you come out of the glare of the outside world into the dark silence of the Queen's knowledge, are you prepared to be purified?" Aric asked, his voice seeming to come at Silveredge from all sides of the palace in Silveredge's vision.  She stopped moving forward, but resisted the urge to look around herself in the attempt to find him.  The Queen lowered her arms to her sides, looking Silveredge over with a stern gaze.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible.  Before her, the Queen raised an eyebrow, and Silveredge wondered if her response had been distastefully weak.  She had to resist the first tell-tale belly quivers of fear.

"Elder Sakhma, proceed with the blessing of the elements."

The inner circle suddenly materialized in the vision- Aric standing just to one side of the Queen, Vhalan and Sakhma.  Sakhma rose from her place, turning behind her to take a bowl from the consecrated table on the right side of the large cauldron. "Water," she proclaimed simply as she flicked cool water from the bowl to Silveredge three times.  "The first element; let the seeker be cleansed.  Fire-"

Silveredge closed her eyes behind the blindfold, expecting to be engulfed with a balefire spell, but instead heard the creak of the chains of a censor being waved in front of her, then on either side of her.  Feeling a little silly, she opened her eyes behind the blindfold again, and the vision engulfed her immediately.

"The second element, let the seeker be cleansed.  Earth-"

Sakhma moved toward her quickly, and Silveredge felt crumbly dirt being rubbed on her right cheek, then her left, then on her forehead.  She sneezed, and Betzal shifted on her shoulder again.  Silveredge, wincing, wondered if his talons had yet drawn blood.

"The third element, let the seeker be cleansed.  Breath-"  Sakhma leaned forward and breathed lightly into Silveredge's face.  "The fourth element, let the seeker be cleansed.  Bathed of water, warmed of fire, clothed in earth, given life in breath; let the seeker find her true path, her final home, her blessed thread.  So may it be."

"So may it be," everyone in the sacred space replied.  The voices seemed to vibrate in the vision, blurring it slightly, then bringing it into an even stronger focus than before.  Silveredge saw each person in the gathering in it- and above them, the ravens in the branches of the bare trees looked down lovingly.  Svaentok, whose place in the inner circle was conspicuously empty, had been paid homage with a sewn image of the House of Yrel-Ades laid atop two of his favorite books.  But Silveredge could see a spectral image of him sitting crosslegged with palms upraised and closed eyes- as though he were meditating, as he would normally have been doing early in the evening.  When she looked up from the image to the Raven Queen, a knowing smile crossed the pale woman's face.

At that second, Silveredge knew that Svaentok was alive, and could have burst with the desire to speak right to his image, or to touch it.  The image of the Raven Queen lifted her right hand, fingers curled, and moved it downward slightly, and Betzal turned his head into her dirt-crusted cheek, nuzzling against her comfortingly.

"By joining us, you joyously enter the serene circle; you walk with those who value life, and welcome death.  Hear us, Nameless Matron, Lady of Fate, Spinner of Winter.  Give ear, all you who have gone before us into the halls of Letherna.  Look up, dedicants, initiates and elders gathered.  Here among you stands Jyklihaimra, who will put her feet in your path and her mind to learning the way.  Guide her, encourage her, strengthen her, protect her, and love her, with all of your beings."  Aric moved away from the dias, picked the cloth out of Silveredge's arms and handed it off to Vhalan, who got up and placed it on the consecrated table.  While he worked with it, Aric turned back to Silveredge and opened his arms.  "Are you willing and able to uphold the ways of this gathering of followers?"

"I am," Silveredge replied, with much more of her voice than before.  At her feet, somewhere behind her, she could hear Niku giving that whine that happened just before a full blown bark, and wondered if someone new were entering the space.

"Will you allow us to bear witness on this night to the first step of your journey, to become part of your spiritual family, and to give you the best of our love and understandings?"

"Yes."

"Then go forth, Jyklihaimra, and be welcome forever under the wings of the Raven Queen.  You walk no more a seeker, but a dedicant of this place.  Let the Elder whose path you will walk now give unto you the blessing of his house, and the implement blessed on your behalf."

Betzal opened his wings and took off, pulling the blindfold off as he did.  The vision dissipated, and Silveredge opened her eyes to find Aric standing just behind Vhalan, who presented her with a highly polished spiked chain- different from the one that she had seen in her first vision of the Raven Queen only in that it seemed heavier, and capable of doing serious damage.

"I, Vhalan, Elder of the Warriors and sole chain master, give you this weapon, that it may become a clawed extension of your arm.  May you send many souls before you through the gates of death," Vhalan said smilingly.  "This implement was chosen by Shepherd Aric for you, for he understood that the Queen has made it to sound in your mind from the very first day that you arrived here.  The chain is a symbol of acceptance of the strength of fate, and the Queen's ability to wind it as she sees fit- to prevent a falling, or to ensnare us; to crush us, or to embrace us.  May it and your ever-learning, merciful heart be greater benefits to you than can now be assessed.  Use your implement wisely, lamb."  Vhalan watched as Silveredge accepted it into her arms, then kissed her hand and turned away quickly.

"Welcome, Dedicant Jyklihaimra," Aric soothed, lowering his voice to its normal, calm rasp, "May your path be blessed."  He moved forward slowly, hugged her, then kissed her on both cheeks.  Betzal came to rest on his shoulder as he backed away, comfortably lodging his talons in the worn spots in his robe.  The assembly seemed to collectively breathe a sigh of relief as they all arose from their places in the large, circular ceremonial space to embrace her before they returned to their normal duties or meditations.  Sakhma sighed as she picked up Svaentok's books and family crest, then turned away to put them in his room, just a bit farther down toward the catacombs that were still being carved and cleansed.  Niku barked, and Silveredge turned over her shoulder to see that Deadriver was nearly physically holding back a male nearly twice his size.

Aric noticed Deadriver's struggle as well, encouraging those initiates who were slow to leave to move a bit faster.  "It is good to find moments of rejoicing in the midst of concern or sorrow- come, Deadriver, you can let him in now."

"Why did that take so long?" the male instantly demanded, sending a few initiates skittering from him as he pushed his way past Deadriver and into the central area.  Niku shot from the arms of the initiate who had been holding him and straight to Silveredge's side at once, snarling at the ruddy skinned male as though he would soon attack.  Silveredge sunk to the floor, wrapping her arms around the hound in an effort to calm him down again.  Vhalan, for his part, reacted rather similarly to him, hissing through bared teeth.  Shanna, immediately concerned, bounded forward to blindfold him.

"Respect their space, Smokedog, c'mon!" Deadriver prompted.  "You can't tell an initiation when you see one?  And you disturbed the blood brother-"

"You feel okay with holding long-winded ceremonies?" the large Human scoffed.  "Are you missing a ranking member or aren't you?"

"That- thing- has a greater need for a leash than the hound," Vhalan spat, crossing his arms in a rather obvious attempt to control himself.  "What has his handler to say?"

"Respect, Elder Vhalan," Aric smiled, looking from Vhalan to the male- whose name was apparently Smokedog.  "I shall speak to the male who has done the reconnaissance.   Now, sir, what information have you for us concerning Elder Svaentok's location?"

"Nasty.  Looks like it's been hit with a blight.  I saw plants out there that I've never seen anywhere else- and it smells like death," Smokedog replied, still glaring at Vhalan.

"As long as it doesn't smell like undeath, Svaentok does admirably well," Vhalan reasoned, purposefully directing his comment to Aric.

"Not willing to share your prestigious position with any of the other corpses around here?" Smokedog shot, moving toward Vhalan menacingly.

"Come on, brother, you know that ain't right to say to him," Deadriver groaned.  "How'd you like it if some jerk talked to Snakesoul that way?"

Vhalan, unimpressed, simply snorted.  "The trappings of my office have come at a cost beyond your pitiful comprehension, mortal."

Oakarm, accompanied by a returning Ironfeather, poked his head around the corner, catching Deadriver's attention at once.  Upon receiving the direct attention of the Shepherd, Oakarm stopped in the entrance archway as though frozen solid.  Darelove followed closely behind him, so that she almost crashed into him when he began to attempt to give his message.  "Hey!  Gra go deo, Papa- and, um...Shepherd.  Um, hello- um, well, the Major- um..."

"Master," Aric corrected gently, moving toward the young man.  "The Master Inquisitor- and how is he?"

Oakarm shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the floor as Ironfeather laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.  "He's a-ok and has allowed the people over there to get their hands on all the bruises and scrapes he's got.  Seyashen's still running the wheel, says he'll get you wise before any contact's made with the family.  The Master Inquisitor thinks there's something between Svaentok's disappearance and Arlwynna's, and is gonna chat up the She and Dresden- um..."

Aric's grey eyes grew stormy with distaste.  "Dresan- I would rather he didn't get into the same room with that particular gentleman.  There are a few too many angry spirits in his wake, but- ah, well- Semnemac has more than proven that he knows where his own limits are.  I suppose I had better focus on getting Svaentok back, and then we can talk about whatever connections he likes."

"So like I was getting ready to say," Smokedog continued brusquely, "it's this tumble down shack, more like a forgotten manse than a jail fort, sitting in the middle of the most bizzarro patch of land you ever saw.  About every half hour, two or three creatures take a turn at dominating him or fighting him.  Some of 'em shamble, some of 'em don't, but they all smell like burnt graveyard.  The ones that don't are the dominators.  They get totally ignored- he's like, this crazy willpower wall made of 'fuck you' for them, and it drives 'em bats.  Those who try to fight him are the shamblers- they wind up getting run through with their own weapons- say, you're sure he's a monk?  Nobody learns to fight the way he does locked up in a cloister."

"He's about as monkish as I am, but he is the monastic elder," Vhalan replied with a bemused smirk.

"Elder Vhalan," Aric counseled, throwing the pleased vampire a look of gentle warning.  "Forgive him, but his approval for Elder Svaentok was hard won- he may have been where Shanna is now, were it not for some... minor meddling on my part.  You must understand, my children, that his title has less to do with his abilities, or the time spent within these walls, and more to do with his responsibilities here.  Monastic initiates, be they martially minded or magically bent, are expected to one day tend a burial ground, and a worship center, of their own."

"Thank you, at least you're civil.  Say, does anybody think of muzzling that creep?" Darelove complained, rolling her eyes.  "You ask an honest question and get a smartass answer."

"How about we just get the Shepherd wise so we can plan the next move, huh?" Deadriver prodded.  "You ain't gonna rattle the vampire, just tick him off worse."

"I can take Snakesoul, Darelove and Oakarm and have the monk back in a day," Smokedog reasoned, speaking directly to Deadriver.

"No go, brother," Deadriver replied.  "Snakesoul's still sitting with Greenstar and Fairwillow at Udala and Amilie's place- their big papa got arrested, and it really gave Amilie the spooks.  Snakesoul didn't like the way big papa got marched out by the folks doling out his gold as though he were some creep, so she's sticking around to make sure things stay gravy for the ladies."

"It'd be tough by ourselves, but we can probably handle it," Darelove shrugged.  "Oakarm shouldn't even see much action, if I time my shots well."

"Assuming you intend to return as warm blooded mortals, I suggest you leave Oakarm out of this situation entirely," Vhalan stated matter-of-factly.  "I would be remiss if I didn't mention that your 'little brother' would be my thrall by now, had there been no outside interference.  His willpower and martial prowess leave a great deal to be desired.  And creatures more fantastic than I will be haunting the strange-looking grounds near the sacred area of a known lich, don't you think?"

"You saying Oakarm's a pushover?" Smokedog dared, whipping himself back around to glare at Vhalan.

"I'm saying he's weak-willed and under-trained for the mission," Vhalan replied, raising an eyebrow.  "And I am well-qualified to say so.  If you are insulted because you are his mentor, it would behoove you to work him harder."

"Why you-" Smokedog began, his voice deepening into a threatening growl.  Niku, in response, began a growl of his own, and Silveredge put more strength into her arms.

"It's okay, he's right," Oakarm piped up.  "It took the quiet sister to get him off me- she did some magic thing, put us all near deaf for a good couple seconds."

"I think you have it in you, but this is a big job, so I won't put you on it if you don't wanna be.  Now that means that basically, we need a major melee and a spellcaster," Deadriver nodded.  "Any of your people make the grade?" he asked, turning to Aric.

Aric thought for a few moments.  "I am likewise loathe to send initiates out into strange territory.  I suggest Elder Vhalan for the melee, and Dedicant Jyklihaimra for melee and spellcasting- she has a unique gift, and can handle both with stunning natural dexterity.  She also serves her elder as intuitively as does Sister Shanna, who will hold her elder's post while he is absent from us."

"I ain't gonna work with a blood sucker that needs a blindfold so's he doesn't put the bite on people he's supposed to be allied with," Darelove objected at once.

"Well, I can always-" Shanna began hopefully.

"And what use is this cat gonna be, to hold him back if we need it?" Darelove charged on, railroading Shanna's suggestion.  "She hasn't even picked up her head through this entire conversation."

"But she's the one who-" Oakarm charged.

"Don't bother, boy, she clearly didn't listen the first time you told her.  Perhaps I should educate her about the value of her blood," Vhalan cooed as though he were speaking to a three year old.  "It's about as appealing as a bowl full of plague boil pus and vomit, which is probably why the 'blood sucker' in your own ranks has no problem leaving her alone.  I wonder about your 'spirit name'- what was it, 'Darelove,' little mortal?- since you seem awfully 'square' about daring to even place the lightest of trusts in the word of people with whom you are supposed to be allied."

"Oh, that tears it," Darelove crowed, frustrated.  "I'm going back to the tribe, Papa; you let me know when we're out of here.  We could stand to stay away another couple generations, if you ask me, and frankly, old man, I don't know why you all don't just put a damned stake through that thing's head, promote the poor chick that pretty much has to do his job for him, and be done with it!"

Silveredge tapped a single finger on her right hand onto the stone floor, and everyone in the room except for herself and Aric was stunned into confusion for a few moments.  After everyone had regained balance, she looked up at Darelove, who had turned to glare at her.  "Perhaps we should take some time to get to know one another," she suggested quietly.  "My lord Svaentok is a great warrior, and can probably spare us the few more hours we need to stop ourselves from making mistakes that future generations will speak of with deep regret."

"Righteous, little mama, that's righteous," Deadriver smirked, shaking his head clear of the remaining soreness.  "I dig your set up, old man- Smokedog, Darelove, there go your hunting partners, so treat 'em right.  And I think you're gonna have your hands full with quiet mama down here."