2:51: Lost and found.

It took Silveredge five entire minutes to wrestle Vhalan's old cloak away from Niku, who put wider holes in it than had already been there before.  Still playful, the hound bounced around until the Shadar-kai had sat back down on the stone steps, then put his forepaws into her lap, knocking the thread out of it.

"Niku," Silveredge groaned, watching the thread bump its way downhill.  Studying her gaze and understanding the problem in a flash, Niku bounded off after the thread, successfully stopped its progress with a heavy pounce, then proudly trotted back with the spool in his mouth.  Although the thread was a bit damper than it had been when she bought it, Silveredge was still grateful not to have lost the five silver that the thread had cost her.  As she took the spool out of the hound's mouth, she leaned forward and kissed him.

A young, sandy-haired male walked down the street and turned toward the house, then looked down at the Shadar-kai and the hound with a smile.  He noted the darkly colored loose tunic and breeches as well as the low-riding spike-chain belt at once.  "Something I can help you with, miss?"

"Oh- I'm waiting for someone," Silveredge replied, looking up to meet the young Human's gaze.  "Niku- the hound- he's convinced she's around here, so I figured I would simply keep myself busy until I saw her- are you also a follower of Lliira?"

"I don't know if you could call me a follower of anything," the young male replied gently, reaching down fearlessly to scratch Niku behind his ears.  After a few sniffs, Niku sat peaceably and allowed the display of friendship to continue.  "If there were a god, or goddess, or a bunch of them- well, who says we're even supposed to know who they are?  Who says they need, or want our worship?  Who says they know or care about us at all?  I think...well, I suppose I'm agnostic."

"Oh, you've done well, Niku," Silveredge cooed to the hound immediately.  "If ever there were a place for her, this would be it- Mi'ishaen must be here!"

"Mi'ishaen?" the young man echoed thoughtfully, pausing his movements to look away for a few moments.  "There's a name you don't hear every day- yes, yes, and I know I've heard it.  A Tiefling, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is," Silveredge enthused.  "If you've ever gotten into a conversation about gods and goddesses with her, you must remember her- she's quite like you.  Black hair, red eyes- only a bit shorter than you.  And doesn't like magic very much at all.  I actually don't know what she'd be doing anywhere near a clutch of believers."

"That's done it," the Human laughed, patting Niku a few more times before standing straight again.  "She comes by here every now and again on her way to somewhere else- I suppose she's gotten a job nearby or something, but I don't ask her business, she doesn't ask mine.  Let me see if anyone inside has seen her today- I'll be right back."

And with that, the young man moved by Silveredge to knock on the door.  The door opened and closed without comment or greeting, which was strange to the Shadar-kai.  She shrugged it off, figuring that different people had different customs, and some of them would always seem strange to her.

Once inside, the sandy haired male took hold of the Elven woman who had opened the door and marched her away from it.  Once he was certain that he was out of earshot, he bowed his head close to the female and whispered, "You seen Dodge?"

"Hasn't left the house in two days," the Elf replied simply.  "Won't admit it, but that ordeal two days ago shook her but good.  Been training like she means to kill a dragon in a week."

"I'll get her," the male nodded, letting go of the Elf and heading for the basement.  As the Elf had noted, Mi'ishaen was training with both daggers, and was in the middle of an attack somersault.

"Wait, wait, hold up, honey," a female voice puffed.  "It's Whisper- you must got yourself a message."

Mi'ishaen sheathed her daggers mid-jump, prompting the unseen woman to clap lightly.

"Oh, Spark," the young male laughed as the recognition hit him.  "You've a message yourself.  Dark was looking for you after the Nithraz job."

"I wasn't gonna stay there to have folk trip over me, now," Spark replied with a vaguely amused tone.  "New High Captain means business, and moved right into where I was at, though he was told it was haunted.  So I shook some plates, made some noises, and came on down here.  And then here come Dodge- we been havin' good fun."

"Well, Dodge's woman has a hound with a blessed good nose," the Human sighed.  "Tracked you right here, and now she's sitting on the doorstep, thinking you'll happen by.  Got a spike chain on her hips.  Dressed like she could kill a man with a spinning kick."

"Oh-" breathed Mi'ishaen, running a hand over her sweaty braid absentmindedly.  "Let me get up there-"

"I'll go up- I said I'd check if anyone had seen you."

"Well, get yourself an ale and let's go," Spark advised.  "Soon's she puts her eyes on it, I can make-"

"No, never mind that," Mi'ishaen interjected.  "She might be armed, but she's unbelievably gentle- just stand there and talk to her; she'll be too polite to tell you to push off."

"She can't know where the spot is," Spark reminded gently.  "We gotta get her to forget it somehow."

"Just- she- I don't think she's a problem," Mi'ishaen managed, crossing her arms over her chest.  "She doesn't go looking for trouble if she doesn't have to, so why start any?"

"Just so happens, sugar, that you're trouble," Spark laughed, allowing her outline to begin to glimmer so that both of the other operatives in the room knew where she was.  "but she sure did come lookin' for you.  Tell you what; I'll keep an ear out- you just try and keep her from gettin' curious."

"Fine."

Mi'ishaen moved past the sandy-haired male and up the stairs without ceremony, leaving him to look at Spark's glimmer with a raised eyebrow.

"She don't mean nothin' by it," Spark explained with a shrug.  "She'll get some sense about halfway through whatever cleanin' she's gonna put herself through."

The Human shrugged and left Spark, who let go of her prestidigitation spell, to return to the front door.  When he arrived, he discovered that Silveredge had gotten up to speak to a passing Orc- or what seemed to her to be a passing Orc.

"Well, sorry all the same," he was saying, taking a step away from her.  "I've never been good with animals."

"My lord needs no apology," the Shadar-kai smiled gently.  Her hound had stood up on his hind legs and leaned heavily on her, which forced her to take a wide stance so that she wouldn't fall with his weight.  "Niku is- excitable- and sometimes, people aren't quite sure what he's actually trying to do.  At least neither of you are hurt."

"Say, miss?" the Human called, drawing the attention of all three at once.  "The Tiefling you're looking for hasn't come by yet, so she's likely to be on her way pretty soon- you're good with a needle, aren't you?"

Niku padded his way behind the Human and pushed heavy forepaws into the backs of his knees so that he would sit down, and the male reached out and scrubbed behind his ears.

"It's not masterwork," Silveredge replied, indicating the cloth left lying just to the Human's right side, "but I can mend well enough.  Does my lord need something mended?"

"You're too formal," the Orc interrupted.  "I'm Stone; that's Whisper.  We're groundskeepers."

"So we keep the hearths clear and the floors swept," Whisper added smilingly.  "Stone has always had that way with words; don't mind him."

"My name is Jyklihaimra, but it might be easier for you to say Silveredge," the Shadar-kai smiled gently, watching as Niku turned his attentions from Whisper to some distant place behind Stone.

"He's on to something," Whisper smirked, ruffling the hound's ears one more time before taking his hand away.  "Let's see- 'Jaee-cli-hayim-ra... did I get it?"

"That's the closest anyone here has come to it," Silveredge said, trying to keep the laughter from her voice.  "Silveredge is just fine."  Niku abruptly bounded off down the street, and she followed him with her eyes as long as she could.   "I suppose he picked up a newer scent?"

"Aargh!  Dog!"

Stone backed up to look down the street, then allowed a smirk to cross his face.  "Newer scent alright."

"Told you she happened by around this time," Whisper nodded, satisfied.  "C'mon now, Stone, before we get into trouble.  See you later, miss- Silveredge."

"Good fortune to you, Stone and Whisper," Silveredge replied, getting up to let the Orc pass her and go into the house.  When both males had stepped inside, she picked up her stitching work and turned her attentions to following the hound- and found him on top of Mi'ishaen.  The Tiefling had donned a well-made, dark brown dress that would have delicately played about her calves, if it weren't crumpled under a large dog.  A small box lay a short distance away from her.

"Mi'ishaen!  C'mon, Niku, let her up," Silveredge soothed, tucking her work into a satchel at her side and sitting down in the middle of the street.  The hound, however, didn't budge.  As she reached forward in the attempt to physically urge him to move, Mi'ishaen caught a look at the clawed metal that dug into Silveredge's right wrist.

"What's that?" she asked immediately, forgetting to even greet the woman she hadn't seen in days.  "Must've made a lot of money somewhere, for that piece."

"It was a gift," the Shadar-kai explained, scooting closer to Mi'ishaen.  "More out of necessity than any actual- well, I'm not sure.  Remember the male of my kind you saw before the guard came and took you away?  Svaentok?  He gave this to me.  Because...either... either Ashok has been revived, or someone else has found his ring.  The master ring."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mi'ishaen asked as she summoned enough strength to sit up under Niku's indelicate embrace.  The hound shifted himself and crushed her lower legs instead of her hips and upper body in response.

"The ring here-" Silveredge began, picking up her hair and indicating the piece in her neck, "-is part of a set.  A spell touched set that links master to slave.  And the master ring is..."

"Is now on someone who's alive," Mi'ishaen finished impatiently.  "Can we get that one out of you?"

"No," Silveredge frowned with a sigh.  "Ashok didn't have a true tiarnaí piercing, and could just take his off whenever he wanted.  But this ring is genuine- there are locating and dominating enchantments, all locked in with a powerful permanency spell, and Svaentok seemed to believe that the ring had somehow fused with a nearby bone in my neck- I'm not sure of that.  But I do know that I... wouldn't survive any attempt to get it out of me."

"So, then we find the master ring and... hmmm... and maybe don't destroy it," Mi'ishaen continued, beginning to think.  Silveredge allowed her hair to fall off her arm and scooted in closer, so that she could comfortably rest her left arm inside of Mi'ishaen's right.  "If you wouldn't survive just getting the- that ring out of you, there's no way actually destroying the master ring wouldn't have some sort of negative effect.  Maybe we should find the master ring and then get someone to safely disenchant them both.  Then you can decide what you want to do with them."

"So thinks Svaentok," Silveredge nodded slowly.  "I never thought I'd see the day when one of the tiarnaí would encourage a slave to win her freedom."

"I think a little better of Big Baldy now," Mi'ishaen smiled.  "What does this trinket of his do?"

"Makes it more difficult for the shadows to eat my soul, I think," Silveredge replied, resting her right arm on her thigh and looking down into the cobalt blue center.  "It's something to do with my blood- the way it uses it.  It hurts to move it, but it's as though the pain sews me closer to my bones.  I- don't really know how-"

"Well, I know how difficult it was for you to get around without forgetting people, or things, and to quit disappearing in the dark," the Tiefling stated heavily.  "This thing's supposed to help that not happen.  I get it.  What's with the belt?"

Silveredge moved her arm and looked down at her hips, where her spiked chain sat quietly.  Most of the spikes ran along her back, but there were a few mischievous ones near her thighs that preferred to remind her of how sharp they were.  "This was a gift too- a part of my initiation into the coven of the Raven Queen here."

"So you did get religion!" Mi'ishaen exclaimed.  "Jeesh, between you and Aleksei- if I see Bahlzair walking into a temple, I'll be forced to build an altar myself.  What's the tune of their wail?"

"The acceptance of death and the call to fill the brief life given us with great deeds," Silveredge replied, looking into the radiant red eyes before her.  "I think I'll see plenty of great deeds, with you."

"I dunno how I'll spar with you, with that thing," Mi'ishaen laughed.  "Looks like it's got some real reach to it.  I assume by all those scratch marks on your arms that they taught you how to use it, too?"

"Oh, yes, there were daily- no, I guess nightly- training sessions," the Shadar-kai said, contemplating the healing cuts with a suddenly distant tone.  "And it seemed natural- as though I should have had a chain in my hands all my life.  As a weapon, I mean, instead of-"

"I brought you something else," the dark-haired female proclaimed suddenly, cutting Silveredge off.  Niku finally took his weight completely off her.  Spying the box, he padded over and clamped his jaws around it.  "Oh, get it from him before he bites it open."

Silveredge got up and moved behind Mi'ishaen to Niku, rubbing behind his ears as she took hold of the package.  "Alright, thank you," she said calmly.  The hound understood that she meant to have the package without a game, and whimpered quietly as he let go and laid down.  Silveredge returned to Mi'ishaen's side, even closer than she had been before.

"Don't pout; we'll give you some sport in a minute," Mi'ishaen encouraged.  "Trust me, you're gonna love this as much as she will- open it."

Silveredge turned her attentions from Mi'ishaen, who was brushing off her dress, to the half-wet package in her lap.  Pulling away the packaging carefully, she found two small katars.  She looked up at Mi'ishaen, not wanting to assume ownership without express invitation.

Mi'ishaen raised an eyebrow at her.  "What, do you think I bought them for myself?  Try them."

Silveredge delicately lifted each katar out of the box and onto her lap, watching the gleam of the afternoon sun catch the blades.  Niku popped up and batted the box away from her, suddenly deciding to sport himself with pushing his teeth into it and shaking it apart.  "Thank you- these are- lovely," Silveredge finally managed, fitting her hands into the handles.

"Didn't know you'd be trundling off to find religion and a whole new fighting style- in less than two months,"  Mi'ishaen quipped.  "All I found was a bunch of rogues."

"That's quite important," Silveredge counseled immediately, fixing Mi'ishaen with an unexpectedly intense look.  "You're a rogue.  It's healthy to find companions of like mind- very necessary.  Being alone all the time is-"

"Who needs to worry about being alone?" the Tiefling interrupted.  "Not you.  You've got me- and you've got that dog."

"You've made friends," Silveredge smiled, feeling herself warm considerably at Mi'ishaen's last statement.  "May I please meet them?"

"They're nothing to look at," Mi'ishaen replied, testing the sharpness of one of the spikes on the chain with a single finger.  "You could've met them in the coven, on the street- anywhere."

And Silveredge, as Mi'ishaen had suspected she might, bit her lips and gave a short, wordless nod.

"What do you say we go find someplace where the same stew isn't served for more than four days running?" the Tiefling suggested, turning her red orbs up toward Silveredge's gaze with a devious smirk.

"There's a Human-run boarding house just outside of the market,"  Silveredge suggested.  "Have you tried it?"

"Well, I bet you haven't, or you wouldn't ask," Mi'ishaen shot back knowingly.  "Up, dog, and let's go."

Silveredge tucked the katars into her satchel, tied Niku's strap to herself first, then around his neck, then reached her right hand out to Mi'ishaen, who carefully took it up.  Neither one of them spoke about it, but secret smirks were shared about the Shadar-kai wearing the breeches and the Tiefling wearing the dress, as though it were some inside joke too delicate to be spoken aloud.  And they walked, fearlessly, hand in hand, directly toward the Market District.

Chains of Destiny 2:50: A prince among pirates.

The blond-haired Elf, who had allowed his hair to grow much longer than had ever been permitted while he still lived on Aglarond, looked over two different trade agreements with a disdainful look on his face.  He had learned not to be overly critical of the crew's Common, but the written correspondences that came to the ship- which was his ship, now- still deeply irritated him.  They were so riddled with poor grammar and spelling that he could hardly understand them, and had done a great deal of traveling to contact the authors in person- only to discover that it would have been easier to try reading the written orders.

" 'Ere's the message what you bin wai'in' on, Cap'n'," a young, tight voice said calmly.

Blue-green eyes lifted themselves from the two trade agreements and looked briefly into the healthy brown ones before returning to the letters.  " 'Have been waiting,' Dredge.  That I have been waiting on, hmm?"

" 'Ere's the message what you 'ave bin wai'in' on, Cap'n'," Dredge replied with a smile, now used to such corrections.  He waited for a few moments before continuing.  " 'Tis the same currier what 'ave brung- 'ave brou' the other."

"Well caught, lad," the Elf nodded, rising to stride toward the young Human male.  "And we have our druthers- our suspicions, then- about that courier, haven't we?"

" 'Tis the same lad, I sware ye it," Dredge said solemnly, handing over the message and immediately scratching at the side of his thigh.  "Wouldn't say nothin' 'bout the sender, though."

"What discretion," the captain replied, opening the message and looking over it with a frown of concentration.  "Well written- and with a neat hand, as well."

Silence followed as the Elf allowed himself to become absorbed in the reading of the letter.  The proper use of grammar was startling; the writer's intentions were so clearly and succinctly explained that the reader actually understood them the first time.  That didn't keep him from reading it again, however, somehow feeling as though continued exposure to the intelligence captured there would help to preserve his own.  For just a moment, he lamented his stubborn flicker of snobbery.

"An' there's the councilman on deck as well," Dredge added carefully, after the heavy pause, not wanting to disturb the captain's concentration.  "I tried to tell 'im you was- um?"

"Were," the Elf corrected brusquely, turning the paper over and momentarily glaring at the young boy's thigh.

"Were busy," Dredge continued, leaving his thigh alone and straightening himself up.  "But he- weren't?"

"Wasn't," the captain replied, looking up at Dredge and realizing that the poor child was struggling to please him.

"Wasn't 'avin' none of it- now, that's confusin', innit?" Dredge finally burst, exasporated.  "The were and the was?  'Ow'd ye get the 'ang of it, after all?"

The Elf looked off into a dark corner of the slowly rocking cabin, trying to remember the delicate age at which his father had finally succeeded in breaking him of the ever-so-common habit of using mismatched verb forms.  Beyond his cabin doors, there was some strange shuffling about, as though the men were preparing to leave the dock.  A voice strange to the captain's ears sounded, but he ignored it, figuring the councilman didn't mean any harm.

"Common wasn't my first language, you know," the Elf mused, almost reminding himself of his father's words.  "It's much more confusing than the Elven tongue- than any of the Elven tongues, to be quite plain.  Even Eladrin have their work cut out for them, when they attempt to learn it, so don't give up so easily.  'Was' is Common's past tense, first person singular version of the verb "is," even though it has an 's' at the end of it.  Were is the second singular and third person plural, and must therefore be used with plural nouns.  Thus, it can be said 'I was,' but it must become 'you were' and 'you all were,' as well as 'they were.'  If you're going to speak about a singular third person, however, you would use 'was'- as in, 'she was.' "

"That's bloody well confusin'!" Dredge exclaimed, rolling his eyes.  "An' 'tis only the one verd, innit?"

"Verb, Dredge, you mean it's only the one verb-"

"Where in the bloody hells is this accursed captain, I said!" hollered some new and crass voice from the top deck.

"There 'e blows, then," Dredge groaned.  " 'e's possessed of a temper worse'n the old cap'n' ever 'ad."

"Wernvuuld!  Come on, you bastard!"

"Quite a charmer," the Elf sighed, tucking the letter he'd just received into his belt.  "You said he was a councilman?"

"Yeah, 'e's one o' them-"

"Those-"

"Those cronies of Yinoran, what not a body likes," Dredge finished.  "An it saved the soul to care for 'im, a body'd fain dance with the devils of the hells- s'pose it's why he's wantin' the toxin to begin with."

The Elf simply nodded without bothering to correct anything else.  "Well, let's see what the gentleman wants."  And without any pause, the he walked up the three stairs to his cabin doors and opened them to the daylight above.

Directly across from the captain's cabin stood a wiry Human male that seemed as though he had seen a few brawls in his lifetime.  His nose was crooked and his lips thick, and the Elf had to remind himself not to allow a disdainful look to cross his face.  Such immediate judgements were bad for business.

"You're not Wernvuuld," the Human noted gruffly.

"You are astute, sir," the Elf replied, bowing his head with a smirk.

"You're an Elf, sir," the male said stiffly, suddenly straightening himself. 

As he stood upright again, it occurred to the captain that his guest wasn't sure whether he'd been insulted or praised, and he reminded himself to lower his standards.  "And Wernvuuld is, I'm afraid, no longer among us."

The male reached for his sword, but did not pull it out of its sheath immediately.  "Where's he?  I'll take you all limb from limb-"

"Now, now, my good man," the Elf consoled, turning to Dredge, who had walked up the stair behind him.  Unbuckling his sword and scabbard and handing them- without turning around- to the young cabin boy, the captain continued to address the impatient man before him.  "What dead man can give you information, hmm?  Further, what sack of flesh and bone can, sans its living spirit, stage a mutiny?  It would serve you better, I think, to bribe the men- coin, drink, loose women and men, that sort of thing.  That way, they would follow the goods, as it were."

"Who're you, Elf?" the Human asked at last, showing a good third of his sword's blade.

The blond haired male bowed at the hip, spreading both arms out grandly in a fine show of courtly manners, then righted himself firmly.  "Ymilsano DiCiprione, good sir, and most pleased to meet your acquaintance.  I assume it's you trying to buy the choldrith essence?"

"Ymilsano?" the dark eyed male spat back.  "The sort what'll let one man muck about with another, eh?  Name's Human, but you look and stink of Gildenglade."

"Oh, do I now?" the Elf smirked, echoing something his grandfather may have said.  "Well, it's good to know my father's careful tutelage didn't go to waste, then.  Now, as for the price-"

"Two hundred for the lot, and not a copper more," the Human stated, putting his sword away fully and crossing his arms.  "It's what I've always paid.  An you knew anything of Wernvuuld, you'd have everything ready for me, instead of forcing me to get myself all the way up here to make a bloody arse of you in front of the whole crew."

"I'm afraid I didn't know much of Wernvuuld at all," DiCiprione admitted with a slow nod, as though it were something he regretted.  "I can tell you that he was a piss poor swordsman, to let me get under his guard the way he did.  Flicked his sword away with no trouble- it was simple to clear his passage to the sea's heart after that."  The captain paused, both to take out the letter that he'd tucked into his belt and to allow his words to sink in for the councilman.  "I suggest 500; that's at least a competitive offer."

"It's nobody competing with me, you bastard fop," the councilman shot back immediately.  "People 'round here never even spelt the word choldrith."

" 'Ave never even spelt, sir," Dredge piped up from behind DiCiprione, forcing the latter to bite his lips on a laugh.  A couple of the crew members that were in earshot of the conversation did the honors for him, however, cackling to each other like old women.

"You trained your little whore to squawk like a parrot, eh?" the Human snorted, aggravated by the laughter.  "Keep your bloody jester quiet, Princess DiCiprione."

The fair haired Elf didn't respond to the insult- at least not right away.  After a pause, he simply asked, "This came today, correct, Dredge?"

"Aye, sir," Dredge replied flatly, pretending that he understood why he'd been asked.  His thighs itched horribly, but he shifted from foot to foot in the effort not to scratch them.

"The price is one thousand, sir," DiCiprione stated, looking up from the letter calmly, "or the shipment goes to the well-mannered filly who penned this letter."

The councilman looked past DiCiprione to the shocked young boy behind him, who was fidgeting so much that he could hardly hold the Elf's sword quietly in its scabbard.  The other sailors seemed unmoved, but the Human pressed his luck anyway.  "For that price, you skirted prancer, I'd better get the whole ship- crew included.  And gimme that sword, too- wouldn't want the dainty lady to hurt herself."

"Would you like to see the letter for yourself?" the Elf offered, moving toward the councilman.  When the Human backed up suddenly, DiCiprione simply turned the letter around and pointed out the number that was near the bottom of the first side of the page.  "There, see?  One thousand gold- all I'm asking you to do, sir, is match her price.  Since you've done business with this ship and its crew for some time, I'd then tell her that she'll have to do better than this."

"I told you, I stand at two hundred," the Human said firmly, his countenance darkening.  "And you'll never be able to dock near Iljak again if I have anything to say about it."

"As you wish," DiCiprione laughed lightly, turning his back on the councilman and sticking the letter into his belt again.  "You may disembark at your leisure; if you require an escort, you need only ask."

"You- you'll never see this shore again," the councilman growled, drawing his sword.  "Panty-waisted, boy-loving slut- never seen another of your sharp-eared cousins in your life-"

DiCiprione stopped walking and looked squarely at Dredge, whose eyes were wide with fear.  "I have been, I think, more than patient with your mockery.  For the sake of professional courtesy, do restrict your conversation to business."

"I got your curtsies for you right here, Princess-"

The Human moved quickly behind the Elf, preparing to run him through the back, but DiCiprione- who had been listening to his footfalls- simply turned to his left.  Wrapping his left hand around the Human's right wrist, the Elf wretched the Human's hand up and to the right, forcing the sword to come free.  The sword's tip didn't even hit the deck- DiCiprione pulled his hand away and grabbed up the hilt in one smooth motion, backing up and slicing the councilman's lower jaw with his own weapon.

"Dredge!" he called simply.  Without a moment's pause, the boy pulled DiCiprione's own sword and tossed it to him.  DiCiprione turned just slightly enough to catch it, and smacked the other side of the Human's face with the flat of it when the man attempted to get his sword back.  The man jumped back with a yelp of embarrassment and pain, and DiCiprione whipped both swords up and around his body as though he had owned both of them all his life.  "Now then-" he began with a calming tone.

"Don't kill me!" the councilman interrupted.  "I have good rank- and a family; wife and coming child!  Please, I beg you- I won't tell nobody about the boy- you can come here as often as you like!"

The blue-green eyes contemplated both swords for a few moments, as though they were creatures capable of killing on their own.  "I'm afraid you haven't understood my first point, my good man," he remarked when he finally turned his attentions to the councilman.  Surprisingly enough, the Human had knelt down on the deck, and the captain watched a few spatters of blood hit the deck without a pang of compunction.  "How about one thousand two hundred- that's with a fee to reclaim your sword from me, you understand- and one thousand per shipment in the future?  There will be no questions asked, and no personal visits required, won't that be nice?"

"You'll have it- yes," the councilman agreed readily.  "Anything you say- only spare me!"

"I'll need that written- make it out to... let's see... the Jackal.  'Princess' is a lovely title- although it doesn't suit a male.  You'll see the good sir down to the waiting room, won't you, gentlemen?" the Elf asked, backing away as a pair of sailors grabbed up the councilman roughly.  "Dredge, do go find yourself a fig or an orange, boy, and leave your legs alone!"

"There's none left, cap'n," Dredge replied, forcing himself to hold still out of embarrassment.

"Ah- men, do relieve the fine gent of his purse as well!" DiCiprione called after the two sailors.  "You can take that as well as what gold I'll give you and go into the market, Dredge.  It's quite important to dine well of Toril; you must tell me when we've run out of a fruit, root or vine."

"Then we've run through the 'tatoes as well, sir," another crew member called out.  "I only just heard the cook wailin' about how's he gonna feed us a few hours gone."

"Well, from the looks of this, we're in food smuggling," the Elf shrugged.  " The town guard-sanctioned pirate woman isn't bringing back enough per trip to satisfy the need, so our services have been requested- with unusual courtesy.  Ignoring Sembia, the Dalelands are our best best."

" 'Tis a good week and a half back to Dragon's Reach, sir," the first mate called from his mat, which lay by the wheel.  "The spice's we've got won't keep."

"Then we'll have to drop them off at Alphar to the highest bidder," DiCiprione replied.  "I'm certain our grain buyer can provide us more spices- or at least information about where to get them.  She seems- useful- that way."

"Mayhap she'll be useful in other ways as well," one of the other crew members called back jokingly as he stretched out a large sail to repair it.

"If she's wanting choldrith toxin as well, though, won't we 'ave to go back to-" Dredge began absentmindedly scratching his thighs again.

DiCiprione shook his head.  "Go sit in the salt water by the ship for a while, Dredge.  And as for this buyer- who may be respectably partnered, gentlemen- she only wants grain."

"But you told-"

"And that's why it's important that every last body on this ship learns to read," the captain commanded simply as he climbed the stair to his cabin, followed closely by the echoes of 'Aye-aye, Cap'n' that he had finally accepted as destined for his ears.

2:49: Her eye was on her Sparrow.

Sweat broke out on the harshly tanned brow, beading up on her skin like oil that had hit a pan full of water.  She squeezed her deep brown eyes shut and breathed deeply, curling her hands into fists.

"It's not happening, is it?" Seyashen asked, backing away from his work table to make notes.

"No, but it might," Miye responded with a shrug, crossing her arms over her chest.  "You might try pushing the needles in a bit farther to really know for sure."

"Alright," the Tiefling nodded, putting his note pad down and moving toward the table again.  As he focused on getting the warmed needle a bit farther into the arch of the Human female's foot, she began to squirm.  "How's-"

"Wait, stop," the spirit urged, passing through the wall to the hallway outside.

Seyashen sat up suddenly to turn his focus over his shoulder, and the Human female upon whom he was testing managed to open her eyes.

"My feet..." she panted, turning her head to the side to squint at her foot, "...the blood-"

"No, not you," Seyashen replied absent-mindedly, not remembering that he hadn't told the testing subject precisely whom he was talking to at all.  He hadn't previously thought that it would become a problem.

"Well...who...?" the woman managed, now turning her gaze to the distracted Tiefling.  He stood straight and faced the door for a few moments.

"I don't know, he was still pacing around and around the College this morning," Seyashen said to someone that the woman couldn't see, using one of the needles to scratch a nervous itch on his back.  "He could have-"

"You're...talking to... yourself," the testing subject hissed, squirming in agony.  "You're crazy."

Seyashen shot a deadly look back at her.  "With all due respect, madam, you came recommended for the Pain Threshold Testing, and gladly volunteered when asked.  The rest of the testing subjects are all condemned criminals who would rather have been burned publicly at the stake than cross my doorway.  So, by what standard are you measuring my sanity?"

"Oh, leave her," Miye scoffed, annoyed.  "The Halfling's probably halfway gone down Magebelt by now!"

"Well, he knows what he's-"

"Help!" the woman screamed suddenly.  "Help me... he's insane!"

Seyashen looked up at the ceiling, thinking over just how much effort he'd put into the testing notes that he had jotted down so far.  "You're really quite fortunate that I don't want to begin all over again."  He turned and mercilessly yanked all four needles out of the woman's flesh, provoking hideous shrieks of pain.  "Had you not been part of my negative control group, you'd be a pool of blood and vomit by now."

"Help!" the subject belted, empowered by the pain of having hot, four inch long nails ripped wickedly out of the soles of her feet.

And a bright eyed initiate poked her head into the basement chamber.  "Something the matter, Questioner Seyashen?" she asked.

"Would you get my subject to the twelfth holding cell, please?"  Seyashen asked with a kind smile.  "Make sure you don't use the back hallway."

"Contamination!" the initiate grinned, rustling around her pouch for the key to the shackles on the working table.

"That's right- you're remembering all the basics.  Have you seen the Master Inquisitor?"

"Not since he started prowling the grounds, no," the initiate replied simply, finding the key and moving toward the astonished woman.  "It's unlike him to let the cat run around here without him anywhere nearby her.  Usually they're like thunder and rain."

"I don't like this," Miye began quietly.  "Abethann is angry at something, and her daughter's practically to screaming fits because of it.  They'll have the stones out of the street any moment."

"Thank you- I'll be back," the Tiefling said briefly to the initiate, already leaving the room as he spoke.  He moved with a will up the winding staircase that sprung up from the basement into the dormitories, then turned down the dormitory hallway toward the front room.  He would have made it right out the front door if Lady Kaionne had not been sitting on a stool immediately in front of it, reading to a small cluster of initiates.

" 'The appendix is observed to be tougher to cut through in those creatures that are yet eating foods of the wilds, lending itself to the belief that it is responsible for some part of the breaking down of raw or unsafe foods,' " she read smoothly before looking up at the Master Inquisitor's hurried apprentice.  "And what can the female do for the pup today, hmmm?  A spirit walks with you, yes, the Beyond is here among us."

"Well, there's no fooling her," Miye nodded, walking around an initiate and right up to the Grand Torturer.  "How did her mate get away from her and into the street?"

Seyashen realized that he'd taken the testing needles with him only when he began scratching that phantom itch on his back with the one he was still holding.  "Master Semnemac has gone off down Magebelt, and-"

"Oh yes, and Dheidre leaped from a window not long after him," Kaionne replied, turning her yellow-green eyes back down to the book in her hands.  "He and Aric and their familiars are not to be separated when serious matters are working.  They together are better than the army; I fear nothing.  Come, pup; sit and listen to the newest vivisection journals."

And for the first time, Seyashen saw what he absolutely knew was Lady Kaionne's animal companion.  The sleek, grey furred wolf prowled quietly in the shadows that stretched between the candle light beams, her beautiful brown eyes locked on Seyashen.  The hornless Tiefling knew better than to try to continue to move forward.

"It will pass the time until the guards tell us that whatever move they are making against the Dark Quarter is over," Kaionne smiled, lifting her eyes just slightly off the page, then returning to it with a quiet sigh.  " 'When the Duegar's appendix was sliced-' "


Outside, Semnemac moved as silently as a thief through the streets.

"How can I be more than myself, yet less than myself?" he whispered to the open air.  "Come thou sweet, twisted, lovely wonton, won't you come live with me a while?"

Dheidre tore down the street in front of him, her orangy ears flatted on her head.

Semnemac got down on his hands and knees and crawled forward like a stalking cat.  "What harm can come of a male who likes animals, hmmn?"

And among the myriads of phantoms that reached out of the surrounding buildings and up from the ground beneath him to touch him, the one female to whom he was speaking, appeared brighter. 

"Can the screamers hear?  Can the listeners scream?" Semnemac encouraged.  "Wouldn't that be nice?"

She looked over her shoulder in the direction that Dheidre had gone, then pursed her lips in decision.  Firmly nodding, she walked through the other departed souls- visible only to herself and to the Halfling- and reached a slender hand out toward him.

"An answer- a solution- sweet, beautiful agony," Semnemac whispered, delicately putting his hand under her own.  Of course, their fingers moved through each other, but a smile began to cross the Halfling's face.  "Think of the racks.  Of the candle wax.  Of the beatings, the blood and the shards of glass.  Give me all the tears, fine flesh, all the tears.  Let them drown me- I practiced all week for you."

And the female spirit, who could not get up the courage to speak to the living being speaking to her, began to notice that her fingers were no longer simply moving through his flesh, but now were instead somehow resting in it.  It was warm there, and comforting, and although she felt strange about it, she moved forward, feeling the warmth engulf her totally.  She felt as though she was dipping into the waters of a warm spring- the very first tactile sensation she'd had since she'd died.

It was hard to think about, her death.  It hadn't been pleasant, or brief.  She had been nowhere near her children-

And suddenly, she realized that she was different.  Very different.  She was shorter than she remembered, and much heavier.  She looked down at herself and realized with shock that she was robed in actual flesh again- and that it wasn't even her flesh.

She had become the Halfling.  Panic and a horrible, radiating pain thrilled through her- or him?

Calm yourself, Dove.  The pain is mine, and I bear it gladly.  I've done this many times before- it's a price I'm willing to pay.  Let us move quickly- the spirits have never lied to me, and I am determined to make your desire come true- they don't know how much they need it to.

She picked up an arm and flexed the hand- into a fist, out into a splay of fingers- then moved the arm up and down.  It obeyed her as though it had always been hers, confusingly enough.  The pain- a skin-grating feeling like hundreds of stones scraping across bare muscle- registered in her mind.  Although she didn't feel it, she could sense her host feeling it- disturbed, she thought of leaving the flesh to its rightful owner.

All of this I have done before, the Halfling's mental voice echoed.  It is a pain I bear willingly- and there are more, besides.  Now, come!
And the body that she shared with him jerked forward, down the cobbled path, without her asking it to.  The spirit realized as she moved forward that she was a temporary cohabitant with the true lord of this sack of flesh.  Either she could control it, or he would- and she wondered with some terror what awful thing would happen if both of them tried at once.

Truly you are a mother, the Halfling laughed into her spirit.  You worry almost as much as my own did, when the spirits first called me.  She wanted to protect me from the fires in which I loved to walk- why pen up the willing sacrifice?
"Some calves're too young," the spirit found herself saying aloud- in her own voice.  How her voice was capable of escaping an obviously male frame baffled her completely.  "Or weak, or precious to be givin' over ta sacrifice."

Perhaps that's what it was, the true owner of the body admitted to her as they descended into the Eastern Quarter.  I have never thought of myself in any of those terms.
About twenty feet into the Eastern Quarter, the ensconced souls saw two slavers struggling with a small girl.  They were trying to take her quietly, but she had begun to scream aloud, wisely thrusting a heel into the nearest one's groin.

"Sparra!" the spirit cried at once, rushing down the street that had suddenly became a cobble-less foot path.

Hold close to me, mother, the Halfling urged.  I know you have no use for magic, but I'm no archer- let the pain travel through you and back to me.  I will bear it.
"Do what needs doin', man," the spirit winced, feeling the true owner of the body begin to relegate her to a strong inner soul sanctum of some sort- she could neither describe nor prevent it.  She felt as though she'd been placed on the back of a wild and angry bull.

Sparrow, who had been momentarily shocked to stillness by the sound of her mother's voice, was grabbed by the slaver that she hadn't kicked.  He drew his dagger in the effort to force her compliance, but instead, the dagger pulled itself out of his hands, flew behind him, and buried itself into the left side of his lower back.  His compatriot, astonished, turned to see the Halfling, whose dyed mohawk had been pulled back behind his head into a ponytail that day.  Sweat had broken across his brow, and a feverish glow haunted his mysteriously happy eyes.

"Surprised?" he asked, his voice little more than a hideous, diseased rasp.

The slaver raised a short sword, ready to make short work of the utterly unarmored creature, but was slugged in the back of the neck by a pre-teen boy.  The strike was stunning, but not as powerful as the boy probably hoped.  The slaver turned to backhand the creature- and as he did, he felt a searing hot energy devour his entire body.  His wondering eyes- before they burst, anyway- beheld the white hot lightning zag around his body and down to that of his compatriot, who screamed as though he'd been dropped whole into a vat of boiling oil.

"Behind you, mage!" the boy cried, stabbing his finger into the air just over the Halfling's shoulder.

Dheidre appeared suddenly from around the corner of the building behind which the two children had been sleeping and launched herself into the air, all claws bared.  The Halfling merely stepped to the side, ducking slightly, as the attacker who had been prepared to strike the mage down from behind was impaled with sixteen claws.  The Halfling and the female spirit watched for a few moments as the vicious cat tore at the throat and the eyes like a creature possessed- and the spirit had little doubt that she actually was.  Dropping to one knee briefly, the mage laid a hand  on the slaver's belly, which encouraged the cat to desert the poor soul and tear off in the opposite direction.

"Do you ever wonder what it's like to be me?" he asked politely, as though he were speaking to a close friend.

A fourth slaver had appeared behind the two children in what now was an obvious flanking tactic, but Sparrow ducked down and bit the male's leg as her brother buried the dagger that had been pulled from the other slaver's back into the living one's gut.  Both unfortunately hit nothing but armor, leaving the slaver largely unmoved and all too happy to bring his own blade to bear on the boy.  Dheidre curled herself up and leaped onto the male's face, taking a single slash across her back before escaping.

"Can you smell the possession, brother?"

The fourth slaver whirled around, confused and concerned by the altered tone in his compatriot's voice.  He had just opened his mouth to ask what he meant, when he noticed that the man was heading toward him with a grin and a stagger, his weapon ready in his hand.

"C'mon, mate," the fourth slaver began quietly, looking around him.  Both children had fled around the corner of the building, but the mage was standing, strangely gleeful, exactly where he'd been kneeling before.  "C'mon- what's gotten into you?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" the third slaver exulted, panting like a happy dog.  "The answer, that's what I need.  What I want, yes, gimme!  Gimme all your pretty, pretty bile!"

"Pelor's dress!" the fourth slaver exclaimed, turning tail and running deeper into the blackness of the Eastern Quarter.  His companion followed him with whoops and laughter, panicking his companion into screaming like a scared child as he tried to escape down the street.

"An answer, blessed bloodcart- they make such a lovely couple.  I hope they enjoy their honeymoon," the Halfling smiled, pulling out the band that had been holding his mohawk back and scrubbing his fingers through it.  "Frightened?  Too shaken to come out to play?"

The spirit felt freedom to expand- as strange as that was.  It was as though the mage had unlocked the door that he'd shut her behind within himself.  The concept itself was completely incomprehensible to her, but when her daughter peeked around the corner of the building at the Halfling, she stopped trying to understand.

"Sparra- there's me darlin' girl, eh?"

"Mama!"

And without a doubt in the world, the filthy child darted out from behind the building toward the mage- who was clothed only in funeral sheets.

"Sparra, hald thee, girl!" the boy called, winning a pause from the girl.  "Thee cannae believe ev'rythin' thee hears, eh?"

"It's Mum, I swear it!" Sparrow replied, turning toward the boy, who'd stepped out of the shadow of the building.  She stamped her foot with frustration.  "Can thee no' see it?"

"I sees, alright, is the rub," the boy replied, petulant.  " 'Tis Master Semnemac.  Now, bring thee back afore he bites thee or drags thee off to his house of nutters, eh?"

"There's no manners, Thunder, speakin' that way right afront of the man's face, eh?" the spirit replied at once, crossing the Halfling's arms over his chest in disapproval.  "Thee oughta apologize to 'im, now, c'mon."

And Thunder stood, squinting over his sister to the male Halfling that had spoken with a distinctly female voice.  One that he remembered too well to deny.

"If thee're givin' out to be our mum, then thee knows where Da's gone, does thee no?" he asked, coming carefully closer.

"Course I does," the spirit replied, remembering that she couldn't have explained what she was experiencing if she'd tried.  "He's in Saerloon, where he were grown, Selûne rest him."

"How old were Sparra when he were gone?" Thunder asked, coming close enough to wrap his sister in his protective arms.

"She were just two, bless her," the spirit cooed, kneeling the Halfling's body down and putting his hands in his lap.  "Hadn't even learnt to say 'Da' as yet- though she were close to't."

"How-?" Thunder asked, his voice tightly caught up in emotion.

"Dinnae ask me fool questions, boy, how ought I ta know all the answers?" the spirit said, shaking the Halfling's head sharply and closing his eyes.  "What I knows is I wanted sore to talk to thee, and thee ought to be bloody grateful at what he's gone through ta help me do it, eh?"

Sparrow broke free of her brother's grasp with one good pull, and threw herself at the Halfling's frame, which shuddered in sudden pain.  The spirit felt as though hot spikes were being dragged across the Halfling's bare flesh and then pressed into it- then, the sensation miraculously disappeared.  It seemed to have been pulled away from her consciousness as though it had never existed at all, leaving her with a deep pity for the male lending her his body.

"I must begone, boy, come quick," she whispered, unable to force a harsher tone.  Thunder joined his sister, pressing against the borrowed body with all his might.  The spirit braced herself for the wave of discomfort, but nothing came- which concerned her even more.  "Keep thee safe, the both of thee, and so soon as thee can, take thee out of this place.  As far from here as thee can, hear?"

"Aye, Mum," both children chorused softly.

"Thank the good man, will thee no?" the spirit urged.  "And then let me go."

Somewhere within himself, the Halfling seemed to know that the latter part of her command had been just as much for him as for the children.  Come again, Dove- any time you like.  What I do, I have always done; and now, it is done gladly.
"Thank you, Master Semnemac," Thunder said, sitting back and pulling his sister away from the Halfling.  "I'm sorry about what I said about you."

Dheidre padded past the children, rubbing herself against both of them before leaping onto Semnemac's shoulder.  And with a smile, the Halfling arose to walk back toward the Bone College.

"What a timid shadow," he commented lightly.  "At least there's no need for wild dances, burning stones and prayer-soaked salt water."

The two children looked at each other, but neither one permitted the other to speak.