3:27 Enemy ours.

Early that same morning, the plainclothes guard that had been assigned to the Tiefling suspected to go by the name "Mishka Luzkaya" had finally reported to Oversword Garimond that her mark's trail had gone completely cold.  He'd asked about the paths that she'd been assigned before- following up with the various mercenary companies known to hire travelers, checking through the border guard records, and shadowing the taverns near the docks- but she complained that not only had no one seen a Tiefling, people were becoming suspicious of her near-constant presence.  Garimond replied that no improperly documented Tieflings had crossed out of the Suzail borders, but processed the guard's request for reassignment without any further argument.  As the guard walked away with minor traces of frustration, Garimond decided that he would have to simply hope that Iordyn had gained some mileage with the Shadar-kai peaceably.


The Coalwater Mercenary base was slightly smaller than that of the Sunfire Mercenaries, who obviously had been in operation a bit longer than their current competitor.  One only had to spend about twenty steps to get from the front door through the back, to the patch of grass on the other side of the building that pretended to be a courtyard.  Greyscale's office, which was really a converted store room, sat immediately underneath the right stairwell to the second floor.  From there, every creak and thud made anywhere between the front door and its rear twin echoed back to him.  While this made sure that he was leaning on the door frame, ready to personally receive those who came looking to hire his operatives, most of those operatives didn't make a lot of noise.  In order to have any warning about their entrances or exits, Greyscale allowed Cypher to lace the place with ward spells, all of which sent up a light tapping every time they were crossed.  It was a harmless sound, like that of a small child knocking, soft enough that the Dragonborn was often the only being in the room that could hear it.  For his purposes, that was usually sufficient.

The mark, however, swung herself into the building through a second story window.  No magic knock heralded her.  The window she'd used made no noise, and the door to the room she'd entered was just as mute.  Not a single stair whined at her weight.  Yet, when Greyscale's door blew open ahead of her, slamming into the wall on the other side, no one in the room was surprised.

Greyscale, who had been adding up some figures on one of his ledgers at the time, didn't even look up.  He simply tilted his head toward his right, where the oncoming Tiefling was stepping through the door frame.  In response, a very small, grey skinned creature slung itself down out of the dark space above him.  The perfectly executed somersault phased the black leather armored young woman not one bit, even though it came with a dagger and a short sword.  The mark simply pivoted to her left, swept back in once the blur had already passed her, and delivered a stunning kick to the side of the grey skinned creature's head.  The resulting minute-long match was a flurry of back flips, turns and kicks, during which it became glaringly obvious that the smaller creature would be outpaced by its acrobatic better.  Immediately after the hand that had the short sword in it was grabbed  and twisted painfully behind its owner's back- which caused the weapon to clatter to the ground- Cypher moved into the fray from the far left corner of Greyscale's room, popping the near-victor in the small of the back with enough force to cause a slight stumble forward.  Released, the grey-skinned assailant escaped out the still-open door.

The black cloth cowl came off and was rapidly wrapped around the young woman's left hand, revealing her loose raven hair, her wheat colored horns and her furious crimson eyes.  Cypher was taken aback at the dangerous glare.

"Mish-"

"No, fuck you."

Mi'ishaen grabbed up the abandoned short sword and began a much more lethal assault.  Cypher moved and dodged admirably, but still received a solid punch in the face, two daring slashes to her upper left arm, and a good kick in the lower right side of her back.  To prevent being fully beaten, the Human female attempted to cast a minor misdirection spell, but Mi'ishaen shook the enchantment off as though the spell rogue hadn't said a thing.  In the short time that it took to cast the spell, the Tiefling changed position, and instead of popping Cypher in the side of the face with the pommel of the short sword as was originally intended, Mi'ishaen opted for a brutal headbutt.

Greyscale only allowed himself to listen to the crack of solid horn on bare Human skull one time.
He closed the ledger and put his pen down.

And approximately ninety seconds later, Mi'ishaen found herself disarmed, locked in a standing half nelson choke.

Cypher, who was cringing and holding her bleeding head as she laid on the floor, took the opportunity to spit.

"This bitch is in too deep," she managed after Greyscale adjusted the hold to accommodate the fact that Mi'ishaen moved to kick Cypher immediately.  "Pull her."

"I don't- unh!- edit Dark's picks," Greyscale managed as he shifted the hold again.  "I can add som-"

"She is going to get herself caught," Cypher argued.  "She practically made cont-"

"Fuck you, you useless cunt!  Smoke and mirror, wand and sparkle bitch!" Mi'ishaen hollered with the benefit of half her voice.

"Calm down, Mishka," Greyscale counseled, leveling his rose-pink eyed glare at Cypher to keep the Human from retaliating.

"When I'm dead, you thrice-damned handbag!" the struggling female screeched in response.  "You, and her, and every bloody mage from here to the ends of the world can go to the lowest, darkest, deepest pits of Baator and rut in a fire pit until your bits bleed!"

The Human female jumped to her feet at once to storm over toward the Tiefling, but Greyscale shook his head.

"I got it, Cy."

"She'll screw the project," Cypher insisted again, stopping in her tracks and crossing her arms.  "It's too volatile-"

And this time, it was Mi'ishaen's turn to spit.  Unlike Cypher, whose crude projectile had fallen short, Mi'ishaen caught her mark straight in the face, which elicited an enraged scream.

"Listen you," Greyscale managed as he adjusted himself again, strengthening the choke on Mi'ishaen until she could do no more twisting or writhing in his grasp.  "Listen.  As I heard it, Dark was told- repeatedly- to treat Rasha like any other operative.  But Dark won't ask Rasha to do what you do, and that's because you are different from her, got it?  Not the same skill set, not the same temperament, so not the same treatment.  Not only can she pick a guy's pocket while staring him straight in the face, not only can she write rather convincing copies of things, but Rasha is good with secrets.  She's the kind of girl who is almost always the best informed person in the room- and she's also the kind of girl about whom you will know nothing until she gets ready to tell you- that is the makings of a deep cover infiltrator.  I'm almost amazed that you- you of all people, with all the trust issues printed big and bold on you- you caught feelings for this girl that I guarantee you know so little about that it's pathetic.  But lucky for you, the feeling's mutual.  Rasha's crazy about you; we all saw it.  She practically asked you if she could take this mission, remember?  She asked you if you thought she was going to be alright in there.  She asked you if you trusted her, too."

Mi'ishaen took the opportunity to attempt to twist her way out of Greyscale's grasp, only to have the Dragonborn lock his hold in even more tightly around her neck.  Wise enough to know about the Tiefling's prehensile tail, Greyscale dropped to one knee and pinned it beneath his leg.

"Unh! Mmff, now, there we go; you're not going anywhere, honey.  That was a good try, though.  This- this hurts in a way you understand.  You've learned to work through this kind of pain long ago.  But watching that green-eyed, fork-tongued, spindle-shanked, 'smoke-and-mirror' prick put his hands on the woman you care about- watching him force her to kneel with power you don't understand and can't stop- that's a whole new pain.  You've never felt it before, so you haven't desensitized yourself to it, and that is what's killing you.  That is what is burning your blood, sending you crazy, so that you're furiously attacking people that at any other time, you'd know are on your side, Mi-Mi, we are on your side.  The magic sparkle bitch and the raw handbag are on your side, got it?"

Mi'ishaen made a last grand thrashing attempt to get out of Greyscale's grasp, accompanied by a loud cry so desperate that Cypher shifted from foot to foot while trying to look away from the situation.

"Stop it, stop; you're making this harder for yourself," Greyscale murmured quietly.  "I know it hurts.  I know this hurts.  And I know you hate to give up- you're a tenacious little bitch, I know.  I really don't want to hurt you, so c'mon, honey.  I got this one.  I got it.  C'mon.  Tap this one out, hun, tap for me."

Unable to do anything else, Mi'ishaen wriggled her tail just enough to tap the floor behind the Dragonborn's leg.  He let go immediately, and the Tiefling flopped to the floor with an ungracious thud.  Cypher turned her back to the situation and moved back toward the dark left side of the office.

"Take your time," Greyscale sighed as he moved to close the door to his office completely.  "Probably feels like your lungs are on fire- just give it two minutes or so.  Back might hurt for a day, neck and shoulders for two.  Cy, how's your head?"

"I'm fine," came the quiet reply from the corner.

"And yes," the Dragonborn admitted very quietly, "this is what it was like.  This is exactly what it was like."

"But she didn't make you watch," Cypher contended, turning over her shoulder to look at Greyscale.  "This is like tor-"

"She didn't make me watch, no," Greyscale interrupted.  "I asked, and she said I could do what I liked.  Said she didn't quite understand why I... but then there was Eagle, so..."

Cypher crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from Greyscale without saying another word.

Mi'ishaen opened her eyes and shifted, prompting the Dragonborn to focus on her.

"Dark owes you a debt of thanks, Mi-Mi.  Rasha is good; she's doing a great job of getting us the tips we need to split the Sunfire.  Cypher's worked against that particular Sunfire mage before, but Rasha is a solid abjurer, and that enabled us to run a different operation than we'd planned.  You are the best aerialist in here- you just proved it, beating the other one nearly to a pulp- so if there's any one of us qualified to go leaping from rooftop to rooftop without getting people to look up and point, it's you.  We will need you in a more active role pretty soon, but you have to let your girl do the inside work first."

Mi'ishaen, who had been laying quietly on the floor, sat up with a loud intake of breath that startled Cypher.  She laid back down for a few seconds, then began rolling around the floor.

"I know," Greyscale said with a tone that was nearly repentant.  "That hold kept the Human boys around here from calling me 'Lizardface,' and I still put grown men down with it.  Can lock it in from about any angle.  But... never locked in a female before."

"I wasn't really thinking," Cypher admitted.  "About how you might feel.  She... she's doing really well... using some... really powerful... distraction tactics.  Um... should I ask her for a message?  To give you?  Maybe?"

"No, Cy," Greyscale warned.  "They can do this.  Dark thought so, and... and, well, I do too."

At this, Mi'ishaen laid still and sighed.

"Talk to me, Mi-Mi," the Dragonborn breathed, the request made in a tone so low that it was hardly audible.

Mi'ishaen's reply was likewise low and quiet, but no less fierce.

"Fucking mage."

"I know," Greyscale replied.  "His name is Mordren."

"I'll fucking kill him."

And the Dragonborn shook his head, just slightly.  "Think that over for a bit."

Mi'ishaen sat up, discovered the pain was still present, and laid back on the floor of the office, closing her eyes.

"If she leaves him alive, I will make his life such hell, he'll wish she hadn't."

"Atta girl," the Dragonborn smirked.

3:26 The abjurer.

Mordren watched from his barely opened window as the dark brown haired archer handed a husky, male mage trainee his bow.  A brief glance over the plush, yet harshly tanned Human features told the mage that although this male was used to working outdoors, it was likely by his own choice.  The comfortable stride, the air of privileged familiarity, and the well-spoken Common made it obvious that he was of a higher class than usually crossed the Sunfire Mercenary's threshold in person.  While he seemed physically able enough to be enlisted, the crest of the Purple Dragon rested uneasily upon him.  Mordren immediately wondered what this milk-fed male had to do with Silveredge- was he the petty noble suddenly missing his consort?  The pained patron who'd been missing her company since her nights were now claimed by the courtyard of the Sunfire Mercs instead of some dark spot in the city's short alleys and side streets?

The archer's dog- a medium sized, short-haired mutt with sharp ears and dark brown blotches on an otherwise milky white hide- had been commanded to heel some distance away from the area where Kronmyr and Silveredge were practicing.  The thing whined miserably, displeased at being separated from her master.  Mordren sensed no familiar-like bond between the two, but noted the way that they responded to each other, nevertheless.

Some days before, Kronmyr had indeed been persuaded- with less coin than he'd wanted to receive, yet more coin than Bann had wanted to pay- to train Silveredge himself, instead of handing her off to one of his advanced students.  At Kronmyr's insistence, Silveredge did away with respect and caution, displaying all the power, discipline and focus that she'd had to have with her former tutor, which was interesting in and of itself.  The dark Elf, for his part, fought her with so much more energy than he normally devoted to training that Bann had twice warned him not to kill the Shadar-kai.  Still, the sessions were so explosive that other mercenaries- trainees and experienced operatives alike- had taken to watching them from the borders of the courtyard.  So few of the others had seen a spiked chain at all, let alone in action, that all were astounded at what she already knew of the implement- which she quietly treated as holy.  Of course, when Mordren brought both men back the news that Silveredge's previous tutor had been a semi-feral vampire whose actions had to be constantly monitored, her strange tolerance for all-night, semi-public, and outright dangerous training sessions become completely understandable.

This particular night's session had begun later in the evening than was normal for both parties, and so had continued long enough for the sun to rise up over their work.  Most of the lookers-on had gone to bed, somewhat unwillingly, when Bann reminded them that they all had duties or jobs that would require early morning energy.  Mordren's wife, however, was still present, fixing Silveredge's every movement with an intense, but silent brown-eyed gaze.  Neither Kronmyr nor Silveredge could be quite sure whether or not she approved of either of them, but neither had much time to care, either.  Mordren alone knew what her occasional, vaguely amused smirks or her focused, serious gaze meant, and he rarely found it necessary to share his knowledge- or any of his knowledge, for that matter- with anyone.

Silveredge was in the process of blocking shuriken with her chain when the archer approached.  While there was no physical sign that she had noticed him, Mordren's ever-present tendril of divining energy told him that not only had she sensed the young man's presence, she had already begun attempting to weigh his intentions before he had come within thirty feet of her.

Well done.  A skill so well used that it's nearly another spell, and it's performed without her even thinking about it.

"I am Iordyn Raibeart the Younger, come in the name of the Purple Dragons- I hope you'll forgive the interruption," the young Human said smilingly as he stopped just outside of the wooden circle that separated the training area from the rest of the courtyard.  The dark Elf's response was to simply aim his next weapon at the interloping archer, and since Silveredge knew that there was no way that the bowman could possibly dodge fast or far enough, she turned, slung her chain away from her left arm to wrap it around the jagged shard of metal, then tugged it back toward herself.  The archer turned his face from both weapons as Kronmyr's weapon whizzed by to bury itself harmlessly into a tree, then looked back at Silveredge with a grateful smile.

"That... was useful..." Kronmyr panted, immediately turning his back on Silveredge and Iordyn.  "So I'll allow it.  Don't stay up long, Rasha.  New weapon tonight."

"My lord is kind," Silveredge responded without pause, bowing her gaze to the ground.

On the second floor, where he nursed his tall beer as though it would be the only one he would drink that day, Mordren smirked.  Compared to baked straps, vinegar baths and salt lined beds, of course, he thought as he took another sip.

"Training?" Iordyn asked lightly as he followed Kronmyr inside with Silveredge just a few steps behind him.  The tightly wound dog, who had to be reminded to sit still outside, whined as though she would soon bark.  Mordren had only to turn around and walk to the other side of his room to get in earshot of the conversation again.

"I suppose you're off to put down a bandit raid or to take care of a coterie problem in the name of the Sunfire Mercs sometime soon?" the archer continued, a note of comedy in his voice.

Silveredge either did not perceive the humor or ignored it entirely.  "My lord Bann has not yet seen fit to send me anywhere," she replied with no hint of jest.  When the mage could see her, he noted that she had remained at a very careful two pace distance from the archer as she spoke.  "His handmaiden must assume that her lack of education in all this weapon's fine arts is what prevents her from being truly useful."

"Or he could be hiding you, Silveredge," Iordyn volleyed, turning around to fix her with a strong look.  The change in tone had been so sudden that Mordren's wife, who had decided to follow them at a much farther distance, registered a faint flicker of surprise.

Mordren felt Silveredge quickly shield herself with a protection spell as she dropped her gaze to the floor.  To all eyes, she was being submissive.

Wonder of wonders- a ward that shields her from good.  Not likely that this fine gent would be able to pierce her circumlocution anyway.

"I called you twice in the market."

No response.

"I know you heard me."

Still nothing.

So this is a routine, Mordren thought, remembering how Silveredge had presented him with the same brick wall passive stance.  Bann and Howler- when the houndmaster even attempted to speak to her- had suffered such stone-quiet responses as well.  Kronmyr, however, who had told Mordren that he never had such difficulty, had derisively informed Mordren that he simply was not giving the correct commands.

The mage looked over at the hooded female figure, and even though the two did not even meet gazes, the female mage standing casually in the shadows quietly turned to her right and moved up the staircase nearest her.

"Look me in the face and tell me that Silveredge is not your name," Iordyn urged quietly, taking a half step toward her.  "Tell me I'm wrong."

There was a brief pause during which it seemed that Silveredge would again not dare to speak.  Then, as Silveredge lifted her hollow, platinum eyes to the archer's brown ones, there came the very quiet, "That is not my name.  My lord is wrong."

At first, Iordyn's face contorted into a look of utter surprise.  It lasted for just a moment, then was replaced with a determined glare.  Having seen such a look on other faces before, Mordren moved slowly toward the top of the stairs opposite his retreating wife, not bothering to muffle his footsteps or otherwise mask his approach as she had decided to do.

The archer ducked down slightly so that he could look Silveredge in the face.  "Ser Unessmus was wrong, then?  To call you Silveredge?  To tell me that that was your name?"

Silveredge stopped looking at Iordyn and instead stared beyond him blankly, as though she hadn't understood his questions. 

Not giving the correct commands, hmm?

Mordren decided to ease his way downstairs, and at the courtyard entrance, the archer's dog began whining its discomfort with his presence.

"Ser Unessmus told me that your name was Silveredge, and that you were married to Aleksei.  Did he lie to me when he said those things?" Iordyn asked with some frustration.  The sharp charge of accusation laced it, making it icier than it may have been intended to sound.

Silveredge looked Iordyn in the face again, and her eyes reflected a distant disturbance, so faint that Mordren had to stop on the stairs to sense it.

"The handmaiden is not sure how to answer, as she cannot tell her lord what Ser Unessmus may have been thinking when he said those things.  The handmaiden begs you to remember that she was not fully in health when first she met you."

Iordyn turned his head to one side as though he'd been soundly slapped.  "Neither was I," he managed through clenched teeth, "yet you cannot tell me that I did not hear Ser Unessmus call you by name- by a name that you are now refusing to own."

"Rasha, I believe you are delaying our training session," Mordren said at last, considering the beer in his flagon as he spoke.

"And who are you?" Iordyn asked with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

The mage looked up and smiled, and as Iordyn caught his eyes, Silveredge suddenly felt in her soul that this contact was far worse than when had first Vhalan locked eyes with Oakarm.  She immediately dropped her gaze to the floor again.

"My lord does no wrong when he speaks."

Mordren suddenly snapped his attention to Silveredge, and Iordyn drew in breath as though he'd recently been underwater.

"We will talk later, and at length, but for now, you'll have to answer this man," Mordren said in a low, but commanding voice.  His manipulating energy swelled, reaching down Silveredge's spine, then around the inside curves of her hips.

"Who are you, I said," Iordyn repeated, stepping toward Mordren.  "I didn't ask-"

"Of course not, Officer," Mordren supplied, reaching out to rest a hand on Silveredge's right hip.  "But this is an obvious delaying of training, and I won't stand for it."

"Training," Iordyn repeated with a leaden tone, watching the mage's wayward hand with clear suspicion in his face.

"She's a bit of a mage, you see, and is only playing at simplicity," Mordren smiled a little too nicely, looking up from Silveredge's hip to Iordyn's face.  "Answer this man plainly, so that he may be on his way."

Iordyn sighed and looked past the Human and the Shadar-kai toward the courtyard for a brief moment.  When Silveredge opened her eyes and lifted her gaze just slightly from the floor, he refocused his attention on her.

"The dark Elf and this Human are calling you 'Rasha.'  Ser Unessmus called you Silveredge.  Battlemage Ranclyffe gave something like 'Shiklihemre' when the guards finally got him to put anything to paper.  Which of these is your name?"

Submit, Modren said in his mind as he pressed the tips of his fingers firmly into Silveredge's hip.  In front of him.

"None, my lord," the Shadar-kai supplied in a quiet, but steady voice.

While her physical features were so well controlled that it seemed nothing had changed, Iordyn listened to Valeria whine plaintively outside.  He suddenly wondered where Niku was, and what might be happening to him.

"Aleksei is wanted for murder in Urmlaspyr.  The most- the first beloved, she's wanted for murder here.  And you will be too, if you don't give up your proper name and where I know you know the first beloved is hiding."  Iordyn broke eye contact again and looked at the floor off to his right for a few seconds before finding the tolerance to watch the mage move himself even closer behind Silveredge.  The front of Mordren's upper body actually made light contact with the Shadar-kai's back.

And Mordren thought, Give in to me.  I want you.

There was an entire daring minute during which Silveredge went completely quiet.  Even Mordren's constant sense magic spell failed to give him any information- for the first time since he'd begun casting it toward her. Her body became ice cold and her eyes closed, but her spine remained ram-rod straight. The change in mental activity and body temperature was so jarring, however, that the Human mage briefly considered attempting to cast a detect life spell.

You do not care about me.  You do not care about any of those who you work with- or even your wife- whether I tell anyone anywhere a lie or the truth is irrelevant to you.  I know you.  I see you.

The stilled mental voice, so small that it would have been less than a whisper had it actually been spoken, caught Mordren by surprise.

"Silveredge?" Iordyn asked with a trace of concern.

The Shadar-kai lifted her head just slightly, to indicate that she'd realized that someone had addressed her.  Both Mordren and Iordyn were relieved, although Mordren did a better job of controlling visible signs.

"Tell me where Mi'ishaen is, Silveredge," Iordyn breathed, as though robbing his voice of tone would keep the green-eyed diviner behind Silveredge from hearing the words he spoke.  "She's done- she helped me to do- a terrible thing.  An innocent man is dead.  Her life may be spared, like mine was, if she at least seemed repentant, but she's not.  Not now- but maybe if you helped her to realize... she could get a second chance...  If you love her, save her soul for her.  If you love her at all, bring her to justice.  Tell me where she is."

Silveredge decided not to focus on Iordyn's insistent pleading.  Instead, she began to file through memories of Spikearm Commune and its denizens, allowing herself to sink deeply in the power that their mistreatment still held in her flesh and her soul.

"I thought you said Mi'ishaen was dead," Mordren interjected at once, tightening his grip around Silveredge's hip so suddenly that Iordyn jumped a little.

"The handmaiden hopes her lord will forgive her," Silveredge managed, finding it difficult to remain connected to the present world around her at all.  On her wrist, the gal ralan sunk an extra half inch into her flesh, allowing the stone at its heart to surge with the color of her cobalt blood.  Iordyn noticed the change at once.

"The officer may; I most certainly will not," Mordren ground, narrowing his eyes.  "You stood right here and told me that miserable, destructive bitch was dead.  Mind you, ser, this is the same wench that took out two of the chandeliers in here- surely you see that, above you?"

Iordyn took a brief second to look up and over to his right side, then returned his gaze to Silveredge.  "So, is she alive or dead?"

"Tell me you did not lie to me when you told me that bitch was dead," the mage growled.  Yet, as he did so, the power that had wound itself around Silveredge's spine was forced to retract from her pleasure center as though repelled.

"As my lord wishes, so it is," Silveredge replied, lowering her head back to its previous position.

Mordren pulled his hand away from Silveredge's side and crossed his arms.  The sudden departure of his heat and pressure nearly brought an audible sigh of relief out of the Shadar-kai's lips.

"Swear to me, by your soul, that you did not lie," the mage demanded, his emerald eyes glittering with a highly focused energy that struck Iordyn as nearly manic.

"That's enough," the archer said sternly.  "You don't know what she's-"

"No, you don't know," Mordren hissed, allowing his eyes to bore holes into the young man before him.  "This is my trainee, my student.  You are free to leave whenever you feel you are quite done wasting my time."

"I think I have all I can hope for," Iordyn sighed unhappily, turning his gaze away from the sight of Silveredge's bowed head.  "If you get a free moment... and happen to be near the guards' tower..."

"My lord is kind," Silveredge said automatically as she sat all the way down so that the tops of her ankles were on the floor.

Iordyn knelt down, put his first knuckle under Silveredge's chin and tilted her head until their eyes met.

"I'm not your lord."

"You can kiss her too, Ser Raibeart," Mordren scoffed.  "She won't contest your touch any more than she does mine."

"You know, slavery's not legal here," Iordyn challenged, getting up again.

"It seems you have perception and knowledge enough to have at some point noticed the ring in the back of her neck and realize what it means, but you should have also noted that I have no matching bauble," Mordren replied cordially.  "Someone ought to be reminded of the illegality of slavery, but unfortunately for you, it isn't me.  I assume you're done here, ser?"

"Yes; done," Iordyn huffed, disgusted.  "Ria, c'mon."

The dog bolted through the still-open courtyard entrance at once, turning a few tight circles at Iordyn's side before noticing the Shadar-kai or the aloof Human mage at all.  Without another word, the archer turned and walked out the front door, leaving Mordren and Silveredge alone.

"You're welcome," Mordren whispered with a coy half smile, reaching out to run a gentle caress across the Shadar-kai's right shoulder.

"My lord is kind," Silveredge repeated, not moving a single inch.

Mordren reached down and slipped his right thumb through Silveredge's piercing, convincing her to get to her feet with a small squeeze.  As soon as she did, he stepped even closer to her, then slowly and carefully wrapped his arms around her.

"I would be more.  Than just kind."

Silveredge's eyes bolted open wide as she felt Mordren nuzzle the left side of her neck first, then nibble at her ear.  A warmth all her own sprung up from the inside of her thighs, and as it did, an idea flashed through her mind so briefly that the mage was unable to divine it.  In a smooth, tender movement, the mage moved so that he stood in front of her, so close that if she would have looked up, their foreheads would have touched.

The Shadar-kai's spirit was silent, and she did not move.

Yet, Mordren was intrigued.  As he checked for any magic she may have been using, he saw only the spectral, colorless forms of two large wings that folded all the way around her like a cloak.

Now that is different.