Act II of the Therion Saga





Rethlyn
Immortal Legacy


Chapter I
--
The Silver Legion


OOC

Somewhere on Feldred
Dusk

"Catch him! Kill him, if you must... We can always question the corpse!" Three cloaked men lunged forward as one, blades flashing in the dim light of the moon. Two swords missed the mark, sparking as they glanced off the stone that made up the tunnel's walls. The third pierced leather, cloth and flesh, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the target as he stumbled from the blow. Had it been any more than a shallow gash, he would have been down; instead, he nimbly spun about and used the momentum to whip a long, ebon staff into his assailant's midsection. Surprise was dimly visible on the man's face for an instant at the moment of contact before flying backwards through the air, as a flash of light and a sharp crack preceded an impact similar to that of attempting to stop a charging warhorse with naught but your body. Not wasting an instant, the quarry dashed the rest of the way through the tunnel, emerging into the cold night air and immediately vanishing around the corner.

The mage continued running for what could have been a few moments, putting distance between himself and the opening in the mountainside. A few moments was all he could manage, however, before the effort expended during his escape caught up to him. Magical fatigue, physical exhaustion and his own unique illness all chose the same moment to set in, sending him stumbling behind a cluster of trees where the next step was to fall over and retch. He cursed his weakness, his own private little curse visited upon him for no reason other than who he was... If only life didn't have to be so complicated. The absence of bile and the appearance of blood told the man he could not play this game much longer, and must either disappear or remain where he was and risk discovery. Shouts reached his ears then, arcane in nature, and a sudden light poured forth around either side of his tree, the source of which was currently illuminating the space he had just recently vacated.

So the magical support finally catches up. Brilliant. He despaired. For a brief moment then, a mocking laugh rang through the mage's head, and his jaw involuntarily tightened. Gritting his teeth and pushing himself off the ground, he pondered his available means of escape for an instant before settling on one; a smile crept over his pained face as he opened the proper mental channels, allowing the energy called magic to flow through him and begin it's work.

The remaining swordsmen prowled the forest's edge, staying within the globe of conjured light which was doing a successful job of turning night into day, called forth by their newly arrived companion at the tunnel's entrance. With nowhere for the mage to run without being seen, and only so many places for him to hide, finding him seemed imminent. The wizard controlling the light smiled grimly, secure in the knowledge that he could outmatch whatever was running from them. Defensive spell components were gripped lightly in his left hand, and offensive in his right; whatever their target sent out at them as a desperate last stand, he was ready.

Suddenly, oh so suddenly, the night sky turned to fire.

--

'You're dead.'

'Quite.'

'I heard... I felt you die.'

'Yet here I am. Intriguing, no?'

'You're not real.'

'That could very well be true. You're delirious.'

'What do you want?'

'...What do I want? You should be asking yourself that, since I am obviously just a product of your fevered imagination.'

'This... Doesn't make any sense.'

'Precisely. Time to wake up.'

'Can't you at least tell me, show me how to repair the damage?' Laughter.

'Boy, I wouldn't show you how to pass your first-year Academy exams.'

'This is your body too, you know... If you're still here.'

'...Wake up, Emerin. You're bleeding.'

*

Emerin Trintellyn jerked upright the same instant a jagged bolt of blue-white lightning split the nighttime sky, illuminating for but an instant the distant Nightfire mountain, the landmark that could be seen from almost anywhere on Rethlyn. Emitting a sharp gasp of pain, his left hand automatically reached down to check his bindings and make sure they were still secure, while the other went to his side; it came away red. One small reprieve for the mage was the fact that his mount did not bounce up and down with each step, the ethereal horse not needing to plant it's feet directly on the ground in order to move forward. Grimacing, he twisted enough to look down at his right side, and the wound that had opened up again sometime in the past few hours. He had been foolish to let himself fall asleep mid-journey, but his strength had given out and his horse knew where it was going. The Academy couldn't be more than another two hours away, he guessed, though it seemed much more.

His thoughts wandered back to the 'dream' he had just woken from, if it could be thought of as such. The other had been dead for over a decade, this much was certain. Emerin had been perfectly fine for the first several years following his return to the physical realm; there had been no mental intrusions, no sudden bursts of millennia-old inspiration in dire moments, and definitely no conversations with Vesavius or Dramar. Shortly after the teleportation, though... That was when things had started slipping ever so slightly. He had been waking lately, suddenly and as if from a powerful dream of some kind certain he had spoken to one of the two. These voices were never heard awake, though, which led him to doubt the veracity of his suspicions.

Placing his hand over the cut that had passed just under his lower ribs, Emerin allowed his eyes to close as he worked the same spell he had already been forced to replace once, some time ago. Healing magic worked in interesting ways... That is to say, it worked on everyone but whoever was doing the casting. The most he could do for himself was to block it off, staunch the flow of blood until he reached those who could properly take care of him. He had no doubts that he would survive, but that didn't stop the situation from being even more miserable. As if on cue, the moist air turned to a torrential downpour in the blink of an eye, leaving the mage to mutter a rather vile oath and reflect on how he had landed himself in his present situation.

--

Emerin had only meant to explore the island, map out the uncharted regions and determine just why it was that the island was considered 'cursed', what the source of all the mysterious problems seeming to spring from the place could be. So far, all he had found was a land more than half covered in snow, consisting mostly of forest, mountains and half-frozen rivers. A cold, unforgiving land, Feldred was clearly not a place one would desire to make their home unless they were either desperate, or an especially hardy folk. Perhaps that was it... Maybe the island was simply so miserable that everyone avoided it. That, combined with the fact that there were countless reports of strange creatures, roaming bandits, mercenaries and all sorts of unsavory elements present that it was simply not thought of as a viable option.

His curiosity had understandably been piqued when he had come across the entrance to a rather large tunnel built into the side of one of the mountains, hidden away by an encircling forest. Though he had not intended to go spelunking in uncharted territory in the middle of a perpetual winter when he had first set out, the mage cheerfully walked in, working a small weave of energy hailing from the school of enchantment that allowed him to see through the darkness ahead. One fact that he had noted that interested him greatly was that there were footprints in the light snow, through they started within the tunnel and did not extend out into the forest at all. These would not be the first beings he had come across on Feldred, but he felt his excitement rising nonetheless. The previous inhabitants of the island he had met had been territorial, not knowing what lay beyond their borders for several acceptable reasons that kept them therein.

Emerin reflected, not for the first time, on his decision to come to the island. It had been the same as all his other journeys, wandering the continent and the surrounding land masses in search of nothing in particular for the last... Had it truly been a decade? There was no clear goal in his mind, only the act of keeping himself busy, continuing to move forward in the swirling miasma of adventure, danger and intrigue that was life; attempting to forget the old world and move on in the new. So far, no true calling had yet made itself apparent to the mage. No matter how much he would have liked to plant himself at the Academy, a place he was more than welcome at, he did not enjoy being in one spot for an extended duration. He could live somewhere for a few weeks... A few months at the most, and then he had to move on. If he remained long enough to establish strong connections, to grow close to others... Nothing good could come of it. He liked to stay on the move. It was this strong will to wander that had led him to explore the better part of Rethlyn so far, and it was this will that had led him to the island; not for anyone's sake but his own. He was better off not around others, after all.

The tunnel did not extend too far under the mountain before it came to a three-way branch. Emerin studied the options that lay before him before choosing the left-most path. He did, however, note that the center path went upwards, and the right-hand one went down. He trotted down his chosen tunnel, relieved to notice that the air grew slightly warmer the further he went. In addition, a faint glow was beginning to make itself visible in the distance. Eager to meet whatever folk lived under the mountain but on his guard at the same time, he approached the tunnel's exit cautiously, slowing even more as the sounds of a large gathering drifted down the passageway to his ears. Treading forward lightly, the mage drew close enough to the portal to see inside. He had about five seconds to take in the sight before something heavy crashed down on the back of his head and the world went dark.

--

The cloaked wizard had stumbled backwards as the very air in front of him went up in flames, an inferno appearing amidst the trees in the blink of an eye. The swordsmen yelled, throwing themselves flat upon the ground in an effort to dodge the flames that would surely consume them all. It took them perhaps half a moment to realize that there was no heat, or pain from the fire. Recognizing the illusion for what it was, they began to scramble to their feet, picking their blades up from where they had dropped them during their dive to the ground. The wizard had instinctively thrown his left hand forward and began to mutter an incantation that would shield him from the flames, but as he realized the truth of the matter the intonation of his words changed slightly, dropping a choice word here and adding one there until he had altered his spell from defensive to offensive. Emerin barely had time to work his response, conjuring a shimmering, angled wall of energy and diving out of the way as a monstrous bolt of lightning crashed into the shield. Some of the destructive energy dissipated on contact, or was reflected harmlessly out of the way, but the bulk of the attack punched through, slamming into the ground and sending the mage head over heels into the nearest tree.

Emerin slid to the ground with a groan as his peripheral vision picked up one of the swordsmen coming at him from the right. Allowing himself to slump, defeated, his right hand planted itself firmly on the earth, making a connection with the cold grass and dirt. The cloaked man moved forward fearlessly, confident that his wizard had knocked the troublesome mage unconscious. His sword raised, then descended in a flashing arc aiming for the unprotected neck beneath him. The man's hands shook from the impact; the sword shook violently as it embedded itself in the thick bark of the tree, Emerin having slipped downwards, sinking into the very ground.

Emerin had long ago discovered an easier way to move through the elements than that used by more... Direct magic-users. The amount of energy one needed to exert to pass through earth or fire was enormous if you simply tried to force your way. Emerin just reached into himself, to the small part of him that was tied to the elements through magic, and asked the earth for permission to pass; the element responded by making the job that much easier, requiring far less work on the mage's part. The land was ancient, it's thoughts slow and methodical, and it did not like to be trifled with on top of the atrocities constantly visited upon it by the races. A little respect went a long way in the field of elements. Even so, one cannot move far under the earth before tiring, and the mage was forced to the surface little more than a hundred feet away.

It didn't take long for the wizard to spot him, and begin another chant. To make matters worse, the unmistakable sounds of hooves now reached Emerin's ears. Turning to spot the source of the noise, he could make out several black-cloaked forms on horseback coming down a path from farther up the mountainside, above the original entrance he had found. To make matters worse, they were armed with bows, and one of them carried a staff strapped across their back.
A sudden pain in his side made him realize he had neglected the wizard behind him for a second too long; the warmth and wetness now felt told him it was not a light wound. Cursing, the mage spun about and tried the last trick he could think of. The wizard was caught entirely off-guard as he felt his mouth involuntarily shut, cutting off his next spell mid-word. Emerin reached into the satchel at his side and closed his hand around a horse-shaped figurine before his adversary could figure out a way to undo the trick without vocalizations. Though his own mount could travel faster than a normal horse, he doubted he had the energy left to push it that far while keeping two magic-users off his back, and only hoped he could get to the coast before the bowmen drew within range.

------

Northern Trellyn
Nightfall

The forest was peaceful, on this particular night. The daytime animals had long since passed into slumber, and the creatures of the night silently moved about both bush and branch. The tenders, the giant walking trees serving as guardians to the woods and servants of the forest spirit moved about slowly at the very edges of vision, the steady monotonous noise of their passing a dull rumble that blended into the forest perfectly. Large predators stalked through the underbrush without making a noise, seeking their next meal or merely moving as they knew best. Slate Mythanrail was perfectly at home in such a setting, having long since abandoned the more civilized world in favor of the peace that came along with nature. Despite the sturdy leather boots on his feet, he moved almost as quietly as the beings around him, slipping from shadow to shadow with a natural ease that bespoke the years he had been in the habit of doing so. His eyes only served to warn him of low-hanging limbs or foliage directly in front of him, all other necessary information coming in from his other senses. He could tell that there was a small flock of green-feathered fy'rel in the boughs above him by the rustling of their feathers, just as he knew a rather large panther was following him from behind and above by both the sound of claws on bark and the feeling of intent on the back of his neck. Pausing and turning, he cast a chiding glance in the giant cat's direction, and waited for it to slowly slink away before continuing on his way.

Slate had been moving through Trellyn for the past three weeks, now. After paying the yearly visit to his old home, Daenam, the ranger had felt the overwhelming need to be away from civilization. As such, he had moved from one of the most densely-populated, technologically advanced areas of Rethlyn into one of the calmest, tranquil spots he knew of; the Northernmost reaches of Trellyn, away from the kingdom proper and near the Academy of Magic, which was located only a few hours' walk from his present position. He was overdue on a visit to the Academy, and had not seen his friends there in a long, long time. As such, he was headed in the direction of the school at the present moment, coming out of his relaxation period in the woods and preparing to throw himself back into the maelstrom of civilized life once more. It wasn't that Slate minded being around others - on the contrary, he loved it - he just occasionally needed some time to unwind.

The tree line was coming into view ahead, and the dwarf quickened his pace slightly. He could make out a rough path ahead of him using the light of the moon, but his eyes were not to be his primary means of finding his way around at the moment. His feet picked their own way over obstacles, instinctively adjusting pressure and footing depending on what kind of object the ranger stepped on to avoid sliding off moss-covered rocks or tripping over upraised roots. It didn't take long to clear the edge of the forest and emerge onto the plains beyond, and Slate grudgingly let the forest fall away behind him as he walked on, waving over his shoulder at the place he considered his true home. The faint rumbling of a tender answered him, the guardian making it's own slow circuit around the edge. Amazing what a few weeks' time in a forest can do for you.

--

Slate clambered up the last few steps to the summit of the Southern-most mountain in the ring that comprised the Academy's natural shield from the outside world, and gazed around with a fond smile. He had reached a site that he had visited once before, before he had ever set foot inside the grounds below; it was here that one night, many years ago he had quite possibly saved the lives of several students of the school when they had accidentally conjured a hybrid elemental that wasn't at all pleased with it's state or situation at the time. Sixty years later, and there were still very, very faint scorch marks on a certain section of rock. Grinning, the ranger adjusted the bow and warhammer slung across his broad back and started to continue on his way down the other side when he was stopped by something at the very edge of his vision, over the Northern mountains and on the plains beyond. What he thought he saw was a dull, blue speck moving at a steady pace over the ground straight towards the Academy. It took the dwarf but an instant to ponder where he had seen the same thing before when it hit him.

*
"Emri, boy, where are you off to in such a hurry?" Slate sat, propped in a very comfortable nook in a very comfortable-looking tree in the Academy grounds directly in front of the great hall, staring at his friend as the mage rushed across the marble stones.

"Ebonhold! Alea just received word that some of the greatest minds in the land are convening to discuss some new, relevant information that's come up about the disappearance of Illenia... I have to see what it is they've found." The mage paused in front of the fountain in the middle of the yard; a massive, solid centerpiece to the collection of buildings all around. Built out of both white and black marble, it represented a perfect balance of light and dark, and the water it produced was used in many classes as a pure source of the element. It was also a focal point for magic-users in general, the collection of elements providing a steadying effect for spellcasting. At the moment, Emerin was using it in conjunction with whatever he held in his hand, which appeared to be a small figurine carved in the likeness of a rearing horse.

"Ebonhold is almost a month's hard ride from here. You know," the dwarf muttered, "sometimes I think you've lost your mind." Emerin flashed Slate a crooked smile, and tapped the side of his head with his free hand.

"I thought I'd already told you, my friend, I lost it a long time ago." The two shared a laugh, but Slate still looked at the mage questioningly. How did he intend to travel several thousand miles in under a month? In answer to the unspoken question, Emerin closed his eyes as a look of serene concentration came over him. A moment later, a blue light began pulsing lightly from the figurine in his hand. Opening his eyes, the mage grinned. A final pulse occurred, and then, suddenly and without warning, a large ethereal horse was standing in front of him. It had the same bluish tint to it as the light, and almost appeared to pulse in the same way, appearing as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. "A week, no more than two should suffice with this particular mode of transporation. I have sixteen days before the assembly, so things work out nicely." The dwarf's eyes returned to normal from the wide-eyed stare they had swiftly assumed at the horse's appearance, and Slate let out a guffaw.

"You're full of surprises, I see. Well... Safe travels, friend." Emerin nodded before attaching his satchel and staff to his transport, then swung himself into place. Letting out a light cough, he paused for a moment to take several deep, steadying breaths before speaking a strange word Slate did not recognize. The great steed tossed it's head and shot forward in a great bound that clearly left it's mortal counterparts in the dust. The last thing Slate saw was a dull, blue speck moving away in the distance at a steady pace.

*

Slate smiled. Emerin! It had been some months since he had seen his friend, and he was beginning to wonder when the next time would be. His question finally answered, he decided to hurry on down into the Academy. Though the mage was much, much farther away, the ranger had a sneaking suspicion that he would still be the first one to arrive.

Getting down the mountains and into the Academy, however, was a tricky process. It was not as simple as merely walking down into the school; wards, guardians and Draconians all had a hand in keeping the staff and students safe from whatever threat of the month wanted entrance. The Draconians knew Slate well, so he didn't have to worry about them. The guardians knew of the dwarf as well, which left the wards. This was the tricky part, because some of the magical defenses set in place around the Academy were changed on a regular basis. Illusions sat in different places, leading one in the opposite direction of the Academy, or creating unsurpassable obstacles where clear paths actually existed. These were the ones that were changed on a semi-regular basis, so Slate would have to be on his guard and keep his wits about him. As the thought finished passing through his mind, he promptly ran face-first into a rather solid wall that stood, quite invisibly in the middle of the path. Rubbing his nose and cursing loudly, the ranger felt his way around the barrier, having to navigate a steep, slippery slope of gravel in order to continue his downward direction. This process went on for the better part of an hour.

--

Slate finally cleared the hideous mountain and entered into the enchanted forest, realizing as he did so that he must have moved West somewhat in his descent. He had really stopped being able to tell which direction he was traveling halfway down, when he had stumbled into an area enchanted to remove one's vision, so he only had himself to blame for falling off-track. He felt his disdain for the Academy's security system evaporate, however, when he looked around himself, feeling the same awe and reverence that he had the first time he walked this particular path. Entering the Academy as he had that first time, though, Slate Mythanrail was one of the very few souls on Rethlyn who could claim that his first view of the forest was leaving, not entering the Academy. The forest served as a gateway into the main grounds, and served to put one in the proper mood before they stepped into the most widely renowned center for the study of the Arcane arts on Therion. The trees had been donated by Trellyn, and were a smaller variety of the same breed that encircled the royal Elven city. Growing almost eighty feet in height, they curved back and forth artistically, appearing almost statuesque in appearance. Light, thin leaves in different metallic colors grew from delicate branches, and small, glowing green and blue orbs of magic drifted through the entire forest, providing light in the evening hours.

Slate made his way easily North through the forest, making his way for where he knew the path to the Academy lay. He came upon it in short order, the forest recognizing the ranger and granting him passage. Had he been an invasive presence, or possessed ill intent towards anyone or anything within the grounds, the forest would have surely killed him before he had taken his second step. There was powerful magic at work in the woods, here, and a powerful will residing within the trees. The path Slate had been seeking appeared in the form of a thin, winding stretch of packed ground, barely wide enough for a cart or carriage to get through. This was deceiving, though, for the dwarf had personally borne witness to the trees pulling back and out of the way when larger vehicles traveled through into the school. At the moment, however, Slate was alone on the path, and he took his time walking down it. Either he had arrived first, and Emerin would meet him for the rest of the walk, or he would take his time and enjoy the forest before he reached his friends.

It didn't take long before something began tickling the edge's of Slate's sight. It started as a dim, wavering light filtering in through the trees which he was passing by, and gradually grew until it was providing enough illumination for him to see by without the aid of the forest's globes. As he stepped out of the trees and onto a wide expanse of grassy field, he saw the unmistakable shape of the great hall of the Academy of Magic in the distance; he was nearly there. Stopping for a moment, he bent down and ran a hand through the grass at his feet, always marveling at just how soft and comfortable the grounds were kept, the way they simply grew to perfection... Possibly as an aftereffect of so much energy passing through the air, or due to the trees of the enchanted woods, he could not say. The meadow covered a considerable expanse of ground, and it took the dwarf another twenty minutes to walk across, to the edge of the Academy's lake that divided the valley in two. It possessed no name of it's own, and was fed by a modest waterfall to the North. The lake ran out of the valley underneath the mountains to the South, where a curious combination of physics and magic sent it through an underground cavern back to the source of the falls. This cycle helped keep the lake clean, and warmed the water via a piece of elemental fire which was kept under the Academy. Slate stepped out onto the lake - or, more appropriately, the bridge leading over it - and commenced the final trek to the Academy doors. The bridge was comprised of raised stones that came to just below the water's surface, giving the impression that anyone crossing was walking on water, and leaving the lake unbroken by a more traditional bridge.

Across the bridge was the start of the path into the town that stood before the Academy. It wasn't considered a town in it's own right, but part of the school, as everyone who lived within had something to do with the workings of things, or was related to someone who did. The total population of the valley counting village, Academy staff and students was upwards of four thousand at any given time. There was a mixture of single homes, dormitories and shops with larger buildings thrown between everything; remote classrooms, or areas of specialized learning. Other such buildings were located in secluded locations throughout the valley. There was a tower nestled in the enchanted woods somewhere (Though it always seemed to change location.), an underground cavern for advanced teaching, and a large nondescript building located at the far end of the valley behind the school, among others.

The great hall itself took up a large portion of the end of the valley, and it was towards this part of town that the cobblestone street changed to smooth marble. There were no homes dotted around the hall, just classrooms upon classrooms. Each one had a different size, shape and general appearance catering to the type of magic-users that were taught within, and some had added structures on top of them for the staff's private use. The hall was a mammoth building the size of a small castle, though it's appearance was quite different. The architecture showed signs that every race had had a hand in it's construction, from the thick and militaristic Draconian walkways up high to the sweeping spires and railways that screamed of Elven design. Nearly a thousand feet across and deep, the structure stood almost two hundred feet in height. Four large sections surrounded an inner courtyard, and there were various entrances located around the school to the well-known caverns below the valley.

Slate took all of this in in the blink of an eye, illuminated as it was by the mammoth poles scattered throughout the village ablaze with magefire, serving as nightlights for the townsfolk. He made his way towards the hall, which is where he knew Emerin would be heading as soon as he arrived. Out of all the people in the valley, they were among the select few that had the ability to see the headmistress whenever they desired, if she was available. Slate wanted to say hello, and he knew Emerin would as well. Eventually, he came to the town square of sorts, before the hall, and stopped at the same fountain he had bid farewell to his friend at some time ago, sitting down to wait. He didn't have to wait long.

--

Emerin was holding on as best he could, but was slowly losing his already-tenuous grip on consciousness. He had been moving slower than he would have liked, the last few miles, and he knew it was because his will was starting to give out. His horse could only move as fast as he had energy to direct it, and right now that was waning quickly. Thankfully, he had passed through the mountain gate and into the enchanted forest some moments ago, and the Academy was now in sight. He did not have to look down at his bindings to know they had broken open again, and that he was bleeding once more. This time, though, he didn't even have the energy to staunch the flow again.

As the town square entered his sight, he began sliding downwards, slouching in a seat that was already precarious. The ties holding him to the ethereal steed had come undone sometime in the past hour, and he hadn't been able to reset them appropriately. As the fountain, his last landmark came into sight he was greeted by a curious image. There was a dwarf sitting on the edge of the fountain, and he couldn't help but mentally laugh at the sight. Hadn't that same dwarf been sitting in a tree not twenty feet distant when he had last been to the Academy, three months prior? He shook his head lightly to clear it, but the apparition remained where it was. Slate really was here, after all. The mage slowed his horse to a walk as the dwarf got up to greet him, and managed a pained grin.

"I don't mean to come off as an ass and ask for favors before I've even said hello, but do you think you could carry me up to the infirmary?" With that, Emerin Trintellyn promptly passed out and fell off his horse, which, having reached it's destination, seemed to waver slightly before dissipating into the air.

------

'Which one of us is dead this time, Emerin?'

'Get out of my head.'

'Are you sure it's not you? Maybe you lost too much blood, maybe this is it...'

'...Look, what do you gain from this? If you're there, why even bother talking to me?'

'Maybe I'm just trying to drive you insane, Emerin. Maybe, once you've lost your mind, I can find it.'

'...'

'Emerin?'

'What do you want?'

'Emerin...'

'Just stop...'

"Emri?"

"I think he's coming around... I knew it'd take more than a poke in the side to kill our boy."

"Emerin, please..."

------

The Academy of Magic
Dawn

Sunlight dimly filtered through the leaves of one of the giant trees adjacent to the great hall, into a solitary window and onto the three figures within the small, nondescript white room. One was laying in the only bed, looking as if he was teetering on the brink of death. White-lipped, pale and breathing shallowly, the only color visible on Emerin was located around the newly healed wounds crisscrossing his body, some of which appeared as if they would leave scars. Of the other two in the room, one sat in a short chair against the wall, leaning forward with great interest as he watched the recovery process. Slate was failing miserably in his attempt to conceal worry with nonchalance. The last knelt beside the mage with a hand on his forehead. If one did not know this person already, they might think she was an angel come to ease the passing of the dying; such was her appearance, even distraught, untidy and lacking a full night's sleep. Alea Silverell traced one last rune across the sick mage's skin with a single finger, then let her hand slide down to hold onto his own as she spoke again.

"Emerin? Wake up, please. Now." The mage twitched feebly, and the slate-gray eyes opened slowly, taking in his surroundings with all the interest and intensity of an orc studying embroidery. He let out a feeble laugh, followed hand-in-hand by a cough that sounded as though he were scraping the inside of his throat with a razor. Alea frowned, but said nothing; that was one ailment she could not cure.

"I must say..." His voice was a whisper. Slate hopped down from his seat and moved over to better hear the mage. Both he and Alea cocked their heads to catch the next statement, quiet as it was. "...I do vastly prefer your face as the first thing I see when I wake up to that of our friend here, ma'am." They laughed, knowing that though he must be in pain, Emerin was alright. "Thanks for taking the time to look after my battered self, Alea. This was the closest place I knew to come to." She nodded gravely.

"How far did you have to make it like that, Emri? That... Was not a pleasant blow you took to your side. The others weren't as bad, but they were all rather serious. Where have you been?"

"Feldred." The headmistress' eyes opened fractionally wider at the word.

"You mean to tell me you made it across the sea, then another three hundred miles with those injuries? How?" The mage patted his satchel, which had been placed on a small table adjacent to his bed.

"One very special horse, and a water elemental that owed me a large favor. I can assure you, it wasn't fun." Closing his eyes, he lay back and breathed deeply, recovering his breath. Alea, concern on her face, gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before standing, absently brushing several long silver locks out of her face and dusting her robes off. An odd, ice-like powder drifted to the ground, a by-product of the magic she had been using to heal the mage. Emerin was a special case, when it came to first aid; due to his condition, normal healing had absolutely no permanent effect on him, it could only patch him up temporarily. He needed someone with an incredible aptitude for magic and strong skills in the healing arts to properly work with him, and those who qualified for the job were few and far between, the next nearest being in Trellyn.

"You need to take better care of yourself, and stop taking so many risks... One day, you won't be able to make it to someone who can heal you in time." Emerin nodded weakly. "You need to rest for at least a day, maybe more. You're not to leave your bed until I say you can, agreed?" Another nod, the mage being in no mood to argue, yet. The headmistress inclined her head at Slate, and the two of them left the room, shutting the door gently behind them. Emerin managed three more breaths before sleep took hold of him.

--

Alea and Slate stood outside the doors to the hall after they had both taken a break to clean themselves up, the dwarf from travel and the magi from the night's ordeal, conversing in low tones about what had transpired. The headmistress had been the first to speak.

"Do you know what reason Emerin had for being in Feldred?" The dwarf shook his head.

"No, I haven't seen or heard from him since he left for Ebonhold three months back, to hunt for more clues about Illenia." He reached a hand up to stroke his beard, as if for inspiration. "Though, he had told me he was moving all around the continent as of this year, mapping out unexplored regions and just... Trying to find something to do, to keep his mind off it." Alea nodded, knowing full well what Slate meant. The disappearance of Illenia, Emerin's home, had plagued the mage since the day it happened nearly a decade prior. He had come to Rethlyn seeking solace, and he had found it, but he surely hadn't intended to remain for the rest of his days. Now his home - and everyone he had ever known in his old life - was gone, erased from Therion. "I'm assuming he was either following a lead, or just mapping the island."

"Either way, we'll get the full story out of him when he feels up to telling it." The archmage's tone had turned slightly inquisitive, hinting at a question she had not yet asked. Slate, perceptive as always, looked to her with a raised eyebrow.

"You need something, Alea?" She nodded. "By all means, ask." She gazed out at the valley for a moment, at the homes just now being bathed in the morning sunlight and people within that had not yet stirred from their beds, then looked back at the ranger beside her.

"I know you have your own duties and work to do, Slate, but... I was wondering if I could steal you for a few weeks." The dwarf said nothing, waiting. "Yesterday, one of the professors found the perfect job for my senior students to undertake as their exam, but I'm concerned for their safety. You know of the situation in Ebonhold?" Slate nodded. He had heard of the riots, bandits and plagues through the vast network of information that crossed throughout Trellyn while he had been in seclusion. "I'm sending them in to seek out the cause of the disturbances, and fix them if possible... Tomorrow morning. I'm going to tell them about it today, and I was wondering if you would mind accompanying them as a bit of added protection." Slate said nothing, but leaned back against the hall's doorway and shut his eyes, thinking.

"Well... Actually, I'm sorry to say that I do have some pressing business to attend to. You see, I've just spent the last three weeks wandering around Trellyn rather aimlessly, and I'd really like to get back to that as soon as poss-" he was cut of as Alea gave him a playful cuff upside the head. Opening his eyes and straightening up, he laughed along with her. "Yes ma'am, right away ma'am, I'll keep the li'l buggers safe for you." He saluted. Alea grinned, looking for all the world a young, strikingly beautiful Elvish woman joking with a friend as opposed to a centuries-old archmage sending her students off on what could very well be a disaster waiting to happen. She turned to face the village, black robes waving slightly in the wind. Black was a formal color, for her; there was business at hand.

Raising her right hand in front of her face, she lazily flicked her index finger at the fountain in the middle of the town square, showing no surprise at all as thin geyser of water laced with apparent magical energy shot several hundred feet into the air and stayed there, gently raining back down into the fountain as it peaked, perpetuating the cycle. Weaving her finger through another motion, she tied off the spell, leaving it to maintain itself as she ceased her concentration and turned to Slate. "That will bring the senior class here when they awake and see it. Once they're all assembled, I'll let them know about their task. Is there anything else you'd like to kn-" She was cut off by a curious rumbling noise coming from the dwarf. She arched an eyebrow and looked at him with a grin. "Would it be better if we finished over breakfast? You sound starved." Slate, who was beginning to realize that he hadn't eaten in nearly a straight day, stared back at her with a pleading expression.

"Please?"

OOC: lol, alot shorter than I thought it was, working through a bit of writer's block I suppose.


He had been in this new land for six months, wandering aimlessly, desperate to find a way home. It's too late now, the old man is dead anyway. Rest in peace Jast Gurdhal, I swear to learn the secrets of magic as you were teaching me. I will return to our world, find the Dragonhand descendant and bring that lineage back under protection. As you were a guide to Kain, so shall I be to the next in line. Zackariah's most sacred order and heritage shall remain intact.

He had never been one for gods, but his childhood friend Kain Dragonhand had become devout to Zackariah in his years as a monarch, the warrior discovered he was of direct descendance to the god. He had seen what Zackariah had done for those faithful to him, and eventually he too came to worship the Father of All. That however was in his own world, not this strange new land.

The figure cloaked in black looked upon the Academy of Magic, the center of learned beings from across Rethlyn. He had asked to speak with it's headmistress, certain that she might know something that could help him. However, he was told she was busy at the time and so he was asked to wait before he could meet with her. Apparently she was tending to an injured mage, one of note around here.

It had taken sometime for them to even accept bothering the headmistress with his request. He was afterall a strange man cloaked in shadow, appearing without warning, asking for their headmistress. With their guard up they asked him why.

"I come from another world, seeking information and knowledge on how I might return." They seemed to scoff at the notion, another world? How would one that does not have control of the art be able to teleport, let alone across the planets. "I come with no harmful intent, I doubt your forest would have let me pass if this was the case. If it would ease your conscience I will relenquish my weapons to you." As he spoke he began dropping his weaponry to the ground, Two kukris, ten throwing knives from several locations on his body, a hand crossbow with five cartridges, and a large knife that glows a deep blue to those with eyes that can see magic. All these appeared seemingly out of thin air as they were all concealed on his person.

"You may search me if you wish, but after you deem me trustworthy I expect my weaponry back, this world can be dangerous at times." With that he stepped back from the pile of weapons and waited for them to search him. Which they did as expected, still the elf did not seem to mind as he has been used to this type of suspicion many a time. He did smirk though, their caution was well warranted, and he would be disappointed if they had not done so.

The mages nodded, gathering up his weapons and making for the main section of the academy, and he fell in behind them. "You will have to wait as she is busy tending to Emerin." He answered them with a nod and fell in behind them.

"Wait out here, and we will alert her to your presence," one of the mages ordered as they were approaching an entrance. A strikingly beautiful woman emerged with a dwarf in tow, both of them laughing. "Tell your mistress that Shadow Swiftwind of Avurlund is here to speak with her." The mages nodded and turned around, and quickly realized that they would not have to go far to relay the information.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had been mapping for several months now, and decided it was time to turn in what he had accomplished so far, the academy was a long ways off though, even for an avelle, especially this particular individual. With smaller wings than his kin flying strained him more than it ever would them. His brethren could fly all day if they wanted, he could barely manage half of that. Still he enjoyed the freedom of it, and unlike his brethren, he knew what it was like to be without wings.

Word had reached him that Emri was in Ebonhold searching for clues about the disappearance of Illenia, and so before heading home he decided to wing in and try to find the mage. He and Emri were not close friends, yet their goals were similar, both mapped out the lands for the academy, both travelled abroad often, and both had an insatiable thirst for clues about Illenia. The major difference is that Illenia was Emri's home, and this was not the case for himself. He had been there once, just before it completely vanished from the world, he had hoped to convince his kin that those on Illenia needed help against the demonic horde they faced. He was laughed out of his homeland, and so he made for the Academy to beg it's headmistress to lend some help to the doomed land.

When he arrived however, he was told that Illenia was gone, it had simply vanished. He had long ago decided to aid Emri in his quest for Illenia, but rarely travelled with the mage who preferred solitude. In some way it was a way to make up to the people of Illenia for being powerless to help them. When he arrived in Ebonhold though he did not find the mage, learning that Emri had taken off the previous day. He stayed in Ebonhold that night, and began making headway for the Academy, despite his ability to take to the skies it would take him days to reach what he now came to view as home.

The journey was uneventful, when he stopped to rest people would gather around him, fascinated at the sight of him. It was rare that an Avelle was seen in the broad world, and many doubted that they truly existed. The young cleric was used to this however and spent his downtime helping those villagers who were injured or sick with his magic.

When he was finally able to see the academy it was nearly dark, and the magical lights that kept all of the academy alight during these hours were active, giving the avelle a grand sight as he flew in. The forest too seemed to be alive as lights danced throughout it, along the path to the academy. He set down on the top of the building, entering into his quarters from above, this way he could avoid the stares. It was the one thing about the lessers that he could never really get used to, and even those that knew of him well would stare. Despite not enjoying their looks, he could not blame them, for they were lessers and to them he was one of the most beautiful sights one could see, especially among the females of their kind.

After depositing his map case and travelling bag, he sought out Alea Silverell, the headmistress. When he finally spotted her he saw another familiar face alongside her. Slate Mithanrail, a dwarf whom the avelle owed his life to, this brought a smile to his lips, both of his closest friends in the same spot. As he approached he spotted another figure, unfamiliar and wrapped in Shadow. Where as he seemed to radiate light, this one was his opposite.

"please?"

"Always hungry aren't we Sir Mithanrail, and good eve to you lady Silverell." the avelle said in a voice that rang with melody.

"Tell your mistress that Shadow Swiftwind of Avurlund is here to speak with her."

"Avurlund? Where is that?" he blurted out absently, wishing he had his maps on hand. Thalion had never heard of this land, and to an Avelle, not knowing something like that is almost a sin. This was one of the rare times Thalion Thorontur ever seemed perplexed.

The small knife Kyugi carried with him would do no good against the bandits that were chasing him, but he would die before he gave them any of his possessions. All he carried were a few scrolls that were written to him by his parents containing memories, of relatively no importance to any other person. However, they were seemingly important to him, therefore worth at least trying to protect.

Horses hooves beat on the ground in a steady drum pattern. There were three thieves and only one of himself, but the odds against him did not matter. Running on the well trodden dirt path, Kyugi began to grow tired. The chase had gone on far too long, it needed to end soon. Taking out his knife, Kyugi turned around to face them. Slowly the thieves slowed their horses down to a stop.

“Tired are you? Give us what we want and we’ll let you live.” One of them took out a sword and held it at Kyugi’s neck.

“And if I have nothing of importance to you?”

The thieves laughed. The one who had spoken already, presumably the leader of the group, spoke again. “Everybody always has something worth taking. Money, trinkets. Anything.”

Kyugi sighed. “I don’t have anything you would want. Let me go or I will be forced to kill you.” That recieved another encore of laughter. How could someone in a possition like his be able to escape and kill them all? Of course, Kyugi himself didn’t think it possible, but at the moment he was just saying anything, hoping for an opening to escape.

“Come on. Just give us what we want, we don’t have all day to play.”

Reaching into his pocket, Kyugi carefully selected the scroll he would present. It had to be one which the contents were already memorized, otherwise he would never forgive himself if he destroyed an artifact not yet read. Taking it out, he offered a worn brown scroll to the leader.

“That’s it? Come on, boy. Give us your money.” The leader said, ignoring the scroll.

“I have no money,” he said, showing his other empty pockets in his jeans and robe.

“Eh, what about that one, the one you took...that...from?” Kyugi brought down his arm and put the scroll back in his pocket, showing the collection of scrolls he had, no more than six. “Rubbish,” the leader said, bringing back his sword to cut off Kyugi’s head. Ducking down, Kyugi took his knife and cut the reins on the horse. Startled, the horse stood up on its two legs, whinnying. “Ah!” The leader cried out, shocked. His sword dropped to the ground, but the other two thieves got theirs out and charged at Kyugi. “Kill him!” The leader shouted to them from his undignified position, sprawled out on the ground. His horse began to run away, but Kyugi grabbed onto its mane and with all his remaining strength, jumped on its back. The horse twisted and turned, trying to get the unknown master off its back, but Kyugi hung tight.

One of the thieves got close enough to Kyugi’s horse and thrust out with his sword, cutting into Kyugi’s hood. The back of it came off and the rest fell down. Cursing inside, Kyugi did not turn around, did not let these thieves catch a glimps of his face. Far too many times had he been chased, but once he let anybody see his face they ran away. He did not understand fully why they would fear him so. His skin was an unnatural white, blinding almost to the eye, whilst his pupils were red as well, not the normal black. Being born with these conditions had cost Kyugi a real family and home, and had since then only known to be shunned. In short, his pride was costly. He would rather not be made fun of, not be shunned in this instance. He would rather someone not know and kill him then to see his face and run away out of fear. He couldn’t bear to live with all the memories he carried with him.

Platinum hair billowing out behind him, he urged his horse faster. It ran faster, but began panting audibly. That’s not good... Kyugi thought to himself. Without thinking, he looked over his shoulder to see how far behind him the thieves were.

“Blimey...” One of the remaining thieves said, stopping his horse. “He’s...”

“A demon...Look at those eyes...” The other finished. Unfortunately, the change in events was not what Kyugi had expected. Instead of running, the thieves charged at him with greater vigor than before.

Taking his chances, much to his regret, Kyugi took his small knife and aimed carefully. Once he was ready, he flung it at one of the oncoming thieves, striking him in the chest.

“Angh...” The thief muttered, eyes rolling back into his head as he fell to the ground.

“You little swine!” The remaining thief took his sword and brandished it in the air. Turning his horse around, weaponless, Kyugi made his way to the two dead thieves, hoping to retrieve one of their swords. Sliding off his horse onto the ground, he ran to where the fallen thieves were and picked up a sword. The remaining thief came up to him and they began sparring. Kyugi had the greater disadvantage, being on the ground, but he did not want to give up life.

“Ah!” The thief smiled with malice as his sword struck Kyugi’s arm. Enraged, Kyugi thrust his sword out, piercing the thief. Yanking out the sword embedded in him, Kyugi also thrust it into the thief’s abdomen. “Die,” he said. The thief fell to the ground in a pool of blood, but Kyugi was badly wounded himself. Moaning, he fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder. Mustering up his remaining strength, he heaved himself onto the thief’s horse.

“Come on...” he sputtered. “take me...to Ebonhold...” Collapsing onto the horse, Kyugi struggled to remain conscious. He was a good half-day away from Ebonhold, but he prayed that he would get there in time before he lost too much blood.


[OOC: I hope this introductory post is alright. If there’s anything anybody would like me to elaborate on or to make more sense, please let me know and I’ll do my best to change it. I was having a pretty bad writers block, so I hope this is okay. It’s all that I could think of.]

Amber Renquist was just about done with the day's studies. She woke up bright and early, as usual. She naturally went to work getting ready for the day, washing and brushing her hair. She got dressed, went down and had breakfast with her mother. Her father had already left, as there was a disturbance in the forest the night before involving a gravely injured man who had come to the Academy to seek refuge. Naturally, her mother pestered her about the usual topics. Her studies, her bad habit of losing her glasses, and probably the most embarassing one of all. Men.

Her mother was slightly put off by the fact that Amber was more interested in spending an entire day in the libraries than looking for a potential husband. Amber was more than happy to break the conversation off by lying about how late she was going to be.

What a day. She had spent most of it, as her mother feared, in the library, continuing her practice of the destructive magics, as well as new summoning circle incantations and inscriptions. All in all, she used her time well. As she was placing the last book back onto the shelf and tying up the last scroll, her instructor came to visit.

"Ah, Amber, I should have known it was you.. actually, I'm glad you're here. I have an assignment for you."

"An.. assignment, sir?"

"Yes, and one of great importance. There will be a group of senior students departing for Ebonhold in a short while. Their task is to discover what is causing the region to destablize so rapidly. If something isn't done, the whole area will be consumed by a large humanitarian crisis. I have spoken with the headmistress, and she has expressed concern as to their safety. So, I'm looking for a volunteer to go help."

Amber slides the book onto the shelf, "Ah, I see.. well, I um.. I suppose.."

The instructor smiles softly, "Wonderful, I'll let the headmistress know you've agreed. I'd go home and prepare to depart, as they're due to set out for Ebonhold in the morning. Please rest up and meet by the fountain. The headmistress will explain the details of the assignment then."

Amber and the instructor exchange bows, and he departs, shutting the door to the library behind him. Amber adjusts her glasses and rummages through some scrolls for a map of Rethlyn. She finds Ebonhold on the map and sighs lightly.

"Ebonhold, huh..? Goodness, I wonder what mother and father will think? Me, out on my own.. Well, I can simply say it is official Academy business, right? It wouldn't be a lie.."

--

Amber returned home within the hour, explained the situation to her parents, and with her father's assistance, began packing her things.

"Now, Amber, just roll your pack up like this, and it'll be much lighter and easier to carry. Try not to lose your glasses, as you only have two extra pairs."

"Yes, father."

Her mother also did some nitpicking of her own, but more as a teacher than a parent.

"Keep your staff with you at all times. Don't let anyone else touch it. Be careful when drawing circles indoors and on uneven surfaces. And take care of yourself."

Amber nods, "I will."

"Alright. You'd better be off to bed if you want to be up early enough. Your father will wake you before he leaves to tend the grounds."

(OOC: Pen, Amber's instructor, being the fellow who suggested the Ebonhold idea to the Headmistress. Hope that doesn't impede in anything. Amber's going along as an advisor of sorts, and a bodyguard should things get messy.)

A courier burst into Avorusto's quarters, breathless but not wounded. "You're being summoned to the west gate. There's been a swarm of undead, primarily zombies... Please help!"

Avorusto shrugged and picked up his sword, then lazily moseyed over to the gate of the Fighters' Guild building. He met with five others -- two heavily armored warriors, a monk, a destructive spellcaster, and a healer -- and they departed together for the gate.

Once they reached the sight of the action, they hid behind a building and observed for a minute or so. There, they saw some horrific sights. Zombies were tearing chunks out of the buildings and devouring corpses. There were some rather unusual behaviors, however. They made no sound -- no moaning, no groaning, nothing. Also, the zombies did not bite their live victims, a common practice for all live zombies. Avorusto conveyed this information to his companions, who asked what to do now.

With a single word, Avorusto dispelled the illusion. The corpses were restored to their normal, stabbed status, the walls were repaired, and many zombies disappeared. What were left were ten bandits and two mercenary wizards. Second-rate, too, from the strength of the illusion. This would be easy.

Avorusto lunged forward and impaled one bandit. He didn't even seem to attempt to move out of the way, just sat and took the blow. With an upward jerk, Avorusto cleaved his opponent's torso and freed his sword. Now fork-shaped, the bandit fell to the ground and bled lifelessly. The guild mage caused a localized explosion in the back, immolating the two wizards and two others. Within seconds, they were blackened bones and nothing more. The warriors charged, knifes glancing harmlessly off their armor, and slashed through three more. Only four remained, one of them the leader. He was a tall one, about 6'6", wielding an axe as big as Avorusto with ease. This would cause some problems. The three armored warriors agreed to dispatch the remaining bandits, and then returned home at Avorusto's request. He wanted to face this opponent alone. It would be fun.



The bandit leader charged and swung downward with the axe. Avorusto clumsily dove to his right, nearly losing a foot as he did so. He rolled and sprang up, ready to fight back. He stabbed at his opponent's heart, but his sword was blocked by the axe blade. With a flick of his wrist, the bandit sent Avorusto's claymore into the side of a building. Avorusto fell to his knees and accepted the bandit's finishing blow. The axe stuck in his head, causing blood to spray outward around the blade, and upward once it was removed. Avorusto was very dead.

As the bandit leader walked away, a claymore found its way into his back, right through a lung. Avorusto dropped the illusion of his own corpse and the invisibility sheath he had placed around himself, and withdrew his sword. Then he returned to the guild. Business as usual.

(OOC: Hopefully acceptable this time. I really tried to explain some things, but whatever's wrong, please tell me again. I want to get better, so I welcome your criticism as long as it's constructive.)

Normally, the Great Road was thronged with people at all hours of the day. But today only a few brave souls dared walk it’s worn path. Isolated from even these few, a lone robbed figure stood apart as the only one walking toward the city of Ebonhold. Face obscured, the hood of the robe lifted from the path to look at the walled city in the distance.

“It has been a long time.” Demetery said as his pace slowed to a stop.

How long exactly? The voice was unheard by all but the robbed man, who spared a quick glance over his shoulder at the olive green knapsack behind him.

Looking back at the city, Demetery paused for a moment. “At least four years. I was rather busy my last year at the Academy and never had time to make it back. After that, there no reason to come back, I wouldn’t have been welcomed anyway.” Demetery pushed back his hood with his right hand and let the noon day sun soak into his pale skin. Closing his eyes, the necromancer breathed deeply, his oft present smile returning to his face. “Still, I am glad to be home.“ He hand a free and through the mess of white hair on his head as he opened his eyes. “With the passage of time and how much I have changed not many should recognize me. I can look in on my family without causing a scene.”

Relean’s unheard voice once again made itself known to Demetery, her tone a bit stern. Do not forget. That is not why we are here.

“I know.” Demetery said, his smile still present despite the spirit’s chiding. “I can still feel it. This whole area feels wrong. But, whatever it is, I’ll handle it.”

Do not get so cocky. You have grown as a necromancer faster than anyone I know who studied it by themselves, but whatever is causing this is far stronger than you. And if we felt this disturbance, others have too. Which means other necromancers will be headed this way as well.

“I’ll just have to do like I always do and try to keep a few steps ahead of everyone else and out of sight.” Demetery responded mirthfully as he began walking again. His path diverging from the Great Road’s, down a smaller less traveled path to the southwest.

It would be a lot easier if you just let me tutor you rather than you depending on what you can figure out yourself and the few scraps of knowledge I occasionally throw you. You know the offer is al…

“No.” Demetery cut the silent voice off, the oft repeated argument causing a scowl to briefly overpower his smile.

Fine. Relean replied tersely. After a few moments of silence the dead necromancer spoke up again. Where are we going?

The smile returned. “Home. Ferut a few hours this way, it just a small village. As good a place as any to go while we figure out what is going on.”

*_*

Time passed in relative silence as Demetery ambled along the path leading to Ferut. He was lost in the scenery of his youth, memories from long ago playing back in his head. Relean’s thoughts over some formula she was working on providing a small background noise to the images in his mind.

A woman’s howling scream shattered Demetery’s pleasant thoughts. He opened his mouth to call out, but his breath caught in his throat as he realized he had not heard the scream, but rather sensed it. That scream had been from something no longer of the physical realm.

Quickly crouching on the ground, Demetery picked up a small stone with a jagged edge and began scribbling in the dirt at his feet. The runes making up the language of the dead some began to form a circle around him. He stepped outside the circle and glanced over his work; a simple spirit summoning and binding spell. Without more information about the spirit, Demetery could not be certain the ghost he had heard would be the one summoned. But the fact she was somewhere nearby and active, meant it stood a good chance.

Demetery slowly channeled mana into the sigils at his feet, weaving the energy into the form required. With a small flash, viewable to only Demetery’s eyes, a translucent woman in her thirties appeared in the hastily constructed circle. Judging by here simple dress, Demetery guessed she was a simple villager from Ferut, though he did not recognize her. A large blood stain crossed the woman’s abdomen, most likely the cause of her death. Visibly frightened and disoriented, the ghost recoiled and began quickly floating away from the necromancer. As the ghostly figure’s outline reached the edge of the circle, another bright flash issued forth and with a scream of surprise she was pushed back toward the center of the circle.

“Relax. I am not going to hurt you. I just want to help.” Demetery admonished the woman. The low, near inaudible whisper of the language of the dead was clearly audible to the ghost.

“MY CHILDREN! MY CHILDREN! I HAVE TO HELP THEM!” The ghost cried as she looked around for an escape from her invisible prison.

Demetery winced as he motioned for the woman to calm down. While her ghostly wails were inaudible, to Demetery it was almost deafening. He noticed her ghostly body was beginning to fray at the edges, threatening to lose itself in her emotions. If she keeps this up, she might turn into a banshee instead of finding peace. He thought.

“SILENCE.” He commanded, as several of the runes on the ground flared with mana as his will was forced upon the ghost; her screams cut short. He paused and gathered himself. “Madam, what happened?” He asked quietly, the runes lighting up again as they compelled the spirit to speak.

“MY, MY, my family.” She said, slowly calming down as mist like tear dripped down here translucent face. “My husband thought we would be safer in Ebonhold, so we left this morning. We only stopped a few minutes to eat, when they were upon us!”

“Those cloaked BANDITS!” She screamed, the runes flaring once again to enact Demetery’s previous command for silence. Regaining herself, the woman continued. “My husband tried to stop them, but… but…” The ghost stopped, visibly disturbed by the memory. “I told the children to run. And then everything went black. When I could see again, the men were grabbing my children. Then I was here.”

Demetery swallowed hard. At first he had thought the woman was simply a ghost who had died during one of the bandit raids he had heard about. But, if she clearly remembered being summoned right after seeing her children, then the attack she had described was much more recent. Quickly, he release the mana he had been channeling into the rune circle and erased the runes with few quick kicks of dirt. “Show me where they are, quickly.”
*-*

Demetery was lying in the grass beside the path he had been running on. Several hundred feet away, three men in black cloaks stood animatedly talking to each other. In between them sat two sobbing children, their eyes transfixed on their parent’s recently deceased corpses. His green robe blending in with the tall grass, Demetery was confident the men were too busy talking to notice him. The men seemed to be deciding what to do with the children, ignorant of the two ghosts swarming about them screaming and fighting with incorporeal bodies. Upon seeing her children, they mother had speed toward the cloaked men and joined with her husband’s sprit in a futile, almost laughable, effort to attack the bandits.

Demetery began channeling mana around the parent’s dead bodies as he chanted the command words needed. Without a physical representation of the spell runes, Demetery had to concentrate harder and channel more mana to form the correct symbols needed. Slowly, Demetery could see the glowing binding circles form around the two corpses even from the distance he was at, the magic invisible to the men standing a just few feet away from the bodies.

With a shout, it appeared the men had made up their minds. Demetery turned his attention away from the corpses to see two of the men forcing the children face down on the ground while the other readied his blade. It is for the best, he thought, they shouldn’t see this. Demetery hurried and said the final words in the hushed tones of the dead. “Take vengeance on those who stole your lives.”

Almost instantly, the two ghosts disappeared from Demetery’s vision. The two dead bodies began to move. They slowly rose from the ground without making a sound. The two bandits holding the children down were unaware of the newly risen dead. The third man stood mouth agape for several heart beats, before for screaming a foul oath and taking off. Confused, the two remaining bandits turned around in time to see their own deaths coming for them.

Demetery turned his head, he did not need to see what was happening. It was bad enough he could hear it. He would only have to wait a little while. Very soon the two bandits would be dead, and he would dismiss the magics binding the parent’s souls into the corpses. Then Demetery would go over and check on the children. In the meantime, he simply prayed they did not look up.

(OOC: It's been a while, I've no idea if this is up to par. Here's hoping.)

Six hours prior to falling asleep, Anundr Kraelter cast an illusionary spell that would act as a six hour timer of sorts. When six hours had passed, another spell that had been cast would be unleashed. This spell, however, was from the destruction school of magic, and was simply a small explosion, nothing devestating, just enough to make noise. Because the explosion spell was so simple, it took nearly no effort to use the withholding spell (which acted as the timer), allowing Anundr to use it as sort of an alarm clock. When a student is poor and has no parents, or home, to receive money from, that student will use any means necessary to survive. Needless to say, that morning, Anundr awoke with a bang.

Anundr slowly rose out of bed, ruffling his hair with his right hand, while his left moved the blankets from his body. The only thing he wore at the time were his bandages across his left and right arms. His home was nothing special, simply a room in an apartment complex, filled with the bare necessities: a bed, some clothes, cabinets filled with food, a table, and some training supplies. Some of these, Anundr noticed, he could have done without, the bed and table weren't necessary at all, but came with the room. The table was littered with notes and books detailing Rauvan and company's adventures across Illenia. His own personal collection, he dubbed it 'The Draconian Chronicles,' and attempted to add to it every day. Anundr grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and headed out of his room. A lock wasn't needed, he had nothing of any value to steal, and the people in this area were generally very friendly.

Upon arriving in the public bath area, Anundr placed his towel on a lone rack, and bathed quickly. Just like every other morning, Anundr had woken up long before the sun was going to rise, he had at least three hours to do as he wished before dawn. As he bathed, he stared at the stars, noting a few in particular, and wishing upon others. His dream, to this day, was to meet Rauvan Gear again, even though many journals he had collected had stated that Rauvan had died while saving Aurora and Gemini. He refused to believe this, there was no way Rauvan could have died. Although, Anundr had to admit, the only way he could see his hero dying would be in an attempt to save the lives of others.

When Anundr had finished bathing, he grabbed his towel, dried off, and headed back to his room. It was still dark out, he had spent a total of ten minutes outside. The walk back was lonesome, no one would be up at this hour, no one would be training like he planned to do within the next fifteen minutes. However, this was normal for Anundr, he had been doing this for years. In part to improve his skills as a fighter and a mage, in part to show Rauvan how far he had come, and in part to find new ways to avoid his hemophilia.

Upon reaching his room, Anundr grabbed a roll of bandges, sat down at the table, cleared a small section, unwrapped his bandages, and threw them away. They were soaked with blood, but the salve he had bought the previous day was just as effective as the last, and helped to slow the bleeding. The salve, however, wasn't strong enough to stop the bleeding altogether, which was why he used the bandages as well. The pain was immeasurable, and on some days, he had to ask a healer to help him out, which usually took care of the problem. However, moments later, he'd be out training again. He grabbed his roll of bandages, and rewrapped his arms, making sure they were tight enough to catch the blood, and that he used enough of the material to soak the blood. He dressed quickly, grabbing his satchel, and headed out of his room, running at full speed to one of the grass fields in the Academy.

Upon reaching the field, Anundr placed his satchel on the floor, and began stretching, while talking to himself. "This is nothing, compared to what Rauvan had to face, Anundr. You can do this, today you're going to up it a bit too. You've grown too comfortable with just two enemies, today is the day you move to three. But you have to be careful, one wrong movie, and you will die. You know you can't bleed too much. Your arms already drain you of a lot of blood. And one day, they will probably be what kill you, unless you find a nice friend that can help heal or something." Anundr had finished his stretches, and stood straight up, still speaking to himself, "okay, Anundr! We're ready! We've got two hours before dawn, so that's two straight hours of training! Let's do it!" And with that, he began casting spells.

First was a spell to use on himself. Anundr began to focus on the inner strands of magic within himself, searching for a certain spell that would help him in his training. Upon finding it, he called it forth, and a white blade, nearly invisible to the naked eye, began to grow from his right wrist, extending and curving backwards, with the tip pointing at his right elbow.

The next spell would be what he would actually use to train, a combination of destruction and illusion, both being done at the same time. In the past, he would have had to perform both spells at separate times, but having done this for at least ten years, Anundr was able to cast both simultaneously. He began to focus once more on the magical river that flowed through his own body, this time extending his concentration to an even deeper level of the river than he had previously dived into. Thinking about his magical powers as a river helped Anundr to concentrate, and he found it made things easier to call forth. He imagined it was very different for every student, but this was the method that worked best for him. Moments later, blades had come forth from his body, sapping some of his energy in the meanwhile. Armed with these, Anundr began to weave them in a way only an illusionist could, into a human form. A few minutes later, the three blades had taken on the form of humans, and stood silently on the grass field, with nothing but the moon and stars providing the light for Anundr's training.

He liked this feeling, it gave him the sense of an epic battle, which was partly why he chose to train at this time, and at this location. The other reason was because no one would be awake at this time, so no one could disturb his training, allowing him to fully concentrate on the matters at hand. In this instance, it was attempting to not get hit by these objects he had created, all the while trying to stop them in their tracks. Granted, he could dispel the illusion he had cast on himself easily, but there would be no point in training this way. With this, his mind was tricked into thinking that these creatures actually existed, so that when he was hit, he would be cut, mostly in part from these creatures being actual blades of magical energy, and when he hit them back, his mind would perceive them as taking damage. But because he had cast the spell on himself to reflect this as well, they really would take the damage. Anundr thought he was rather clever in coming up with this, he hadn't heard of anything like it previously, and thought that eventually, it would come in handy, outside of training regimens. Granted, he only knew how to create three blades at a time, and he could only focus on creating this illusion in one person's mind, he still figured that eventually, he would be able to use this combination to a rather pleasing effect.

With all the pieces of his training in place, Anundr entered a battle stance which allowed for maximum maneuverability, one which would allow for a dash, a sprint, a jump, a fall, a sidestep, all sorts of things could come from this stance. Anundr then bade the illusions to come forth, all three, at the same time.

The first to reach Anundr attacked with a simple swipe, which Anundr was able to evade easily, he bent his body backwards, allowing the blade on the illusion's arm to miss Anundr's face by mere inches. Anundr replied with a swift kick to the stomach of the illusion, causing the illusion to double over in pain, as the second illusion jumped up and over the first, both hands grasped together over its head, ready to strike Anundr down. Anundr was unable to move in time, and raised his right hand, allowing the blade to effectively block the strike the illusion had attempted to make. Anundr replied with a roundhouse, causing the second illusion to fall to the floor, while the third had snuck up from behind Anundr. Anundr had turned around just in time to meet a fist with his face. But because of the nature of these illusions, Anundr had also received a cut, blowing him backwards with the force of the blow.

Anundr steadied himself, and ran his left hand along his left temple, tracing the new wound. It isn't too bad... maybe a couple inches, but it's a head wound, it'll bleed much more than if it had hit my arm or leg. I need to get to my salve, and apply it before the wound gets any worse. Almost as if the illusions could read his mind, because, well, they could, they moved to surround the satchel that contained Anundr's salve. Ha ha ha ha. Two of you couldn't stop me from this before, and I'm still not used to the third... "Alright, this is nothing that Rauvan couldn't deal with!"

Anundr once again dove into his river of magical energy, searching for the right spell for the situation. He knew the illusions wouldn't move from their position, guarding the satchel was too important for them, which gave him ample time. When Anundr had finally pulled a spell, he unleashed it two feet beneath the earth, directly underneath the satchel.

The resulting explosion sent the satchel flying into the air, while causing the illusions to stumble about, while attempting to regain their footing. This gave Anundr enough time to run forward and jump into the air, grab the satchel, and land, slinging it over his right shoulder. At least, that's how the plan should've gone.

When Anundr had attempted to grab the satchel, he succeeded, but the second illusion had managed to swipe at his right leg. Anundr immediately felt the blood begin to run down his leg, the warmness spreading, and beginning to stain his clothes. He screamed in pain, hit the floor, and lay there, motionless, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in.

This... this isn't good. Damn it! I have no idea how deep the wound is, I can't tell, I can't see it yet. I... I wasn't good enough for this...I'm never good enough, I can't get through this... I'm going to die here, training. Damn it, damn it, damn it! I need to look at the wound, and move from there. But those illusions are closing in... I could disperse them, but that wouldn't get me anywhere... I can't do this...I need to get rid of them. Anundr stood back up, shaking, his right leg about to buckle underneath his weight. Did... I can't even stand! I CAN'T EVEN STAND! I need to quit... This is my limit... I'm sorry, Rauvan... And with that, Anundr dispersed the illusion he had cast on himself, as well as the blades. The magic energy that composed each blade was gone in a sparkle that rose into the air, almost as if they were heading to the skies to continue on a journey.

Anundr sat down, and checked his right leg. The wound was fairly deep, and it seemed to him that a muscle may have been torn in the attack. If he didn't get to a healer soon, there was no doubt in his mind that he would die. The blood continued to pour forth, there was no way he would be able to stop it. Luckily, he had chosen this place to train for another reason. The first-aid station was less than twenty seconds away.

Anundr stood up, and called forth another spell from his river, something that didn't require any delving to create, no, this was at the surface. A staff appeared in his hand, very thin and slender, but it was enough for him to lean on, as he made his way to the first-aid station, in order to get the aid of a healer. His salve would be useless here.

Anundr arrived, and the doors flew open, allowing him entrance. A cleric rushed to his aid, and sat him down at a bed. Anundr explained what had happened, the cleric nodding throughout the story. The cleric had known Anundr from previous experiences, the child would constantly hurt himself while training. However, the cleric hadn't seen him in months, and figured Anundr had finally been able to cure himself, or something of the sort. This morning, however, the cleric was proven wrong.

"You need to be careful, child. Your disease will eventually kill you if you are foolhardy like this. Your blood cannot fix even the smallest of wounds, and yet you go and nearly split your leg in half. If this continues, you will die. Unwrap the bandages on your arms, if they are anything like they were in the past, they will need healing as well. Because of the amount of blood you've lost, you will need to give your body time to replace it. Do not train for the next three days, at least. Be very careful, Anundr. You are no monk, you are a mage."

Anundr's eyes were lowered throughout the entire conversation, all he could do was nod. Eventually, he was able to leave the first-aid station, able to walk, yet he was very slow. The amount of blood he lost would take days to replace, his weakness, and lack of pumping adrenaline, caused him to walk slowly, while attempting to gain his footing at nearly every step.

Dawn had approached, and Anundr had reached his home. However, when he looked out of his window, and noticed the fountain in the middle of the town square. He had seen this before, it was a summoning for the senior class. Anundr placed on his robes, and made his way down to the fountain, albiet, very slowly.

Two men stood on top of a rocky hill near the Southern edge of Rethlyn, in the dead of night . One was clothed in black, his long robe and hood fluttering behind him in the stiff breeze that sometimes graced this part of the world. The other was more practically attired; hardened, studded leather armor that had turned a smokey gray color over time creaked in protest as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was impatient; unlike the other, he stood nothing to gain from standing out in the open doing nothing. At this very moment, his companion's face was smooth, eyes closed and deep in concentration. The fingers of his right hand were moving ever-so-slightly, weaving a complex design in the air at his side. Presently, the hand stopped moving and the man opened his eyes, revealing twin orbs that had once been brown but had taken on a reddish, rust-colored tinge sometime in the past; such was the price of dealing with certain... Unsavory elements.

"The plague has been quarantined in the Northeast sectors of the city. It is still running rampant in the surrounding country, however." His mouth compressed to a thin line, eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke, clearly unpleased with his discovery. With a minute gesture, he dismissed the conjured, ephemeral eye that had been purposefully moving down the streets of Ebonhold, sending everything it witnessed back to it's master. At his feet, the charred remains of a small white orb remained; the price paid for such a spell. His companion eyed the far horizon with distaste.

"A pity it didn't become more widespread before they took that decisive action. What of the riots?"

"Sparse but consistent." came the swift reply. "There's at least one minor disturbance every day, as of last week. Major outbreaks seem to be occurring once every several days." A nod. This was good, the riots were becoming more frequent, as they seemed likely to do until their cause was discovered and dealt with. Now it was the robed man's turn to ask a question. "The raids?" A chuckle.

"Our riders are hard at work as we speak." One arm raised, a solitary finger pointing in the direction of one of the larger towns, several miles distant where a dull orange glow was beginning to form. This was the second time that particular town had come under attack; the citizens were likely terrified beyond belief. The robed man shook his head slightly.

"Has there been any resistance, any efforts to repel us in force?"

"Not as of yet. The city itself remains impregnable, but the guard has been forced to remain within the walls dealing with their own citizens instead of heading out to stop us from raiding." It was a testament to the easy times Rethlyn had experienced lately that Ebonhold had no actual army of it's own, merely an oversized city guard. Granted, they were all good soldiers, but there weren't nearly enough of them to deal with the current situation. A pity. The two turned and dropped behind a nearby ledge, seeming for all the world to disappear off the face of the hill.

------

"Always hungry aren't we Sir Mithanrail, and good eve to you lady Silverell." A musical voice drifted through the air to the two on the doorsteps of the Academy, and they turned as one to lay eyes on the new arrival. As they both smiled, Alea nodded in recognition and Slate prepared to launch himself off the steps and over to his old friend when another voice cut through the night, this one lacking the same almost musical aspect as that of the Avelle.

"Tell your mistress that Shadow Swiftwind of Avurlund is here to speak with her."

"Avurlund? Where is that?" Slate distantly noted that Thalion looked honestly perplexed at the word, and he had a small mental chuckle at the thought of what may be going through the Avelle's head even as he himself wondered at the statement. Avurlund? He had never before heard of such a place, not in any history books, nor on any maps he could think of. A glance back at Alea showed him that the headmistress wore the peaceful, serene look usually to be found on her, but her eyebrows were drawn ever so slightly together, a sure hint that she was thinking. Slate looked back at Thalion and shrugged, then sent his gaze to the newcomer. A bushy eyebrow lifted of it's own accord as the dwarf realized that the figure was a gray elf, dressed in black and staring their way with an expression that stated that everything seen was instantly absorbed and recorded in memory. He refrained from acting, waiting for Alea to make the first move; it was she who was being addressed, after all.

The archmage had been studying the gray elf since the moment she had seen him approach the two mages in front of the hall. As they turned an inquiring glance her way, she just nodded and beckoned Shadow forward. The elf advanced with a quick, sure stride stopping a respectful distance away, five feet or so. "Well met, Shadow Swiftwind. I see there is no need for introductions, which is all the better since time is swiftly going to become a commodity around here today." Shadow nodded once in understanding. "Firstly, may I ask you where Avurlund is located? I have access to... Extensive maps covering the entirety of Therion, and I have not once come across a location so named." She paused. "But... This is hardly the place for such a discussion. Let's move this inside where we'll all be a bit more comfortable, and some of us can see to pressing issues." With that, she poked Slate's stomach, eliciting a grumbling noise from the stocky dwarf.

Inmri had told her again and again not to wander too far into the forest that surrounded the grounds of the Academy, saying that even though she was a druid in training, it was still dangerous for her. After all, those were the same lands that stopped unwanted people from reaching the Academy. Syiana agreed, most of the time. She usually kept to the edge nearest to the meadow when she reached the forest as the midpoint of her morning walks, her friends from the forest taking turns to drop by and wish her a good day, and she would leave after a song or two.

But this time, it was a little different.

Blurring Moon, a beautiful silver wolf that had included Syiana into her pack as some sort of honorary human member, which was a very unusual move that was made even more unusual as none of the pack objected to it, and taught her about the ways of the wolves had extended a most rare invitation for the Gypsian girl to visit her den. But judging by the pleased air Blurring Moon carried around herself, Syiana could tell that the alpha female actually wanted to show off her new cubs, not the hole she dug. So Syiana went, knowing that she could spare that few moments to please the proud mother, and not to mention, she was secretly bursting with joy to be invited.

"Oh goodness." Syiana whispered as they finally reached their destination that was some ways further into the forest, and saw the first of the litter popping its head cautiously out of the darkness of the den when it heard Blurring Moon's call. "Is that...?"

The rest of the pups followed and their mother was soon surrounded by half a dozen of weeks old young wolves barking in excitement. Blurring Moon half-turned to fix golden-yellow eyes on Syiana, her tail wagging and her expression one of utmost happiness. She let out a low bark, urging Syiana to move closer. And when the young girl did so, the pups transferred their attention onto the stranger that also smelled distinctly different. Curiously, they began inch towards her, sniffing in earnest to figure out what she was and why she was there. It took them some time to arrive to the conclusion that while they could not tell why she smelled strange, she was safe to approach, and they began exploring her like a toy.

It was only until their mother called them to her to feed then did they leave Syiana alone, and she was content to sit nearby and played a tune of blessing for the young on her flute, one that she learned from the midwives and nursemaids who sometimes invited her to help sing their young charges to sleep. Looking at her with an expression that had to be a smile if Blurring Moon was human, the alpha female practically glowed with motherliness as she watch her pups eat what she brought them. Syiana felt that she could have stayed there forever, just watching her canine friend and her children.

However, the peaceful scene did not last long as a sharp poke on the back of her head snapped Syiana out of her reverie, and she turned so quickly to look for the offending object when she nearly twisted herself off the rock she was sitting on. Staring, or rather, flapping its wings right back at her was a large paper bird that must had been folded into an origami at one time. When it 'sensed' Syiana's attention on it, it began unwrapping itself into a perfectly flat piece of paper, revealing a small thumb-sized mirror framed in silver and feather that was in the process of fading into ash.

"Oh dear..."

After assuring the concerned Blurring Moon, who had glanced up at her whisper, that she was alright, Syiana took the mirror from the paper and the thin fibrous sheet with shimmering magical diagrams crumbled into particles. In her hands, the mirror began to grow, and soon, it fitted her palm nicely and began glowing. Syiana, apparently accustomed to what was happening, had pressed her eyes shut to ward against the light, but her expression was tensed with the distinct air of one in trouble.

"Syiana Shizu Yue!"

Said girl winced, and if she were a wolf, her tail would be drooping to the ground. She peeked at the mirror timidly, as though the clear image of the green-eyed blond elf that she knew all too well was a Baeloth, "Yes, Inmri?"

"Oh, thank Silvos that you are alright." Despite his first words having the fiery tone of one in immense rage, Inmri exhaled deeply with great relief when he heard Syiana's voice and continued in a much calmer voice. "You are alright, aren't you? Where are you?"

Growing bolder as the one who she viewed as her surrogate brother did not seem to be angry with her, she reported happily. "Of course I'm alright, I'm with Blurring Moon. She's showing me her cubs."

"So you're in the forest outside?" Syiana nodded meekly, remembering that she was not supposed to be there, but strangely, Inmri did not seem to be bothered. Instead, his face grew thoughtful. "That's too far for me to reach in a hurry. You'll have to come back now. If anything, Lady Nightingale wish to meet you sometime today and she's usually more available before noon."

"Oh gosh, I nearly forgot that." The young girl smacked a hand against a forehead, a habit that Inmri frowned upon but she could not quite break out of. "I'll get back right now. Inmri... is there anything wrong? You seem distracted."

"I am distracted. You'll know why when you reach here. Be careful, alright?"

"Yes, Inmri."

Frowning at the mirror that shrunk back to its original size, Syiana was about to tell her friend the news when she saw another wolf seemingly appear out of nowhere and moved fluidly towards her. A giggle of delight escaped her when she recognized that it was Blurring Moon's stoic mate and the alpha male of their pack, Ebony Paws, whom she seldom had a chance to meet and was not aware that he was nearby. He fixed her with a patient look that was clearly asking if she was leaving in the next minute or next century, which was his equivalent of offering to lead her back.

Bidding goodbye to Blurring Moon and her pups and promising to visit again, she sought out the dark gray form of the wolf that had gone some ways ahead and began her trip back to the Academy grounds. It surprised her when Ebony Paws did not turn for the forest once they exited it, but came closer to her side as they stepped into the meadow and gave her a cool orange gaze. Knowing that thanks meant nothing to the wolf, she simply mouthed the words of gratitude in his direction and took comfort in his company.

The two of them finally parted ways when she reached the path that would lead into town, after Ebony Paws rubbed himself against Syiana's legs twice, not out of affection for her but to mark her as part of his pack as Blurring Moon had done several times to her. The significance of that action coming from him, however, was great enough that Syiana smiled and lifted her wooden flute to her lips, played a more complicated tune that was part of the music from the Gypsian race's Dance of Silvos, which she knew had blessing qualities.

She only stopped when the gray wolf was out of sight, slipping her flute back to its holster hanging from her waist, and nearly jumped out of her own skin when a warm hand landed on her shoulder without any warning whatsoever. She would have promptly started practising reaching the highest note she could when a familiar chuckling stopped her. "Don't start screaming, Syia, or you'll break all the glass in the area."

Syiana twisted around and glared at the culprit with the ferocity of a very unhappy kitten. "You don't have to scare me like that, Inmri!"

The elven sorcerer shrugged nonchalantly. "I know, but it was too hard to resist. Especially since you gave me a scare of your own by not coming back on time."

The fire behind the Gypsian girl's anger died in an instant and she looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry. It's just that... I haven't seen Blurring Moon in a while. And it's a very special thing to be invited to her den. I should have left a message or something..."

"I understand, Syia." Inmri ruffled her short black hair affectionately. "Just remember to get a note to me next time, alright? Now, come on, there's something you ought to see. I recall you missed it the few times it happened, right?"

Cat-like black eyes blinked in confusion. "What happened?"

Inmri did not reply but instead, beckoned for her to follow him as he advanced in the direction of the great hall. When they were just about to reach the town square, he stopped and pointed with a smile. "That."

Syiana gasped as she took the sight of the fountain with an impossibly tall geyser of water. The words that came out of her mouth held a reverent tone. "What... is that?"

"It's the signal for the senior class to gather together." Inmri answered. "Usually it's some pretty important matter, which is why I want you to be where I can find you quickly."

"Okay, I'll be at Lady Nightingale's. She probably wants to teach me the songs she learned when she went out." Syiana's reply was somewhat distracted, as she was still staring at the fountain. It was not as though she had not seen extraordinary things happening around her, since she was at the Academy of Magic after all, but to see the fountain shooting up so much higher than it usually does was just different.

"Remember to bath. And don't take forever doing it."

"Okay."

"And your breakfast is on the table."

"Mhmm."

"And you need to learn how to dance, Gypsian."

"Inmri!!"

[OOC: I finally got it out, and hopefully it's still within the week for you guys. =P It's been a while since I have to write such a long IC post so I hope it's still up to my usual standards, especially since I did the post on two seperete late nights. Now I know tons about wolves, lol. I'm supposed to sleep earlier than usual because I have something on early in the morning, so off I go now.]

"You two, gather my equipment and bring it inside." He didn't ask them, he simply ordered them and the look in his eyes told them that he was serious. Without question they began to gather together the various instruments that the ex-assassin dropped on the ground and hurried inside behind Alea and her entourage. Once inside they went and stored the weaponry and quickly left the room, knowing that what was to be discussed was not for their ears.

He had taken them all in at once, the dwarf was a jolly sort of fellow which seemed out of place to Shadow concering his kind. The winged being intrigued him a bit, but he did not let his eyes linger on the avelle. Shadow had seen much in his time, and while this was certainly a beautiful creature, it's beauty did little to impress him. Alea was a stunning sight to behold for sure, yet again he made little notice of it, what he did make a note of however was that these three were posessed of keen intellect and that would gain some respect in the Shadow Dancer's eyes.

As he passed by Thalion one could see that they were a stark contrast to the two, it was almost as if the radiance that was shed by the Avelle was being consumed by the darkness surrounding the grey elf. The Mistress of the Academy led them all upstairs into a private section of the building, which Shadow presumed was her office of sorts. The avelle perched himself near the window, looking out over the Academy his mind still racing to recall a place named Avurlund. The dwarf stood next to Alea with his arms crossed still trying to size up this stranger who seemed to appear out of nowhere claiming he hailed from a land that by his extensive knowledge did not exist. Alea had taken a seat behind a large ornate desk and Shadow plopped himself down across from the headmistress almost lazilly, he was weary from his journey but his eyes remained ever alert.

"Now Sir Swiftwind.." Alea began, "Just Shadow, Lady Silver.." Shadow interrupted, but he was cut short by her as well. "Simply Alea will do Shadow." At that Shadow sat more upright and studied Alea closer, an extraordinary woman indeed. At the corner of his eye the Shadow Dancer noticed Thalion blanch at the informallities. Let me guess, Chivalry is not yet dead among his kind he thought to himself. "Shadow," Alea resumed, "Where is this Avurlund that you speak of? As I said, I have access to extensive maps of the world provided by the two you see in this room and another friend of ours. In all their years of mapping they have never come across such a realm." Shadow nodded, liking the fact that Alea seemed to be a straightforward kind of woman. "That's because there is no Avurlund on this world. I am not from here, my world is called Sardia. Avurlund is a small continent on that world, I have come here to seek a way back to my homeland. There is only one problem, roughly a decade ago the lord of all Demons, The Nameless One re-emerged on our world, and there was no force great enough to stand in his way. Before the world was completely submitted to the iron fisted rule of this demon, the great mages of all races gathered together and under the Guidance of Jast Gurdhal, the greatest sage to have ever lived. They teleported two continents to another world, one of them being Avurlund. We found that we were isolated from the rest of this new world by a constant storm around Avurlund and Forasia, Forasia being the larger continent teleported. I was undergoing training by Jast himself when a teleport spell I cast, or rather miscast brought me to this land. You see my dilemma?"

Thalion stood from the window, "That is impossible Sir Swiftwind, the secrets of teleportation have been lost with Illenia. From my knowledge it was an extremely difficult spell to use and transport people, extremely taxing on the caster. How could one teleport whole continents?" Shadow grinned a little and suddenly winked out of existence, using the shadows he quickly made his way across the room, appearing behind the Avelle. "Magic works differently on this world than it does where I'm from." Thalion jumped at he sound of Shadow's voice behind him. "How..." Quickly the Avelle moved next to Alea's side opposite Slate. "I assure you that I am making up no fairy tale, I am not of this world, as I'm sure you could see that my magic is completely foreign here. I need to find a way back, and in order to do that, I need your help."

Once again the Avelle was confused, and Shadow had also completely embarrased him. Whatever the case, this Shadow was an interesting lesser, can he be considered a lesser? Thalione asked himself. Shadow was an enigma but he forced Thalione's mind to work, something that he was not normally used to. Most information that came at him he already had knowledge of, but not this. Something switched on inside the avelle, and he remembered again why he enjoyed life down in the world, amongst the "lessers." Then something hit him, "Shadow.." he dropped his formal tone as his mind was simply too busy to be bothered, "how long ago did you say that your continents were teleported?"

---
“We must relay our decision at once.”

“I...am ashamed...” A woman spoke up in between sobs, speaking to the village elder. Her tears were not for what was to come of her son, but for the sake of her own image, disgraced that she was the mother of such a child. Behind her was the son of whom this meeting was taking place. Unlike the rest of his village brethren whose skin was a darker shade, his was a eerie white, part of a defective disease. Platinum hair hung over his red eyes, his left hand also subject to abnormatly, carrying an extra finger at his thumb.

“Momma,” he began to speak in a soft, scared voice. The woman gave out a disgusted cry and moved away as he tried to touch her robe, trying to reach out for support in this room full of hostility against him. Instead, his mother shied away, trying to unassociate herself from him.

“I am ashamed!” She wailed dramatically. The village chief silenced her, for though he agreed to the banishment of the abomination in front of him, he grew weary of the mother’s whining. Looking into the boy’s eyes, he spoke, though when he spoke he spoke not to the boy, but to his guards.

“I declare henceforth that this abomination not be allowed to step within these grounds again, nor with any of the inhabitants. It is outcast, not brother, nor family. Remove it from my sight.”
---
Opening his eyes, Kyugi clung to the horse.

Why am I...remembering that...of all my memories? Could it be because...that is the way it began...the way my fears all started? ...Or because I received a similar wound then...as I did now? Or am I...fading...dying? All...for the better...in the end...But, I must live to make it to Ebonhold........Why though...if my life is bad? Is there...a reason for me to...cling to life?

Drifting off into memory once again, Kyugi slumped down into the horse’s saddle, blood issuing forth from his wound.
---
“Get moving, worm,” a soldier jeered as he jabbed at the boy, who was in fact quite frail. Stumbling, he tried to run from the guards, confused, afraid.

“Where’s my momma?” He ran from the guards a little, trying to avoid their spears and the tears welling up in his eyes. The guards only laughed at him, mocking him. Confused, the little boy ran as fast as he could, stumbling about. When he would fall, the guards only jabbed at him with their spears. He was lucky, though, that they were not meaning to kill him and had only blunt blades, otherwise being as vulnerable as he was, he would not have survived. They continued this until he managed to run, panting and exhausted, to the village gate. The guards kicked him out and locked the gate, jeering at him as they walked away.

“Momma...?” Placing his hands on the iron steel of the gate, the little boy looked in on the village. Why...is this...happening? My momma...where is she...? Frightened, he spun around. I thought I heard...a noise... Sitting down against the gate, he wrapped his robe around himself to keep warm, for it was chilly outside.
---
Kyugi clenched his teeth together. They left me...all alone. I sat there for a day...afraid to leave...I was hungry. Nobody gave me food. I almost died...But...why did they...do that to me? Is my face...My...being...So terrible a thing? Clutching his shoulder wound, Kyugi looked up to the sky. His vision began to blur, things became harder for him to see. Urging his horse to ride faster, he held on with his remaining strength.

By the time Demetery had started moving, the children had already sat up. A small boy, no older than six, clung desperately to his sister’s side, she herself only a few years older. In wide-eyed silence they observed the forms of their now motionless parents. They had started to crawl towards their parents when they caught sight of Demetery approaching them.

Instantly, the siblings stopped moving and dropped to the ground, burying their faces in the dirt. Only the sounds of Demetery’s feet on the lose dirt of the road and the children’s soft whimpering could be heard. Demetery imagined the children fancied him another horror come to end their lives. Slowing his approach, the necromancer remained silent. Kneeling beside the children, Demetery simply put a hand on each child’s head, both flinched. Mustering the most soothing tone he could Demetery spoke to the children. “It is alright, I’m not here to hurt you.” The imminent threat of death removed, the childre’s prone forms visibly relaxed, then muffled whimpers turned to crying.

For while, the three of them just sat there. Two children expressing their grief they only way they knew how and a young necromancer just trying to comfort them. Soon, the tears ran out and only red eyes and sniffles remained.

“Okay,” Demetery said with a weak grin, “ stand up.” Both children did and were still about a head shorter than the kneeling mage. “What is your name?” Demetery asked the older of the two.

Demetery could see the child mustering up what courage she had left as she answered. “S-S-hrina”

Demetery smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “And you?” He asked as he turned to look at the young boy.

“Jern”, came the quiet, meek reply.

The necromancer paused briefly, as he gathered his thoughts. “Shrina, Jerm, I know you two are very sad right now, but I need you to help me. Can you two do that?” Both children slowly nodded. “Your parents gave their last breath to protect you, but one of the men who attacked you got away. We need to leave in case he comes back.” Eyes once again went wide with fear at the mention of the bandits. “It will be okay, “he reassured them, “we just need to be careful.” Heads nodded. “Good, now I need you to gather up your things and tell you parents goodbye.”

“WHY?!” the girl screamed as tears started to return, “They’re dead!”

Demetery smiled as he glanced at the ghostly forms hovering nearby. “Yes, they are.” He answered in a calm tone, but they can hear you, and they very much want you to be okay.” The girl defiantly averted her eyes and stared at the ground. Putting a hand on her head as he stood up, his voice took on a distant, deep aspect, “This may be the last time you get to tell them how much you love them, don’t waste it.”

Dragging the cloaked bodied a small distance away, Demetery let the children have their last moments with their parents. He began silently examining the bodies, trying to ignore the multitude of wounds inflicted upon them by the animated corpses.

What are you looking for? Relean’s unheard voice intruded upon Demetery’s thoughts.

Keeping quite, Demetery responded in hushed arcane words, lest the children hear him. “For something to explain why I do not sense their souls.” Relean’s silence prompted him to continue. “I have a binding spell prepared to capture them so we could find out what was going on, but… I never saw them.”

Check their chests.

Gingerly removing one of the cloaked figure’s shirts, Demetery spied what Relean had been looking for. A series of necromantic runes were tattooed above the man’s heart. “That’s weird.”

What?

“It is definitely necromancy, but it is not a circle. The runes are all inscribed at weird angles to each other.”

Circles are not necessary, especially if you are positioning things on purpose to do somehitng more powerful. Demetery quickly made a mental note about the pattern and what Relean had just said, it was rare to get information out of the dead witch, and this sounded like something worth researching. It looks as if someone did not want these men being questioned and they were worried it might be done after death as well. Whatever is going on here, these people are thorough, they planned on the eventuality of dealing with necromancers.

*_*

The sounds of four feet shuffling in the dirt on the road to Ferut were deafening. The small noises of nature were still silent after being in the presence on undead. Demetery grinned, soon the animals and insects would relax and their noises would fill the void which seemed to be disturbing the already terrified children. Jern was draped over Demetery’s back, arms wrapped firmly around the necromancer’s neck, his still flowing tears soaking through the robe. The boy’s sister stumbled a halting pace beside them, her left hand like a vice upon Demetery’s green robe.

“Are you okay mister?” Shrina’s voice piped up beside him, her tone ragged and tired.

Demetery flashed a brief grin at the child as he nodded, “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You sound like your breathing hard or wheezing.”

“No, your brother is just a bit heavier than I had thought. Lucky for us, I believe that is Ferut up ahead.” He said inclining his head toward the village now visible up ahead. Shrina’s small face lit up upon seeing the safety of her home.

Demetery bounced a bit to get the boy’s attention. “Alright Jern, the ride is over.” While Jern climbed down, Demetery noticed the confusion apparent on Shrina’s face. Shaking his head, Demetery felt his heart drop a little. “I’m afraid this is as far as I go you two.” Fear began quickly reappearing in the children’s eyes. “Its okay, its okay.” He quickly reassured them. “My journey just takes me somewhere else. There is no one around and your only about fifteen minutes from town. I will stay here and watch you for a bit, just to make sure your okay.”

“Why?” Jern asked, his eyes filled with hurt.

Demetery was at a bit of a loss. He did not want to tell the children they were the reason. He had hoped to remain unnoticed in town, but the children were sure to attract a lot of attention and even with his frail and sickly appearance, Demetery was worried someone would recognize him. “Because, if I do not get to Ebonhold very soon, someone very important is going to be rather angry with me and I will lose my home.” I hate lying to children. Demetery chided himself.

"Ten years." Four heads turned in unison at the sound of the new arrival entering the small study as Emerin stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. His gaze focused directly on Shadow as he voiced his next thought. "The same time Illenia vanished off the face of Therion." The mage considered the elf in front of him, and noticed several oddities immediately. There was a magic about him that Emerin had never before encountered anywhere in his travels. A kind of twisting, dark energy emanated from the cloak that he could instinctively tell had something to do with the shadows, thanks to the patterns his eyes could see on the fabric. Despite being enchanted with a form of magic that would normally be considered part of the dark arts, no inherent evil could be felt from the garment. This confused the mage somewhat, though he let the thought slide before it took his focus for more than a fleeting moment.

The elf himself was a bit of an enigma to Emerin, when it came to discerning his origins. Therion was a land rich in magic, and most places left a kind of subtle imprint on those who had lived in them for a long span of time. The individual in front of him was clearly not young, and yet the mage could not identify any familiar energy. What energy he could detect, though, puzzled him further. The elf was capable of magic, yet Emerin could not tell what kind of caster he was, nor what he was capable of. Lastly, he was shorter than an adult elf should have been, and his hair was a flat black as opposed to the gray of the normal gray elf. The entire time he had been casting his scrutinizing gaze on the elf, he had been receiving the same look in return, and he noted the same conclusion being reached in the others mind, that there was something definitely amiss with the figure in front of him. He allowed a small smile to form. 'Yeah... I'm not exactly 'normal', either, am I?' He broke the silence that had formed since his last statement, casting a look his friends' way.

"Morning, Alea, Slate; Thalion, it's good to see you. I couldn't help but overhear the latter half of your discussion, and it seemed far too interesting to stay out of. On that note, sorry for butting in." Alea waved a dismissive hand and bade him to take a seat, which he did with a grateful exhalation of breath, keeping his right hand on his side which was fully healed but far from feeling such. He absently leaned his staff against his chair, noting how the elf's gaze suddenly snapped towards the length of ebon wood.

His mind had started working as he had listened in on the conversation in Alea's private study. Avurlund, a continent on a world called Sardia, which was clearly a place nobody had ever heard of. The fact that Alea had been completely at a loss to explain anything about the gray elf gave his story some credibility, and also piqued Emerin's interest. If the elf had come from a continent that had been teleported just as Illenia had, at the same time... The two had to be linked. There was no question in the mage's mind that some piece of useful information could be gained from the newcomer, and he'd be damned if he was going to pass up a chance to speak with this curious individual. He was still fairly groggy - he hadn't slept long, after he had woken the first time; it was as if something was compelling him to get up and find this conversation. He could only assume that something would come of it, that something had to come of it.

"Shadow," he began, still eyeing the elf. "You said the mages of Sardia teleported two continents to another world, where they were subsequently cut off from the outside... Did anyone, by chance, ever notice any... Other continents on that same world? Was there ever any connection of any sort with the land outside the storm barrier?"

Shadow sized up the intruding mage immediately, there was definitely something amiss with this one. He was a lot more than he seemed. They locked stares for a good while, each trying to find what they could about the other. Their staring match was finally broken when the mage greeted the other three in the room and Alea waved for him to sit down. This might very well be the one to help me.

When the mage plopped down in the chair near Shadow and let his staff rest, the Shadowdancer's eyes caught sight of it immediately, his jaw dropping in surprise before he quickly regained his composure. The staff resembled his mentor's, at first he thought it might be but then he noticed something else. This staff was tainted, Shadow couldn't tell exactly how, but it didn't feel right to him.

"There was rumoured to have been a pirate to have breached the barrier in some sort of ironclad ship, but I'm not certain to it's truth. If it is so, then there is other continents on the new world, but we have seen nothing of the sort, nearly all the great mages that teleported our lands died in the process. Including my mentor."

Thalion nodded, and interjected himself into the conversation. "Perhaps then, there is a link between the seperate occurances, provided you are what you claim to be. When you came to on this world.. where were you?" Shadow did not even bother to turn to the Av