Nightshade enters the firehall quietly, still not as steady as she might like, from her long period of stasis and slow recovery in the care of Elmduir. Her hood lowers in a nod here and there in response to greetings from those who know of her but have not seen her in some time. One other takes note of her presence, he himself watching silently as she crosses the hall to request of Lumiere her usual snifter of cognac. With eyes peering from the deep shadow of his own hood, NightMyst watches her movement with more than idle curiosity.
Sliding the snifter of amber liquid from the bar top and drawing it beneath her hood for a sip, Nightshade turns to scan the room. NightMyst catches her eye as he rises from his seat and approaches the bar. She notes his slow graceful movement and deliberate effort to keep his features well hidden. Even his hand is gloved as it emerges from the sleeve of his cloak to motion to Lumiere. This particularly caught Nightshade's attention, for gloves are something she had thought to use on occasion even though it robbed her of what little joy she might take in the feel of things, if not persons.
NightMyst requests only water from Lumiere, in a voice thick with an obscure accent. Suddenly feeling too close for comfort, Nightshade glides to a small empty table, sitting gracefully within her robes and resting the snifter on the smooth table surface, her pale fingers wrapped around the glass. Her head and hood are lowered as though concentrating on her drink, but her eyes still watch the cloaked figure at the bar, something about his voice familiar, though she cannot place it.
When another voice unexpectedly speaks next to her, she looks up quickly to see Lone Wolf standing near in his Mythril armor and looking every bit the knight he is reported to be. "Greetings, Lady, I have not seen thee in some time. Thou dost fare well?" Her reply is quiet but friendly "Aye, much restored now. How fare thee?" Even as she listens to Lone Wolf's answer, "I survive..." she can see NightMyst's gloved hand lay a foreign silver coin upon the bar to pay for the cold water and Lumiere's service.
NightMyst has now caught Lone Wolf's attention too as he moves toward Nightshade's table but then angles his course away from the two and back toward his previous seat at a table in the shadowed corner of the room. Drawing her attention back to her more present company, Nightshade nods to Lone Wolf, "Tis often all one can do, survive."
Watching the continued exchange and listening, NightMyst sips his water and waits til at last Lone Wolf takes his leave of Nightshade. He debates with himself for a only moment before rising and crossing to her table. Without asking, he sits and places his drink before him. She sips as he approaches then looks around nervously as he joins her, setting her own glass on the table and running her fingers around the smooth base. In a voice little more than a whisper, she asks, "Do I know you, sir?" She is dismayed with herself for the feeling that she almost recalls him but knows her mind does not heal as quickly as her body, perhaps it is only that.
NightMyst turns so that he may regard her more directly, though his features are still dark within his hood. His lavender eyes glow slightly, which is all the hint she has of his face in such shadow. "I do believe we have not met, yet I know you." Again his heavily accented voice seems to prick at the corners of her mind and again, she is unable to decipher why. "I cannot fathom how you would know of me, save through some association with a certain assassin."
With a frown she cannot see at the mention of an assassin, he returns, "There are many assassins. To which might you refer?" Avoiding that for a moment, unsure if it would be wise to reveal such to him, she decides to reveal herself instead. "I think it best you explain to me how it is you know me. And are you certain that you do?" She watches for some hint of acknowledgment as she draws back her hood slowly. Her long silky jet black hair falls about her face and shoulders in great contrast to her milky white skin and ice blue eyes. She gleans nothing from his demeanor nor in his face, still quite obscured by his own hood.
NightMyst takes a sip of water before answering her "If one can call seeing another without clothing 'knowing one'..." Again he pauses as if choosing his words, "...then I do in fact know you well..." Nightshade draws her hood up again quickly and shakily takes a long sip of cognac. "How IS it that you... this cannot be..." Her mind races to put this puzzle together. "Who ARE you?"
He merely waves her question aside with an idle gesture, "I have watched you sleep for many nights and days within a run down shack." His head moves away from her as he scans the room before turning back and focusing his lavender eyes once more upon her.
She furrows brows over ice blue eyes, "You know the Healer then? Elmduir?" Or mayhaps he was the watcher from the shadows, she wonders, employed by Tyralor? But she cannot know, not having consciously seen nor heard him.
NightMyst nods slightly, the hood dipping, eyes flashing from within the concealment, "Aye...we know of each other."
This still does not preclude him from being in league with Tyralor, she thinks and yet, his somewhat familiar voice is haunting. She does somehow associate him with Elmduir but nothing firm to back the feeling. Swallowing, she sits back with her glass, drawing her arms around her self-consciously.
He leans forward as if to answer her withdrawal, resting his elbows on the table and edging closer to her. "You mentioned an assassin?"
"In the same neighborhood as the Healer... though I doubt he knows him... one called Tyralor is to whom I referred."
NightMyst pauses for a moment at the mention of Tyralor then reaches for his goblet to cover his actions hoping she did not notice. "I know not of him."
"Then... I see no reason for an interest in me and I hope you speak not truth of... what you claim to have seen."
"What I have seen shall remain with me." He pauses and takes another sip of water before continuing, "You and I, we are much alike, me thinks..."
Nightshade's voice, though still quiet, is nearly indignant "How so?"
"Each of us is alone..." he pauses as if choosing his word carefully "...different from those here."
"Those things that belong no where else... belong with each other?"
"Perhaps... Who is to say? But there is no need for us to be... at odds." he offers softly.
"What are you suggesting... for that matter, what is your name?"
NightMyst waits for several long moments before answering, "My name you could not pronounce, few of your kind can."
"My kind?" she queries, trying still to peer into the shadow of his hood, only his eyes hinting at who he may be.
He nods slightly at her question but instead of answering it he inquires, "I trust you are feeling better to be out and about?"
Noting his redirection, she overlooks his attempts at concern, "I shall have to have a discussion with Elmduir, I suppose... seems there is much I missed while recovering."
"He tries his best... and I owe him for that." NightMyst shifts slightly in is chair, barely disguising his discomfort with the topic and where it might lead.
"I'd feel better having some name to call you by and if not too much trouble... some notion of your association with the Healer." Her tone is now a bit perturbed.
NightMyst reaches within his robe with one gloved hand while answering her question "You may call me Myst or NightMyst, as is your want." He removes his hand with something that glints in the flickering light then is hidden within his gloved palm. "Let us just say you are not the first stray the healer has taken in, shall we?"
Nightshade arches a brow and considers what she may have seen or not seen in his motion, too flustered to delve deeper into his hint at the moment. "I trust you know my name then, since you seem to think we already have some intimate association?"
Again he sips his water, finishing the last of it. "Intimate... no not ever, I think, will that happen between thee and me." and in one fluid graceful movement, he rises to stand.
She regards him. "Yes, unlikely I think..." deciding abruptly not to finish that thought as her throat grows tight.
NightMyst slips one glove off his hand, making sure none but she can see. Reaching out with the other he takes her hand before she can draw away and pulls it to him, neither harshly nor gently. Into her palm he places three silver chains.
Nightshade uselessly resists his action then looks down to the hand, its very dark skin in such contrast to her own, and to the shimmering chains. His voice shakes her from her ponderings of what she sees.
"You are wanted by someone who has no qualms about hiring others to retrieve you." NightMyst turns as if to move away but then pauses and says over his shoulder to her, slipping the glove back on quickly before any other sees. "If you have need of me..." but he does not finish. He leaves the rest unspoken and turning makes his way to the doors of the firehall without looking back to her.
She looks curiously after him, her hand closing on the cool silver chains. "What---" but her words are cut short as he passes through the doors of the hall. If he heard her begin to question him, he obviously had no intention of stopping to reply.
Nightshade rises shortly thereafter and crosses the hall to slip out after him. Alas, she looks about for his direction but he is completely gone from sight.
~~~~~
Hurrying through the passages, she is barely more than a shadow within shadows. Her dark robes flowing and shifting in and out of the pooled dim moonlight that seeps between buildings. She does not stop at the door so much as burst through it, causing it to slam against the wall, the sound echoing back out into the alleyway. A second echo follows as Nightshade slams the door closed again. Only then does she pause for a deep breath before continuing in her determined pace to the Healer's study.
The door opens with enough speed and force to cause the candles to flicker in the shadowy study. Elmduir looks up from his workbench with a start, relaxed only slightly by recognition of Nightshade standing in the doorway. Her hood is pulled back so he may see the consternation on her face. One pale hand is outstretched and from it dangles loops of silver chains. Her voice hisses in barely controlled anger "I suppose I owe you for saving me from death in the street... but I'll not repay you in such a manner as you seem to have chosen."
Elmduir furrows his brows. Her words are cryptic to him at best and yet, he recognizes the chains. He hopes to untangle the mystery of her words by quietly beginning with what pieces he knows. "I take it you have seen NightMyst." Nightshade swallows as some of the heat of her anger is replaced with the same shock and embarrassment she felt earlier in the firehall. Still her words are whispered and sharp "Not nearly so much as he has seen of me, by his report."
Her hand closes around the chains into a fist which she draws to her churning stomach. She looks over at the cot where she lay for unknown days before awakening from her extended sleep and being moved to a room of her own. Her eyes close for suddenly she has images, perhaps no more than nightmares echoed in her mind, perhaps more.
His mind still tries to put together her words, the chains, NightMyst... and at last he realizes where her thoughts have likely led. "NO... No, Nightshade... not.." His face is flushed recalling being caught by NightMyst on one occasion as he inspected her form, though he himself was only guilty of thoughts, not deeds. He had reason to look upon her, reason to touch her. He had reminded himself of this often. "Myst appeared silently on one occasion. His damnable stealth... I told you I had searched for some reason for your condition." Still his face felt hot. Somehow her insinuation brought his imaginings more to light. As her eyes opened again and focused on him to judge his words, he did his best to reassure her of his motives. "Until you awakened and shared the tale, how was I to know?"
Rising from his seat, he looked at her as straightforwardly as he could. "Nothing... NOTHING untoward occurred." Nightshade, still standing in the doorway to the study, merely turns her back to him. "I shall want to know about the assassins then and more of NightMyst..." she looks down at the silver chains in her palm. "but for now I find I am in need of rest... and privacy." The last barely audible before she steps into the hall toward her room.
Elmduir sits heavily, running his hand over his face and into his hair. He looks back to his work which is in fact another mixture requested by NightMyst. "Damn elf..." he whispers then tries to concentrate again on the work at hand.
The Horseman reached the Plain and slowed as he neared the megalith. He dismounted and walked steadily from his steed to the outer Ring of Stones, selecting a western archway through which to pass into the circle. The tall sarcens and lentil stones formed a broken ring, some of their number having fallen to rest upon the ground. Yet as he crossed the threshold, the surge through him made him falter slightly in his steps. He steeled himself and pressed on. Some paces beyond, he passed between two taller bluestones of the inner stand of sentinels, until he came to the altar, and to his surprise, eyes watching his approach.
Pestilence stood before Tien and Xan. His voice gurgled from deep within his rotting chest. His tone was forceful and brooked no discussion. "Do not hinder my path. I have no time to trifle with thee." The power of the circle beset his fetid flesh with anguish. Below his thoughts of finding the source of this resurgent power, was his need to resist the healing of the stones. This turmoil grated on him and these two meddlers further fueled his irritation.
Tien and Xan stood motionless and silent for a moment, taking in the image before them. It was a man or something that could once have been a man but his remaining skin was bloodied or scabbed. Some seemed to be sliding from portions of his face and hands or mayhaps... crawling. Yes, part of his flesh seemed to be writhing with maggots and flies and worms who grow fat on the dead. Yet he seemed a living construct.
His robe hung loosely on his frame. His hood was pulled back on his head so the features of his horrid mask of a face were disarmingly visible. The lids of his eyes had been eaten away, leaving two bloodshot orbs staring at them from raw sockets. The boney cartilage of his nose protruded from between high cheekbones barely covered with the crawling skin. And his mouth as he spoke, revealed within its shadows more movement as though his whole being was no more than a nest for the tiny scavengers of the earth. He seemed built of death and that which feeds on it.
As the breeze shifted and passed by Pestilence toward Tien and Xan, both gulped audibly. Xan raised one arm, covering her mouth and nose with the back of her hand while her other hand clasped firmly over the amulet that lay against her rapid heartbeats. Tien's eyes watered from the foul draft, from the smell of decay that closed in on both of them.
Unconcerned with their discomfort and not seriously considering them a threat, the Horseman looked past them and saw his target. The slaughter stone was set at the eastern entrance to the circle. Beyond it, outside the Ring of Stones, stood the slab he knew must be the heel stone. These two points together were like the boney finger of Charon, pointing the way to the source of the awakening power.
Long thin teeth, edged with the blackness of decay, filled the growing gap between two thin lips as a grin slowly grew on the Horseman's horrific face. His haunting orbs shifted back to gaze at Tien and Xan before he spoke again to them. "Stand your ground or flee in fear, it makes no matter to me. I have found my path and have no time for... recreation." With that, he turns to leave the circle, that he may remount his horse and be on his journey eastward.
((Batter up! hehe))
SirPoet slipped from the campsite and made his way out onto the plain as evening gave way to night. Seeing Tien and Xanthia like that, in each other's arms, left little doubt that they were meant for each other. Just as seeing Wenndolyne and Wolf together so long ago. For a moment, he wondered how they were fairing amongst the war and death that seemed bent on destroying the world. He gave a silent prayer to the Power that Be, that they had not been hurt in anyway.
"Have you brought it, Beloved," said a cool sweet voice bringing him from his train of thought. The air near at hand shimmered as the form of Lyrvette appeared. Her long blonde hair glowing as it moved softly pushed by the night's breeze. Emerald eyes regarded him as she greeted him with a warm smile that he somehow knew was for him alone.
"Aye, M'Lady," he answered her, stopping a few feet in front of her. "I have thy harp as you requested, though I doubt Xanthia will be much pleased about it when she awakens," he added with a soft chuckle.
"I have not doubt you are correct, my Poet," she responded, "but some things, such as this must be."
"Aye, though I do not pretend to understand, I shall follow your words," he said. "Should I destroy the harp now?" he asks arching a brow in question and reaching for the case strap on his shoulder.
Gently she reaches out and touches his hand, stopping it. "nay. Now is not the time, nor is this the place, My Love." Gently she takes his hand in hers, their finger entwining by themselves. "We must travel a long distance before it will be time for that."
Poet nods slightly, enjoying the feel of her touch, though not for the first time wondering how she can touch him, while he is but a shade. "May I ask as to where we are going, M'Lady?" he inquires.
"There is a place in the mountains, a hidden valley that my father once told me of," she explains to him as they turn and start the long journey towards the south. "In this valley there is a pool, that only the Children know of, he said." Poet listens to her words, finding her voice soothing as well as comforting. "He told me that at this pool, it was possible for those not of the Children to converse with The Mother." She informed him.
"Wolf once spoke to me of The Mother and told me a tale of how everything came to be." He replied.
"It was no tale, but the truth," she said turning to look at him as they traveled. "Father told me the story as well. How, The Mother gave herself to save her Children and the world they lived upon. I have always wanted to go to this place, but," she paused as she recalled what had kept her from doing so, "I was not able to leave the home father had made for me."
"I recall that home, M'Lady. It is hard to believe that you were locked there for so long a time," says Poet in a soft voice. "Funny, but I could of sworn that Wolf said that with the breaking of the Seal on Lyric, you were no more?"
"Aye, that is true. I should of disappeared when the Seal was broken," she replied to his unspoken question.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I..I am not sure," she falters as she tries to recall what did actually happen. "I felt the magical energy that created me start to fade as soon as the Seal was breached." Swallowing once she continues, her brow creased much like her fathers. "I started to leave and then something pulled at me and gathered me in and then pushed me away just a quickly. The next thing I knew, was that I was inside that harp," she says nodding slightly to the case hung over his shoulder with a shrug.
"Well whatever the case may be, I am glad you are here, M'Lady," says Poet with a heartfelt smile.
"As am I, Beloved," she replies gently squeezing his hand in hers. "As am I."
For many days they travel due South, everywhere they passed there were signs of death and sickness. Whole town were abandoned, villages left as little more than smoldering shells. Being as they were, not truly of this world, they didn't need to rest or stop for food or water. Continuing onward they traveled southwards till they reached a narrow strip of land that reached out into the ocean.
"The Isle of Man," Lyrvette softly said as they stood there with the water's spray wetting them. "It is someplace out there that the hidden valley my father spoke of is located."
Poet took her hand in his once more and with a soft smile said, "Then the sooner we find this hidden Valley of the Children, the quicker I will know why you have brought me here." Gently he stepped forth and led the way out onto the narrow strip of rock.
(To Be Continued)
Xan slipped from the altar, not bothering to cover herself. Her ruby resting between her breasts, began to glow. Her eyes were rivetted on the Horseman named Pestilence. Reaching out she grasped her staff in one hand and sensed rather than saw, Tien slipping from the stone on the other side. His eyes, she knew where taking in Pestilence.
" Do you think to stop me with that puny weapon, woman? " Pestilence's maw hung open as maggots crawled forth. Xan didn't speak, but backed away from the alter itself, stepping slightly to the north eastern end of it. Tien she knew was making his way to the south end of the altar.
" Tis not the weapon which shall stop you, Horseman, " she advised in a low calm steely tone.
" Then who? " he whirled about and pointed a decaying finger at Tien, " Him? Foolish Beings! This is bigger than the both of you. Who do you think you are that you could stop me? "
" It is not who we are, Horseman, but rather what we represent. "
" Don't waste my time with riddles, woman, I have not the time for it. If you have such a great need to die here, then you shall. " Pestilence had swung back around to confront her, his eyes staring at the glowing ruby.
Xan didn't waste her time with further words, calling upon her Will, she grounded and centered herself within the spine of the Dragon and pointed the end of her staff at the vulgarity that stood before her. A blue light shot forth and entered the chest of Pestilence. A great Howl filled the air as he staggered, a howl that could be heard on this plane of existence and others, twas the howl of pain and of anger. As maggots poured forth from the wound Xan had caused, he riased his arms wide.
" Foolish woman! " he roared, " You will die for your feeble efforts." With a wave of his hand, Xan's body became covered in open wounds, oozing green pus.
" NO!" Tien shouted and Pestilence whirled about to face him, distracted from Xan, just as Tien planned.
" You wish to die with her then, man thing? I can accomadate you, " Pestilence sneered, his mouth turning up in a semblence of a ghastly smirk. Before Pestilence could do anything, Tien had called upon his chi and split into three Tiens, all of which now formed a triad around the Horseman.
" Let's see how you fare with three of us to contend with, " Tien advised with a lofted brow as all three images stood straight and tall, arms folded over their chests.
(to be continued)
E-mail comments and/or corrections to Diana/Wenn & Co