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175 posts. Alias of Mikaze.


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reads the OP

It feels like I've finally come home. :)


vyshan wrote:
I like Iomadae because she was Cheliaxian before her ascension. I can see worshipers of her supporting a rebellion to bring the goodness that they know that exist in chelixans that Thune has smashed; and to turn the empire into well a good empire.

I'd truly love to help, but-

clang

tearing metal

roiling holy flame

demonic shriek

-Worldwound! Sorry!


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Durngrun Stonebreaker wrote:
Orthos wrote:
Durngrun Stonebreaker wrote:
Jiggy wrote:
Trigger Loaded wrote:
Murderhobo, to me, is a cynical commentary on how most adventurers live. They tend to be essentially homeless vagabonds who wander from town to town, solving problems with violence. That alone describes the vast majority of PCs. It's goofy commentary on the adventurer lifestyle.

Your assumption that how you play is how "the vast majority of PCs" are played has probably already been covered earlier in this very thread.

My PCs don't fit that description, nor do I encourage/incentivize that mode of play in games I run. And given the number of times I've succeeded in published adventures by NOT acting like a violence-first vagabond tells me that the interest in non-murderhobo-style gaming is more popular than you give it credit for.

How many adventures have you solved without using violence?
My players are pretty frequent to at least try non-violent methods first about half the time. It works somewhere between one-in-four and one-in-three.

So solving a problem with violence is fairly common then, no?

Edit: @Jiggy. Trigger didn't say violence first.

'Tis a tragic fact that our world is filled with violence. Sometimes the only answer left to us is violence, even if we endeavor to minimize it.

But that does not mean all efforts towards peaceful solutions are for nought. If anything it makes such attempts all the more important. And there are more of those who would pursue those higher means than the cynical and jaded might suggest.

And we are no one's fools. We stand ready to defend ourselves and others when the wicked assume that we are.

'Tis a vast gulf between vigilance and an embracing of violence.


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Ms. Pleiades wrote:
Claxon wrote:
Murder is the only option. It's what the paladin would do.

The paladins of "Lawful Good" Iomedae and Torag, sure.

30. Baleful polymorph all of them into sheep, and hope none of them made their will save to keep their mind.

Utter blasphemy.

Holy Iomedae holds in her greatest scorn those who would commit such wickedness and cruelty in the name of the "greater good", especially those who would dare to do so in Her name.

Was so happy her god article came right out and said it.


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ShroudedInLight wrote:
Also, playing a LG drow just feels wrong. It's like playing a LG Tiefling or a CE Asimar...it just makes me feel icky.

:(


Pendagast wrote:
Sounds Like an AP to play Paladin in…. what power can I trade for detect evil, I won't NEED that ability.

Might I interest you in the Redeemer's path? It has roots amongst half-orcs, I believe.


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DM Under The Bridge wrote:
Peperic Timarson wrote:

Interesting, I read it that you were responsible for their lives as in they were under your protection until handed over to the legal authorities. As in, you wouldn't let the party kill them after they talked. Coupled with everything else, I think my interpretation fits better, that the paladin of Iomedae is concerned with the root of evil, not the actual symptoms.

Up to now, he's captured an assassin in a failed attempt, made her talk and then handed her over to the government. Not sure he's really had a quandary yet.

An agent of evil is not a symptom, they are a cause of it and a source.

The paladin, if they win and prevail, is the cure. The cure being massive damage and a one-way ticket to the lower planes (where their filthy souls belong).

This is the line of thinking that enabled the "witch"-hunters and other atrocities of the Third Mendevian Crusade.

That is not the outlook of any paladin I know.

We kill when we must. Redemption is always a greater victory than vengeance.


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Rushley son of Halum wrote:
Durngrun Stonebreaker wrote:
Your argument seems to be (and I'm sure you'll correct me) that you don't like good characters, but you're okay with them if they can be browbeaten into giving up their convictions. However the paladins are harder to browbeat because there are actual in game repercussions for them betraying their character concept.
Actually i'd say the problem is that many paladins don't have a character concept. Just some 2 dimensional idea with no depth.

>:(


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Orthos wrote:
Quote:
WotR GM: I want to be able to see you guys doing intersecting charges with that thing. :)
All I can see is Crono-Frog X-SLASH. Of which I totally approve.

Tis going to happen.


wackyanne wrote:

Unfortunately, I've not seen them chosen for flavour, but for power gaming...

:(


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Words are as much a part of a paladin's arsenal as the sword and shield. And they should be the first of those put to use when possible.

Swaying souls towards the light is a far greater victory than sealing their fate in the dark.


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Bunnyboy wrote:
But I like 'imbossible' and different consepts. Perhaps I could try play paladin as intelligent, social and reasonable character. I wonder if that has been tried.

Ahem.


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partial entry at least, before the work slam hits!

Chellaigh shook the haze out of her head as she rose from her bedroll. The Wallers got their morning light well after everyone else in Kenabres, situated as they were in the shadow of Clydwell Plaza and it great temples to the foreign goddess, and the soft, growing glow behind the curtain that was her door told her she was getting a late start. As she pushed herself to her feet, the sound of the enormous cranes to the south told her the business of the day was already well under way.

She quietly cursed herself; it was too late to set out on hunting rounds to be certain she could make it back before the evening's duties. And without that to keep her busy, she was left with the summons Jezerda sent her. And Chellaigh did not feel particularly inclined to stir up any false hopes at the moment.

She briefly considered heading to the docks or warehouse district to sign on for a day's labor before remembering how many of those bridges had been burned already. Then she heard an old man's voice outside, carried on the wind and going on at length about something. Old Angan from the sound of him. Chellaigh rubbed the rest of the sleep from her eyes and pulled her leathers back on, brushing her shock of hair back over to its proper side before stepping out.

It was indeed Angan, the "village elder" of the Wall District, seated near the longtable and regaling the neighborhood youths with tales of their people and old homeland that fewer and fewer Kellid children seemed to care to learn. Chellaigh remembered the elders of her home village. Vibrant, vital, and defiant old Sarkori souls who made you believe that the old ways were still alive. Looking at Angan, shrunken and stooped, his withered face framed by thin scraps of hair, only reminded her of just how beaten down they were.

She slowly walked past the gathered crowd, taking in what she could overhear partly out of mild curiosity, partly seeking a distraction from the matter of how the day needed to be spent.

"...and so the promise was made. Siobahn of the White Waters swore to the Court of Trees that a child of Sarkoris would return to take up the Crown of Equinox and restore their wounded home. She swore that her children and all of her kin's children would see the earth renewed and the old oaths to the true spirits of the land honored. And that time may soon be upon us, young ones. The dawn is about to brea-"

Chellaigh scoffed and turned away in disgust, continuing on her way and ignoring the few youths that sullenly looked her way. The old man should know better than to feed them those damned tall tales, she thought. She glanced at the oldest scars tracing down her arms and shoulders, harsh lessons learned a lifetime ago. All they do is get the young hopeful and killed while hunting lies. Better to focus on reality, on survival, than putting stock in fairy tales. What naive fool truly believes in the damned Equinox Crown these days?

Chellaigh shook her head in silent frustration and headed for the docks after all.

++++++++++++++++

Siern Nolls was trying not to fume. He had quite a bit of practice at it. "Master Travern, I must insist that you not offer the West Opparan Fields stock tomorrow night. It's far older than you and more valuable to boot."

Travern couldn't help but smile that infuriating smile at the long-suffering butler. He had long given up on trying to get the old Chelaxian to drop the unnecessary titles and honorifics but the man's biting candor was more appreciated than the aasimar let on. "Come now, good Siern," he started, waving at the rather vast collection of his father's wine cellar. "We have important guests coming and we don't want them to think we're cheap. We can afford to be generous every once and a while."

Siern raised a finger, indicating that the lecture was about to begin. "Not appearing 'cheap' is precisely why you should not raid your father's finest stock." He turned away, finger still raised, lecture still in progress. "You will be hosting commanders of Kenabres military. High clergy. Generals. And representatives from Nerosyan itself. You want to earn their respect, not put yourself forth like the powder-faced Taldan lords your father left behind, attempting to bribe your way into their favor. Restraint is a virtue you would do well to keep in mind tomorrow. That and dignity."

"Then I suppose I shouldn't have opened the one then."

"What?!" Siern spun, his jowls quivering with anger as he saw Travern pouring some of that most precious wine into the goblet in his other hand. "M-Master Travern!"

Travern shrugged helplessly as he slowly continued to pour the drink. "I was simply going to test it before you talked me out of serving it."

"That bottle alone was worth nearly a hundred-"

"I can easily reimburse him," Travern helpfully suggested.

"That is beside the point!"

Travern raised a finger as if to give lecture himself. "Well what's done is done, and there's no sense wasting good wine once the cork's out." He quickly lowered the finger upon taking in Siern's scowl. "Because, you now...wastefulness...sin and all that." he quickly added before taking a sip and offering the butler the bottle.

Siern snatched the bottle away and pressed the cork back into place. "I'll be taking this to your father then, considering it is his investment."

"Best he face disappointment sooner than later then." Travern smacked a bit sourly. "It really wasn't worth a hundred gold a bottle. Do we have any of that Andoren liquor left? Anything to cleanse the palate."

Siern narrowed his eyes as he tucked the bottle in his arm. "Master Travern, do you know what time of day it is?"

"Mid-morning, assuming something truly bizarre hasn't taken place."

"Have you ever heard the term 'functioning addict'?"

Travern tilted his head in thought. "With alarming frequency, actually..."

Siern threw his hands up in frustration once more before fumbling and catching the unsealed bottle. "I truly do not understand this determination of yours to tarnish your reputation! And with such an opportunity as the one presented tomorrow, how you cannot count yourself blessed is beyond me! Is there nothing you take seriou-"

"Siern." Travern tried to gently reassure the man who had almost as much of a hand in raising him as his parents. "I'm not going to waste this opportunity. I'm taking it seriously, I promise you that."

The older man gave him a quizzical look, at first uncertain whether to take his words at face value or not. Then he picked out just how forced Travern's smile seemed in the cellar's candlelight. "You're nervous."

"Perhaps a bit." Travern weakly tried to evade the matter, still looking for that liqour.

"About tomorrow night, then?"

"Part of it, perhaps," Travern admitted, slowly giving up on his search.

Siern at least offered to soften his gravely voice a touch before saying, "The yearly visit, then."

Travern lips curled a touch, not quite a smile. "Yeah, I believe so. Both, I guess."

Siern's perpetual frown shifted into another frown, one caused more by concern than irritation. "You know your mother would be proud of you. And you know your father is."

Travern could only nod silently. He knew Siern was probably right about both of them, but it was infuriating how certain he was that the latter was for the wrong reasons. "I know. I...just have a lot on my mind at the moment." He made a show of shaking it off. "Anyway, I do need to get ready. We'll be meeting at the Hall at noon."

"You're not going together?" Siern asked in a tone that might as well have stated.

"Easier this way. But that's later today." Travern clapped his hands, declaring the matter done and immediately shifting to the next topic at hand. "Right now I need to make arrangements for tomorrow's main course and I've precious little daylight to manage that matter."

"And I suppose that task falls upon me then, Master Travern." Siern offered him the exit from the conversation the young man seemed to seek.

"Now I can't go shirking responsibility so quickly like that." Travern tapped his forehead. "But I guess when you're managine affairs such as this it is expected to delegate certain tasks. Very officer thing to do, delegating."

"You've no idea what needs to be ordered then."

"Oh Goddess, no. I'm recognizing a gap in my talents and am asking you to make sure we don't give the guests food poisoning or come across as cheap. In either meaning of that word, as dicussed earlier."

Siern sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Fine, go then. I'll see to it and we can go over the rest when you return."

Travern rather thought his gratitude might have shown a bit too plainly. "As ever, you are a godsend, Siern." he said with a bow before heading back towards the steps leading back up into the manor.

Siern noted that he made no attempt to take any of the plainly visible bottles of Andoren liqour on his way out.


James Jacobs wrote:

I say it's legal to do so. And not only becasue my tiefling in Rob's Way of the Wicked game has a prehensile tail.

But seriously... you're spending a feat and a race trait to get this advantage. What's wrong with it being an actual advantage? Carrying a rod in the tail is hardly game breaking.

Tailed tieflings unite against the tailless oppressors!!!!

But...can't we come to a peaceful understanding instead?!

worried

has also mostly been using his tail to pass items along to others


Time and a modicum of compassion and respect.


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Paladins are actually supposed to live up to their ideals, not just put forth a virtuous front.

There's no plausible deniability against himself.


Genocide should never be an option for any good person.

And Holy Iomedae would never accept evil done in the name of the "greater good".


I...

smiles sadly

When the Crusade is done, when this great threat is ended....I would hope to have found someone. To find a life with them in a place where we would be welcomed. To be able to start a family. To have children who we would love and raise free of all the hardship and horror we have witnessed. Free of all the anguish that our blood has brought us.

I would hope to have a home built upon love.

I do not know that I will see that in this life. I suspect this crusade will demand my life before it is done.

Still...'tis a beautiful dream. It does offer some measure of peace.

I pray that I can catch a glimpse of it, at the very least.

Wrath of the Righteous


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11 Arodus, 4714

Kimroth Otai yawned as he polished the bar. He hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night, having filled in for Catri for the late shift. Even owning the bar and missing an arm, he wasn't about to deny the girl a night to see her sister married. Damned if he wasn't getting too old for it though.

He couldn't complain too much though. He did enjoy working the crowd, sharing stories, perhaps teaching them a thing or too. It had been a good crowd too, much busier than the sparsely filled hall this early in the morning. Yeah, it was a good night. Even with that creepy tief hanging around the edge of the crowd and staring at him.

Kimroth shook the memory from his head and turned to the shelves behind the counter, deftly fetching a mug and a bottle of brandy with one hand, just one good drop to start the morning. He turned to place them on the counter-

"Excuse me, Mr. Otai?" said the pale, horned tiefling boy across the corner of the counter from him, wide eyed and with a face still wet with the morning's wash.

"Cayden's sake!" The startled Kimroth fumbled and barely caught his mug.

The tiefling looked rather wounded at the reaction. "I'm...sorry... 'Twas not my intention to...frighten you..." The way his voice fell when saying those last words had Kimroth more embarrassed than anything else.

Kimroth scowled at Liath, placing his mug away from the tiefling and pouring himself a drink. "Yes, well...you certainly have a strange way of showing it." He put his bluster back in place entirely. "And it takes more than some young upstart sneaking about to put fear in me, boy."

"I...was actually hoping to talk to you about that, sir." Gods, Kimroth thought. Isn't it enough I'm letting them stay here? Now they're getting needy.

The barkeep scooted his mug further away and followed it along the counter, keeping his eyes pointedly on the drink he was pouring. "Some other time. No time for tellin' tales during the morning rush."

Liath quietly looked back at hardly full hall. There were only about ten customers present, most of them still trying to wake fully after stumbling from their rooms. Liath himself had awakened early both out of eagerness to start the day and to beat the crowd. And now he was being turned away?

Kimroth had the brew lifted to his lips when Liath hesitantly spoke up again. "It's just...we may not have time later today...and it doesn't seem overly crowded at the moment..." Kimroth lowered his drink, seeing the boy having followed him down the counter to be standing across from him again. In what morning light spilled through the front windows, the young man looked exactly like that despite his glaring demonic features, just a wide-eyed youth like so many fresh-faced would-be crusaders that had come to Kenabres and left to die before him. And the old soldier was annoyed with himself that he was thinking of the tiefling like that now. "I had hoped to learn what I could from someone who served on the front lines." Kimroth had heard that eager excitement too many times as well. New recruits wanting to hear tales of glory and valor. And he gave them that, though he tried to actually teach them something of the harsh reality that awaited them. Too few were truly prepared for that.

This one though...that eagerness seemed tinged with worry and concern. And those gray eyes kept straying to his missing arm.

Bah! So damn curious, probably no good reason for it, bloody tieflings. He fixed his eyes on Liath. "The hall might not be busy but I am. If'n you're wanting story time, wait until the evening like everyone else." He then stalked off to the far corner of the counter, busying himself with cleaning the surface that had been polished just ten minutes ago. "Adela! Get some of them potatoes stewing before the Andorens come downstairs. They wanted an early start," he ordered the halfling cook back in the kitchen. Again. Anything to busy himself and discourage...

"I'm sorry..." came the boy's voice just across the counter from him again. Kimroth turned to curse him and shoo him away before seeing his pleading eyes. Whatever else the tiefling was, there could be no doubt in just how innocently earnest he was about the questions he was pressing. "But...could you at least tell me how Lady Tirabade defeated Staunton Vhane? I...didn't get to hear last night..." he asked, looking more than a little ashamed at being such a bother.

Kimroth sighed at the sight and conceded defeat. Besides, he had run out of bar to put between them.

++++++++++++++++

Stone masonry shattered beneath the weight of Mage-Queen Enyana's might. She floated through the massive wound she had punched through the Great Betrayer's inner keep, her feet kept from touching the ground by the sheer power radiating from her more than any conscious effort. Her robes flowed forever behind her. She spared no second glance behind her, for all enemies that had crossed her path had been soundly and utterly defeated.

She called out to her quarry, he voice carrying for miles. "I've come for you, Betrayer! Warlock!" She swept her platinum staff through the air, brushing aside another wall like so much crumpled paper. "The Light of Justice and Judgment is upon you! Come forth and face the fate you've chosen for yourself, damnable coward!" Her face was pure righteous anger. It was no mask of rage, but a tranquil calm delivering an inevitable doom to the wicked. Her eyes, emerald green and sapphire blue, crackled with the energy of the stars themselves.

She swept her staff again, brushing aside the wall before her. Her eyes narrowed at the sight beyond. She had found her prey.

The Warlock Aravashnial sat upon his onyx throne, wrapped in black and silver silks and the stolen wealth of kingdoms, a living picture of wicked decadence. There was no fear in his eyes, only smug arrogance. His silver eyes glinted with hateful derision as a mirthless smile spread upon his face. "Ah, the upstart has arrived at last. I trust my minions gave you a warm welcome."

Enyana slowly floated forward, her piercing eyes locked on him. "What minions? Those who followed you when you betrayed our order? You've far fewer of them now..." She gritted her teeth and pointed her staff at her hated foe. "...but there are many new trees planted just outside. Now join them!"

"Tut tut!" Aravashnial's smile turned into something truly twisted and wicked as he pulled an iron chain taut in one hand, drawing his helpless prisoner forward from behind his throne to kneel between him and his pursuer. Enyana's eyes widened and she pulled her staff aside just in time to turn her magics aside, the bolt of eldritch energy flying wide and harmlessly hitting the wall.

There, on his knees and made obedient by the devilish cold iron collar around his neck was Aravashnial's slave and greatest weapon, the darkly beautiful, rebellious Demon Prince. Black of hair and ivory skinned, naked save for a loincloth of finest silk and the collar that bound him, demonic in form yet noble in spirit, he struggled helplessly as Arvashnial leaned forward in his throne and pulled the Prince upright. The warlock's smiling lips were nearly brushing against those of his captive, his eye's locked on the Mage Queen's as he stroked his slave's cheek with one perfectly smooth hand. Enyana wavered, seeing the victorious look in her enemy's eyes and the conflicted desire in the Prince's own. The vile elf knew just how much this enraged the Mage Queen, to see such a noble being enslaved by twisted magic and by playing his own demonic lusts against him.

"Let him go, you bastard!" Arcane energy crackled all around Enyana's form, her own rage conflicting with the feelings the sight stirred within her.

Sheer sadistic glee shone in Aravashnial's eyes as he pulled the Prince closer, kissing him deeply and drawing it out to further torment the woman whose trust he betrayed long ago. Finally, he broke the seal of their lips, leaving the Prince gasping with a mix of hate and desire for his captor. "Very well... Go to her, pet. Go and bring back her head!"

Enyana immediately took a defensive stance as the Demon Prince drew his legs beneath him, readying to pounce. She could see the hestiation in his beautiful smoldering eyes, but Aravashnial's enchantments still compelled him to give in to the baser aspects of his nature. If he was to be freed, if she was to survive this, she would have to find a way to reach that noble, heroic spirit hidden deep within. Her fingers weaved in subtle motions...

The half-demon launched himself at her, his claw-like painted nails slicing in a wide arc and passing through the illusion of herself she had just placed before invisibly moving across the room. Enyana smiled as she noted how slow and awkward the attack had been. Even know he was struggling mightily against the bonds that had been placed on his very soul.

The elven warlock cackled and clapped at the sight, his eyes finding the invisible Enyana with infuriating ease. He leaned forward in his throne and pointed at the archmage, speaking eldritch words and dispelling her invisibility. The Demon Prince had skidded to a stop, his hooves scraping the marble floor, and immediately turned towards the revealed wizard. He raced towards her again. Enyana could see the pained tears in those tormented eyes.

She swept her staff upwards in a half-circle just before he reached her, stopping the Prince in his tracks and lifting him into the air, holding him in place with her very mind. He was struggling against hte magic that held him tight, struggling against the magic urging him onward, and all of it was taking a toll on Enyana. She could feel the strain wearing at her already. He was too strong to hold like this indefinitely.

She heard Aravashnial's voice call out from his throne and saw the flash of hellish light just in time to spin her staff and dispel the bolt of flame he had hurled her way.

The distraction was enough. The Prince's hand was around her throat.

The Mage-Queen did not show any fear as his grip tightened. She only met his gaze, her piercing eyes meeting his pained ones. "I-I'm sorry...I cannot fight him...."

"You can." She said, struggling for air but with no less determination in her voice. "You will. For both our sakes. I have seen your heart. I trust in you."

The Prince's eyes widened, the hope she had just given him throwing his torment into sharp contrast. He clenched his teeth, screaming in pain at the effort as he pulled his hand away before doubling over in agony and allowing Enyana to breath freely again.

Aravashnial stood up from his throne, outraged at the impossible betrayal. "Damn you! On your feet! Slay her! I command you!"

"Enough!" Enyana declared, pointing her staff at that most hated of foes and launching a spiraling bolt of pure holy flame right into his chest.

Aravashnial only laughed wildly as it left him utterly unharmed. The Demon Prince however....he was flung to his back upon the floor by the redirected impact, howling in pain at the terrible burn it had left upon his pale chest. "No!' screamed the Mage-Queen, rushing to his side and hurriedly healing the grievous wound she had unwittingly dealt him. The warlock cackled with glee the entire time. "Don't you see, my dear? He serves me in all possible ways." That insane grin upon his face widened as he stroked the jeweled bracelet upon his wrist. "Now do stop being so rough with my pet and just die. I'm not ready for him to be completely broken, yet."

Enyana turned back to him, her eyes now utterly cold with tranquil fury. She stood and approached with a smooth, unfazed grace as the elf laughed and hurled spell after spell at her, each one batted away with a simple swing of her staff. He threw fire at her. She snuffed it out. He threw ice at her. She turned it into harmless rain. He threw acid. It sizzled into nothing before her. Fear began to creep into his eyes, but still he did not relent. He threw up a series of summoned walls that she brushed aside. He summoned forth demons that she banished in an instant. All the while he silently commanded his slave to rise again.

The Demon Prince fought against the urging as much as he could, but still he rose to his feet. He turned back to the fight, seeing the Mage-Queen, his would-be savior, the most heroic soul he had ever known, striding towards his increasingly desperate master and tormentor. He charged towards her. She would never see him coming, and the thought of what he was now driven to do was killing him.

Enyana kept her eyes entirely on Aravashnial's. No distractions. The elf summoned a storm. She dispersed it. He conjured shadowy tentacles. She burned them away with light.

He pointed at her with the hand wearing the bracelet, preparing to snarl out a killing curse.

The Demon Prince prepared to leap, to land the killing blow and praying that the gods would show him no mercy for what he was about to do.

Enyana smiled. Everything was in place.

A simple jerking gesture with her staff, and the bracelet flew from Aravashnial's wrist to her hand.

Shock and horrified disbelief spread over Aravashnial's face as the now freed Demon Prince lunged over Enyana at him. The Prince's hands clasped around the elf's neck, pinning him against the throne as the former slave brought his beautiful, wrathful visage close to his prey's. His fangs were oh so close now. The Prince's words came forth in gasps. "I should kill you right now. I should show you no mercy...for using my heart against me...for turning what I felt for you into this chain..." The pain of all that Aravashnial had done to him was clear in his voice. The elf knew that judgment was upon him for his sins. And he was terrified.

The Prince's nails dug in, ever so slightly, before he stopped himself. He could feel Enyana's eyes upon him. He could feel the weight of his own conscience bearing down on him. He let his former lover go, leaving the elf to collapse gasping upon his throne. He considered the fearful warlock only a moment more before turning back to face Enyana. The woman who saved him. The one who now smiled at him with approval. Her faith in him had held true. Her victory had been complete.

The Demon Prince took a step down from the dais towards her. How could one as unworthy as he ever thank her properly for the salvation she had granted him?

He did not see Aravashnial rise from his throne. The elf shrieked in rage. "No! You are mine alone, now and forever!" Enyana recognized the curse being woven within his hands. The Prison of Eternal Agony. The Prince had only enough time to raise his hands to futilely shield himself.

Aravashnial threw his hands forward to unleash the curse.

Enyana had already waved her staff with one dismissive motion.

The elf only had enough time for an expression of dumbfounded surprise to plant itself upon his face before it was frozen forever as he was instantly transformed into an oak tree, his new form roughly mirroring his old one as the vaguely elf-shaped tree's roots dug deep through the stone to lock him forever in place.

"A fitting fate," Enyana declared. "For one of the sylvan races so far astray to live out the rest of his years in such a state." She considered the roof of the chamber and with a wave of her staff it exploded outwards, letting sunlight pour into the now open room. She was not merciless, after all.

The Demon Prince stepped towards Aravashnial, running his hand along the elf's face cast in wood one last time before turning away forever, to see his future now standing before him.

Enyana stood in place, staff planted before her as she considered the half-demon approaching her. She had utterly defeated the Traitor. She had saved the Prince. But now there was the question of what would come next. The great conflicts had now ended... What was left to them now?

The Demon Prince bowed before her in absolute reverence and gratitude. "I can never thank you enough, oh Mage-Queen. Everything that I might now become, I owe to you."

Enyana smiled graciously, placing a hand upon his pale, well-sculpted, muscular shoulder. The contrast of their skin struck her as a thing of beauty. "You owe me nothing, my Prince." She held forth the bracelet that had controlled him through his collar. "I only ask that you now choose your own path."

The Demon Prince took the bracelet and considered it. Enyana could see the conflict in his eyes, the internal struggle that warred within his very soul. And finally, within those eyes, realization and hope.

He knelt before her, in supplication, holding the bracelet outwards to her. "Then I choose to be yours. Now and forever, body and soul."

Enyana was shocked. The Prince was utterly sincere in his offer...no, he was begging her to take him. But was she worthy of such trust?

She took the bracelet from him and instantly knew she made the right choice when she saw the pure relief in the Prince's face. "Then I take you as mine." She caressed his pale cheek, his eyes filling with complete devotion as he knelt before his queen. His goddess.

She gently, but firmly, commanded him to rise. He obeyed, exalting in the peace he now found in the service of the Mage-Queen, Enyana Wek. She pressed him against the tree that was Aravashnial, her lips pressing against his in a fierce, passionate kiss as she guided his hands behind her back to

Enyana fell out of her bed and woke with a frustrated and confused curse.

She lay on the floor for a moment, feeling more disappointed than anything. Then she chided herself for being so ridiculous and childish and...inappropriate.

She sat up with a sigh, waiting until she got her bearings. Well, it was time to wake up anyway. She weighed that thought in her head a bit, considering the possibility of not going to Blackwing to face all of those hateful, judging faces and simply go back to bed.

Then she decided that that would simply be conceding defeat. Yes, damn embarrassment. She would go back and continue her studies out of spite if that's what it took.

She launched herself into her morning routine, trying to lose herself in it and not dwell on what she was walking into today. Her thoughts wandering back to that shameless fantasy helped a bit.

Utterly ridiculous, she thought, smiling despite herself.

+++++++++++++

Liath was crying. Naella held him tight and tried to gently shush him, but still her brother wept. She prayed to the goddess she knew hated them that he would stop. It would be worse if he didn't stop. Father hated weakness almost as much as he hated the taint within his children.

"Liath..." she whispered, her own voice cracking with fear. "You have to be brave...please...for me..." And the little girl hated herself. Because she knew he would try to take the worst of it. He always did.

But she was so, so afraid.

Liath shuddered in her arms when the cellar door flung open, shattering the darkness they lived in with a harsh, hateful light. Father's sillouete loomed over them, cane in hand.

"Please be brave." Naella whispered, barely making a sound at all. Liath had stopped crying. Father came down the stairs, cane in hand...

Naella's eyes slowly opened. She lay still for a long time, trying to put as much distance between her thoughts and those unwelcome memories as possible. She rarely enjoyed her dreams. They seldom took her to places she wanted to revisit. She wondered for a moment if that was one reason why her brother was so eager to fill his head with all the sights and wonders of the world, to throw as many distractions from the past as possible into whatever collection of thoughts dreams were crafted from.

She finally rolled over to see the other bed bare and already made up.

She called out for him, and jolted upright when she received no answer. She took stock for just a moment before hurriedly dressing, verging towards panic. Please Iomedae, don't let him wander off alone in this city...

She was still fixing her coif in place when was out of the door. She hurried to the railing overlooking the main hall, scanning the growing crowd. She was relieved, and then somewhat irritated, when she saw him at the counter with the tavern's owner. If he continues to pester the man, we may very well be thrown out...

She hurried down the stairs, taking the time to straighten her hastily donned vestments and at least attempt to look collected to those passing her on their way back upstairs. She was ready to pull her brother aside before the words she could now overhear slowed her step.

Liath was listening with utterly rapt attention as Kimroth Otai gestured wildly with one hand and spoke, "...and the Shieldwall Legion is worth a look too. They're from Lastwall, Iomedaean, so they the straight and narrow sort. Flaming Lance is open to all sorts of folk, I think, yours included. No offense." Liath nodded understandingly. "A bit rough and tumble though, may not be your type...oh..." Kimroth finally noticed Naella trying not to frown too harshly at her brother. "Miss..." The bartender realized he hadn't even bothered to learn her name, just as he had only learned Liath's a moment earlier. He found he rather liked the lad after getting to know him a bit. Damnedest thing, but he couldn't help but feel a bit protective.

"Naella! You're up!" Liath smiled sheepishly. He could see his sister's frustration clearly. "I...was going to wake you, but 'twas still so early..."

"And so you set out to bother Mr. Otai instead," she sighed. "My apologies, sir. He doesn't mean any harm, he was merely cur-"

Kimroth waved her concern away. "Bah, it's nothing! This is what I do! Come, sit! You're looking to join one of the companies with your brother, eh?"

"I...yes...but..." Naella was a bit flustered, but only for a moment. She couldn't stay annoyed at Liath over this. It was the strangest thing, but sometimes her brother had a knack for winning people over. She couldn't help but envy him for it. She couldn't see that same gift in herself, preferring to keep people at a comfortable distance. At least that's what she told herself. "Of course. And thank you." She glared at Liath, whispering, "You still should have woken me before wandering off. You had me worried..."

"I'm sorry." Liath said, sincerely as ever. Naella's faint smile was forgiveness enough, as ever. "You'll never believe what Lady Irabeth Tirabade did though! After her leg was shattered, she still ran Vhane down and drove him to the ground. She nearly bested him with her very hands before he summoned a swarm of giant, fiendish wasps to overwhelm her, and half of those she still slew!"

Naella quirked an eyebrow. Liath was certainly right about her not believing it. She had a feeling the old soldier meant well, but she had a much easier time spotting embellishments than her brother. "You're right, that does sound incredible."

Kimroth nodded with a wide grin, exclaiming "I know, right?" and apparently missing the actual meaning of her words. "Anyway, I think that's about all the names you'd need to get started. Oh, well, there's Eagle's Watch, but they're a bit of trouble according to a lot of folks. Always sticking their noses in, looking over everyone's shoulders."

"Inquisitors?" Naella cut right to it, her returning frown showing just what she thought of the possibility. Even Liath had worry shadowing his face now.

"Of a sort, I guess. Anyway, not the ones to join if you're looking for a warm welcome."

"Thank you, but I believe we already know who we will seek to join." Naella nodded towards Liath. He returned the gesture, reaffirming their determination to join the Everbright Crusaders. "We need to be ready to go as soon as Travern gets here..."

"Oh, the Kalleros lad? That's right...we got a message from him to hand over to you earlier..." Kimroth shuffled over to the far end of the counter, fetching the letter the courier had given one of his halfling workers earlier. Both of the twins gave each other a quizzical look before he returned with it, both of them moving close to read it.

Liath tried to hide his disappointment. "So...we're left here on our own today..."

Naella put a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, he can't be expected to schedule his life around us. He has responsibilities of his own. And he said he would be free to meet with us again tomorrow..."

Another customer, pointedly seated at the far corner of the bar, called for Kimroth. The barkeep glanced back to the twins. "Well, the two of you have your room paid for through the next two weeks, so you don't have any worries on finding work for a bit longer at least. So relax, ol' Kimroth still needs to tell you how it is here in town."

Liath nodded, but the frustrated grimace showed as soon as the older man had gone. "We mustn't simply sit around doing nothing...'tis not what we came all this way to do."

Naella knew where this was headed. "I know you wish to do your part. I do as well. But 'twould be wiser to wait for Travern to guide us." Travern had tried to allay her fears as best he could, but still she did not relish the idea of her brother sticking his neck out without the aasimar there to steer them clear of any possible danger.

She knew that was a lost cause simply by looking at her brother's face. "Naella...we can do this! This is what Holy Iomedae guided us here to do!" He clasped her hands, that infuriatingly infectious eagerness pouring out of his eyes. "And we know the city now! We're ready!"

Naella knew she should put her foot down. She knew she should spell out just how badly she suspected things could go for them. She knew she should say exactly what she feared could happen to him. She knew that she should crush his hopes just a bit to protect him.

She looked into his wide, hopeful eyes.

"Alright..."


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"And the shrine of Saint Lymirin! We must pay our respects there as well!" Liath eagerly insisted over a mostly forgotten supper in the back of the main hall in Defender's Heart. Travern had only managed to eat most of his meal by merely nodding at all the locales the tiefling was determined to visit. It seemed Liath intended to see every other non-private building and landmark in the city. The young man had actually named some memorials he had never seen. For her part, Naella remained calm, sipping her tea and reining in her brother from time to time with a mere utterance of his name.

Travern finally managed to swallow his mouthful of potato. "Yes, certainly. Though I'm not so sure you could manage all that in one day..."

"'Tis a visit we may need to put off for another time," Naella said. "We mustn't abuse your generosity with your time, after all." Travern could tell who her words were truly intended towards, even before Liath's embarrassed blush.

Travern waved that concern away. "Please, it's no problem. I wouldn't want the two of you to get in over your heads, being so new to the big city." Travern failed to notice Naella's eyebrow quirking at that. "But...my goodness, it has gotten late already. I probably shouldn't keep the two of you up so late if you're to have an early start tomorrow."

Liath almost spoke up concerning the first matter of tomorrow's business before his sister's glance set him back to quickly finishing his meal. Naella bowed her head. "And likewise we should not keep you too late. Brother, while you finish, I will walk a moment with Travern to see him out. To discuss how we might recompense."

Travern shook his head. "Now there's no need-"

"Oh, but we must!" Liath insisted. "You've helped us so much in so short a time. 'Twould be wrong to offer nothing in return!"

Naella had already risen from her chair, her hands folded into her sleeves. "I agree. Please Travern, if I might have a moment as you go." She was already stepping around, as if ushering him out.

"Of...course..." Travern exchanged quick farewells with Liath as he rose and headed out with Naella. He thought the poise with which she carried herself quite dignified considering the ugly looks some of the crowd were still giving her and her brother. He could not help but be a bit embarrassed when some of those seated tried to subtly lean away as she passed by, as if her mere touch might be infectious. "I really must apologize for some of this lot," he said quietly. "Ignorance tends to stick rather stubbornly."

"'Tis actually a matter I wished to speak of," Naella said, stoically weathering the silent condemnations pointed her way. "But I was speaking truthfully to my brother. You have done us a great kindness today. Perhaps greater than you realize..." She looked over her shoulder, making certain her brother was still in the back as they exited Defender's Heart. When she turned back to Travern, he rather thought he saw some weariness in her eyes. "Especially for Liath. He truly needed this day. For that, you have my deepest gratitude. We are both in your debt."

Travern found himself at a bit of a loss at her words. "Uh..." He caught himself before saying that it was nothing, because everything he managed to read in her eyes said it most certainly did mean something to them. "You're quite welcome." Naella seemed even more grateful for having some of the depth of what he had done for them recognized. "As for any matter of repayment, if you must insist...I'll...have to get back to you on that..." Travern mentally tripped himself as he spoke, his natural inclinations to turn his words towards harmlessly playful flirtation running facefirst into the wall presented by her position.

Naella merely showed that faint smile and bowed her head again. "Thank you. As to the...other matter...

"Yes?" Travern found himself grateful for the change of subject.

Naella gave the Defender's Heart a glance. "I must ask, for my brother's sake more than my own. How badly should we expect to be treated without your presence?"

Travern nearly choked at the frankness of the question. There was no bitterness at all in her voice, it was simply matter-of-fact. And the question had cut right through some assurances he had been giving himself on the matter. "I...well...to be honest, I think there will be those that won't be very welcoming. But I assure you, it's nothing like it was in the past..."

Naella's expression didn't change. "'Tis just that you might not see the worst Kenabres has to offer us, given your birthright. I apologize if that sounds too forward."

"Uh..." Travern was taken aback, not because she had offended him beut because she was seeing right through him in ways he couldn't. He actually hadn't considered how his perspective might color things to such an extreme. "Naella, I can't pretend to know exactly what it's like for your kind, but...I suppose you will feel quite a bit of pushback from some corners," he admitted. "But there are plenty of people welcoming of tieflings, I think. Especially with the temple of Sarenrae being here. Besides," he forced a grin. "...there are plenty of folks serving the crusade stranger than your lot!" He wanted to kick himself in the teeth when he saw Naella's eyebrow arch at that.

She shook it off quickly enough. "Very well. I just...wanted to be certain we would not be in danger." The way she spoke, it seemed it was not her safety that truly had her concerned.

Travern shook his head. "No more than anyone else this close to the Worldwound, I assure you." He began to imagine he understood her concerns. "The Burners don't have free reign anymore. Those days are over, I promise." He rather felt that his hometown was on trial now, and he found himself rather ashamed on its behalf. "I know it can be upsetting to read about what happened in the past here, but you're in no danger of that. I swear it." He spoke with utmost conviction on that. But the seed of doubt she had planted did bear some fruit. "But...it would be best if you let me stay by your side for a while longer." He quickly added, "You and your brother both. At least until you've found your place in one of the crusader companies. And you'll need some help navigating those. Some can be a rough lot." Travern had less difficulty seeing the faults of the crusaders outside the city. After all, most of them were foreigners. The hypocrisy of that thought was lost on him at the moment.

Naella bowed her head once more, his concession making his other assurances easier to believe. "Then we are even more in your debt, Travern Kalleros. I must thank you again."

"Don't worry about it. Your brother's probably missing you at this point..."

Her half-smile returned. Travern could not help but believe she was practically aglow in the moonlight, with both her marble-pale face and the white coif framing it. "Of course. Good night, Travern."

Travern bowed in his typically exaggerated fashion. "Good night, m'lady."

She was utterly unfazed by the gesture, though her faint smile did remain in place. She merely bowed once more and returned inside.

Travern tarried for a moment in the street before heading on his way. He was still kicking himself for that last flirtation. Goddess' sake, man. The last thing you need to do is prove Caelda right. As he walked home, he found himself wondering more and more just what he could reasonably ask of the tieflings to balance that debt they would no doubt insist upon fulfilling.

He also found his thoughts wandering back to the look in Naella's eyes when he had mentioned the Burners. Her gray eyes were hard to read, as shielded as they were. But for a moment, for just a brief flash, he was certain he had seen absolute rage burning within them.

++++++++++++++++

Naella rubbed the bridge of her nose as she got closer to the back of the main hall. Liath was standing be the bar, at the very edge and out of anyone's way as he so often did, and obviously listening intently to the one-armed man, behind the counter telling war stories to a crowd of younger patrons. Fresh soldiers for the crusade listening to the wisdom of its veterans. She noted that the crowd seemed to flow around and away from Liath, like a school of fish steering clear of a shark.

She knew if she left him there he would stay there all night. He was completely enthralled. He didn't even notice her approach until she took his hand and pulled him away. "Come, brother. We need to be rested for the morrow."

"But..." Liath meekly protested, knowing his sister's wisdom held true. "...he was just about to tell how the traitor Vhane was driven from Kenabres! You really must hear of it!"

"We can learn of it another day, brother." She looked back and noted the collective sigh of relief from the crowd as they spread more evenly around the counter. Even the barkeep had been keeping his distance. Too polite to shoo him away, but not so much to actually welcome us, she thought, pushing the bitterness away before her face showed any of it.

Liath continued. "He was found out by a paladin of Holy Iomedae. A half-orc! They say she was born of another paladin of the faith and a great noble savage from the hordelands of Belkzen. Mr. Otai was just about to tell us how she defeated him even after he shattered her leg..."

Mr. Otai was about to tell them, Liath. She didn't have the heart to say it, and just continued to lead him up the stairs towards their room. She could already tell what he was doing, placing another hero on a pedestal and setting himself up for disappointment once again. He was still peering over the railing at the crowd, trying to overhear what details he could. "We'll have plenty of time to hear the full of it later. We need to be up early to meet Travern tomorrow, remember?"

That was enough to end it. "...yes. I'm sorry Naella."

She let go of his hand as they entered their room. "It's alright. He did not have any ideas on how we might repay him, so we should keep an eye out..."

She looked back when she didn't hear the click of his hooves following along as she walked further in. Now, removed from the din and bustle of the crowd and in the peace of their own room, the weight of the day's events could be felt in full, and it left Liath standing somewhat dazed, a shaking hand clutching his holy symbol tightly.

Naella moved close and placed a hand on the one he had clasped shut, wondering and worried at what was going through his head. She was relieved to see the heartfelt smile crack wide upon his face, making it clear why his eyes were misting. "I'm sorry....it's just... Everything's going right. We're where we need to be." He hugged Naella tightly. "Everything really is going to be different here."

Naella held him tightly as well. She hoped and prayed he was right. She hoped and prayed her worries she had brought up with Travern never came to pass. As she held her shaking brother in her arms, she wondered if perhaps this new cause really could heal her brother's wounded spirit.

"It's alright." she whispered, as much to herself as to Liath.

Liath fought to catch his breath. "Mother...must be proud...seeing us here now..."

"I'm sure she is..." Naella lied, gently patting her brother's back just as she had during their years in the cellar, after their father had finished their daily purification. If ever there was a place their mother would warn them to avoid, even in her madness, even in the painfully short time they knew her, it would be here. The source of it all the insanity that tore their family apart.

She was grateful it was Liath who found the strength to break away first. He was still smiling even as he wiped the tears from his face. "I'm sorry...it's just...it's all so much..." He once again wished he had his sister's composure, but even her eyes had misted over.

She brushed the hair out of his face. "I know. Come, we should take our rest."

Liath nodded and followed, both kneeling and joining their hands in silent prayer, thanking Iomedae for granting them newfound certainty in purpose and swearing to do all they could to fulfill it. The closeness of their bowed heads and the feel of their interlaced fingers spoke their thoughts to one another almost as perfectly as if they could read them outright. Whatever worries they had, whatever elation was quickening their hearts, they were both certain they were where they were needed.

When they finally broke that silent union, Naella turned to make ready for bed. She glanced over, certain Liath was doing the same.

He was at the window, peering at the darkened sky. Hoping for another glimpse at Terendelev.

++++++++++++++++

Maybe I can ask them to give me a good reference with whatever company I can get them into, Travern thought before laughing aloud. References were the last thing he needed, considering how it was everyone knowing his father that was keeping him out of the active ranks. He sighed as he unlocked the manor door, not wanting to wait for a servant.

The light coming from the study and filling the end of the hall meant his arrival would not go unnoticed. Might as well... Travern headed in for his daily familial interaction. As expected, Leandro Kalleros was at his desk, ever busy managing the family's holdings. "Travern. Have a seat, will you?" Travern's sleepy eyes widened. There was a bit more warmth there than usual. He didn't even bother to work up a remark as he sat.

"I take it something's come up?"

"Yes, in fact." Leandro continued writing, finally wrapping up whatever he was working on and closing the ledger. "A busy day tomorrow and the evening after. I'll need your help."

Travern winced, remembering his words to the twins. "Ooh...uh...this may not be the best ti-"

"I know you're frustrated."

Travern shut up. That admission was more than enough to stay his tongue.

His father stood and paced towards the fireplace, hands behind his back. "I know it's been difficult, wanting to do you part for the crusade and being pulled away."

"Yes, it has just a bit." Travern couldn't resist. Leandro showed no reaction.

"We'll be hosting several key officials this Wealday evening. Some of them with Clydwell Cathedral. Apparently you brought something of great interest to their attention today."

Travern leaned back in his seat, unable to suppress his grin. So word got around that fast then. "Merely doing my part, as best I can at the moment."

"Well, given the interest some have shown, you may soon be able to do much more. General Maius of the Cruciform Cathedral will be here as well."

Travern's brow twisted as he tried to recall the name. "He's....retired, yes?" And from Nerosyan at that...

"As much as anyone retires from the Crusade. He still has a lot of pull, and anyone who earned his favor would find that quite the useful boon to have."

"Yes, I suppose it would." Travern didn't like where this seemed to be headed. Either he was being maneuvered into an officer's position or he was being set up to be shipped off to Nerosyan and further away from the front line. And you really expect me to take that bait so readily... His grin twisted a bit. Oh, I'm going to take it and run with it. I can use this. "I believe I understand. Play my cards right, and I can have any position in the crusade I sought."

Leandro nodded, no doubt assured that their guests would not see his son wasted on the front.

"I must admit, Dad, I'm a bit surprised at all this..." Travern said, quite sincere. He really didn't think his father would stoop to this. The honest sabotage, yes, but actually trying to trick him away from the place he knew he needed to be?

"I owe it to you. Think nothing of it."

"There's the matter of tomorrow though. What needs my attention the entire day?"

"Well..." Leandro's voice softened. "We've an appointment with your mother."

Travern paused, silently cursing himself for managing to forget. Liath Samathran wasn't the only one to let the day run off with him, it seemed. "Of course. Yes...I'll be there. What of the rest?"

"Preparations for Wealday. I'll be leaving it to you."

Travern's brow rose. It was question enough for Leandro.

"You'll be taking on the full duties of the house eventually, son. It's time to start carrying your weight..."

"Such as it is." Travern said, holding up one thin arm.

Leandro frowned but continued without missing a beat. "And this is your opportunity. Considering how often you go on about it, here's your opportunity to earn it yourself."

Travern's eyes narrowed. He knew it was a challenge, and he wouldn't have taken it any other way. But even if his contributions did gain him what he wanted, it was still his father's string-pulling that put him into the position to do so. It still wasn't all his doing. "Alright. I'm in. I'll speak to Galen and Uma first thing in the morning so we can get this party going." He leaned forward. "I'm going to need a guest list of course. Number coming. Names to watch out for. Religion, don't want to have a repeat of that Kalistrade incident."

Leandro nodded, "Of course, of course..." He retrieved the relevant papers from his desk and handed them over. He seemed genuinely happy that his son was apparently taking this all rather seriously.

Travern continued, "I'm thinking the wine cellar is due for a good raid of course. No need to look that up, I know what to set aside. There's some imported auroch meat floating about the market I'd like to secure, just the right amount of 'exotic' and 'safe' to make it memorable." He ran his eyes up and down the guest list. "I see we've room for more guests."

"Yes, I had written off a few names. Superfluous possibilities that would only serve to distract from the most likely matters of discussion. If you have any relevant contacts amongst the crusaders, you could fill those seats.

"Oh, I know just the two," Travern assured his father.

"Splendid!"

Gotcha.

+++++++++++++++++

Chellaigh strode homeward through the nearly empty "street" of the Waller district. It was late, but she felt the need to keep watch over the girl until her lights went out. Things seemed to calm down after the initial commotion she heard inside.

She didn't know what had upset her, but she knew she would likely break the jaw of whoever caused it if she ever learned who to blame.

She slowed her long steps when she saw her shack. Someone had left something. No one ever did that. No one with any damned sense.

A piece of driftwood, leaning just inside her "door" and scrawled over with charcoal. Chellaigh may have been a bit paranoid even during her good days, but it only took a glance at the writing to tell it was harmless.

She picked it up and sighed.

Chelay

gon fishin

be back tommorow

hopd you wuld come but you were gon

goin to get lots of coin and wil give you som becaws i still owe you i didnt forget

the Owl was askin for you agin

Stayga

"Damned idiot." Chellaigh grumbled as she tossed the wood aside. She was just about to go inside when her shack and the great wall behind it were both lit up from behind her with a soft greenish light.

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned...

She cursed herself as a fool for even daring to hope. It was just the Wound, displaying a sickening storm of blue-green lights. For the briefest moment, she had hoped to see a glimpse of Pulura's aurora. One look at the Worldwounds perverse mockery of it reminded her that such a sight would never be hers again. The days when she and her sister would lay in the green grass at night and gaze upward at that glowing curtain were gone forever.

Now there was only the Worldwound, just a reminder of all she had lost.

She offered the sight a single finger before going to bed angry. "Yeah, @#%^ you too."


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Chellaigh stuck to the stretching shadows of the alleyway while she waited. She knew this part of the city like the back of her hand by now. There was little chance anyone would notice her near the bakery's side door. It always closed before these late hours. And it allowed her to turn her full attention to the large building across the street.

The girl left earlier than expected. There was something strange in her poise, though it was difficult to tell from this distance. Chellaigh thought her pace a bit quick but stiff; the girl seemed awfully tense.

The Kellid let her pass half a block before emerging to follow on the opposite side of the street, always weaving as nonchalantly as possible through the rest of the crowd. She knew the usual paths she took, but kept close enough to spot any break from the normal routine. Gate District was mostly safe, but there were still those desperate or vile enough to prowl the streets for easy marks. Last night had been an uncomfortably close reminder of that.

She narrowed her eyes, thinking she spied a shift in the girl's pace. Her step seemed to falter for a bit. Then the wagons passed through the middle of the street, blocking Chellaigh's view. Damn it! Several heavily armored wagons at that, drawn by war-trained horses by the look of them. The emblem of the Flaming Lance was painted along the side of each wagon, their human and hobgoblin drivers pushing them past quickly, a small retinue of the city militia riding before them to clear the streets. They were mobilizing for something. Chellaigh didn't particularly care at the moment. She had just lost the trail.

The girl was nowhere to be seen.

Chellaigh raced ahead, not caring if she drew the attention of the other passers-by. She couldn't see her further down the street, she must have gone down another branching off. She crossed the street, her eyes darting towards every corner. Gods, if anyone's taken her... She bit her tongue, cursing herself silently for letting panic sneak in. Stay calm, don't rush, look for any sign of struggle. Watch how the others on the streets behave...

She finally reached the spot she had last seen her. She kept moving forward, finally hearing her just a moment before seeing her.

Enyana had stepped into an alleyway, leaning against a wall and sobbing into her hands. That explained the strange manner in her movement; she had been barely holding it together until just now.

Chellaigh was all too familiar with the way she was weeping, that same mixture of pain and anger that she had seen so long ago. She didn't realize she had stopped moving until she was on the verge of saying something...

Enyana looked up, her face painted with shame and bitterness as she glared through stinging eyes at the woman casting a shadow over her. "What?!" she uttered, low in her throat.

What did you think to say? What could you say? It's been far too long now.

Chellaigh's shadowed face went stony once more as she turned back to the street and continued on her way. It was better this way. The girl was safer kept at a distance.

Chellaigh continued on her way, hating herself for making the choice she had and knowing it was too late to ever bridge that gap. And now she couldn't even ask what had moved the girl to tears. Or rather, who...

She found another shadowed nook to wait in until the girl collected herself and moved on. It didn't take too long. The tears seemed to have stopped, replaced by defiant anger. The girl was practically stomping past.

Chellaigh scarred lips curled into a faint smile despite herself. The girl had her mother's spirit.

++++++++++++

Enyana slammed the door to her lodgings upon, stormed in, and slammed it shut, instantly launching into a tirade. "Arrogant! Self-righteous, envious, slack-jawed idiots!" She slammed the end of her staff upon the floor, barely catching herself before hurling it at the wall and merely letting it fall. She kept going, violently clutching and waving at nothing and wanting to shout what she was feeling to all the world even if she was the only one to hear it. "Damn them all! Gods damned hacks and sycophants and...and..." She angrily swept the books and papers from her desk, leaving sheets swirling around her. She slammed her palm against the surface. "Stupid, hateful, and...just...they can all just got to hell!"

She spun and hurled her hand outward, the fingers curled and stiff like claws, and shouted "Zayani!" Instantly, a glowing dart of bightly blueish light shot from her hand to impact one of the fluttering sheets of paper. The tiny explosion shred it to bits, leaving Enyana trying to catch her breath as the remains snowed before her.

She looked upon her works and slumped against her desk, sliding to her knees and feeling the pounding in her chest. "Useless," she decreed, finally going completely limp. "Just...useless and childish..."

No! Enyana pushed herself to her feet. "No! I'm not the one with a problem! They've always been against me! Well so what?! So what if Quendys recognizes my talents?"

She kicked the papers out of the way. Deep in her mind she knew she should pick them up and fix the damage she had just done to her own research, but right now she just didn't feel like it. "No. I'm not going to let their poison get to me. I'll show them all. I'll be Quendys' successor. By Desna, I'll be even greater!" She was repairing her inner armor with each word, anger and defiance feeding the forge. She swept up her staff and considered herself in the mirror, straightening her clothing. "By Desna, I'll be the one to retake Sarkoris. Just watch. They'll crown me the damned Mage Queen when I'm done with it."

She let the boast cook a bit in her mind. Part of her knew how ridiculous it sounded. Part of her relished the idea. Part of her needed that shield at the moment.

Her eyes filled with determination, her mouth spreading into a smile already prepared to declare victory. She planted her staff, holding it out before her in a regal post as her other hand dipped into her pouch, pinching a bit of blue powder between her fingers. "Yes, savior of Sark...no, Golarion. High arbiter of justice and the greatest living mage in the world. And every one of those morons who mocked and sneered will kneel before their better!" She hurled the powder out with the last word, spiraling into a roughly cone-shaped, flashing storm of vibrant, multicolored light.

Which the mirror reflected right into Enyana's face.

The mage woke up almost a half-minute later, sprawled upon the floor. She took a moment to register just what happened. Idiot, she thought when she was done, wiping the drool from her mouth. She pushed herself back to her feet, trying to blink the halos and spots out of her eyes.

She continued to talk to herself, now softly mumbling rather than making boastful declarations as she cleaned up her mess. "Don't be stupid...just...keep trying. That's what Mother and Father would say. Don't let them get to you. Don't give up."

She filed the papers away and restacked the books, taking note of what she would need to replace tomorrow. "Damn them..." she started to slide back into anger before shaking herself free of it. "No...I'm not going to owe anything I do or become to them. The effect they'll have on my life shall be less than negligible." Somehow that dismissal felt like even greater vengeance at the moment. Enyana rather considered herself taking the high road at that moment.

She prepared a meal, sometimes slipping into cutting the dried fruit and bread a bit too forcefully. She then sat at her desk, continuing what studies she could without Quendys' tome, sometimes finding herself stabbing at her papers a bit too viciously with her pen.

She stubbornly kept herself busy and her mind occupied until night had fully fallen. She was tired now. Certainly too tired to keep her anger stoked as brightly as it had been before. Now it just left her feeling deflated.

Enyana dragged herself over to her bed, struggling to summon the strength to disrobe and wondering if she should even bother. She made it through, dropping to her knees before her nightstand. Before the still image of her parents looking back at her. "I wish you were here." she said, barely a whisper. "I want you to be proud but..." She leaned back against her bed. "I'm making a mess of it, aren't I?"

She closed her eyes. She could imagine their house just as it was. Her father sitting by the fire, the light twinkling off his jeweled brow, casting stars against his dark skin as his fingers weaved even greater illusions for her. Her fiery-haired mother sitting nearby, one of those huge books with the captivating pictures and pages she weaved into tales that took her far away. Her crow, Cu, perched on the back of her seat, always keeping an eye on young Enyana, his head tilted as if wondering just what she would get into next.

She wondered what they would think of her now, after such a display. She pulled her knees close, tucking her head behind them. "If you're not still out there and...and you're watching me...I just wish I could see you again."

Time passed, how much she couldn't say, until she finally pushed herself up into her bed and blew out what lights were left. She didn't remember feeling so lonely when her parents were still with her, but even then, looking back, she couldn't recall many friends. She wondered if the few she had merely suffered her now. The notion poisoned her thoughts, leaving her wondering if anyone at all had any fondness for her beside Quendys. She wondered if the only reason Quendys suffered her was for her parents' sake.

She shook her head, trying to force that thought out. But still, when she thought of every other face and name at the Librarium...she could not recall any warmth shown her way. At least, any warmth she may not have mistakenly squandered in her own misery.

The memory of a pale stranger from earlier in the day surfaced. He seemed concerned though...

Enyana brought the butterfly pendant to her lips, kissed it goodnight, and let herself fall into sleep.


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DM Beckett wrote:
I don't know, I kind of like it that way. And it absolutely makes sense within the setting where Tieflings in the Mendev area have absolutely earned their reputation and, being a native Chelaxian, that sort of outlook fits. It makes her a good deal more interesting and less perfect/mary sue.

The Goddess is neither a...merry sue nor a racist hatemonger who would condemn others for the circumstances of their birth. Such a being would be unworthy of the mantle of Heaven. And such a being would have left two children to die rather than offering them sanctuary.

Holy Iomedae is no such being. I owe everything I am to that fact.

And besides not wanting to forbid tiefling paladins from following THE paladin god, not really a big fan of making Good into "good in name only" for the sake of being "interesting" either.


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Liath's eyes were alight. "Truly? It can be done that quickly?"

Gravish Eldstone gave the now quite cheerful tiefling a withering look upwards from beneath a pair of bushy, ashen eyebrows. "If I say it can be done in five days I damn well mean it can be done in five days," the dwarven smith grumbled. Travern expected the tiefling to flinch back every time the man snapped at him, but Liath's smile never faded; he only nodded and apologized.

Liath was used to dwarves. Speaking to Gravish actually reminded him of home and somewhat happier times. "Of course, my apologizes sir. I merely worried we might not be outfitted before Armsasse, given our needs and lack of coin."

"Hehn...well..." The dwarf turned the winged backplate over in his hands, instinctively appraising the work of a faraway craftsman. "This bit's a nice piece of work." He spared a glance at Naella, who silently nodded her thanks. It was hardly her work alone, but it was she who drove the forging forward. "I can cobble something together to work with it. Don't get your hopes up for parade armor, boy. You can have it fast and cheap, pretty and cheap, or fast and pretty, but you can't have all three. And it seems you ain't got much time or money."

"We understan-"

Gravish set the backplate down on a workbench with a loud thunk. "And I gotta account for those @#$%ed up legs o' yours." he added with an obvious look at both of the twins' anatomy in question. Travern was astounded that neither twin seemed to take any offense to that or any of the other remarks that had flown their way from the dwarf. For Naella and Liath, the bluntness and obviousness of dwarves wasn't just something with which they were accustomed; it also blunted much of the sting that came from the more quiet and fearful suspicions and glares of others. "That's gonna be the most complicated part. Lucky for both of you Molthrune sends weirder sorts up here on their behalf. Got some designs intended for centaurs..." Again, both of the twins' eyes lit up. "...shouldn't be hard to build off o' that. I need to see exactly how yours bend though." He pointed a spot nearby, next to another table.

"Ah, yes, of course." Liath discerned his meaning and stepped forth. "You said there were centaurs he-ERE!" Liath quickly leaned forward and caught hold of the bench. Gravish had taken one of his legs up as he would a horse. For a brief moment he feared the dwarf intended to shoe him.

"Now bend yer leg all over. Need to see how much freedom each bit needs." Gravish batted Liath's flailing tail away. "And keep that thing out of my face! It's making me uncomfortable."

Travern futilely stifled a chuckle and Naella coughed and covered her mouth as Liath relented and followed the dwarf's instructions. "Yeah...I'm seeing how this is needin' to go. Gonna have to go lighter down there, but I can cover everything but the hooves and the tail. Gonna be mostly scale...it won't look the best but it'll serve your needs."

"'Tis-" Liath shifted uncomfortably to keep his balance as his right leg was slowly pulled outward. "-all I really need for now, sir." He gave a concerned look to Naella, silently motioning with his eyes towards his own situation.

Naella cleared her throat. "I was also in need of armor, though I doubt mine will require as much work." Her eyes forcused on the dwarf's hands on her brother's leg. "Or as much fitting." Travern's coughed uncomfortably.

Gravish waved her concerns away, causing Liath to hop with his free leg to keep his balance. "No worries, missy. All I should need are measurements after this, long as both of you work the same. What do you need?"

Naella tried to hide her relief. "Merely chain to be worn under my vestments." Travern spared a closer clook at Naella's attire. It was a tad loose, obviously made to be worn with armor. Just what did the two of them do with their equipment? Were they fleeced on the way here? That happens all the time to those taking the Crusader Road, but they came from just next door...

"Ah, you'll be good in time too then. I can get that knocked out in a day's time. You can pick it up tomorrow or with your brother if you need." Gravish idly stretched Liath's leg as far back as it could go leaving the tiefling holding on tightly to both the table and the smith himself for balance. "That about does it," he said, finally letting go. Liath paced back to the others, stepping lightly on his right leg and whispering, "That did not feel natural, bending so far..."

Naella gently patted him on the shoulder before standing before the smith, allowing him to take what measurements he needed and could make without the undignified position her brother had endured. Gravish tilted his head towards Travern as he worked. "What about you, lad? Needin' anything yourself?"

"Me? Nothing really, thank you. I'm just here to help them get theirs sorted ou-"

"Our blades!" Liath spoke up. "They could require repair..." He had his pulled halfway from its sheath, his grip such that it was clearly no threat. It was a mess of nicks and blunted edges. Travern gaped at just how old the thing looked. Or perhaps it had the edge simply beaten out of it; it was hard to tell.

"Sorry boy, I don't work swords."

"Ah..." Liath meekly slid his sword back in place. "Sorry..."

Travern turned to him, "Hey, this is Southgate. There's plenty of swordsmiths about. You only have to step next door in fact..."

Gravish spoke up. "Oh aye, you could. But if you want something special..."

Travern's eyes widened. Oh Goddess no. He knew where this was going.

"...you'll want to see Caelda Halse..."

Oh damn it all!

"...she's one o' them azziemars like yer friend here. Angel-blooded."

Neither Liath nor Naella could see Travern gesturing for Gravish to stop. The dwarf simply took it as a sign of humility. That and he was already in a tale-telling mood. The tieflings may have been strange looking, but they were still the young, wide-eyed sort, even if the sister hid it well enough. "Aye, descended from the very angels that work Heaven's forges, they say. I hear tell that her blades are particularly blessed... If the rumors're true...she sheds a single holy tear onto each sword that passes through her forge."

"Truly?!" Travern saw the look growing on Liath's face and tried to head it off. "Well, that's what the stories say at least... Just the sort a smith would love to have out there to stir up business. No offense of course."

Gravish pointed at him and snarled, "'Ey, I'll have you know my work alone speaks for my craft!"

Travern placed his hands up defensively adding, "Of course, of course. I was just saying-"

"Where could we find her?" Liath eagerly leaned foward with the question.

Travern said, "Oh...we could find someone closer-"

Gravish pointed with his thumb as he pressed an end of measuring cord into Naella's hand and drew the other end around and behind her. "Three blocks west. She's got a sign with angel wings on it, can't miss it." Naella was looking back and forth over her shoulders, trying to tell just what he was doing.

Travern couldn't relent. "C'mon now, sir. Surely there's someone a bit more....accessable?"

"Well certainly, but she's the best I know of."

"AH!" Travern clapped his hands. "That you know!" Naella furrowed her brow. She couldn't see the conversatino but something was obviously bothering Travern.

"I know damn near every other smith working this district." Gravish added, utterly undeterred.

Travern slowly gestured towards Liath. "Then surely you could point my friends to someone a bit more-" His words trailed off. Liath was already gone. "Oh damn it."

"Yeah, he trotted off as soon as I pointed. Thought you noticed."

"Uh..." Travern stepped out of the covered work area to look up and down the streets. Liath was already out of sight. "...ah...Naella, you'll be good here, right?" he asked as he took off without waiting for an answer.

"Wait. What?" Naella's head whipped back around as much as she could turn with the cord entangling her.

Gravish turned her back around. "now hold on there. We have to figure out how we're going to get that chain over and under these wings."

++++++++++++

The sign was exactly as Gravish described, a wooden sign set with ivory sculpted into a stylized angel-wing design. "Angel's Edge" it said, in both Taldane and Celestial. Liath was quite taken by the artistry that went into it all. The smithy itself was less obviously beautiful, but the care that went into its construction and the meticulous upkeep were obviously above and beyond even the highly professional norms of Kenabre's smoky craftsman district.

He took a breath and steeled himself before walking in, hoping he wouldn't be turned away immediately. He knew he should have waited, but the images the dwarf had planted in his head had speeded him on his way.

A finely dressed Taldan man, likely a nobleman, Liath assumed, was already inside speaking to the blacksmith. She was obviously Caelda Halse. Where Travern's skin was seemed bronze in color, the blacksmith seemed to actually have silver for skin. And where Travern was simply unable to grow a beard, Caelda was completely hairless. She seemed to be a living work of art. Even under all the soot and heavy smithing clothing, her sapphire eyes and towering build made her seem even more angelic than Travern. Liath was awestruck, not only by the craftswoman but by her work lining the walls, each sword and blade a gleaming work of beauty. For a moment it seemed less a mortal workplace and more an armory he imagined might be found in the heavens.

That thought coupled with the frowning looks they turned upon him, especially the aasimar's sapphire eyes, suddenly left him feeling unworthy of being there. Liath quickly took off his hat before realizing he was not in a temple and awkwardly rolling it up on his hands as he stepped aside to a corner. "I...um...can wait...or.."

The seeming nobleman turned back to Caelda. "We can continue this discussion tomorrow, if you don't mind. I trust you'll make the right decision in the end. For the sake of the Crusade." He stressed the last words.

The aasimar's voice rang strangely when she spoke, as if it echoed off tin. "I trust I will, Lord Nyserian. Now if you'll excuse me, I've work to do."

Liath instinctively bowed his head to the apparent Lord as he turned and left, offering the tiefling only a dismissive glance and roll of the eyes. Now, left alone with Celda Halse, a woman who seemed more angel than mortal and was currently staring at him, he was utterly at a loss as to how to proceed. He searched for the words. "...uh..."

"Why are you here, tiefling?" She was obviously taking his measure, and it was clear even in her strange eyes that she was far from impressed by his boldness in entering her shop.

"I..." Liath coughed. "I was told by Gravish Eldstone you were the best swordsmith in Kenabres...and that the blades your forged were blessed by...your being an angelkith." He felt the inadequacy of each of his words as they came out. He suddenly found himself seeming rather presumptuous in his own eyes, standing before such an obvious scion of Heaven and seeking her services with mere coin to offer.

Caelda pointed at the walls. "If you want a blade, pick one." She seemed to want this exchange over with as soon as possible.

Liath looked upon her work again, feeling rather envious for a moment before pushing it down. "I...would truly love to buy one of these. But I fear 'twould be beyond my means..." He carefully unhooked his sword and scabbard from his belt. "I was hoping to ask if you could repair this one. And...um..." The woman's cold stare had him wondering why he thought coming here was a good idea. "...if you could bless it..."

She glanced down at the sword, not even bothering to take it and examine it. "It would be quicker to just sell you a new one. There are cheaper ones over there. You can just buy one and go."

"Oh..." Liath saw them now. Much more simple in design, but still excellently made from the look of them. "It's just...this one is special. I could easily wait, if need..."

"What is so special about this sword?" she asked, her tone remaining level.

Liath answered earnestly, "'Twas a gift. A sign from Holy Iomedae..." He realized how he must have sounded to her with so little to show for it, but surely one such as she could sense the truth of his words. When she only stared at him, he held forth the longsword symbol hanging from his neck. "It was the sign that set me to serve Her as an Annointed Bla-"

"You need to leave. Now." Caelda's expression had finally changed, her eyes narrowing. "I don't know who put you up to this or what you're playing but you need to get out." Her voice was utterly calm and cold, so much worse than the sudden spite and fury Liath was all too accustomed to meeting.

"I apologize...I merely..." Liath swallowed the words. Looking in her eyes now, it was clear nothing he had to say could make the situation better. He tried to hide his disappointment, bowing his head and offering with absolute sincerity, "I am sorry. I should not have imposed." He placed the sword and scabbard back on his belt and turned to leave, utterly defeated. He had just passed through the door when a thin, loosely sleeved arm wrapped around his shoulders, spun him about, and guided him wide-eyed back inside.

"Heeyyy, there you are!" Travern cheerfully exclaimed as he entered the shop alongside the tiefling. "I was trying to catch up to you!" He neglected to mention how long he had been eavesdropping just outside. The cold hardness fell from Caelda's face, replaced by a sour look of genuinely warmblooded contempt upon seeing Travern. "Ah, Caelda. It's been a while." Liath looked back and forth between them, wondering just how they knew each other. Travern's face was all smiles except for his eyes. Those seemed more frustrated than anything else.

Caelda crossed her arms. "It has," she conceded, leaving the rest of the understood statment unspoken. "You know this one?"

Travern gave Liath a hearty pat on the shoulder. "I surely do! Turns out he's a paladin, just like me! And he just took the Oath before the heads of Clydwell Cathedral today!" He tried to fight back any smugness he knew would be creeping into his voice if he wasn't careful.

Caelda took a deep breath, understanding the situation she was in and the one Travern was no doubt going to maneuver her into. "I see. Then I was mistaken. I apologize." she said flatly.

Liath shook his head, "Oh no, there's no need. 'Twas an understandable susp-"

"Hey!" Travern cheerfully interrupted. He wasn't going to have the man apologizing for his birth if he could help it. "I guess this means you can get that thing you wanted?" That came out a bit weaker than he wanted, but he hadn't been able to hear exactly what it was Liath was after beyond the door.

"Oh...I...would not wish to intrude." Liath said, honestly worried about overstepping the grudging welcome he was now recieving.

Travern waved that concern aside. "Oh don't be absurd! Caelda would be happy to help an Annointed Blade of Iomedae. Especially one that has been publicly accepted into the Crusade by the Church itself!" He knew he didn't have to imply any more to Caelda. He certainly didn't want to in front of Liath.

Caelda's eyes practically burned into Travern's. "Of course." Her voice strained to conceal just how she felt about the man just then. "I would be happy to help any true paladin. Let's see your blade then."

Liath, completely oblivious to the unspoken exchanges between the two aasimar, happily handed over his sword. Seeing the entire thing now, Travern was amazed at just how worn down the thing truly was. It certainly seemed a well made sword, if simply made, but it had clearly seen a lot. One particularly worrying crack ran down the surface of the blade all the way to the hilt.

Caelda turned it over in her hands, examining it closely with an expert eye. "It's been abused. I see some honest attempts to fix it but it's clearly seen improper use." She fixed her eyes on Liath, who turned his head away in shame. She might not have been able to throw him out now, but she could still criticize. "I can fix this. Give me a day."

Liath's face rose, wide-eyed. "Tomorrow, really? I had not thought 'twould be so soon! Thank you!" Travern's smile was wry compared to Liath's genuine one. He knew Caelda would rush the job to be done with him. Just as well. He couldn't resist adding for his new friend's sake, "You can bless it too, right?"

Her eyes turned colder as soon as they fell back on Travern. "Yes," was all she offered. The sheer sincerity of Liath's joyful face was throwing her off-balance. She placed the sword on the table behind her. "You'll be able to pick it up tomorrow evening. No sooner."

Ah, so that most of the day's business and customers will have passed through before he shows up, Travern thought bitterly. He could see that same understanding in Liath's eyes for a moment, and he found himself wondering just how the tiefling let it just wash over him. That was infuriating in and of itself. Travern couldn't resist drawing out their presence, even if he knew he shouldn't. "So how has business been, Caelda? As I said, it's been a while."

Caelda turned back to them after covering the sword. "I've been doing well enough." was all she offered.

Travern pointedly looked up and down the walls of the shop. "More than well, it seems. It seems the crusaders have brought you quite a bit of wealth."

She fixed her eyes squarely on his. "I'd rather think I brought it. I earn my keep." She stressed those last words to him, knowing fully well where to stick the knife with Travern. His twisting mouth betrayed just how deeply her words stung. She continued, "What have you been doing of late? I've heard the Sunrise Sword declined your membership."

Travern winced and tried not to meet Liath's questioning eyes. "Ah, been keeping up on me, have you?" he asked, flashing a hurtful grin drew blood in turn. Both of them could go for cheap blows if that's what it came down to. "Actually, there were apparent conflicts of interest. It turns out I was needed elsewhere..."

"Hmm...needed with what, exactly?"

Travern clapped Liath on the shoulder. "Orientation, it seems! You know me, always looking to help." He verbally stabbed again, remembering just what they had shouted at each other when they fell out.

"He truly has been a help." Liath helpfully and innocently added. He could sense some tension between the two, but both were terribly good at masking it.

"Oh yes." Caelda's lips curled slightly into a joyless grin. "Never let it be said that Travern Kalleros let down those who needed him."

Travern bowed his head. "I do like to think of myself as well-intentioned at the very least."

"Liath! There you are!" Naella called out as she suddenly entered, nearly out of breath. Caelda may have lacked eyebrows but face was expressive enough to let Travern know she would have been raising one as she took in the sight of the tiefling priestess. "Oh of course. No one could ever question your intentions."

Travern gestured for her to drop it once he was certain neither of the twins could see. Naella was continuing to chide her brother. "You should not have taken off like that by...yourself..." Even she was taken aback by the sight of Caelda and her works. "Goddess..."

"I know...I'm sorry. I just...had to see for myself. And she's going to repair my sword!" Liath just could not suppress the good cheer that had taken him so strongly as of late. Naella found herself hesitant to shake him free of that after what the past few months had given them. She turned to the aasimar smith and bowed. "Thank you, and Holy Iomedae bless you for doing this. It means a lot to my brother."

Caelda was clearly uncomfortable with their presence now, especially Naella's. "You're welcome. I'm going to need to close soon. Is there any further you need?" she asked no one in particular.

Naella glanced for a moment at some of the finer longswords, the words on the tip of her tongue before she thought better of it. "I think we're fine now."

Travern waved them off. "Yeah, you two go on ahead. I've got a bit to discuss."

He waited until the twins had stepped outside before turning back to Caelda. He kept his voice as soft as possible. "You should be ashamed of yourself, making that sort of insinuation."

"Forgive me for knowing you too well, Travern."

"She's a nun, for the Goddess' sake!"

"Really? Given how many marks of Iomedae she was wearing or painted with, I'd rather say she was trying too hard to look the part."

"Oh come on now." Travern was finally letting his offense show openly. "If you want to take a shot at me, do it, but leave he...them out of it." He could see clearly on her face that his slip of the tongue had been caught.

"Fine. Why the hell did you come here now?"

"I didn't intend to. Gravish Eldstone started mouthing off about you and Liath got excited. Like a kid during a carnival, he's been like that almost all day. You'd like him."

Caelda scoffed, as he half-expected. "And so he just happened to give you the perfect excuse to come in here and twist my arm then?"

"Hey, I'm not happy about it. But you pissed all over the poor kid."

"And I'm sure that's the only reason you're holding that over my head now." She put away the ledger with a bit more force than necessary. The shake in her voice belied some of the hurt that lay beneath the bitterness, and Travern suddenly found himself regretting his earlier barbs.

Travern caught himself raising his arm to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder and quickly put it down. They were too far past that point now, and it would only make matters worse. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry it came to thi-"

"Don't." Caelda's voice was cold certainty again. "Don't say it. Just get the hell out. Your friend can pick his damn sword up tomorrow. After that, we're done."

Travern sighed. "Understood." He made it halfway to the door before everything in him screaming finally forced him to ask, "How did things get so @#$%ed up between us, Caelda?"

"Because other people are eventually just never good enough for you." Her words were so certain, so obviously thought over, that they came like a crushing blow. He turned with impact, meeting her eyes. "Because you just refuse to let them be."

They stared at each other for far too long. Long enough to see each other's regrets and disappointments reflected in their eyes.

Travern finally broke free of it, turned, and left without a further word.


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Wrong John Silver wrote:
Look up "courtly love" for an idea of what it can be like.
Sissyl wrote:
Frustrating? =)

( ._.)


Any androgynously beautiful examples for horned and hooved male tiefling paladins floating about? :)


Also, currently playing a tiefling Redeemer Paladin in WotR and having a ball.

Because compassion and mercy aren't just for half-orcs. :)


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Burma "The Tusk" wrote:

In the past I've more commonly had the opposite problem of players with supposedly Good or Neutral PCs doing decidedly evil things more often than good ones.

Shining example is the supposedly N alchemist who sees a group of kobolds huddled around a fire in a cave and just charges in on his own and attacks them without considering the consequences or knowing anything about kobolds in-character (which are not inherently evil for me). And continues to pursue and throw knives at them when they all flee.

>:(


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Jessica Price wrote:

Huh, I went through the Iomedae article during development, and looks like that sentence got imported unchanged from the original article in Council of Thieves. Sorry about that -- I really should have made sure to clarify.

My understanding (of course, James can confirm or correct), is that while Iomedae doesn't have the same focus on redemption as Sarenrae (who, I think, is pretty delighted whenever anyone whose heritage or other factors predisposes them toward evil decides to serve her or other good deities), that doesn't mean that she doesn't believe in it.

As there's been more tiefling material, "spawn" has come to have a more precise meaning (the oni-spawn, etc. tiefling subtypes in Blood of Fiends), whereas I suspect that, back in 2009, it was a badass-sounding way to say "fiends and similar creatures."

I can't imagine that Iomedae would reject a tiefling paladin.

So, that sentence should probably read, "She loathes incorrigible evil, fiends, traitors, and those who abuse good in the name of “greater” good."

I'll check in with James on Monday to make sure that usage of "spawn" wasn't intentional in the original article.

Ah, thank you!

prays in gratitude

...towards the back of the temple


I must confess I regret that the text about Iomedae loathing "fiend-spawn" remains uncomfortably open as to what qualifies for that term. :(


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Chellaigh slowly pulled herself free of sleep, difficult though it was. She should have known better than to rest her head after the healing with the task at hand tonight, but the blessedly dreamless sleep had been too great a temptation. She didn't have to go back to the screaming and the smell of burning flesh or the memory of her skull cracking open. She didn't have to go back to the faces of her children.

She knew that relief wouldn't last long. Those stretches of peaceful sleep after her treatments were growing shorter each time.

She sat up, propping a thick arm on one bent knee. The light past the ragged sheet that now served as her door was growing dim. Not long until night now.

The Kellid grasped her nearby axe and propped herself up on her feet. She tried to ignore the popping in her legs and back. She knew people thought she was older than she truly was because of her weathered appearance, but she certainly felt that old. It was all catching up to her.

Don't even think about it. You still have work to do, she thought. Steiga's words of Veserda the Owl's offer echoed through her head. Maybe it's worth one more try.

She stepped out of the shack to be greeted by the sickly sunset the Wallers were all too familiar with, as the sun settled past the miasma of the Wound. The light cast through that cursed land was twisted, coloring the walls in nauseating hues and throwing warped shadows right at the edge of the wardstone of Kenabre's influence.

No one that had lived their entire lives in Kenabres romanticized sunsets. No one sane, at least. Already the other Wallers were finding reasons to stay inside what passed for their homes. Evenings tended to be the quietest time of the day in this part of town.

It hardly bothered Chellaigh anymore. The world looked like that to her all the time now.

She fastened her axe to the strap on her back and set off.

++++++++++++++++

...but he was wearing the symbol of Iomedae about his neck, so perhaps he was simply delivering a message to the temple as well. It is unlikely that a tiefling would be acting in such a public manner for the church itself. Enyana mentally compiled and weighed her deductions and inferences and wild guesses as she climbed the steps up to Blackwing. His features suggest possible Taldan and Kellid heritage. His center of gravity seemed slightly off, possibly- She shook her head as she entered the Librarium, not wanting to commit another faux-pas or mid-step collision within its halls.

After checking in, she went to Quendys' study intending to speak on the matter of Aravashnial and the book that her mentor and entrusted to her. There was no answer when she knocked upon the door. She managed to restrain herself as she leaned in close to listen at the door. She just knew the elf had thoroughly slandered her, but while she wasn't going to let it stand unchallenged she was certainly not going to be caught skulking about. No, she would handle this matter upfront and head-on.

With some measure of reforged determination and a "Hmphf!", she turned and went to see to whatever work had been left for her back in the main hall.

There wasn't much by the look of things. Two other students seemed to be working enough for three. Enyana could guess who had instructed them to do so. He's still on my side, she reassured herself with a smile.

Even better, the two students, thick Nade who was far too sweaty for Enyana to ever be comfortable trusting him with books and Vio who let her blond curls spill out of her hood in a manner that was sure to get caught in something someday, were both complaining quietly to each other. About Aravashnial.

"No, I won't dispute that the man is unbearable, but I don't think he's racist." Nade said from his precarious position on the ladder.

"Well I'm sure he's thrown "round-ear" around before," said Vio, handing books one by one upwards.

"Did you hear that though?"

"Others have!"

Nade sighed. "There's plenty of hate the bastard already. Despise him for something legitimate. Like for a complete lack of social grace. You know, like..."

Enyana sensed the opportunity and struck, walking right up to the cart and joining conversation and the chain of hands moving the books without announcing herself. "Gods, I know! Right? And then there's all the prying into other people's business. And the lying."

Nade and Vio both gawked at her unexpected appearance and interjection. Enyana understood their reaction as surprise at the revelation of Aravashnial's latest transgression against the student body. "I'm still not entirely certain just what he does here, but I've come to doubt it completely counterbalances the harm he's doing with his constant erosion of morale and backstabbing students he might percieve as a professional threat." Oh, she was on a roll now!

Nade managed an uncomfortable "Uh...", looking much like a deer on the edge of bolting. Vio was much more blunt about what she was thinking. "Excuse...me. What are you doing?" She seemed genuinely at a loss, looking at Enyana as if examining a some bizarre new form of life.

"I'm commiserating." Enyana explained helpfully, still feeling the rush of unfamiliar comraderie with her fellow students against a common foe. The unchanged and unbelieving looks on Nade and Vio's faces began to douse that enthusiasm. "Because we don't like Aravashnial?"

Nade snorted before catching himself. Vio didn't bother holding the sentiment back, "Gods, does that even make a difference to you? You don't like anyone here."

Enyana leaned back as if struck. "I..." She found herself evaluating her perception of how other people percieved her, wondering if perhaps she had underestimated their jealousy of her talents. Vio didn't let up once she saw that her words had drawn blood. "Seriously, too good to give any of us the time of day. Teacher's favorite. Generally unpleasant. Always looking down on the rest of us. And..." She glanced up at Nade, who seemed to not want anything to do with where this was going. "A complete lack of social grace." Vio folded her arms, looking down at the girl she was taking apart bit by bit with not one hint of enjoyment in her face. Even through the shock, Enyana could tell this was all anger coming from her.

"I...have plenty of social grace." Enyana protested, slamming a book back onto the cart. "That I don't waste time on pleasantries with my envious lessers doesn't mean that I can't be friendly." She realized she had just sabotaged her own case almost immediately.

Vio smirked mirthlessly. "Case in point. I can spot a jackal when I see one, and I don't have time for one jumping in and pretending all's well while tearing into another. You and Aravashnial are the same." Another crushing blow struck. Vio folded her arms before dealing the killing blow. "Hey, if you could run along and let us peons get back to work, that would be great. Some of us have actual work to do instead of having everything handed to us. Especially since we just got handed your work on top of it all."

If the woman had been a sneering conniver like Zakry, it would have been easier to deal with. To rationalize and brush off. But with Vio, the girl she had been jealous of for her poise even as she struggled with magics Enyana had mastered years ago, it seemed all the more stark and brutal. Enyana knew she was disliked. She didn't know she was disliked so intensely. "I'm not..." She was angry. And hurt. Her voice shook and her ears burned. "I don't have to prove anything to you."

She spun and stalked off towards the main doors.

"About time someone told her off." Nade said softly, thinking the retreating girl couldn't hear.

Vio didn't bother obscuring her voice. "I can't stand hypocrites."

Enyana kept her eyes forward as she checked out, the confused looking librarian looking back and forth between her angry, quivering face and whatever in the hall could have caused it. But as standoffish as the girl had always been, the librarian didn't check any further than that.

Enyana made it outside before the tears rolled forth.


MattR1986 wrote:

I'd think it shouldn't really matter as sense motive will just be out of combat and a quick sense of something that was just said or take a minute+ for hunch.

I would think you wouldn't be doing sense motive's in combat as it's obvious their motive is to stab you in the face.

has used Sense Motive and Diplomacy in combat to defuse situations and save lives


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General Banton of the Eagle Watch crusader company had seemed disappointed by his letter as well, though Enyana was grateful to note that he took it much more civily. The middle-aged Andoren soldier had tapped the table in thought before asking her to inform Quendys that he would be sending another missive soon, with the hopes that he would reconsider in the meantime. She found herself wondering just what her mentor, or perhaps the Librarium itself, had gotten involved. The general had actually thanked her for her time though, which was certainly a step up from dealing with the likes of Gwerm. She rather appreciated the general. He was professional.

She was also grateful the company headquarters were based within the city itself, not that Quendys would ever send her out amidst the lot stationed outside Kenabre's walls. Not that Quendys would doubt her ability to handle herself, of course.

At least the final letter was a bit less conspicuous. And she had a decent idea what it concerned. The murals in the main hall did need touching up at the very least. The battlemages of Old Kenabres were barely recognizable now and there were numerous heroes that had come along in the past two decades more than deserving of their place in the history illustrated along the hall's interior.

Battlemages...perhaps that's it..., she thought as she turned the corner to her destination down the street in Northern Gate District. Most of Blackwing's students planned on joining the crusade, either on the front lines or in supporting roles, such as the staff of Blackwing itself. Perhaps there was pressure from people like General Banton for the Librarium to take a more direct role in the conflict. But the work Quendys did was surely more valuable than mere extra muscle, arcane or otherwise. But what of his students?

She frowned to herself at that thought. She wondered how Quendys would react if she voiced an intention to join one of the crusader companies. She felt she knew, and she didn't know whether she would have appreciated the concern or offended in his lack of confidence in her. Not that I've been making a particularly compelling case for my own competence, lately.

The sight of the Temple of Shelyn broke her out of her brooding. The building was stunning, impressive on both an aesthetic and technical level. The building may have been half-workshop on the inside, but the outside certainly looked utterly complete and finished, even as she knew it wasn't. The mixture of stone sculpture and wood carving built into the exterior walls gave it a rather organic look, as if the place was grown as much as built. Enyana felt that she could get lost tracing the flowing designs of vines, birds, and angels for hours on end, finding the patterns hidden within its composition. Another day, perhaps.

The acolytes within and without were polite and pleasant in manner, as she expected, though they seemed more inclined towards small talk than she was comfortable with. She had difficulty knowing just what to say when a frustratingly pretty priestess complimented her on her attire, which she just knew had to be a backhanded insult, or when a handsome Garundi man asked her which of the sculptures outside drew her eye the most and why. That had certainly left her at a loss for an answer. And that was not a feeling she particularly enjoyed.

She was relieved to finally be shown to the elder priestess of the house, Rosekeeper Cybilia, tending the gardens. It felt rather odd to be looking down at the highest authority of the house, who remained on her knees in the grass and dirt, but the old woman held a somewhat regal bearing about herself. Though as with all the Shelynites she had met, she seemed a tad bit too familiar for having just met her. "Ah yes, let me see that then, dear." She reached up with dirt-stained fingers to take the letter and read it where she sat alongside her trowel and plants. Enyana waited, as she had with the others, and was pleased to see the old woman smile and nod to herself. The mage took that as confirmation of her suspicions regarding the final letter.

The Rosekeeper folded the letter and tucked it away within her apron, smiling the smile of the kindly and elderly up at Enyana. "Please dear, if you will, do tell Quendys that we would love to help. In fact, I'll be coming by with some help tomorrow morning."

Enyana bowed, putting extra effort into it considering the angle of their conversation. "Thank you, Rosekeeper. I will let him know immediately." She turned to leave and finally get back to her usual daily duties back at the Librarium, but found herself slow in her step and finally pausing at the door back through the Temple. She had no clue how to come forward with her question and felt ridiculous to even consider asking such things.

"What is it, dear?" came the question from behind her, all grandmotherly kindness and concern. Enyana was half thankful that she didn't have to take initiative with the subject and half frustrated that she now had to ask the question or come up with someone else. Well...it is their area of expertise... But how to put it? She tried to carefully choose her words.

Then she spun, blurting it out. "How exactly does one know if someone is right for them?" She wanted to kick herself in the head after hearing how she sounded. "In love, that is?" The elaboration made her want to kick twice. Desna's eyes, Enyana...

The old woman merely continued smiling up at her. "That's going to be different for each person, dear. You never know when it's going to find you or when you're going to find it." She tilted her head, a coy youthful expression that made her age seem to be merely a number. "Is there someone..." She left the question unfinished and hanging for Enyana to complete, which the young woman was all too quick to do.

"N-no! Absolutely not!" She waved the idea away as if it were a foul stench, but even so last night's dream and all the previous days' idle wondering resurfaced. "It's just...there's someone. But he is not who I thought he was."

"Aaah. And is who this man truly is less to your liking than the one you thought he was?" Enyana's mirthless, "Oh Goddess." answered that question. "Well dear, love is blind. Perhaps that was never meant to be, or perhaps you'll be surprised. It's hard to say anything further without knowing more." She patted the mossy rock next to her. "Would you like to stay a while and talk?"

Enyana wasn't sure whether she really wanted to or was grateful that her duties demanded she be on her way. "I...must really be going. I'm sorry, but thank you for your offer of counsel."

"Quite fine," the old woman said, nodding and taking up her trowel again. Enyana was on her way back through the temple when she spoke up once more. "But dear, one bit of advice." Enyana looked back to see the Rosekeeper wink. "Keep your eyes and mind open. You'll figure it out, eventually."

Enyana silently nodded and bowed in gratitude before finally leaving. She had hoped for an easier answer rather than no real answer at all. Keep my eyes open? I'm a wizard. That's standard procedure for us. How is that any help at all? Goddess, this is all just a distraction anyway... She spotted the Garundi priest once more on her way through the workshop, now working over a canvas with oils, painting purely from memory or imagination. He was rather handsome, she thought. Perhaps that's what she meant? Telling me to keep an eye out on my way throu- Oh... The Garundi priest had been joined by a young Taldan man, who greeted him with a kiss. Not that then.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, chiding herself silently as she quickened her pace towards the main door, past the two strangers on their way in. Why are you even thinking about this? There are much more important matters to deal with. So put this out of your mind and get back to the Librarium and back to your stu-

The blow on her shoulder spun her around before she knew it. Again?! was all she could think before realizing that all she could see was sky, that she was now falling upon the steps with no way to catch herself, and that her staff and/or one or more of her bones was going to break upon impact. Oh nonononononono...

Then her fall stopped, the sharp impact replace with a soft grip on one wrist and an arm under her back. The sky hadn't stopped spinning in her eyes when he appeared over her. He was beautiful, pale as the moon and hair flowing like shadows, his countenance somehow angelic and demonic at once with his horns and kind, concerned silver-gray eyes.

He said something, his words lost in how soft and lovely the voice was. Enyana merely nodded as he helped her upright. He looked so worried, so unlike everything she had ever heard of seen of tieflings. He asked something of her. Her name. She gave it. He seemed to be in awe of the beauty of it. Someone behind him called out to him, from within the temple. He turned and the spell was broken for a moment. Anxiety and embarrassment drove Enyana to turn and race down the remaining steps, taking each one in short rapid-fire footfalls, and hurrying on her way down the street as she tried to pull her hood further over her face.

Oh Goddess, that was clumsy of me who was that was that what the Rosekeeper meant shut up get back to the Librarium oh Goddess that's what she meant really need to get back stop being stupid he had hooves they had a certain allure of their own concentrate on not hitting anything else on the way back

She didn't quite realize it, but her step had livened a bit.

+++++++++++++++++++

Both the twins had been awestruck by the Temple of Shelyn, but Naella was focused enough to not slow her steps behind Travern. Liath on the other hand froze once he was close enough to make out the details.

Goddess, it's like a living thing frozen in time. He reached up to touch one of the carvings, an intricately detailed stone rose, before drawing his hand back, almost fearing that it would violate the sanctity of the work. Once more he was reminded of the untamed nature and fey-haunted woods of the Greenbelt. Once more he found himself missing it, both the land and the fey.

He looked back about him and saw that he had been left behind. They likely didn't even notice that he had unintentionally slipped away. He hurried after them, nodding back at acolytes that surprised him with their honestly pleasant greetings. Most of them at least. He quickly went up the steps towards the entrance. Now he could see his sister and Travern just inside. And someone else hurrying out, a dark-skinned woman in a strange hooded outfit. A mage by the looks of her.

Liath tried to step aside in time, but the young woman was moving so quickly and evidently so distracted that she walked right into his shoulder, drawing a gasp from her and spinning her right out towards the steps. Oh no... Liath lunged backwards to grab her, thanking Iomedae when moved quickly enough to safely catch her. She was slender and light, pretty though somewhat awkward, and right now seemed confused and...possibly a bit annoyed? It was hard to tell. "I-I'm terribly sorry, m'lady! T'was my fault! I did not intend to bump into you like that!"

The young woman merely nodded. She seemed to be a bit in a daze. Liath helped her to her feet, quickly taking his hands afterwards. He worried for a moment that the usual revulsion many felt towards his kind would show itself now, but concern for the stranger pushed it into the back of his mind. "Are...are you alright?"

"No, I'm Enyana." she answered dreamily. Liath paused a moment, wondering if he should call for his sister to examine her when Naella called out to him from inside. "Liath, are you coming?" He looked back to see them approaching. "Yes, but there's someone-"

He looked back to see the girl quickly heading down the steps and onto the street. What a strange girl... He hoped she was indeed alright, wondering at just who she was. He had never seen features like hers before. Then realization struck.

Liath rushed back to Naella and Travern with a face full of excitable cheer as he announced aloud, "Sister! I just met a Mwangi woman!"

Travern's mouth fell slightly open in mild horror as he looked at everyone in the temple looking their way. He was certain Liath was about to get an earful when Naella's eyes widened. At least right up until she emphatically said, "Show me!"

"I'm sorry, but she left rather quickly. Did you not see her pass you on your way in?"

Travern cleared his throat. "I didn't really notice her. Hey, uh..." He looked around to the acolytes in the room, silently mouthing "They're new in town." and gratefully noting the knowing looks on most of their faces before turning back to the twins. "You're going to meet all sorts of folks from all over the world in Kenabres. I know it's all really exciting, but a lot of folks don't really appreciate being gawked at, you know?" It was certainly something he felt sensitive to much of the time, and something he suspected the tieflings were as well, even if their momentary excitement at what seemed new and exotic to them made them forget.

"O-oh." All the cheer slid right off Liath's face. Even Naella looked crestfallen. "I...did not wish to cause offense."

Travern now felt as if he had kicked a puppy. "Hey, don't worry about it! You're both new to places as diverse as this. It's just that a lot of folks don't want to draw attention to themselves. You didn't know, is all." He gave Liath a friendly clap on the shoulder, careful to keep his hand away from what he now knew to be stumps. For Naella, he merely nodded and smiled.

She seemed grateful for the reminder of decorum. "Thank you, Travern. We will..." She gave Liath a glance. "...conduct ourselves more appropriately. For now, we've respects to pay do we not, Brother?"

He nodded, the old smile slowly returning as he kept pace alongside his sister. Both of them were thinking the same thing at the moment. Not just the matter of manners, but of Kenabres' potential as a place where one could just blend in. Perhaps, eventually, even tieflings.


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Travern was glad that whatever shadow Hulrun seemed to cast over the day quickly faded as he led the twins about Kenabres. There was something he found himself enjoying about the way they took in the sights of the city, now that they had the day to do so. A sort of vicarious sense of wonder at what was commonplace for him. Liath was rather obvious about it, excitedly pointing out landmarks he had read and heard about years ago, but it was showing with Naella as well, though she managed to contain herself quite a bit more than her brother and often reined him in. Travern was also happy that their attention was so drawn to the more positive aspects of his home city rather than the looks and distances kept by many of the citizenry. He half-wondered if his presence might be defusing some of it. The fruit vendor had certainly seemed hesitant to let either of them touch her wares until he gave a reassuring nod and smile over their shoulders.

He was grateful neither of the twins looked back to see her hastily wiping away at the coin they gave her or the produce they had been near. Travern was proud of his home, but Kenabres did make it difficult to be so at times.

All those worries fell away once they arrived at the Temple of Sarenrae. Travern was quite familiar with it, and was already smiling in anticipation of their reactions when they entered. It even managed to elicit a gasp from Naella, he noted. Liath slowly spun in his steps as they walked into the temple's open courtyard. "Goddess...it's beautiful. A church with the sky for a ceiling..." He quickly caught himself and bowed with the others to the Sarenraen priest that came forth to greet them. Travern was once again glad to note that there was only a hint of caution in the priest's otherwise friendly and welcoming face. Again, Travern wondered if his presence was at work there, especially considering how often he had been to the temple himself, as seldom as it was these days. "Brother Norus, it's been a while. My friends here have come to pay their respects."

The elderly Kellid grinned, arms held wide in welcome. "Ah, of course. The Dawnflower's allies are always welcome within Her light. Please, come." Liath gave Naella a smile and a nod, then followed after the priest to be led to the altar.

Curious, Travern thought once more as Liath knelt in the distance as Naella remained behind, watching him. "I do not wish to pry, but..." He left it hanging, waiting for her approval. Her slight nod and "Yes?" invited the question. "I had assumed both of you came to pay your respects. I must admit I thought the two of you would go together." After all, the two of them certainly seemed to stick close in all things I've seen, he thought.

Again, that slight ghost of a smile. Travern truly had difficulty telling when they were joyful or sad. "'Tis true that we've both come to pay our respects. We've each a deep reverence for the Dawnflower. But my brother's runs quite a bit deeper, for Sarenrae and Shelyn both." She looked to Liath at the altar, that hard-to-read smile becoming even moreso. "He has...ever been the romantic."

Travern raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh really now?"

Naella turned back to lock eyes with him. "Not in that way," she corrected, with just enough coldness under the surface to let the aasimar know her brother was off limits for such jests. Travern silently bowed his head in apology and waited for her to continue. "He...views the virtues of Sarenrae and Shelyn as sharing a place with Holy Iomedae's in what a paladin should embody; Sarenrae with her promise of redemption and hope and Shelyn and her love."

"Ah... And where does the Inheritor come into that?" Travern asked, only honest curiosity in his tone, none of the disapproving scorn Naella had worried might still surface. At that question, her smile became a bit easier to read as fondness came to the forefront.

"Holy Iomedae? She is the sword and the shield that stands between those precious lights and the darkness." And that has ever been what he has sought to become, she neglected to voice. "If they represent all the light and love in the world, then She is their champion." She pointed to the altar. Liath was presenting his sword, praying in silence. "That is why he's pledging his sword, to weild it with mercy and wisdom. To Shelyn, he will pledge his shield. And to Holy Iomedae, his heart."

"I see." Travern scratched his chin, thinking back on several others he had known with similar faith-spanning beliefs. "And what of yourself?"

Naella folded her arms into her loose sleeves. "I revere the goddesses of sun and rose as well, but not as he does. They are important. Sacred. But Holy Iomedae is All to me. It was She who saved us when we were but children. To her, I pledge myself entirely."

Travern smiled, hiding the disappointment that surprised him as it surfaced. Ah, so certainly a nun then. Goddess, Travern! Don't even court the thought! He feared something of his thoughts had shown themselves as she turned back to him. "And what of yourself, Travern? I must confess some surprise that you yourself are not at the altar as well. You said you had Sarenite upbringing?"

"Well..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "True, both She and Iomedae were part of my life since I was little. But after my mother died..." Naella's face fell, that half-smile disappearing entirely as she quickly tried to apologize. Travern quickly waved it away and reassured her, "Please, don't worry. It's in the past. But...after she died and after seeing so much suffering for so long..." His usual grin was soured by years of remembered disappointments. "It has become harder to believe in redemption for all. I want to, but...it wouldn't be honest of me to claim myself a true Sarenite at heart." He dwelt on his own words for but a moment before looking up at Naella in surprise at his own frank confession. He didn't tend to be so open on such matters, certainly not with those he hardly knew. To his relief she only smiled, understanding in her eyes.

He coughed and chuckled nervously. "I gather your brother does believe. What of yourself, if I might ask?" He forced the smile, eager to turn the questions around for a moment.

Her smile remained, though her eyes grew distant. She clasped her left hand with her right for a moment before offering only, "'Tis a beautiful dream..." She looked back to her brother again, now rising and sheathing his sword. "If you will excuse me for a moment..."

Travern watched her go to stand beside Liath, joining him in silent prayer before the altar. He looked to the sun and sky for but a moment before turning his gaze back to the ground. He didn't expect old pangs of guilt to resurface simply from talking with Naella, but he certainly felt them now. His appointment alongside his father tomorrow now weighed heavily upon his mind. So much so that he didn't notice the twins returning to his side until he turned to see Naella's knowing eyes and Liath's eager cheer. "We're ready to head to the temple of Shelyn now! If you've time, of course." Liath quickly added.

Travern matched the tiefling's grin. "Right then! Let's be on our way. It's not far at all." And there's no personal history tied into it either, he thought.

They continued through the streets, at least one of them in truly high spirits as far as Travern could tell, but in awkward silence. The aasimar was finally become conscious of it and compelled to think of a way to break it when someone else did it for him.

"Um..." Liath ventured cautiously. "Travern...I do not wish to overstep my boundaries..."

Goddess, your sister and I have already crossed that bridge, Travern thought. "Hm? No, feel free!"

"Ah." Liath seemed genuinely relieved. "I was just wondering..." He glanced at his sister, one last check before possibly making an unwelcome trespass before asking in complete sincerity, "...if you grew your beard out, would it be feathery as well?"

Travern's mouth twisted for just an instant before bursting with laughter. Naella closed her eyes, her gently curving mouth betraying her amusement. Liath looked back and forth between them, genuinely wondering if he may have mistepped.

Travern eventually regained his composure and raised a hand to his smooth cheeks. "Ha, no, no. I actually can't grow anything here at all."

"Oh." Liath nodded, smiling shyly. "I understand. Neither can I."

Naella's mouth was straining to contain her laughter and keep up appearances, vainly if one knew what to look for.

Travern felt that sight alone was worth the trip now.


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Enyana was still fuming as she stalked down the streets of Gate District, her staff practically stabbing at the cobblestones. She was so lost in her broiling thoughts that she didn't notice her face and manner actually were drawing the attention of bystanders that day.

The nerve! The sheer unmitigated nerve of the man! Just who does he think he is? I'll tell you who he thinks he is! He thinks he's Nethys' gift to magecraft, that's who he thinks he is! Damned fool! And you actually liked him! With his stupid, impractical long hair and that smug face! He isn't even that attractive!!"

Enyana finally realized that the woman walking parallel with her was staring at her, as well as that she had slipped into voicing her thoughts. Panic momentarily threatened to seize her before she thought of a clever excuse. "I wasn't talking to you! I'm speaking to my unseen servant. Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards." Enyana was uncertain if the now wide-eyed woman put distance between them because of cautious respect or because she believed her to be insane, but held fast to the former possibility as she raised her chin and imperiously strode forth. By the gods, she may have been reduced to a mere delivery girl for the moment but she still had her hard-earned station. Besides, she was far too furious to stay embarrassed for long.

It was the loss of the book that hurt more than anything, she thought. Getting only a taste of the knowledge her parents had only to have it snatched out of her reach was beyond frustrating. That she had been treated like a child was salt in the wound. That it had been him was...

She sighed, despite herself. It had been a good dream. But she had to concede it was a childish one.

Perhaps I can get it back. Yes, after all this is done, I'll speak to Quendys about it. That is if that damned elf hasn't already whispered poison into his ears. That was the most insidious part, she felt. Now she was left wondering just what was being said behind her back by the staff as well as the students. She told herself she could deal with being....generally disliked by the other students. But to be looked down upon by those whose respect she had worked so hard to earn? It had her stomach twisting into knots the moment she forgot to stay angry.

She was still wading through those thoughts when she arrived at her first destination, barely remembering to compose herself as she used the knocker on the door of Gwerm Manor. She actually managed to put a somewhat neutral mask upon her face before the head servant opened the door. He looked as old as Quendys and almost as certain of himself despite his station. It was only then that she stopped to consider just to whom she was delivering these letters. One of the richest men in Kenabres. Moneylender. Owns much of the business passing through Truestone Quarry... She may have been far from sociable but she certainly listened and learned all she could, and this Horgus Gwerm was an important name to know in Kenabres.

She waited for the stuffy "Yes?" from the servant before announcing her purpose. "I am here on behalf of the Librarium of the Broken Black Wing to deliver this message from Master Quendys Orlun himself to the lord of the house." She smiled inwardly. That certainly sounded official enough, and said with just enough certainty and authority too.

The servant was utterly unfazed. "Ah, yes. You've been expected for quite some time." He also sounded utterly bored. "Better late than never, one supposes. This way, if you will."

Enyana quickly retracted the hand she had begun to extend with the letter. Of course I'd be expected to deliver it in person. She followed the old man through the manor's halls. It was well furnished; certainly the home of a rich man but not overly extravagant in its decor. It was the sheer size of the place that made Enyana feel self-conscious. It had nothing over Blackwing in terms of scope, but this was someone's private dwelling. Her single room seemed so much smaller now. Ugh, it doesn't matter. You've greater things ahead of you. Focus.

She was eventually led to the manor's study where the butler announced her arrival. "A courier from the Librarium to see you, sir."

The man at work behind the desk looked up, displeasure clear on his face. He was an older man, somewhat heavyset from what Enyana could tell, though she couldn't quite tell if it was merely weight or muscle on him under all that finery. Well groomed, but rather homely. Certainly homely compared to the likes of Aravashni-Oh stop it.

"Oh, finally he sends word back. About bloody time." Horgus Gwerm held out his hand, not wasting time on pleasantries. "Let's have it then."

Enyana was disappointed. She at least hoped to announce her name. She handed the letter over, standing aside and watching him intently through the corner of her eye as broke the seal and read it. She wasn't quite sure what was causing his reddening face and growing scowl, though what he was feeling seemed obvious by the time he violently crumpled the letter and threw it into the fireplace. "Damn his eyes! I demand more than an apology. I want that man gone!" he grumbled as he sank back into his chair. Enyana quirked an eyebrow, the edge of her mouth threatening to pull back into a sneer after hearing such rudeness aimed Master Orlun's way. Who was this man to question Quendys on...whatever it was he was talking about?

Horgus shifted in his seat to face her, pointing and demanding, "You. You tell Orlun that he can-" He stopped himself, tapping on the desk as he put his professionalism back in place. "No...no, not going to have this out with him through some messenger girl. I'll deal with the old goat properly."

Enyana's teeth were grinding. Bad enough that he should so insult her teacher, but to be so dismissed... "You should show some respect! Master Orlun has done more for this city than you could with all your money across ten lifetimes!"

The ensuing silence coupled with Horgus' dumbfounded expression and the old servant's own rising eyebrow drove Enyana to raise a hand to her mouth, as if to stop any further outbursts from sneaking out. Oh gods, no... She had carried too much of her earlier anger and frustration inside after all. And she had let it out in front of someone that could cause the Librarium all manner of trouble if he so wished.

Horgus' eyes narrowed, taking her full measure. "I didn't catch your name..."

Enyana thought fast. "Zakry Tilson, sir." she said with utmost confidence before mentally kicking herself. She hadn't necessarily thought very far ahead...

"Well then, you should probably be on your way." he said, his voice practically chilling the air in the room. "See her out, Baram."

Enyana was torn between feeling angry at the man and being sick with worry over what troubles she might have called upon herself and the Librarium. She was so lost in that dizzying mixture that she barely noticed when she had finally been led back outside by the head servant. Once she found herself on the streets again, she took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm herself before moving on to her next destination.

She wasn't certain yet, but this had the strong possibility of being the second worst day of her life.

"Let's see what else we can do wrong today, Enyana."


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Chellaigh's mood was only made fouler by the damned tiefling failing to respond in anger. It would have made it easier to aim her own anger anywhere but inward for the moment. And it showed clearly on her face. Most people of Kenabres tended to step out of her way as she walked down its streets on a good day. Even more so on a day like this.

Stupid! Why didn't you tell him? You can't keep doing this by yourself! She felt the worst part was knowing she would most likely wind up ignoring her own advice in the end. It was too hard now. The distance between them was too great.

She buried the thoughts under concerns for the night as she made her way back to the Waller slums. There was not a sign of what she had left on the longtable yesterday. Not a sign of gratitude on the few faces that met hers. She knew they were afraid of her and consciously she knew she resented them. But she was never quite able to face why it bothered her so much. When faced with the uncomfortable possibility that she was seeking acceptance from these shadows of her people, she defaulted to feeling angry instead. It was easier.

She found her shack unsecured and untouched as ever. She went in to get some rest before the evening. Her head was as clear as it ever got these days and she didn't want to complicate it with any unnecessary dealings about town.

Chellaigh was halfway there when she heard the tentative, uneven knock outside the shack. Damn his eyes, she thought, pushing herself up from her cot, still wearing much of her leathers.

It was Steiga, standing outside and cautiously just out of reach. The man was painfully thin, his blonde hair chopped short without much care, as with everything else about him. His eyes were bloodshot, but he looked lucid. His hands were still shaking though. He had obviously gone some time without a fix. "Hu- Hey Chellaigh." he said meekly. "Been l-looking for you."

Chellaigh was tired and in no mood, but even she had a hard time dismissing the man right away. Steiga had followed her heels like a beaten dog ever since the night she didn't turn him in after he foolishly attempted to steal from her in her sleep and wound up throttled for his trouble. She had tried to help him get clean once, he was Sarkori after all. These days, she mostly accepted that there was only so much she could do to keep another kinsman from slowly killing himself. "What is it Steiga?" She didn't feel particularly compelled to hide her irritation though.

He smiled, showing yellowing teeth. "Work! I-if you're interested... The Owl, old Mother Veserda, she's offering to any takers."

"The old wise woman?" Chellaigh frowned. She had gone to her for help before, seeking the wisdom of Old Sarkoris to quell the storm in her skull. She wanted to believe in the old woman, as learned in their traditions as she seemed to be, but nothing she did truly seemed to help in the end. "What kind of work?"

"Sh-she's needin'...samples. Animals, plants, n' dirt that's been touched by the Wound." He pointed back to that constant looming darkness, that smile never leaving his face. "Says it's to help find a way to help fix the land."

High hopes, Chellaigh thought, curbing her own. She had been that enthusiastic about such endeavors in the past. Now, it was much harder to have much faith in them. "You taking her up on that, Steiga? You know what'll happen if you get caught smuggling those things into the city. And you'd have to be able to survive outside the city to start."

Steiga shook his head. "Nah, I'm not leaving the city that way. Using the Waller routes to get down to the shore. G-gonna fish."

"Heh." Chellaigh had to admit, whether he was poisoning himself or not, Steiga had a bit of a survivor in him. "Just don't eat any of it. And mind you don't get eaten yourself. Demons ply those waters too sometimes."

That smile finally died. "I-I wasn't gonna get too close... But what about you? You could hunt and find stuff easy and get it back inside with no problem."

She shrugged, closely watching her words. "Takes time. And I've got a lot to do." And after last night, I need to keep watch. "Besides, don't really need the money."

"W-well...alright...but she was hoping you'd come to see her again too. Even if you aren't taking the job."

Chellaigh raised an eyebrow, leaning against what passed for her doorframe. "What for?"

"She...she said she had some visions, sent from Pulura herself... Says you were in one of 'em, and that there was something important ahead of you..." Steiga spoke carefully himself, Chellaigh thought. He was clearly trying to remember all the details he was told to relay to her. So that's why he really came.

"Visions. About me." She leaned her head against the frame. She wanted to believe in such omens. She truly wanted to find some sign from the old gods to give some measure of hope. But after so many disappointments, it was difficult to reach out for any light offered for fear of being burned again.

"Yeah! Says something big is coming. She ain't sure what, but if you were there she says it might be more clear."

She stared past him at the Wound beyond. She knew she couldn't go on like this forever. She knew Fion was right about some things.

"I'll think about it."

Spoiler:
Sorry for the delay after the delay. Gencon preparations turned out to be more time consuming and genuinely painful than I thought. D:


We bury the dead respectfully and pray that they find the mercy they refused in life. If there is any token that can be traced to any loved ones they may have had, we do our best to see that it gets to them if possible.

No one should be left wondering like that, difficult though it may be to bear the news.

We never simply leave the dead out to rot. We are not savages. We must be better than that, even if they would not offer us the same.


I've met those without mercy, remorse, or regret. They were monsters, in spirit if not in form.

Ecaterina Ducaird wrote:

She wanted to be an inspiration to others. Someone to look up to and think "When I grow up, I want to be her." not "Thank goodness psycho preachy girl left."

....

You could never FORCE a change onto another person. They have to accept it. If you try to tell people what to do and can't back it up with a better reason than "Because I said so..." then your no worse than the people your supposed to be opposing. Your job is to pull the blinkers off people's eyes and be an inspiration to them not so that they do not choose evil because it will offend you or to shut you up... but for them to actively want to be good after you've left because you've shown them a much better way.

It's not your job to destroy evil. It's your job to oppose it and prevent it. This does not mean you need to murder everyone who crosses your path who seems evil. It means that if there is an evil plan hatching you need to prevent it. If that means disrupting a ritual by nabbing the sacrifice and running, then you perform a snatch and dash. If you can explain to the necromancer that his dead wife isn't going to come back as anything more than a zombie, then you make it clear to him.... and when he does it anyway, you contain the zombie, wait til he's worked it out himself, kill the zombie and set him back on the right path. You don't need to kill him if he's seen the error of his ways. He doesn't need a coffin. He needs help.

Every single evil creature or person that you kill is a soul consigned to the abyss (or hell) to be tortured for eternity before turning into another evil outsider for the next generation to fight. Killing an evil creature is the WORST possible outcome you can have. Showing an act of mercy and setting an evil creature on the path of redemption is VASTLY the preferred option. That doesn't mean you have to be a trusting moron. She (usually) viewed being force into taking an intelligent life as a failure on her part... even when it couldn't have been prevented (which happened more than a few times)

You should be the hand of your god / goddess, open to those who are around you with a helping hand to pick them up out of whatever they have fallen. If someone wants to have a go, then they will find very quickly that the helping hand is encased in mail, and can quickly become a fist... but you should never be actively seeking to kill things as a first option.

I find myself quite fond of and feeling some kinship with this paladin. :)


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Naella found Clydwell plaza beautiful, seated between the Temple of Iomedae and the cathedral that also bore Saint Clydwell's name upon Kenabre's highest tier. She found it strange for a moment that such holy sites should be practically right at the edge of the Wounded Lands, but ultimately found it fitting: A sign of defiance. It did her spirits good, though the stares and distance of the other visitors made it all but impossible to feel welcome. She looked to her brother, respectfully holding his cap and trying not to pace as they waited outside the cathedral for Travern's return. She knew the guards at the door weren't taking their suspecting eyes off of them. She wondered at just what it would take to earn their trust, if that were ever possible.

She heard clicking on the cobblestones beside her. "Liath..." she reminded. Liath stopped in his tracks again, meekly apologizing. "Sorry... I'm just...anxious." His fingers fiddled with his cap nervously, rubbing his thumb over the celestial lettering sown into it from base to tip. A poem and a prayer, to guide one's thoughts to memories of home. Naella had sewn those into the cap old Bieran had given him, before the first time he left the monastery.

Naella placed a hand on his arm, stilling him. "Don't be. We're going to do this together." Liath nodded and put on a brave smile for the both of them. He couldn't help but be nervous, considering what they were walking into and what they were planning to do. Considering who ruled over the city...

Travern said that Kenabre's past atrocities were just that, in the past. Still, he could not put his fears entirely to rest. Looking around the plaza, peaceful and beautiful as it was at that moment, he wondered if any of the atrocities their brothers and sisters in faith committed happened there. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He did not truly expect to be warmly welcomed, but if they were walking into danger...if he led Naella into danger again...

Naella gently squeezed his arm, snapping him out of it. She could read his eyes with such ease. "I'll be fine." He forced a smile. "Whatever happens, whether they have a place for us or not, we will do what we set out to do." He was reassuring himself as much as his sister.

"Together till the end." Naella added, with that faint smile so many had a hard time seeing but was always clear as day to Liath.

"Always and e-" Liath's words cut off as he was pushed into Naella from behind by a large, leather-tough hand.

"Out of the damn way, demonspawn!" barked the huge Kellid woman, fiery hair growing wildly from one side of her head and bare, wolf-tattooed scalp showing on the other. Her green eyes were full of contempt and void of patience as she stomped past, paying them no further mind as she continued onward.

Liath could hear the low growl swelling in Naella's throat, a sound no human voice should be capable of making. He squeezed her arm as he straightened himself. "Sorry..." he called out, almost reflexively as he tried to draw Naella's angry eyes towards him. "I should not have been standing in the path."

Naella continued to glare at the exiting Kellid woman for a moment, but her arms eased up. "She had plenty of space," she corrected her brother.

"I ought not have been standing in the path though..." His eyes flashed towards the guards, leading Naella's gaze. They were looking even more intently now, probably having heard her. She closed her eyes, turning her face skyward in frustration. "And so I've shown them what they expected to see..."

"We'll be fine."

They both turned with the approach of soft footfalls. Travern held his arms wide, grinning for the benefit of their spirits. "Well, they'll see you now! I told you they would allow you entry!"

"Th-thank you! Thank you so much!" Liath had Travern's hand in both of his own before the aasimar knew it, shaking it heartily.

"Whoa, it's alright..." Travern assured. Naella's concerned face compelled him to speak further. "But...they're doubtful. It's going to be on the two of you to convince them." Both of the twins nodded, steeling themselves as Travern waved for them to follow along. Even with the privilege heaped upon him, Travern felt he barely convinced the head priests to allow them to officially present themselves in the Cathedral. Tiefling crusaders weren't unknown, but they were hardly treated well. They tended to be kept aside and out of sight, like a dirty secret everyone knew about but kept out of sight for the sake of politeness. He managed to get the tieflings in front of them. Now he hoped they would listen.

Naella and Liath were awed by the sights surrounding them as they stepped inside. Concerned looking priests and frowning officers faded from their attention as the towering walls and statues of saints and heroes of the crusade drowned all else out. The stained glass above and around them seemed to be capture fragments of Heaven in their eyes, offering them a window to the ideal for which they strove. Surrounded by those promises of hope and reminders of those who sacrificed themselves before them, they were both humbled and uplifted.

Travern could see it clearly in both of them. Even Naella's mask was gone entirely in that moment. He wondered at how the twins found so much wonder in the things he had eventually come to see as everyday facts of life here. He worried at how the two seemed to burn so brightly in their piety, where he had long felt that he slipped too easily into his faith, wearing it as one would a cloak. For him,, the faith simply was. But for them...

They entered the grand hall, and immediately all three snapped to attention. Numerous soldiers were stationed about the walls. Before them stood three officers in the dress uniform of Kenabres, the longsword-emblazoned tabards on two of them marked them as priests of Iomedae. Travern whispered quietly to the twins indicating the half-elven man in one of the tabards. "Eterrius Sunnestier, unofficial head of Clydwell Cathedral." He was a fairly grim looking sort, even in the bright vestments and armor of his station. His was the face of a soldier that had seen far too many battles yet still seemed willing to enter the fray again as many times as necessary. His eyes were hard, yet lacking some of the preconceived judgment visible in the others.

Liath and Naella felt all eyes upon them, especially the judgment of those before them. They knew their worth was being measured even before they spoke. Both realized that each of them had grasped the others' hand at some point after entering the grand hall. Both quickly let go.

Eterrius raised a hand, and the twins stopped their approach to kneel. Travern stepped to the side to stand alongside the other soldiers at attention.

Liath and Naella remained silent as Eterrius and the others looked upon them and spoke quietly amongst themselves. Liath was growing anxious as he kept his head bowed. Naella's faintly audible prayer caught his ear, and he steeled his nerve by joining her in it.

Eterrius finally spoke to them, his voice commanding. "Travern Kalleros has announced your presence and purpose, but we would hear your own words. Who are you and why have you come before us?" The twins remained kneeling as they answered.

"I am Naella Samathran, your Grace. Priestess of Holy Iomedae, come to serve in Her name alongside our brethren in faith." Her voice was certain steel.

"I am Liath Samathran, your Grace. Anointed Blade of Holy Iomedae, come to serve in Her name alongside our brethren in faith." His voice was impassioned hope.

The other two looked doubtful as Eterrius' face remained ever neutral. "Many come with such claims. Very few do so with such obvious demon blood in their veins. What cause have we to believe your words and your purpose?"

Naella spoke without hesitation in the face of their doubt, "We have been charged to join this holy crusade by the high priest of Sanctrova Cathedral in Brevoy." She pulled a sealed letter from her robes, holding it before her in an open hand, never raising her head.

Liath added, "We have both been blessed with signs from Holy Iomedae. We have been graced by with Her gifts and charged to use them in Her name."

The third officer, an older man without the tabard of the local clergy, scoffed under his breath at the last claim, looking genuinely offended. Travern could see the same disbelief reflected by most of the faces in the room, his eyes narrowing when he saw the man he hoped would not be present pacing around the room, just outside the crowd and observing. Eterrius motioned for another priest to retrieve the letter from Naella's hand.

The twins remained as they were as Eterrius read the letter. Both could feel the eyes of their judges, not just the three standing before them, closely examining them and taking their measure through both mundane eyes and the divinely-gifted sight searching for any sign of treachery. For a brief moment dark suspicions concerning the letter's contents surfaced in Naella's mind before she forced them out, chiding herself for doubting her brethren back home.

Eterrius finished. "Rise." Both did as commanded, seeing the half-elf passing their letter to the female priest-officer who examined it in turn. His face had changed, if only slightly. Still neutral, still searching for the truth in them, but there was a tinge of sadness in his eyes. As if he knew the conclusion to their story already. "You do have notable credentials in terms of associates. Your claims of divine grace will take more than a letter of recommendation to prove."

The officer without the tabard spoke to the other two. "Are we truly to believe two demonborn could be so touched by divinity? The very notion is blasphemous." Liath almost flinched at that. Naella thought she caught a glimpse of an older, mustachioed man stalking about behind the other soldiers, eying both of them intently. She dared not turn her head away from the three officers to be certain.

Eterrius raised a hand to silence him. "Can you demonstrate any proof of this, for those who cannot afford to take your words on faith?" The tabardless man scowled at them with that. Naella thought she saw some hint of a conflict between the officers there...

She and Liath both looked to each other and nodded, "Yes, your Grace." They each pulled forth a silver Iomedaean symbol, letting them rest upon their chests and clearly out of their grasp. Finally they clasped hands. Travern smiled at the widening eyes around him even as his did as well at the sight before them. Both tieflings were draped with light for a fleeting moment, the illumination flowing from each to the other before flashing beneath them, leaving only a pair of two-foot wide glowing warding circles of celestial characters and patterns upon the floor, rotating around their hooves.

Eterrius and the tabarded woman did not seem as struck as the others, but still curiosity lit their eyes. "They did it without their holy symbols," the female officer observed. "And with but a touch." It took a moment for the tabardless officer to find his voice. "Without their holy symbols. That in itself is suspect, is it not?" Eterrius walked forward, right up to the tieflings who were left momentarily wondering if they should step away out of respect. Instead, he knelt to closely observe the circles. The celestial words and symbols spoke for themselves. The brightly glowing, stylized sunburst-longswords pointing outwards spoke volumes.

"They speak truly." he announced as he stood. The twins caught the faint, sad smile on his face before he turned and took his place among the other two once more. They could hear the muttering around them rising after their display. Liath began to worry that perhaps they had gone too far, that they had not shown enough humility with Iomedae's gifts. Naella squeezed his hand, stilling his anxiety for a moment. Those piercing eyes were still upon them.

The three officers spoke between themselves, one a bit more heated in his words. Finally, Eterrius turned back to the tieflings, bearing a ceremonial longsword, held outward in both hands. "You've been found fit to serve in the Church's name. You may take the Oath."

Liath's soul soared, his face eyes plainly showing it before Naella gave his hand another squeeze before letting go. Both dropped a knee once more, kneeling as the sword was brought before them. It was a thing of beauty in their eyes, perfectly forged with the Eleven Acts etched along the length of the blade, the crossguard bearing a steel sculpture of Iomedae's vigilant and somber visage. Both had yearned for this moment for years.

"Now, speak." Eterrius prompted. Liath and Naella both spoke with absolute conviction, their voices taking on that eerie harmony once more.

"We do so swear under the Light, by the Sword and Scales of Truth and all the Fires of Heaven, to undertake this holy Crusade. We pledge to guard heart, spirit, body, and mind from the corruption of this Wound upon the World. We furthermore promise and declare that we shall wage relentless war against the Spawn of the Pit and their manifold legions, as directed by those with charge of this Crusade and whenever opportunity presents in the Inheritor's name, to drive demonkind back into the Abyss and to save the souls of this land and its people."

Eterrius hesitated only a moment as the mutterings around them began anew. The tieflings had not spoken the Oath exactly as it was written. Travern had to bite back an impressed whistle. He only knew of one other that had the audacity to do that with so many eyes upon her.

Still, Eterrius brought the hilt before them, each of the twins offering a venerating kiss upon the crossguard.

"You may rise." he said gently. But did so, sharing a glance and seeing the elation in the other's eyes, even Naella's.

"You may join the holy Crusade, in Iomedae's name. The Church has no need for your aid, but go with our blessings to find your place in the legions of Kenabres." Both tieflings bowed their heads, thanking him, Liath barely able to contain his excitement and relief. Travern however frowned from the sidelines. So, they won't be run out, but they won't be taken in either. They're just being passed off to the crusader companies. He wondered if Eterrius had argued to get them even that much.

When Eterrius held the sword aloft and brought the blade down to rest upon each of their shoulders, Travern and the rest saluted. That restored some of the aasimar's smirk, seeing how displeased some of those present were to honor this occasion.

"Go forth, by the Goddess' Will, and honor this blessing She has granted you."

"Yes, your grace." they answered simultaneously, bowing once more as he pulled the sword away and retook his place amongst the others. A stolen glance at Travern let them know it was time to depart, as others present slowly fell out of formation. Lingering scowls and pointedly kept distances made it clear not all agreed with the priest's decree, though none would protest it here.

"You did well, Liath." Naella whispered with an unguarded smile. Liath answered with one in kind, feeling as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.

Travern approached with arms wide. "Did it go as well as you hoped?" he asked softly so that his words didn't echo across the hall.

Liath nodded. "'Twas not as well as I'd dared hope, but much better than we expected." Both tieflings were smiling with only the barest hint of sadness in Liath's eyes, but Travern couldn't help but find that acceptance of their situation depressing in itself.

"Well...you two didn't exactly make matters easy for yourselves with the Oath. So perhaps that is a blessing... C'mon, you have much more to do before the day is out.!"

"Should we not speak further with the priests? To find out where we are meant to go from here?"

Naella drew closer, turning her eyes back to the conversation after looking towards the three officers moving away. "I believe we are to do that on our own, brother. The Church is done with us for the time being." She found herself somewhat hoping that was the case, considering all the questions they had doubtlessly raised. Perhaps they were being kept at arm's length until they could be absolutely certain they weren't infiltrators of some sort. Naella now chided herself for being so wishful.

Travern said, "That settles matters for tomorrow then! You two are going to need help finding your way to the right company. It just so happens I have some contacts with a few." Even if I can't seem to take advantage of them myself, he thought.

"Please, you have done so much for us already. We would not wish to be a burden." said Naella, also not wishing to be even further indebted when they had so little to offer in return.

"Please, 'tis nothing." Travern motioned for them to follow him out of the Cathedral. He rather wished to get them out of there sooner than later.

"Yes! We've still the other temples to visit!" Liath cheerfully reminded. "In time, brother." said Naella.

"Oh, we have plenty of that. It's not even close to noon yet. You can get into the Temple of Sarenrae and out well before daily s-" Travern found himself cutting off when the man keeping to the shadows earlier stepped out before them. Oh damn...

Liath and Naella both froze in their tracks as the old mustachioed man wearing the breastplate and badges of the office of Lord-Commander paced around them, his eyes seeming to look right into them. They knew who this was now by his appearance and station, and they had both dreaded this moment.

Prelate Hulrun Shappok, rule of Kenabres and the second most powerful man in Kenabres. The instigator of the Third Crusade and the burner of witches. The great Inquisitor of Mendev. The one whose path their father had claimed to follow.

And his eyes were now turned towards them.

Travern tried to speak for them but one glance from the wiry old man sealed his mouth. Nothing he could say would make matters easier for them.

The silence grew increasingly uncomfortable before Hulrun spoke, his old voice far from anything any of them would consider grandfatherly. "Highly unusual. Highly suspect as well. A tad obvious though..." Before any of them could express relief at that, he continued, "But demons and their servants can be wily enough to play against expectations."

Naella's anger began to swell in her eyes at the implied accusation. This time it was Liath who took her hand to calm her. He had truly expected to loathe the man at first sight, knowing his sordid past and remembering the echoes of his atrocities visited upon himself and his sister. He had expected some personification of hatred. But to Liath's eyes, seeing him now, more than anything else...Hulrun mostly seemed old and tired.

The witch-hunter continued. "But even putting that aside, I must question your conviction and devotion. Those were pretty words you inserted into the Oath. Soft words meant for softer lands."

Liath found his voice. He would not stand idle while the beliefs they held within their souls were called into question. "I must humbly disagree, my Lord." The title tasted of poison to Liath's tongue. "They seem the exact words to stand by in a land so ravaged. Is that not why we are here? To save people rather than condemn them?" This time Naella's hand tightened. He was slipping dangerously close into accusations they could ill afford making.

Hulrun's mouth was unreadable behind his mustache. "All well and good to court such high-minded ideals before seeing the front lines. Before seeing what corruption takes root when men lack the strength to do what must be done."

Naella's teeth ground against each other. It was all she could do to resist throwing their experiences in his face, experiences she was all too eager to claim was his legacy. Liath's hand squeezed again. "But what must be done? If we damn ourselves and others do we not destroy our ends with such means?"

Travern looked nervously between the three of them, uncertain of how he could possibly defuse the situation. His reputation counted for far too much with most in Kenabres by his own estimation. It counted for nothing with a man like Hulrun Shappok. Naella on the other hand was working to keep her temper in check. Then she felt Liath's pulse in her hand, and she realized why Hulrun seemed to be focusing on him alone. Hulrun had sniffed out the more vulnerable of the two...

"Typical of the young, to let fear lead them to hesitate in the face of demonkind."

"'Tis not fear or a weakness to not cast aside concern for the people we are meant to protect."

"And do you suggest that those who came before you did not have concern for those under their charge?"

Liath chose his words carefully. "Of those whose purposes were true, I have no doubt that they meant well. But far too many were misled in their actions. Should we not seek to do better rather than repeat their mistakes?"

Hulrun's eye's narrowed. "And does the boy I see before me claim to have the wisdom that he insists his predecessors lacked?"

"No, my Lord. I merely believe that good people should be held to higher standards, for their own sake and for that of those they serve."

Hulrun's eyes were burning into him now. "And are you a good man, Liath Samathran?"

Liath thought a moment before giving the only answer he truly felt was honest. "I want to be."

Hulrun stared into him for a good bit longer, possibly considering his answer, before turning to the rest and releasing Liath from his locked gaze. "The Crusade goes on. The three of you should not dawdle here in the way. Off you go." With that, he strode further back into the cathedral, blending in with the rest of the clergy with unusual ease.

Travern let out a whistle after they had been left to their own devices. Liath was trembling, his eyes a mixture of relief and worry that he may have overstepped. Naella placed her left hand on his shoulder, trying not to wince overly much. "Liath...my hand..." Liath finally noticed how tightly he was clutching her other hand. "S-sorry!" he stammered, letting go so that Naella could rub the soreness out of it. "I...didn't realize..."

"It's fine." she reassured him with that patient half-smile. "I had hoped we could make it through the day without encountering him. 'Twas not meant to be."

Travern sighed. "Yeah, to be honest, so was I." The admission surprised the tieflings a bit, after all his talk earlier about how much better things now were in Kenabres. He could read that much on their faces. "The man still has a reputation. I'd hoped you could avoid him, since you had enough trying matters on your mind today."

Naella shook her head, a defiant smile spreading. "Do not let it worry you, Travern. It is not his judgment by which our souls are beholden." That seemed to calm her shivering brother at least. "If our lives find only Holy Iomedae's approval, I consider them well lived, regardless of what men such as that have to say."

Liath finally spoke up again, rather sheepishly. "We should really see the other temples and the smith now..."

Travern was inclined to agree, anything to put distance between them and the Cathedral. "Agreed then! Though if you'll forgive the detour, I could honestly use a drink..."


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Enyana's head was bowed in shame, the back of her hood resting against her cheek. She was grateful that Quendys had at least allowed her to have his study to herself to correct her dress.

The head of Blackwing had his arms crossed, considering her. She had expected him to be angry or, even worse, disappointed. That he looked concerned more than anything had her at a loss as to what she should say or do next. "Well, Miss Wek, considering the rarity of the occassion I can't really bring myself to reprimand you without some further investigation." Quendys offered.

Enyana could never quite feign confidence with Quendys. "I-I'm sorry, Master Orlun. I...lost myself in my studies last night. It won't happen again, I promise!" She was deathly serious at that moment.

Quendys had a hard time hiding his amusement, tempered as it was by real concern. The girl was harder on herself than any of her instructors ever were. "Enyana, have you been taking care of yourself? Remembering to eat?"

Enyana nodded.

She couldn't say she was eating particularly well, when there were so many more important things to do.

Quendys steepled his fingers, reading her like a book. "That and a lack of proper rest. Do bear in mind, Enyana, that understanding one's limits is just as important as tenacity. That's always been the case with you, child." His fond smile was visible now, and even as she hung her head Enyana couldn't help but return it, knowing exactly what he referred to. Everyone had been so shocked and worried, but still she came back safely. Even as the scattered memories of that misadventure frightened her, she couldn't help but take some pride in it.

"Yes, Master Orlun. I'll...I'll try to pace myself..."

"See that you do, Miss Wek." Quendys was all business now, reaching into his desk to retrieve three sealed letters. "Now, as you missed the entirety of today's lecture, which I suspect covered matters you've already studied thoroughly, I'd say you have a bit of a debt to work off." Enyana knew what was coming and nearly protested being reduced to an errand girl, but one raised eyebrow from Quendys and it died in her throat. She knew she was being let off easy. "These need to be delivered as soon as possible. I trust you are up to the task?"

Enyana's face almost soured at the obvious attack on her pride. "Yes, Master Orlun." she answered with utmost professionalism as she took the letters.

"Good. On your way then, Miss Wek." He waved her off, turning back to his work.

Enyana let out a deep breath after leaving his study. She expected the worst. The very worst. But even with that relief came more frustration with herself. With these extra duties for the day, she would need to study even further into the night in order to...no, that's what he'must be testing me for, she thought. She continued trying to sort out just how she was going to do all she needed within the day left to her when she saw Aravashnial coming the other way, no doubt heading to see Quendys.

She practically tried to retract her head into her neck, trying not to draw his attention while she was at her worst while also trying to imagine ways of grabbing it. She regretted not daring to catch his eye as he passed, and continued on her way towards a glorious day of menial servi-

"Wek, isn't it?" came the elf's question from behind her. She stopped in her tracks, standing straight as a board. She thought his voice sounded as smooth like a summer breeze upon silk.

She worked up the courage to turn, trying desperately to hide her nervous smile. He was right there, face to face with her now. Enyana never realized just how tall he was now, towering next to her like an angel. "Y-yes?" she managed, adequately she thought. His eyes were silver seas, shimmering in the magical light of Blackwing's halls, and she was finding herself adrift in them.

He leaned forward, over her, a delicate hand reaching around her. Her mind raced. Oh gods, this is so soon! Has he been watching my work?! Does he know I've been watching him?! She felt lost in a dream, and parted her lips.

Aravashnial snapped back, holding a copy of Architecture of Creation. "What exactly are you doing with this?" His voice was imperious, those silver eyes full of disapproval. Enyana's eyes shot wide open, her hands reaching into her empty satchel. He continued the lecture, waving the book in front of her, just out of reach. "I knew Quendys treats you with undue favoritism, but this is far too much."

"Bu-"

"And far too dangerous in the hands of a mere apprentice. You are hardly qualified or prepared to be trusted with the knowledge this book represents."

"Ho-"

"I noticed it was missing from his shelf yesterday. I suspected where it had gone, but I had foolishly hoped Orlun would not let sentimentality endanger the library by giving a tinderbox to a child."

"Quen-"

"Is going to get an earful. He may be in charge here but the security of the Librarium and the safety of the staff is my responsibility." He narrowed his eyes, passing his final judgment. "Even when it means the latter must be protected from themselves. You have errands to run, now be on your way and try not to stumble into any more dangerous tomes on your way. I have a busy schedule as it is." With that he turned and strode into Quendys' study.

Enyana could only stare in shock as he left, still unable to entirely believe what had happened. Her mind processed it eventually, dashing fantasies and hopes along the way, laying to rest the Aravashnial of her dreams.

"Wh-"

Enyana was driven to indulge in something she felt utterly beneath her, the domain of lesser minds."

"What an @$%&*%$!"

++++++++++++++++++

Clydwell Cathedral wasn't as open as the Temple of Iomedae itself, given that it housed much of the area's leadership. Chellaigh's disheveled appearance and manner alone barred her from immediate entry, though the guards did pass her request along to the one she named. She waited, leaning against one of the supporting columns and trying not to show how much pain she was in. From the glances she caught the guards giving her, she knew she was doing poorly at that. Probably think I'm just another addict. Another Sarkori that chose to just slowly die.

Eventually he came, a red-haired Kellid man about Chellaigh's age, but far less aged. Far less worn down. His priestly robes and Iomedaean trappings ill suited him, she thought as she saw the light blue spiral tattoos still adorning his neck and cheek. He walked out to meet her, his face equal parts concern and irritation. "Chellaigh." His voice carried more of the former, at least. "What's wrong?"

She swallowed as much bitterness as she could. "I can feel it again, Fion." She winced. "My mind is breaking up again."

Concern now completely won out. Fion placed a hand on her shoulder, pointing her towards the cathedral entrance. "Alright, follow me." he said as gently as he could without insulting her. He assured the guards, "She's alright to come in. I need to see her." They stood aside.

Even as the world seemed to sway about Chellaigh at times, she made out the details of the cathedral hall as she followed Fion to his chambers. The vaulted ceiling, the looming statues of dead knights, everything seemed to be designed to make her feel small. She hated cathedrals. Her people never sought to imprison the gods in cold stone tombs, she thought. How Fion could forsake the open air and the gods of their land, she could never understand.

They soon arrived in his quarters. A humble room, adorned with a mixture of Iomedaean writings and Sarkori artwork. Familiar knotwork lined the walls, compromised by the integration of the crusaders' culture, but present nonetheless. He hasn't completely forgotten his roots then.

"Have a seat." Fion gestured to the old, rickety chair. Another remnant of the lives they once knew. Chellaigh eased herself down, tilting her head and exposing the shaven of her scalp to the window's light. Fion delicately examined the scar, a worried frown already spreading across his face.

As Fion went about his work, Chellaigh glanced about the room, taking stock of the memories on display upon the shelves. She assumed shame in what was missing. The longsword symbol hanging from his neck brushed against her shoulder, ever prodding her with reminders of how he had changed.

"It's infected. How you're still standing, I'll never understand. You should have come sooner, Chellaigh."

She hissed in pain when his fingers wandered to close to the scar, to the rift that had been cracked into her skull. "You know I don't like coming here, Fion. This place in that damned woman looking down on us all."

Fion sighed. "You come here seeking her healing and still you curse her."

"After everything her followers have done to our people! Yes!" She caught herself stoking the fires in her head, and tried to will herself back into calm. "I didn't come here for her help. I cam here for yours."

Fion continued working in silence. He had given up on trying to explain his faith to Chellaigh a long time ago.

Chellaigh couldn't let the silence continue. "We're the only ones left." she said, the fight gone from her voice. "The only ones from our village that remember who we were before the crusaders came and took it all away." And took you away.

"The crusaders didn't take everything, Chellaigh." He whispered a prayer, holding his hands over the scar. She felt a coolness seep into her head, a soothing balm restoring the surface of her mind. "Don't forget what brought them here."

She narrowed her eyes, turning them upon him. He had put out the fire in her head, but still the anger was there. Only now it was focused and clear. "Do you really think I could forget? I lost everyone to those damned things." The growl was present in her throat, ever present but under her control now.

Fion did not give any ground. He was angry with her now, though he did a far better job of masking it. "I suppose I don't count then." Chellaigh wanted to throw that in his face, to point out how he had forgotten his way. But one look in his haunted eyes and she knew she would hate herself even more for having done it. When she lost a husband, he lost a brother.

She let it go, as much as she could. "Thank you." She said grudgingly, emphasizing the "you". She hated the idea of owing anything to the Inheritor, and it ate at her that she had to live inside her walls in order to survive. "I should go."

Fion had to try, one more time. As she headed for the door, he asked, "Chellaigh, won't you stay and let them try to help you? There has to be something they can do... You're not well."

Chellaigh turned back to him, and Fion was taken aback at just how lost she truly looked. Like someone cast adrift and too afraid to trust any hand offered to pull her out. "I can't trust them, Fion. I just can't."

"But you trust me."

She turned to leave. "Because you're the only family I have left," she lied.


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Chellaigh splashed water from the barrel onto her face, clearing her head at least a little. It was getting worse.

She gingerly felt along the length of the scar on her scalp. She always felt as if there were snakes in her skull after she got it, but now it felt like they were about to burrow free. She couldn't put it off any longer. She needed help.

Chellaigh steeled herself as she stepped out into the busy streets of Kenabres. It would be hard enough to swallow her pride and ask him for help without everyone assuming she was a drunkard. She just hoped he would be willing to, after their last meeting.

++++++++++++++++++++

Even as they walked with purpose, the twins still looked about them with awe. Now that they had been fully rested and their spirits reinvigorated, all the sights, smells, and sounds of Kenabres called out to them. From the scent of spices in the market to the rythmic sound of the forges a block away, the temptation to stop and look was almost painful.

Travern could not help but be amused by their fascination with his home as it ever was. It was they who had his interest. He was learning certain quirks of their unusual forms as he walked alongside them. Naella's wings would stretch outward just a bit whenever something particularly caught her interest, possibly unconsciously. Liath's tail would sometimes snake upwards to help his arms straighten the heavy pack on his back.

"That must be useful." Travern observed, pointing for Liath's benefit. The tiefling looked back before realizing what he was talking about. "Oh...ha, yes. 'Tis not quite an extra hand, but it can be very helpful at times. It truly helps with managing armor."

Naella had to boast for her brother's benefit, since he never could. "I never quite learned how to use mine so well. Liath practiced long and hard to be able to do that. What did old Bieran say when you showed him? That you had a bit of vanara in you?" Travern noted how she was beaming at her brother, even as he shyly lowered his grinning face. There was a playfulness in her voice Travern hadn't heard from her before, seemingly recalling happiness from good days gone by.

Travern thought to join in. "Well, it seems that it balances out. You've got wings after all, so it seems only fair th-" He stopped when he saw them both flinch, all their cheer momentarily banished. He quickly realized he had trod upon a sensitive subject for the two. "I'm...sorry. I fear I've said something wrong."

Liath shook free of that dark cloud first, the smile returning, even if diminished. "Please, do not worry. 'Tis in the past." Naella watched her brother closely for a moment longer, making sure he was fine before letting it pass. Travern thought she looked relieved.

Liath didn't let the awkward silent continue much longer. "After we give our pledge, might we visit the temples of Sarenrae and Shelyn?" he asked, that hopeful eagerness now fully returned.

Travern tilted his head, not expecting such a question from him. Looking to Naella only showed a patient smile. He had assumed the two were a bit more...single-minded in their devotion. "Certainly." Curiouser and curiouser, he thought.


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10 Arodus, 4714

Travern strode back into Defender's Heart in the morning., looking about the main hall for a pair he was sure would be difficult to overlook. When he didn't see amidst the early crowd, he worried for a moment that they may have gone off into Kenabres without him. Despite his assurances the previous night, he hoped they hadn't headed out on their own.

He caught a servant's attention, asking if the twins had been seen about. He then tried to hide his frown when she helpfully pointed past the counter towards the back of the hall. Of course.

He found them tucked away like a dirty secret, seated at a table in one corner of the back room. No doubt the staff had requested they sit there. But looking at them now, they seemed to be in much higher spirits than when he had left them, both enjoying their morning meal and chatting freely. He noticed how their tails wriggled behind the seats. Goddess, that's going to take some getting used to.

"I see you're both up and ready this morning." Travern cheerfully observed, announcing his presence as he approached. Naella and Liath both turned to greet him, Naella with that careful reserved smile and Liath with that restored, obvious joy. He wondered what brought about that change, but elected against asking about it for fear of provoking a repeat of the previous night. "Travern! Please, sit with us! There is far too much here for just the two of us. 'Twould be a sin to let it go to waste!"

Travern looked at the offering uncomfortably as he sat and raised his hands in protest. "Uh..." He was used to people giving him things freely but to offer the food off their own plate? That they had been eating from? "Thanks, but..." Liath's face was all friendly eagerness, but it was Naella's eyes carefully observing him that chose his next words. "Just a bit of the egg and and bread will do for me, thank you." he finished graciously. Naella smiled ever so faintly in what he imagined to be approval. He wondered at how jarring the offering seemed alongside the air of refinement they had about them, and the kind of lives they must have led. "Thank you." he managed to find some sincerity after a hesitant mouthful, wondering if it was simply his own upbringing that made him so uncomfortable with it. "So, I know the two of you have plans for the day, but might I recommend a few places?"

"Of course," Naella said. "But we must attend Clydwell Cathedral as soon as possible." Liath nodded emphatically. Both were eager to take the pledge.

Travern smiled. "Entirely understandable. I simply wanted to ensure you were both fitted for your armor as soon as possible. I've taken the liberty of making some arrangements..."

Naella raised a brow, Liath raised everything. "Thank you! We've gone without for so long!"

"Well then, if you're both ready we can go ahead and get started..."

Liath managed to contain his eagerness. "Oh, no. We can wait until you're finished!" he said helpfully. Travern looked back at how much of the unwanted meal was left, and back at Naella's watchful eyes. "Oh...of course."

He couldn't quite tell just why she was smiling, whether in approval or amusement, but he found himself happy to see it.

++++++++++++++++

Aravashnial struggled futilely against the chains that held him fast to the onyx altar, his well-toned chest glistening in the firelight and defiance in his eyes. "You'll never get away with this, you fiend. I will be avenged!"

Zakranius cackled and stroke his mustache, holding the sacrificial dagger over the elven wizard's heart. Aravashnial was by far a more talented mage, but the diabolist had used treachery. "Oh I think I shall! For with your sacrifice my power shall grow tenfold! All of Avistan shall tremble before me!" His laughter could only be described as...maniacal.

Aravashnial glared at his captor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of his fear. But he began to despair, for he was truly doomed. Unless...

"Your power could grow a hundred-fold and you would still be a thousand years too early to face a true master, coward." echoed a powerful, regal voice. Aravashnial's heart soared. His salvation had come.

With a flash of light, reality in the diabolist's chamber tore open as High Archmage Enyana Wek of the Seven Towers stepped across the boundaries of time and space to visit justice upon the foolish mageling, her voluminous robes flowing behind her seemingly without end, a crystal staff capped with a captured star in her hands, and raw magic in her eyes.

Zakranius howled, "I think not, for the forces of Hell itself answers my beck and call!" His voice cracked in the middle of his boast, but nonetheless as he waved his ungainly arms about in the most unartful of motions, fire and brimstone sparked up from the ground around him as devils of all sorts and sizes crawled into their reality. All of them turned their eyes upon the most powerful wizard on Golarion.

Enyana merely smiled and narrowed her eldritch eyes, and with a wave of her hand every minion called forth from Hell was replaced with a frog. Zakranius now knew fear. The diabolist threw himself on his knees before her, "Please, have mercy! I beg of you!"

Enyana raised her chin, looking down at the evildoer as she weighed even-handed judgment to mete out. "You always were a repugnant little toad. Hardly worth bloodying my hands."

Zakranius looked relieved, right up until a wicked smile spread across his face as he whipped a crooked wand out of his sleeve to bring to bear on the archmage. With one single movement of Enyana's finger, the treacherous Chelaxian was a frog like the rest. "No, instead I will send you where you belong." Enyana decreed. With a grand wave of her staff, the dungeon disappeared, all of the masonry giving way to new, lush marshland. Only the altar and Aravashnial remained of what had originally been there.

With a wave of her hand the shackles fell away and the handsome elf was freed. He quickly rose from the altar, rushing to Enyana's side. "Thank you. I thought for certain that death was upon me." His eyes shimmered, his hair flowed like water in the wind, just as Enyana's robes, in a beautiful, synchronized symphony of motion.

"It was nothing." Enyana assured him, drawing closer to his delicate, elven lips.

"No." Aravashnial protested as he drew ever closer. "It was everything." Their breath was shared, they were so close now.

Their lips brushed, as gentle as feathers, as Aravashnial raised his hand to-

Enyana's heavy eyelids slowly opened, her face still split in the wide grin it had held in her sleep. She stretched and yawned, turning over to consider the tome Quendys had loaned her. She was glad she paced herself. And now she could even sneak in a bit more study before needing to check into Blackwing.

She sat up with another stretch, working the night's sleep out and thoroughly enjoying the scattered memories of the night's dreams. She had a good feeling about today. It was quite the sunny morning; already almost as bright as midday.

"Oh gods!" She launched herself from her bed and grabbed the clothes she had discarded last night, dressing herself with great haste. "Late! Late! I can't be late! I'm never late!" Panic had seized her heart. The moment she had donned her clothing, she bolted for the door and took off down the street.

A moment later she came rushing back in for her staff and the book, and quickly set out again.

People passing by turned in mild confusion at the girl wearing her hooded shirt inside-out running by as if there was a fire, but Enyana was far past caring at that point.


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The red haze subsided, the voices of her son and daughter ringing through her ears, her husband calling her back.

Chellaigh lay still for a moment, allowing herself to get her bearings and make certain she was seeing reality before pushing herself to her feet. She stumbled further down the alley, looking for a place to take shelter for the night. She didn't trust herself to make it all the way back across Kenabres.

She wondered once more how long she could last like this.

+++++++++++++++++

Travern rested the back of his head on his arms as he stared at the plastered ceiling, running the events of the day and possibilities for tomorrow through his head. Anything to avoid thinking of yesterdays.

"Naella." he rolled the name around unconsciously. Don't be silly, Travern. That's a dangerous thought. He shook his head free of the notion and turned to sleep. "Sorry m'lady..." he apologized to his goddess and Naella both for the trespass.

+++++++++++++++++

Enyana had laughed at herself for being so frightened over nothing once she made it through the door, her back against it as she struggled to catch her breath. Silly girl. If anyone saw that, you would never live it down!

When she finally calmed herself, she cupped a hand about the head of her staff and chanted into it, as if stoking a fire. The sapphire cap flared with an inner light and she placed the staff through two low-hanging leather loops attatched to the ceiling, illuminating the entire room. She hurriedly lit some candles, cleared some space on her desk, and finally opened the book, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Immediately she started poring over the tome, from front onwards, weathering through the introduction for fear of missing something she didn't already know. No taking chances with this opportunity. Vague notions about the reality beyond the visible world took solid shape as she covered matters of the material, the ethereal, and the astral. So much of it reminded her of the simplified explanations her parents had given for her constant questions; she imagined this would be how they would have explained matters to her as an adult.

She lost herself entirely to the words, her world expanding with each page. She committed what she could to memory, the touchstones from which she could reference and infer the rest, all the while looking for ways to apply knew knowledge to old. They're going to be so impressed. She had to force herself to get up just to grab some dried fruit and bread. She barely remembered to eat any.

It wasn't until one candle had burned out when she realized just how much time had passed. And how stiff she had gotten, leaning over her desk. she winced as she stood up, fighting the urge to sit back down and continue reading on through the night rather than rest and properly process all she had read.

Then she gave in and continued reading. She now tore through the book, scanning for details that caught her eye, looking for something she could use. Looking for reminders of her parents' words. Until she made it to the Abyss.

She stopped cold, memories of a foolish child's venture out into the wild beyond the Sellen. She could remember so little of that experience, at least in solid detail. That frightened her as much as anything.

Anything except the fact that her parents were lost to the place.

She paused over the book, considering which way to go. She looked over at her parents, seated in a frame upon her nightstand.

She decided she would rather foster pleasant dreams that night.

"Watch me, I'll catch up with you soon enough." she promised with a grin. She gracelessly undressed and blew out the candles, throwing out a few short lived glittering stars to dimly light the way to her bed. The light blue spiral rune upon her back was faintly luminescent against her dark skin under that weak light.

She kissed the butterfly pendant before shutting her eyes, leaving it on for the night. Yes, she definitely wanted good dreams tonight.

+++++++++++++++++

Liath woke with a start, covered in sweat and gasping for air. He had finally broken out of the fever dream, with wicked memories and fantasies stirring up unbidden feelings and desires. He silently cursed his sinful mind and body, wondering if he would ever be able to cleanse himself of such things.

His friends in the Greenbelt had told him he was simply being human. Liath knew it was the demon in him, that wanton beast seeking a deeper foothold in his soul.

The memories were still fresh as he lay in the dark. The Leanan Sidhe's whispers and promises of pleasure even as she sliced into his companions still echoed in his ears.

He quietly slid out of bed, looking over his shoulder to ensure his sister was still fast asleep and trying not to let his hooves click too loudly upon the stone. He took up his sheathed blade and knelt with it, kneeling with his brow to the hilt and burying himself in prayer; calling upon Holy Iomedae to wash away an uncleanliness he knew must have come from deep within himself.

It was worse these days. It seemed to be getting worse all the time, during the journey to Kenabres. He hated feeling this way. And though it shamed him, he envied his sister's greater purity of spirit. He wished he possessed such strength.

He still felt as if his blood were boiling. He carefully stood and moved to the window, opening it to let the cool Kenabres breeze in. It helped a bit. As the night wind washed over him, he stood in awe at the beauty laid out before him. The tiered city of Kenabres, cast in bright moonlight. Pale stone gleamed, cobblestones shimmered as silver, and Clydwell Cathedral stood high above as a beacon. Goddess... He prayed that he could be worthy of this place as it seemed then, not the home of rumored atrocities and certain suffering, but an instant of Heaven made manifest upon their world.

Then he heard her voice.

+++++++++++++++++

Travern quirked an eyebrow when he heard the call ring out through the night, not quite asleep yet. He smiled and lazily managed to salute, wondering how eventful her days must be in comparison to theirs.

+++++++++++++++++

Chellaigh barely raised her eyes from where she was slumped when the distant bellow passed overhead. She turned her gaze back downwards to the back alley stone, wondering where she had been when her people needed her.

+++++++++++++++++

Enyana was already falling asleep with the soft rumble sounded overhead. It was like distant thunder and rain, only serving to gently sing her fully to sleep, a familiar lullaby she had heard since she was a child. A reminder that she was safe here.

+++++++++++++++++

"Naella! Naella, wake up!"

Naella stirred reluctantly at her brother's excited whispers, wondering what could have possibly gotten into him. Still, the sound of his usual, innocent eagerness having returned to her voice had her wiping the sleep from her eyes. She had to know what had restored her brother's spirit during the night.

Liath waved for her to hurry to the window, that boyish grin wide upon his face. She was still trying to get her eyes open as she slowly made her way to the bright window, her pale skin seeming to glow like her brother's under the moon, the iight even shining through the membrane of her wings.

"Liath," she started groggily. "What is it at this hour?"

He could only turn his head back to the sight and whisper, "Look!"

Naella was about to ask "Where?", but the word died in her throat when she saw her. When she heard her.

She flowed through the air seemingly without effort. She looked more like she was swimming than flying at times, a graceful silouette against the full moon in one moment and a gleaming liquid streak of silver against the black of night in the next. To describe her call as a roar or a growl would be to do it injustice. It was not frightful or violent, but soft and beautiful, almost a song. It reverberated across the city, through them. They had heard the stories, but neither of them imagined her as this.

Terendelev. The dragon guardian of Kenabres.

Naella's hand found Liath's, clasping it tight as they watched her.

Liath's voice was barely audible when he could finally speak. "Things are going to be different here. I just know it."

Naella broke her eyes away from the dragon's flight to look upon her brother. There had been a certainty to his words just then that had been missing for far too long. She found herself relieved to see that wonder back in those eyes.

They leaned against each other, intending to watch until Terendelev would finally take her rest.

Things were going to be better. She could let herself truly believe it now.


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Naella sighed as she fully took in the fairly sizable room Travern had arranged for them. It might not have been opulent by the standards of most, but it was certainly lavish by her estimation. Certainly more than either of them needed. All of the rugs cast about the gray stone floor, the wardrobes they would never need, it even had its own fireplace waiting to be lit. A large window opposite the door opened the room to a view of the Kenabres skyline, now illuminated by the stars of other lit windows along with those in the sky.

They both had a bed as well, of course. That made things easier.

As Liath limply went to his bed to unload his pack, she checked behind the folding screen. There was even a bath, waiting for the servants to fill. Naella was briefly tempted to take advantage of it, to let hot water ease the aches out of both of their bodies. One stolen glance back at her downcast brother and she quickly reconsidered. 'Twould be a temptation. We don't need that now.

She placed her pack upon her bed and went to Liath's side, reaching up with her right hand to brush the hair out of his face. "It was a good day. Tomorrow will be even better." she reassured him.

Liath kept his eyes off of her, keeping them on what supplies they still had, arranged across his bed at the moment. "Do you think they're safe?" he asked softly. Naella knew he was referring to his friends in the Greenbelt. Those that remained.

"I'm sure. They're more than capable of taking care of themselves." She took his hand, holding it tight and forcing him to pay attention. "They'll be fine. We need to focus on the here and now."

Liath quietly nodded. Naella knew he always had trouble not trying to focus on everything. It was part of why they had to leave.

Their hands held fast to each other for a moment too long. Naella finally let go. "We were very fortunate to meet Travern. 'Tis a blessing for certain." She truly hoped so. His intentions seemed pure, at the very least. She was glad to see Liath finally move with some energy when he nodded in kind.

"Yes. We must find some way to pay back his kindness. He's done so much for us simply for taking us at our word." Liath was smiling now. Faintly, but it was there. Naella had to agree with the sentiment. It was refreshing to be treated without suspicion by a stranger. And by an aasimar? One of the blessed? 'Twas truly a godsend.

"We've time to think of something in the days ahead. For now, we should rest." She turned away from her brother, preparing to undress for the night as he did in kind. After she removed the coif, she ran her fingers through her cropped hair, wondering again if Liath grew his so long for the both of them. After the the robe was off she stretched her winglets. They may not have been crammed underneath her clothing but they still felt confined in the modified cut of her clothing. Leggings were the hard part. Even with the modifications they could make, leggings meant for normal people never quite fit right. She then neatly arranged the various elements of her vestments and placed them with care into the nearby wardrobe, finally stealing a glance at her brother that she knew she shouldn't.

His lean and muscular back was exposed. The same faint scars she shared traced here and there across pale flesh, faded but never forgotten. The two short, long healed-over stumps jutting from behind his shoulders still twitched reflexively every now and then. Naella turned her head away to look upon her left arm, still wrapped in its long glove. She sat upon her bed, waiting until she heard him turn in. "Sleep well, Sister."

"Goodnight, Brother." she quietly replied. She waited a moment longer before looking back. He was turned away, either fast asleep or almost there. Finally she removed the last of her clothing and pulled the covers over herself before blowing out the last candle. She nestled in, trying to get comfortable. That was difficult these days. It never felt quite right, feeling it against her and not feeling it.

As moonlight poured into the room, she turned to ensure her brother was asleep. Then she brought both hands above the covers. The right was chalk-white in the moonlight, just as her brother's. The left, an earthy brown, etched with dwarven runes, almost all the way down to her elbow where it joined perfectly with her natural flesh and bone. She tested it again, touching the thumb to each fingertip in order. Even with practice, it still felt disconcerting to see her clay hand's movements but not feel them. It was still better than where she was before, she told herself. Liath had given up so much to get it for her, even as she protested that she could manage. But Liath couldn't simply leave her as she was. It would have killed him otherwise. It was still killing him, to know that she was maimed as surely as he was, and both were equally his fault.

She buried the false hand under the covers, holding it away from her. That cold, constant reminder of her brother's failure and the resentment it nurtured.


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Travern casually strode back to Old Kenabres without much worry, at least for his own safety. He did have to explain repeatedly that he had in fact not been stabbed when other citizens walked by. Admittedly the wine could easily be mistaken for blood in the moonlight, and it did draw the sympathies of quite a few charming ladies. And gentlemen; even if he had no real interest there himself, he certainly appreciated the thought.

When he finally reached stately Kalleros Manor, he found himself wondering if he might just make the best of his night instead. He finally decided against it. Might as well get this over with.

He approached his home, a house he felt far too big for what it housed now, and let himself in. No sense waking any of the help. He closed it with a soft click behind him. The wide halls were softly lit. He could hear a low fire crackling in the study.

Of course he would still be at work, Travern thought as he went forth. He walked in with arms held wide, grinning and announcing, "Father, I've returned from the front lines."

The greying, bearded bear of a Taldan's eyes shot wide in shock for a moment before Travern assuaged his fears. "Fear not, 'tis only wine." he said, gesturing dramatically and channeling his recent associates.

Leandro Kalleros was not amused. "So, spent the day on drink again I see." he leaned back in his chair behind the desk, somehow managing to look down at his son even from that angle.

"That and more besides." Travern dropped into a chair beside the fire, propping his feet up. "In case you're wondering, I got the message." His voice was full of careless cheer. He imagined hiding his frustration behind that irritated his father even more. "At the last possible moment, mind."

Leandro narrowed his eyes. "I was going to inform you last night, but you apparently had some business elsewhere."

"Ah." Travern steepled his fingers, He knew his father knew and he knew he disapproved. Travern half-wondered if it was part of why he kept going. "Yes, tied up all night. Still, I'll have you know I made the best of today's change of plans." He leaned forward towards the fire, warming his hands. "I seem to have fallen into the business of recruitment and orientation, so to speak."

Leandro continued managing his ledger, considering how much of what his son said was flippancy or truth. "So, productive then."

"Very. I hope." Travern's thoughts wandered back to the tieflings. Someone had to watch out for them until they found their feet. Or hooves. "I need to commission a blacksmith for one of them. I was hoping I might make use of your references. He has special needs when it comes to armor."

"Hm..." Leandro glanced up at his son. Of course he would take an exotic under his wing. Kenabres certainly drew them along with everyone else. "You might. I'll ready some references for you by morning, if you're still around by then." He continued on with his work for a time, the scratch of his pen and the crackle of the fire the only things breaking the silence that fell between them.

Finally, Leandro broke it, the gruffness falling out of his voice. "It'll be the 11th soon. Will you be seeing her?"

Travern didn't look away from the fire. "Of course." His voice cracked. He quickly cleared his throat. "Possibly even earlier, but I'll be there then. As always." The flames danced in his eyes, calling forth memories that still left him in awe. Still left him feeling so lacking.

"Best get some rest then."

"True..." Travern pushed himself out of his seat. "Don't work too late."

His father simply nodded as he left.

Travern found himself wondering how many times he had gone to his father looking for a fight to find that neither had much heart in it any more.


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Enyana quickly hurried up and down the ladder, trying not to get ahead of herself and misplae any volumes that would simply take even more time to correct. Damn that Chelish twit! she thought as she grabbed another handful from the stack of books left to replace. She just knew it was Zakry who dumped this extra work on her as an insult to the earlier injury. No matter. She'd be the one laughing soon as he was left behind in the dust while she went on to much much greater things. Now, two copies of Polymorphologies to the left, sixth shelf. One second volume of the History of Vigil to the right, eigth shelf. Back down.

She tried to lose herself in that rythm, anything to keep her mind off the tome quieted away in her satchel. She wasn't letting that out of her reach. Not with weasels like Zakry about. But it certainly made it harder to resist sneaking a peek...

Every now and then she would whip her head around, her the back of her hood flopping about as she made sure no one was in sight. Most of the other students were gone by now, and much of the regular staff was busy elsewhere. She would work up enough nerve to open her pack and reach for the book, but then the quickly shook herself free of the temptation and hid it away once more. Truly she was a well of indomitable willpower.

Almost there! If she didn't know any better she would almost describe herself as giddy. But of course she did know better so what she was feeling was understandable anticipation for what this book represented. This is what Father specialized in. She remembered the smell of pipesmoke, of glittering stars made by the wave of a hand and lyrakiens called from a far away place to sing sweet songs to her. And with memories of him came memories of her, gentle hands soothing scrapes, telling frightful tales that turned beautiful by the end, and her watchful crow, always looking over her.

She shook herself free of the past. She needed to concentrate on the here and now.

She was almost done, but despite herself she found that she was slowing her pace. Again she looked around. She never was able to catch sight of Aravashnial again. She pondered how best to work the knowledge she would gain tonight into any future conversation with him. Of course she couldn't give away her extracurricular research...but she could imply that she had made some new observations on her own, surely.

It would have to wait until tomorrow, for the last books were finally put away. She pushed the ladder aside and went to be checked out by the librarians at the entrance. The crisp cool air of a Kenabres evening met her as she stepped outside. It would be dark by the time she reached home. That wouldn't have much time to study tonight.

Still, she controlled herself and stepped calmly and orderly down the steps of Blackwing and out onto the streets, turning towards Gate District. She maintained a dignified pace.

Right until the point that she was out of sight from the Librarium, after which she broke into a full run, holding the book close to her chest and the head of her staff glinting in the night as it waved to and fro from the strap on her back.

She made it a fairly decent distance before she came to a wheezing stop. After catching her breath, she settled for a merely heightened pace. Onlookers would be less likely to look, she surmised.

Not that she was overly worried about that. There weren't many people out this late in this part of Gate District. A few odd passersby, a couple of guards passing by the other way, one oblivious drunk that she stepped to the other side of the road to go around. Nothing unusual or worrying, that she could see.

And yet she could not shake that old familiar feeling. That shiver down her spine that told her she was being watched. She kept her pace steady, willing herself to be calm. She had been getting these feelings for the past few years, and nothing ever came of it. She was simply being paranoid. There was nothing to worry about. Oh she knew criminal activity was a thing even in a city like Kenabres. But it was something that happened to other people.

Just keep calm and continue home. We're almost there, she thought.

She heard a footfall echo out and her heart skipped a beat, freezing her in her tracks.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

The scraggly tiefling watched her from the shadows, flipping a makeshift truncheon in his hand, his quill-like hair bristling in the night breeze. This one was dressed like a member of the Librarium staff, a mere student by the looks of her. But even student mages carried more valuables than most, if you could find the right fence. He hunkered down in the shadows, waiting for her to pass by and get just far enough ahead so that he could rush in, strike, and be gone with that staff and satchel. Probably fifty, no, a hundred gold worth in all, he reckoned.

He inhaled through needle-like teeth, preparing to dash out. She'd never see him coming.

The a large, calloused hand clasped over his mouth and slammed his head into the wall.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

"H-hello?" Enyana said, turning where she stood, looking all around her. She couldn't hear anything else, but she just knew someone was out there, watching.

Oh Gods! Or something!

She bolted towards home.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

The tiefling thug felt the world smash into his skull again. For a moment he thought he had forgotten how to see certain colors before he became capable of feeling pain again, and then that was all he felt.

That and the hot breath of a tattooed madwoman in his face. He tried to scream for help, reasoning the watch was better than facing this, but her hand muffled him completely, the elbow of her other arm firmly in his throat and her knee driving into his abdomen, crushing the breath out of him. He was feeling faint now. The red-haired woman kept her feral eyes locked on his as her head tilted, listening to distant footfalls fade away.
Now the only person that could have possibly helped him had run off.

The Kellid woman brought her face right up to his. Gods, he thought he could smell blood on her breath. "Listen, demonspawn. I'm going to let you answer a question with that last bit of breath. If you even try to scream, I'll tear your throat out." His eyes widened even further. The way she bared her teeth when she said it left no doubt to either if or how she would carry out that threat. "Why were you following her?"

Her hand let up, just for a moment. He wisely gasped only the answer. "I wasn't! She was just passing by....I was just...." he wheezed. "Just going to take her bag!"

She punched him in the gut again, driving what air he had managed to grab back out before replacing her hand. She gave a pointed look at the truncheon he had dropped, then back to him. Her scarred lips parted in a snarl as she pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back into it, finally lifting him to hurl him onto the alley floor. She didn't let up for a moment, stomping and kicking. She never gave the man time to draw enough breath to scream out. She kept going ontil she felt something break, and then she kept going. Her world was turning red, a screaming haze washing over her mind and setting every thought on fire.

She had a foot on the man's head, just short of cracking his skull, when she managed to rein herself in. She stepped away, forcing herself to take a breath as she stalked around the tiefling, now a curled up, sobbing wreck of blood and tears. Just a common thug...nothing more, she realized. She had to stop and lean against an alley wall, holding her head in both hands, trying to force the ringing to stop.

The thug stayed where he was, too terrified to try and make a break for it. He wasn't even sure he could run with what she did to his leg. And then he saw the axe on the woman's back, and knew that he was surely dead.

Eventually she shook herself away from the wall and pulled the man up, pressing him back against the wall. He whimpered as broken bones ground against each other. Blood seeped from where many of his quills had snapped off during the beating.

Her voice was a low growl, right in his ear. "You listen, pitborn. You leave Kenabres, tonight. You drag yourself away from here as fast as you can, because if I ever see you again I will leave you scattered in pieces all over this city, and your head will be sitting right in the middle of Market Square. Do you understand?" He could only see one of her eyes from where she was holding him pinned, and it was twitching and wild right next to his own.

He nodded weakly. Chellaigh decided the man wasn't suicidal, so she let him go. He backed away from her, still shaking, keeping against the wall until he was at the end of the alleyway before dragging himself out in a hunched limp. She knew he wouldn't be coming back.

Chellaigh followed to the edge of the alleyway, keeping to the same shadow the tiefling had used earlier, watching him disappear down the moonlit street.

She looked the other way. There was no sign of the girl now. Must be safe at home by now.

She slinked back down the alleyway with a nimble step that belied her large physique. It wasn't until she had made it back into the deepest shadows, completely shielded from sight, that she allowed herself to collapse. She spasmed and curled upon the stone much like her victim had earlier, clutching her brow and trying not to cry out as a storm raged in her head full of stolen fury.


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Travern had to wonder where the tiefling twins had come from, given the way they gawked at the sights and sounds of Kenabres. Well, Naella perhaps a bit less so, but even she stared wide-eyed at myriad peoples that made up Kenabres. The war against the Worldwound drew people from all across Golarion, not just the local faces and races the tieflings knew. From Tien to Garund, the full spectrum of humanity was represented, as well as races beyond that scope.

"Goddess..." Liath whispered. "There are even hobgoblins serving here?"

"Yeah, a few. Sent up from Molthrune some time back. They serve in one of the crusader companies...Flaming Lance I think."

Liath was still staring in wonder when they rounded the corner. He rushed to catch up with the others, his hooves clicking lightly on the cobblestones. Travern was still getting used to that constant sound, and hoped the two didn't notice that they themselves were drawing plenty of stares, most of them not bearing the same innocent curiosity.

And then there were the smells. The markets they passed through were still open and the scent of cooking from all over the world, from Garund to Tien Xia, was represented on the wind today. Travern's stomach growled, remembering that he hadn't eaten anything at all today. The hungry looks coming over Naella and Liath's eyes showed that he wasn't alone.

"Ah, here we are!" Travern pointed at the large, squat stone building before them.

Naella was uncertain of that. "It...looks more like barracks than an inn..."

Travern grinned that crooked smile. "Wait until you're inside before you judge too harshly."

While the open streets of Kenabres were crowded, it seemed even moreso within the confines of Defender's Heart, even with it's large main hall. Naella and Liath glanced about at the mercenaries, soldiers, and adventurers gathered around them, wondering for a moment if this was truly such a wise idea. Travern turned in mid-step, intentionally drawing their attention towards him when he saw some of the patrons turning dark looks the twins' way. "Now! If you'll allow me, I'll see about getting that room. One will do, yes?"

Both nodded. "Of course," Naella said. "'Twould not be right to take more than one with so many."

"Right." Travern caught the attention of a halfling serving girl, sharing a few whispered words before disappearing towards the back of the great hall. The halfling looked up at the two of them then back at the disappeared aasimar before reluctantly ushering them to a table against the wall. "This way please. What can I get you to drink, m'lady?"

As they took their seats next to each other, Naella noted the old scar ringing the halfling's exposed ankle. Yes, Kenabres drew all sorts of people. "Just water, please." she answered gently. Liath nodded likewise. "The same, please."

The halfling paused a moment too long before being on her way, not sure what to make of their manner and dress combined with their heritage. The twins kept their eyes mostly on their table. Liath ventured, "'Tis not as bad as we worried it to be." Naella had to agree. They had feared the worst, but that had yet to show itself. The harassment outside was nothing compared to the stories of the Burners. Certainly nothing compared to the legacy of the witch hunters their father brought down upon them.

"Still we must take care. We've been blessed to meet this Travern, but we cannot assume too many more will be so open-minded."

Liath's head sank. "I know. It's just... I'm having a good feeling about this now." He brushed the hair out of his face, smiling faintly. "I think things are going to be different for us here."

Naella wanted to believe that, but the stares and edging away of many of the other patrons had her more than a bit doubtful. She nodded noncommittally for his sake. She wished she could share her brother's optimism, but leaving oneself so open left one vulnerable. ANd she had seen the effect that had on him.

Eventually, most of the crowd eased back into their earlier festivities. The combination of unfamiliar accents and high spirits drove Liath to steal glances past his sister. Over there, a wild-haired Tien warrior wearing a mishmash of Chelish plate and tiled armor of foreign design listening intently to two hairless barbarians from Varisia over a shared platter of roast. And there, a Garundi priestess of an unfamiliar god pointing out something in an old tome to a what looked to be the Ulfen vision of a valkyrie and a man dressed similarly to the local watch. And there, a laughing gnome with a lute standing atop a chair and encouraging his scantily dressed Keleshite companion to step atop the table, with him beginning to play and her...

He quickly turned his eyes back to the water that had appeared in the interim and kept them there, his face reddened.

Travern finally returned, all smiles at the twins and a lingering eye on the dancing duo in the corner, now drawing a raucous cheer from that side of the room. He quickly turned his eyes back when he noticed Naella's eyes were on him. "Good news!" he clapped his hands as he took a seat opposite the tieflings. "I've talked things over with the owner and have made all the proper arrangements. You have a room for the week!" He opted not to tell them how much negotiating it took to stay the owners concerns. That had taken quite the promise of coin. And tonight he was feeling particularly generous with hsi father's money. "That frees you up to turn your attentions to those other matters you spoke of. Also!" He looked over his shoulder to wave over a serving girl bearing a bottle of wine and three goblets. The tieflings could only stare wide-eyed at the generosity and fortune that seemed to spill into their lap this day.

"Lord Kalleros," Naella said as Travern opened the bottle and thanked the servant with an easy smile. "We are truly grateful for your charity but surely this is too much."

"Oh, it's nothing. And please, it's just Travern." he poured a bit in each of their goblets.

Liath seemed uncomfortable. "But...'twould be inappropriate for us to be so familiar with the nobility so soon af-"

Travern waved his concerns off with a laugh. "Oh no, I'm not a noble! We're just rich." He wanted to stop that before it started. Bad enough they already seemed to elevate him because of his angel blood. "Never had much use for formality anyway."

Liath gave his sister a questioning look. Travern, sitting so casually and at such ease seemed so carefree. He felt guilty for doubting but he had difficulty imagining the man to be a paladin at times.
Travern was in mid-sip when he realized he was the only one drinking. "Sorry, I should have asked. Do you drink?" The two certainly seemed more restrained than most. He worried they'd be joining the Everbright Crusaders for certain, if that company would even accept them. And that lot did not tend to be overly enjoyable company by his estimation.

Naella considered the glass for a moment before answering, "In moderation." She delicately lifted the glass to her lips. Liath seemed more sheepish about it, only taking his glass up in that same graceful manner when his sister placed hers back upon the table.

Soon another servant brought a platter of roast pork and steamed carrots and beans to their table. Travern had taken the liberty to arrange for that as well. He smiled at the twin's reactions, that restraint struggling to mask their obvious hunger. Gods, the smell was getting to him too at this point in the day. "Thank you, sir! Good man!"

To the Samathrans, after months of lean living this was a veritable feast. A true godsend. Travern was just about to begin cutting when the twins simultaneously clasped their hands before them, bowing their heads in silent prayer. He felt caught, paused in mid-slice and feeling a bit guilty in their presence. Especially Naella's...

He quietly put the knife down and awkwardly brought his hands up as well just as the twins finished and simultaneously said "Thank you." to him. Their voices harmonized so well, Travern found it rather eerie.

They cut in, filling their plates and refilling their goblets. Hungry though the Samathrans may have been, they still took that delicate, restrained approach to their meal. Travern hardly considered himself a slob, but the two certainly made him feel unrefined at times. He had assumed they were both country mice, given their reaction to the city, but there was a certain grace in how they handled themselves. He had at first attributed what he saw to Liath simply having what some might call feminine mannerisms, but both of them had an air of refinement that seemed at odds with their seemingly common origins. Naella in particular seemed quite meticulous and mindful of her movements.

They certainly had him curious. "So, where are the two of you from, originally?" he asked before taking a bite.

"Brevoy." Naella said a bit quickly as she sliced her meat into small portions. "He hail from Rostland, originally." Her coif-framed face didn't change, but her voice seemed a bit guarded. She wasn't going to offer any more than that.

Liath gave little more. "I...we...travelled abroad for a time before returning home. Soon after, we came here."

Travern smiled faintly and let them leave it at that, though he did take an alarming note of their slightly pronounced canines when they opened their mouths. He assumed that if they were so taciturn about their homeland that they would be likewise about their reasons for coming to Kenabres. Everyone had their own. But he could learn that in due time. "So, what plans have you for the days ahead? I may be able to help you along."

Naella was just about to voice concerns of being a burden when Liath eagerly interrupted. "We've come to pledge ourselves to Kenabres!" Travern had seen that innocent smile on many a young would-be crusader by this point in his life, but he had rarely seen one so desperate.

"Well...you'll want to be off to Clydwell Cathedral for that. I can guide the two of you tomorrow if you wish."

Naella was raising a cautioning hand, Liath continued, "Thank you! We were also seeking to join one of the crusading companies. We've heard so many tales of the Everbright Crusaders!" Naella lowered her hand, looking defeated.

Oh damn it, Travern thought. "Well, on that you're going to want to take your time." He tried to find a way to put his real concerns gently. "I can vouch for the Everbright Crusaders character but not every company out there is the image of Iomedaean honor." His eyes darted about the room, hoping none of the Flaming Lance were about. "And there are other companies just as storied as the Everbrights that don't follow such a....restrictive path." Truth be told, with their focus on purity Travern had serious doubts they would ever accept the fiend-tainted pair.

Naella had a hand on her excitable brother's shoulder, staying his next question. "Thank you Travern, but we shall not be rushing into such a decision blindly." Liath sank bank into his seat, understanding her words to be more for him than the aasimar. Naella did have to concede to a need for a guide though. "We must admit though that we are not familiar with the current state of Kenabrews. We...could need someone to ensure we don't misstep." She cast a glance at the crowd. "We understand that our kind are not welcome here and that it could be dangerous for us..." Liath's cheer greatly diminished where she never gave hers a chance to grow.

Travern waved his hands, trying to allay their concerns even as he shared some of them. "Oh no, no more than many other cities at least. I know Kenabres has a bad reputation amongst many, but...things have gotten better." Naella rather imagined she saw some bit of shame on the man's face on behalf of his home. "The...Burners and their lot aren't in control any more." He regretting mentioning those fanatics when he saw the wince on both of their faces. Travern hastily continued, "In fact, they've been quite stigmatized. There's even a crusader company dedicated to preventing those sort of things from happening again."

Liath's eyes perked up at that, curiosity lighting them up again.

Naella countered, "But is not the Lord-Commander of Kenabres Hulrun Shappok?"

"Well...yes but he has grown much more moderate in recent years." Travern saw that this was hardly much comfort for her. He quickly added, "And he was never actually one of the Burners as you may know them. Please, I assure you, things are much better now. No "witch"-hunts. The bad old days are in the past."

Naella slowly let herself join her brother in believing him. He certainly seemed sincere, though she wondered how much of Kenabres' nature he truly saw, given his own.

Liath looked back and forth between them, and seeing that neither was immediately continuing, "We were also in need of equipment. 'Twould be unwise to pledge our service with no proper armor."

Travern immediately latched onto the more pleasant subject. "Yes, I can point you where to go with that as well. We have plenty of smiths working every day. I"m sure you can find someone able to forge or modify some armor for..." He caught himself. "You know."

Liath nodded, not seeming to mind their strange anatomy being pointed out. He had a point, so much armor was useless to them given the shape of their bodies unless it was made specifically for them. Naella continued. "We've also business at the Hall of Heroes. We're not quite sure where that is..."

Travern smiled softly. "Of course. I can show you whenever you're ready." He didn't pry. He was overdue for a visit himself. "On the matter of armor...I noticed you have a piece already." He gestured towards Liath with his fork.

Naella's goblet slowed upon her lips as Liath's eyes shifted. "I...we had armor. But we had greater needs." Liath said, his previous high spirits visibly sinking. "The backplate was the only part we couldn't part with." Travern noted the way he glanced at Naella as he said that. There was more there, he thought. Time enough to find out later. Liath continued, "We earned what coin we could helping the caravans during our journey. I believe we have enough to pay our own way there."

Naella spoke up, "'Tis another reason we're grateful for your kindness, Travern. Paying for room and board anywhere even close to this would be living far beyond our means at the moment." Travern smiled and nodded graciously. It was hard to read Naella. She seemed sincere in her gratitude, but he suspected she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps that's how tieflings tended to wind up thinking, considering their lot in life.

"Quite alright, I assure you. We're all serving the same cause here, right? So if there's anything I can do to help the two of you get where you need to go, you only have to say the word."

Naella changed the subject around. "If we might ask, how did you come to Kenabres?"

"Oh I was born and raised here. Child of the crusades, you could say." Travern leaned over what remained of his meal. plenty eager to give a bit of himself if that might encourage the two to return in kind. "My parents lived in Taldor originally. They pretty much had to move quickly. That's what happens when an upstanding and highly visible Taldan citizen marries a Keleshite. And a Sarenite at that. Kenabres need them and wouldn't judge them, so they came here. Along with quite a bit of fortune. That helped. Anyway, they both joined the crusade, did their part, earned their place in the ranks, and eventually I cam along. Mom used to boast that her great-great-grandmother had a harem of angels. Still think she was embellishing a bit."

Liath laughed half-heartedly, looking obviously uncomfortable with even thinking of the heavenly host in such a context. Naella merely raised one fine eyebrow. She could see some of what Travern claimed in his ancestry on his face now that she looked for it. The shared features were there, but there was something else too, likely the angelic part, that joined them into something that seemed altogether different.

"So I've had the luxury of being raised by veterans amongst veterans. Path was pretty much laid out for me, but it still felt right to go down it. Wouldn't have been born this way in this place if I wasn't meant to do this, after all." Travern caught himself slipping into melancholy and tried to correct his sails. He didn't want to go there tonight. To the tieflings, he sounded like someone completely accepting of the apparently blessed fate he had been bestowed.

Liath piped up, "You've lived here for so long, then surely you have seen the Armasse celebrations many times over." His boyish excitement had come back full swing now. Even Naella was smiling faintly.

"Oh, of course. It's quite the event every year. Mind, we're a bit more traditionalist about it here than in some places. The parties don't get quite as wild as those I"ve heard about in, say, Absalom or Cheliax. Though I can't say I'd disapprove if we..."

Naella quirked an eyebrow. Travern changed course. "...continued doing them like we do...now. But yes, we have all the old celebrations. The training, the tales..." Liath's eyes lit up at that last detail. His reaction had Naella finally smiling openly for the first time Travern had seen. He found himself rather fond of that unusual sight.

"Sister, we must attend those ceremonies!" said Liath.

Travern couldn't resist following that up. "They'll also have performances at Alodae Amphitheater, some leading up to Armasse, if you two would like to go." He found himself rather wanting to spend some more time with the tieflings. After all, if he was needed more in the city, then so be it. He'd ensure two new crusaders found their place. That it might scandalize his father was simply a bonus.

Liath looked to Naella, grinning and silently waiting for her to voice similar interest. She exhaled and conceded as she reached for her glass with her left hand. "If we've time between our duties, that sounds wonderful Tr-"

Her hand bumped into the goblet and tipped it over, spilling wind all over the table, splashing onto Travern's white sleeve. She hadn't been paying attention. Travern pulled his arm aside and stood up from the table, trying to contain the spill. Naella shut her eyes, silently cursing her carelessness.

"It's alright, it's alright." Travern said, as much to those sitting around them and staring as it was to Naella. He threw another cloth onto the spill. "Don't worry it'll come out. We know a mage..." He stopped when he saw Liath.

He thought Naella would be the one to be upset, but where Liath had just a moment ago been full of excitement and seeming cheer, he now seemed to be completely withdrawn, staring at the spill as if it had been blood. All that earlier joy was gone, replaced by guilt and shame. "I-I'm sorry..." he stammered, barely audible. Naella placed a hand over his, holding it tight. "It's alright." she said softly. It seemed to calm him a bit.

Travern tentatively returned to his seat, unsure of what to say. Thankfully Naella took the lead. "I must apologize. That was clumsy of me. I must be more tired than I thought." She held fast to Liath's hand. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him together at the moment.

"It's...quite alright, really. Perhaps you two should get some rest? They probably have your room prepared by now." offered Travern.

"'Twould probably be best." Naella answered gently. Liath nodded in meek silence. She continued, "Again, we cannot thank you enough for what you've done for us today."

"Think nothing of it, m'lady." he stood and bowed with a smile, offering his hand to help her up. She smiled faintly but did not take it, rising on her own and leading her brother after.

"Shall we see you tomorrow then, Travern." She did look tired, Travern thought, though she barely showed it.

"Certainly. I'll be here in the morning, if you'll have me."

She bowed her head, "Thank you once more. We'll find one of the servants to show us to our room. Good night, Travern, and be well. Come, Liath." Her voice was incredibly gentle with her brother, he thought. Completely bereft of that slight edge of steel that seemed to be present when speaking to others. She handled him like one might a small, wounded animal. Or a delicate, dying flower. Liath followed her quietly, softly adding his own thanks to Travern as they left. If they noticed the mumbled curses and ugly looks from some of the patrons they passed on their way out, they did not show it.

Travern could only stare after them as they went, completely dumbfounded by the change. He reached for the bottle, intending not to let it go to waste, before turning to leave. Just what is going on with those two?


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She heard them screaming as they were dragged away from her. She reached for them but the still held her back until they disappeared into the black.

The screams didn't stop until she heard the distant fall of a knife.

Chellaigh woke with a start, sitting up to be greeted by the unwelcome sight of the Worldwound in the distance. She hated living here, but she refused to live anywhere that would let her forget what was at stake for her people. As if she could ever forget.

Her sight went fuzzy and she brought a palm to her brow, gritting her teeth. The dreams could bring out the wolf. Her mind was on fire, every thought stung. She sat there, curled against the wall and clutching her head until the pain subsided. She held it a while longer, waiting until she trusted herself enough to stand.

The sky that wasn't over the Wound was growing darker. She needed to move.

She grabbed her axe and set out.


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Enyana was absolutely certain this was the second worst day of her life.

"I know you're frustrated, Enyana. But there is a proper procedure for moving forward with your studies and station here." Quendys Orlun said from behind his desk, Enyana seated before him in his study. Usually she loved this room, with it's tall bookcases climbing towards that distant ceiling painted with the stars and heavens, but now it mostly made her feel small.

"But Master Orlun, I am ready for advanced studies! You know I'm thorough and attentive! You know I'm not haphazard in my experiments!" She was sure he doubted her, even after all she had done to prove herself.

Quendys raised a hand both to quiet her and stay her worries. "Now Enyana, I know you're a good student. You haven't been passed up for advancement because of that."

Enyana immediately leapt to her next suspicion. "Social grace is not necessary for excellent service to the Librarium."

Quendys quirked an eyebrow at that admission. "I..." He rubbed the bridge of his hawkish nose. "That is not it either, Enyana. There are many considerations that go into these decisions. And not all of them are matters you can control."

"Then what is it?!" Enyana shouted, immediately covering her mouth, shocked and ashamed by how petulant she must have sounded.

Quendys sighed and considered her for a moment before standing and walking to one of the room's many bookshelves. "Politics." he mumbled, tracing a hand down a row of books until he found what he sought.

Enyana stared at him, wondering at what he meant. She couldn't help but feel that Quendys had been evasive with her during this conversation. Possibly for far longer than that.

The head librarian returned with an old leather-bound book. "Jandele and Moira would both be proud of you. You know that, right?"

Enyana nodded slightly. She truly hoped that was the case. Quendys did not speak very often about her parents. Sometimes she wondered if he mourned them more than she did, and wondered if that made her a terrible person. Sometimes she wondered if she truly believed they were dead.

"But they also wanted you to be safe. When the time comes to move forward-" He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "-and it will, I need to know that you can handle the risks involved with utmost certainty." He placed the book into her hands. She looked upon the cover, her eyes widening in wonder. Architecture of Creation, a treatise on planar structure and portals. This was advanced study!

"I'll need that back in two days time, and I trust any studies going beyond those officially sanctioned by the Librarium shall be kept away from the Librarium."

She was still staring at the book, her hands shaking with barely contained excitement as she emphatically nodded her understanding. "Y-yes, Master Orlun!"

"And I trust there won't be any gloating to other students."

"Of course!" she promised before realizing it. She jumped to her feet, grabbing the man she still considered her grandfather in a tight hug. "Thank you, Quendys! Thank you so much!"

Quendys cleared his throat, standing straight and still as a tree. "Miss Wek."

Enyana caught herself and let go, embarrassed by the utterly unprofessional and unbecoming display. "Sorry. Sir." She bowed, the book held tight to her chest. "Thank you, sir. I won't waste this opportunity." She was already backing up towards the doors.

"On your way then, and don't forget your duties before leaving the grounds." With that dismissal she quickly bowed again, "Yes sir!", and strode out of the door, her pace pushing the limits of what could charitably be called "walking". Her mind was racing with possibilities now. So many that the questions she went to Quendys with had been forgotten for the moment. He knows, she thought. He knows I'm ready and mastering what I have to learn from this will prove it to everyone else.

Her thoughts were floating on a sea of potential when she saw him passing the other way. She quickly hid her smile, not wanting to seem a simpleton, and tried to simply walk by and nod curtly to the handsome, otherworldly, silver-haired elf, Aravashnial. She believed she hid her excitement completely. She hoped she did. His silvery eyes passed over her briefly as he continued on, acknowledging her passing. She thought he nodded at her too. She continued onward until she heard Quendys' doors open before she stole a glance backwards to see the elven wizard step inside. She didn't know exactly what the man did at the Librarium, except that he worked with Quendys quite a bit.

She turned forward again to see two other students complaining amongst themselves as they shelved mundane books of little importance and impact compared to what she was carrying.

"He looks down on everyone. Stop taking it so personal." one said.

The other continued grousing as climbed the ladder to the high stacks. "I'm just saying I'd love to see that pompous ass taken down a notch or two. What's he do around here anyway? Strut around, looking pretty? What's so special about that. I could do that."

"I think he does field work for Blackwing. Dangerous stuff probably. I wouldn't let him hear you talking like that."

"Bah, he's got about as much personality as that E-"

They both fell silent as she passed, her chin held high and eyes slitted, not even acknowledging their existence. She rounded the corner and stopped when she was out of sight, listening intently until she heard a whispered, "Yeah, that about sums it up."

Enyana smiled. She knew jealousy when she saw it and it was thick about them. So, they found this Aravashnial to so disagreeable?

She continued on her way. He must be brilliant.


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The sign never came.

"Right then." Travern turned in place back to the city. "No use sulking." He put on a false smile, hoping his spirits would grow into it. No doubt his father was expecting him to return to the manor and have it out. Well he could wait. After all, Travern had Important Work to do in town. So the city needed a symbol. Well then he need to be visible and the taverns would be crowded tonight. He even considered heading right back to the Auroral Chambers to pick up where he left off.

He was busy mulling over how to cram his schedule for the night and tomorrow when they caught his eye.

Two tieflings, their nature obvious by their appearance, were being held off to the side of North Gate and questioned by the guards. One was in well kept commoner's clothing, carrying what looked to be a heavy pack, and the other seemed to be a nun. The last detail certainly piqued Travern's interest.

The one holding the pack was pleading with the guards. "Please, I assure you we are members of the clergy. We were both ordained by Mother Sibella at Sanctrova Cathedral." The nun placed a hand on his shoulder, quieting him instantly as she stepped before him. "We will submit to your search. We've nothing to hide." Her voice was crisp and certain where the other's was all emotion, but both seemed equally sincere.

Travern marvelled at how similar the two appeared. Obviously siblings. The shape of both brought to mind succubi and incubi, which seemed quite at odds with how they presented themselves. Both were slender framed, though not unusually so as in his own case. Their skin was a pale, light gray. Their legs bent like those of their probable demon forebears, ending in hooves. Thin hairless tails wormed their way of their clothing. Smooth, curving horns jutted from their foreheads. And both, no, just the nun, had two-foot long bat-like wings sprouting from her back, the sword of Iomedae tattooed on the membrane repeatedly, between each "finger". They were too small to be useful, though she seemed to have a great deal of control over them, currently letting them hang limp, the claws holding her shoulders. Travern had to admit both had a certain androgynous beauty to them. The man, Travern was only sure he was a man after drawing close, seemed hardly much more masculine in appearance.

The nun, he assumed she was a nun, was dressed in white vestments with red trim, a white round-cut coif covering her head and shoulders, leaving only her face and horns exposed. Her skirt was cut on both sides, as was normal to allow for greater ease of movement, but it was probably even more needed with her unusual legs. If the vestments didn't mark her as Iomedaean, the empty scabbard on her belt certainly did.

The man seemed more unassuming in dress. He wore commoner's clothing, though of fine make and condition. His pants only went down to...the second knee? the ankle? Travern couldn't quite recall. His pale tan tunic covered narrow shoulders, and the back poked out just a bit, as if something were crammed underneath. Long black hair fell from his head behind him and before his shoulders, topped by a peasant's long cap.

The scraggly-bearded guard captain motioned for two of his men to step forward, each presenting a set of manacles. "Right then, against the wall." he barked, holding two confiscated longswords in his hand. Oh gods, Travern thought as he picked up his pace, it's Kale. He knew the man to be thorough, but kind he was not; he had a bit of a bully in him. And he did not like tieflings.

The male tiefling looked nervous, but complied, while the woman seemed far more reserved and hesitant. "Very well..." she conceded, turning and crossing her hands behind her like the other.

Travern finally closed the distance. "Oi! Hey, Kale!" He put on the social mask with more ease than he liked as the guard turned, a sour expression on his face. "Sorry! Sergeant Kale. What seems to be the problem?"

"Two demonspawn entering the city, that's what." he said, gesturing at the two being manacled. Travern winced at the term. "We're taking them to be searched and questioned. Standard procedure."

Travern's face made a show of his doubt. "I don't think it's standard procedure to parade visitors through the street as if they were common criminals without just cause though. Certainly not a blessed nun sworn to Iomedae. Now I could be mistaken of course..."

"You don't know she's a priestess. They could be anything. Cultists." Kale lectured.

"Walking through the front door? Showing their condition clearly for what it is? Hardly seems subtle."

Travern had caught the tieflings' attention by now, both of them still turned against the wall but looking over their shoulders at him with gray eyes. That was where the difference between them truly showed for Travern. The man's eyes were pools, open windows to whatever he was feeling, mixed hope and worry at the moment. The woman's though...they were like steel, shielding what she was thinking and piercing those she turned them upon. Much harder to read, that one.

"Doesn't matter, they're tiefs. They need to be checked."

"Oh for the Inheritor's sake..." Travern paced over to the tieflings. He place his hands on his hips and looked each one over, up and down, making an obvious show of it for Kale's sake. "Well I don't see any wickedness. You're not servants of the Abyss, are you?"

The man shook his head, emphatically answer "N-no!' as if he was afraid to even be near such an assertion. The woman merely narrowed her eyes at him. That was answer enough.

Travern turned back to Sergeant Kale. "Seems legit! No need to embarrass them."

Kale scowled. He didn't appreciate the Kalleros brat sticking his nose where it wasn't wanted, but he knew what one of Kenabre's favorite sons could do to his career if pushed. "Fine, be it on your head. But they still need to be searched."

"Within tactful boundaries, I hope?" It was more a reminder than a request. Kale merely grunted and shouted at the others to finish.

The guards merely frisked the two, and even that seemed to make the man uncomfortable. The woman seemed to focus on the wall until it was done. When they found nothing, they turned their attention to the packs. They dumped out their belongings without too much care, drawing worried looks from the man once more. "Please be careful with that!" The guard he shouted at was holding up a strange backplate of steel armor, adorned with ornamental stylized angel wings, turning it over in his hands and examining it curiously. The woman quietly hushed him.

"Nothing!" one of the guards eventually called out. The tieflings visibly let out a sigh of relief. Travern suspected he saw disappointment on Kale's face. "They're good to go in now, I think?" the aasimar said, smiling that insufferable smile.

Kale grumbled. "Get your things and get inside." Travern coughed. "Don't forget their swords." Kale gave him an withering glare before handing the two blades over to another guard. "Return them and have them be on their way." he ordered before stalking off muttering, "Godsdamned pitspawn."

The aasimar nodded politely to the other guards as they replace the tieflings' belongings and went back to their duties, thanking them for their work as he approached the two tieflings, both of them looking between themselves and at him, curious about the stranger willing to do them that kindness. "My apologies on behalf of Kenabres to the both of you." he began, starting into an exaggerated bow when the tiefling man quickly came close and took his hand, shaking it profusely. "Th-thank you, sir! Thank you so much for your help!" Travern was a bit surprised. The man was more...excitable than he'd initially assumed. "Iomedae bless you! We are in your debt!" Ah, Travern realized when he saw the awed look in the boy's eyes. The aasimar thing.

Travern clapped him on the shoulder. "It's alright, honestly. Just passing through." he assured him, managing to free his other hand as the boy hurried over to the packs. Travern turned to the nun. She was more restrained, but still he could see those high expectations and assumptions in her still eyes.

She clasped her hands over her holy symbol and bowed slightly. "As my brother said, we thank you for aid. But wouldn't it have been wiser to have us questioned?"

Travern shrugged. "Eh, maybe. But it doesn't seem necessary in your case." He pointed at the symbols of Iomedae both wore, neatly evading his real concerns.

"That's very trusting of you." she replied, her expression guarded. Travern couldn't tell if that was a compliment or a criticism.

The man was his knees behind them, fretting over a battered copy of the 11 Acts and worriedly extracting every bit of grass for fear of staining.

Travern gave up trying to read the woman's face before continuing that line of discussion, opting to introduce himself instead. "Sorry, Travern Kalleros. Anointed blade of Iomedae at your service." This time he got to finish that playful bow.

The priestess bowed her head again in return. Her cool tone only grew ever so slightly warmer. "Well met. I am Naella Samathran, priest of Iomedae, at yours. And this is my brother."

The man rejoined them, both packs in his arms, bowing his head as well. "Liath Samathran, sir. Anointed blade of Iomedae. Again, you have our gratitude." Liath was eying the aasimar with even more awe now, knowing that he a paladin as well as angel-kin.

Travern tried to turn aside the admiration. "Ah, well then Sergeant Kale should have simply had you look yourselves over then. I'll have to file a complaint." Travern's forced cheer died down when neither seemed to find the humor. Liath actually answered with complete sincerity, "I'm afraid I wouldn't have been ab-"

Naella coughed, cutting her brother off as she slung her pack back on. "I must apologize, but we must really be on our way. We've need of room and board before the night and hope to attend Sunday services."

Liath nodded, quickly fastening his own pack. "'Tis true. We mustn't be late."

"A bit late for that I'm afraid...it's well past noon and the Temple isn't holding regular evening services so that preparations for Armasse can begin," Travern said. Naella looked mildly disappointed, but Liath looked downright crestfallen. "Oh..." Liath softly mumbled.

"Uh...they will have smaller services throughout the week though. Iomedae won't begrudge you one missed Sunday." Travern reassured him.

"Were you able to attend this Sunday's service, Travern?" Naella asked in utter innocence. "What are they like here in Kenabres?"

Travern's eyes widened a moment, feeling uncharacteristically guilty being asked the question by someone he still had to assume was a nun. "Uh...noooo. Unfortunately I was tied up elsewhere."

"Ah," went Naella, in a manner Travern found frustratingly hard to read.

"But look, you still need room and board and it's getting well into the afternoon. I'd love to help you there, if you would allow me." Travern's spirits had grown into that smile now. These two were very curious indeed, and getting to know them could easily eat up the evening. "In fact, I daresay I can get you a room at the best inn in town."

Liath's eyes lit up. "Thank you! This is very kind of you sir!" Naella put a hand on his shoulder, stilling his cheer, "We can make do with more humble arrangements. 'Twould be unwise of us to spend beyond our means." Liath's face fell once more, embarrassed for letting their meager funds slip his mind.

Travern pushed on. "No worries. I guarantee you won't have to spend a single coin this night. Just follow me!"

Naella started to protest "But..." Liath took her hand to lead her after the man. "Come Naella, he's an aasimar! We mustn't look askance at a gift from one such as he!"

Naella frowned, but conceded, following the two through the gates of Kenabres, waved through by the guards who had searched them earlier. She gave them a cool glance, he offered a warm and easily forgiving nod and smile, even as none returned the gesture.

Travern smiled to himself and listened closely as he stepped out from under the stone wall and into the sunlight. Just as he thought, the two gasped when they finally saw Kenabres.


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Deidre finished ushering the small caravan out of Kenabre's South Gate after carefully double-checking their carts one last time. Security was more important than speed, and she knew the senior guard managing her was watching carefully. All sorts came and went from the city for any number of reasons, be it hope, desperation, ambition, opportunism, or simply daily business upon which the city survived. Ensuring that those with ill intent didn't make it through the walls was critical. No one wanted another Red Morning Massacre on their hands.

"Deidre! Over here!" the old guard called. Bandren was weathered and beaten but still going strong. He had been showing her the ropes the past week after her assignment to this position, and while not everything he said seemed immediately useful, he certainly knew the job. He was looking down the busy road, his eyes on one rider approaching, just off the road. "You need to follow my lead on this one."

Deidre gave Bandren a puzzled look as she squinted at the figure. "Is it trouble?"

Bandren snorted. "You can never be sure with that one. Just don't stare. Or antagonize her."

"Uh, sir?" she started, completely lost now. Bandren waved for her to be silent as the rider drew near. Diedre could see why she was told not to stare.

Atop the large bay, white-legged horse rode what Deidre thought to be a beast of a woman. Muscular and scarred, wearing rugged leathers and furs, and tanned from the sun, she did not look like the sort for cities. One look at her eyes, scarred face, and enormous battleaxe suggested she wasn't even the sort for civilization. The spiraling blue markings all over the exposed skin of her arms and the wild, fiery red hair suggested Sarkori descent. She certainly matched the image of the wild warriors of Old Sarkoris at least. Most unusual was that the entire right side of her head was shaved clean, the scalp tattooed with the stylized profile of a snarling wolf. Deidre could almost swear she saw a scar hidden within the wolf design...

Bandren elbowed her. She was staring. The Kellid woman dismounted, leading it up to Bandren. She looked older than Deidre initially thought, seeing her closer to the senior guard now. Deidre boggled at how huge the woman truly was now that she was on her feet.

"Chellaigh", Bandren said. "Good hunting then?" The usual warmth was missing from Bandren's tone. It seemed less friendly small talk and more like feeling out a trap, seeing if it was ready to go off.

"Been better," the Kellid answered just as coolly. "Going in."

"Right." Bandren leaned over and made a show of seeing the load slung over the horse's back. It took at least two deer to account for that much venison. He hoped she had gone far afield to find it, but even if she had...

"Priests will have to check it. You know the rules." he said as neutrally as possible.

Chellaigh snorted and led her horse to the side within the gate after Bandren. Deidre noticed the man letting a sigh of relief slip out when Chellaigh followed without protest. She wondered just why this one woman had them walking on eggshells when she turned back to her duties. Her eye's met Chellaigh's as she turned, freezing her in place. The Kellid's dark brown eyes were feral, primal wells of anger even as the rest of her face remained expressionless. Deidre quickly turned away, sighing herself when the woman finally passed.

Chellaigh did not exchange pleasantries with the Iomedaean cleric serving at the gate, regardless of his warm welcome. Nor did she hide her scorn for him as he examined the meat she brought in, saying his little prayers to his foreign god that brought so much trouble to their land. The priest was Kellid himself. That did not help his case in her eyes. Another kinsman who abandoned the old ways. The priest gestured that all was fine. She took it and left without a word or a look back.

She continued on her way through the streets of Gate District, past the market stalls and peddlers raking in coin for good, clean food. Onward through New Kenabres, keeping to the back streets and away from the gawking crowds of descendants of foreign crusaders and those who forgot what it meant to be Sarkori. Then upwards to Ring Disctrict, keeping to the edges as she rounded the interior walls. And finally "home".

The Waller Slums, a narrow line of shacks and poorly built houses squeezed between the great wall of Old Kenabres and the drop to the cliffs bordering the West Sellen River, with the Wounded Lands ever present beyond those waters. This was where the poorest and most desperate lived, in the remnants of the first Sarkori refugee camp of Kenabre's earliest days, trapped in the shadow of the Temple of Iomedae towering above them in Old Kenabres. Chellaigh found it to be an apt picture of her people, trapped between the crusaders and the demons.

Some Wallers came out with her arrival, some following her quietly as she took her kills to a longtable in the middle of the slums. She unloaded the venison and hides onto the table, took a cut for herself, and left the rest without a word. She let the others sort out how they wanted to split it if they did at all. She told herself she didn't care.

She continued onwards until she reached her shack, built against the Old Kenabres wall. It barely qualified as even a shack. But it was empty when she found it, so she took it. She kept nothing inside it that she didn't carry on herself, so she didn't have to worry about security. Even if she did, her reputation might have been enough to deter theft.

She hung up her bow and propped her axe against the wall, finally allowing herself to drop and rest, working the ache out of her shoulders. As she sat against the Old Kenabres wall, looking outside her door across the Sellen, staring into the Worldwound, she allowed her mind to wander to things that once were and things that could have been.

Her fingers wandered to the three smooth stones she wore about her neck.

She angrily stopped herself and turned over to get some sleep. She had to be up and alert that evening.

She closed her eyes to the sight of red lightning striking upwards at the sky within the corpse of her homeland.

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