The Cell (Failure to Report subplot)

[Allana]

Bright light cut a swathe through the darkened room, emanating from the thin slit that passed for a window in the stone wall of the room. It lighted on the dust motes that floated in the air making them seem almost to sparkle. This was perhaps the only aspect of the room that carried any lightness to it at all. This room was not just any room, it was a cell. Like most any other cell it was built for one purpose, to hold a prisoner. A single barred heavy iron door tinged with the rust of ages fit into the wall opposite the window, which too was set with a sturdy set of iron bars. A small sliding door at the bottom of the door allowed food and water, what meager portions she was allowed, to be slid in, and the empty trays to be collected. The fare was delivered daily, if she behaved, a gruel sometimes or broth so watered down it was virtually flavorless, with the occasional bit of stale bread. Nothing satisfying or filling.

The occupant of the room kept herself in a huddled heap in the corner of the cell. Her brown hair was matted with her own dried blood and persistently clung to her face. Her form was filthy and clothed only in the shadows of the room. The chilly stone masonry yielded no comfort for her naked form, only more bruises which now appeared beneath the layer of dirt as splashes of blue and yellow. It was unlikely that any who had known her before would recognize her in her current disheveled state.

Before, It seemed like another lifetime to her now. The bargain had been struck too easily, she had never been a good haggler, her stubborn streak hardened their jaws and their hearts to her. Looking back now with the crystal clarity of hindsight she could see her first clue that something was amiss, when that captain, the bastard, agreed to her first offer. It was barely over half of what they said he would ask. But she thought herself fortunate, an airship would expedite her ship greatly, and could cover most any terrain. This was preferable given that she expected to be combing miles of terrain looking for a specific ruin. A seaborne vessel would limit her to coastlines, and a wagon team would limit her to the inland trade routes, and she very much doubted that what she sought would be along any trade road.

This was all to find that paladin. He had vanished, almost as if he never existed, except she knew he had. That derelict of a man, Dachande, had actually managed to uncover the church's criminal records of the man called Eriendis Manx. That was something of an oddity, for a paladin to have such a thing! And then there was Theren, who had nearly gotten himself killed recovering that cryptic prophecy. What could it mean? Somehow all this would fit together, she just needed a couple more pieces and she would have a picture. Or, that was what she had thought.

The boarding of the ship had gone without incident. A dozen men in total accompanied her, selected from the Hand of Shilen's guard. They were all reliable, if not the most honorable of men. Each had performed his duties well. They had their vices, and she knew them. She knew which were motivated by coin, which of them would drink away their pay, and which of them was wanted for what. This made them hers, not quite loyalty, but it sufficed. The dwarf who called himself Ale had protested her going on this trip with just them, but she had need of him to stay behind and manage her affairs, she did not know how long this would take.

The wyvern was a fast ship, but it was not fast enough to suit her. The feel of the trip was exhilarating in a way. The air rushing across the deck, the whistle of the wind through the railing, her hair whipping around wildly in its currents, yes, exhilarating. She was fascinated watching the crew move about the ship, securing lines, calling out course corrections. It was a well oiled machine.

After two days of travel they arrived near their destination. It had been only listed on the most detailed of older maps, this little town that had simply vanished from the map years ago. New maps simply overlooked it, and even many of the older maps did not bother to list every little settlement. Her own inn back in talking island had been the same way. She very much doubted any map ever detailed that little settlement.

It took another three days of combing forest, hills, coasts, and mountains before they came across it. The first crewman to spot it reported it with a sharp cry that had brought her out of her cabin. It had not been anything exciting to look upon really. A few hovels overgrown with weeds, a burnt out husk of a church, a crumbling well. It looked like any other little town that dotted the landscapes of Aden. There was a difference though, this one was devoid of any life. The place was simply empty, not a creature stirred. This should have been her second clue, she thought.

The rope ladder was let down and one by one her men descended it, into what remained of the town square. They did not know why they were here, or exactly what she sought, but they knew they duties well. A half-dozen of them climbed down ahead of her, the rest would await her on the ship and protect it. Those scurrying down the ladder did not handle the ropes so easily as the sailors, but they managed to keep from landing in a heap at the bottom. Eager to be about her business here, she followed down behind them.

Her feet hit the earth as she dropped the last couple feet from the ladder to the weed infested cobblestones of the square. Still there was silence, no creatures, no birds, just the gruff dutiful chatter of her soldiers as they fanned out around her, surveying the scene. Empty homes stared back at them, their windows dark portals in shadows. She did not mind the shadows though, shadows meant max was always close. Ahead of her the ruins of a small church stood, charred timbers standing black in stark contrast to the brilliant white of the steps leading up to them.

Her feet carried her to the foot of the ruin. The door was still barred on this side, heavy timbers sealing it shut, just as the report had indicated. She did not have a lot of time to survey the scene though, for just as she was about it, a gurgling sound came from her right. One of the soldiers, an older man with a graying beard keeled over. To her left something thudded into the shield of another with a heavy wood splitting crunch. And then there were arrows, everywhere. They rained down upon them.

She spun to see that all the vacant windows, all the empty doorways were now full of white clad men with bows. She cried for them to retreat, back up the ladder, but it was useless, and she knew it from the moment it left her throat. There was a second airship in the sky now, lifting off at full speed from the woods just out of sight. It was not a fast ship like the wyvern. It was white, with a huge battering ram fixed to its bow, and barreling full speed at the wyvern.

The small ship began to accelerate, one of the hand who was trying to scramble back up the ladder toppled from it as those aboard realized the other ship was intending and tried to escape. It was quite obvious, the white ram was speeding up, and was aiming its bow straight for the other. The smaller had no chance. The impact sent a resounding shudder through the entire town as the ram-head splintered its way through the hull of the smaller, lighter ship. Crystals exploded, wood splintered and ropes snapped. Showers of fragments and magical fire from the power crystals sprayed down across the rooftops. The two ships hung there for a moment and then a second splitting sound was heard, as the smaller ship's mast toppled down, further shattering the broken ship. The wyvern then toppled from the sky its crystals trying in vain to keep it aloft. It slammed into the earth, shattering more of the energy crystals along its hull and was engulfed in bluish green flames only moments later.

Meanwhile in the square the white clad men were streaming out of the houses, some trading their bows for swords and daggers. Perhaps twenty in all. Sword drawn she charged them with what remained of her men. The white clad bodies fell away like dummies in the training ground. Her sword was slick with their blood, slashing. Around her the rest of the hand fought, like cornered wolves. One by one they fell, their skill was not small, but against such numbers it was inevitable. Finally it was just her. Battered and wounded she fended off their attacks. Then suddenly they were retreating. Ten still stood, but there was a new man approaching now, in white robes. Snarling she threw herself at them, she knew those robes, she had once fallen for their lies.

The man simply held up a hand and she felt the spell take hold of her, locking her in place helplessly. He spoke, his voice even and calm in severe contrast to the emotions in his prisoner before him. "Miss Kolarae, you are charged with heresy against the Church of Einhasad, conspiracy against the faith, and murder of Sir Eriendis Manx, Paladin in service to the Church and the Lady Einhasad, may we bask in her eternal order." Incapacitated she watched, as they stripped her of her belongings, beat her and then hauled her aboard the ship with the white ram. Moments later something bitter and horrible was forced into her mouth, and then she was cast into the brig of the ship. Her eyes fought to stay open, but they felt like great weights of lead and she slipped away in a dreamless sleep. She was only dimly aware when the door opened later and another form was thrown atop her. Still her mind foggy she had wondered what the captain of the wyvern was doing here, laying atop her, and then she had drifted back into sleep.

Her next memories were waking here. In this god forsaken little room, alone. No, that wasn't quite true there had been one other bleary memory. It had seemed half a dream, or more accurately a nightmare. Still groggy from whatever they concoction had forced down her throat, she had woken to voices. One of them was familiar, the captain's she thought, but it was a distant thought, someone else's perhaps, not hers. She was a bystander, in her own body, still half under the drug's power. Everything was surreal.

"My ship... that wasn't part of our deal." the captains voice rang out, thick with aggrivation. "You said all my debts would be cleared for this. And what is the meaning of locking me in here? With this traitor!" Allana wondered briefly who the traitor was that the man spoke of, but it was hard to concentrate on anything in particular just now, her eyes felt so heavy.

The second voice was much calmer, and calculated, it was the same voice that she had heard earlier. "And your debts are cleared, of your smuggling, those charges shall be stripped of your records. However, you have simply seen too much to allow you to live, and your involvement here has tied my hands. Too much has already been dug up by this woman to allow any more information to be leaked."

The captain's voice grew even more frantic, pleading. "To live? But you said. Our agreement." He stammered the calm man's words slowly taking hold. "I have money, I can pay, please. I won't tell anyone. I swear it. No. Don't kill me. I will work for you, I can... I can..." Allana shifted, something in the back of her mind tugging at her, telling her she should do, something, anything. She shifted and the whole world lurched, her stomach spun feeling about to empty itself, and she slumped back down ineffectively with a weak sigh.

"I have no interest in your money, Mister Tafford, nor your services. You are a smuggler without a ship, without a crew, who knows too much." There was a pause. "And your use has reached its end." Again the voice paused, but now it spoke with an authoritative tone that seemed undirected to the now sobbing captain. "Execute him."

"Yes, sir!" A new voice echoed. One of the guards perhaps? Were there guards, everything was so muddled. Where was she, again? Boots drummed as someone strolled out of the brig and out of sight. Queasily, she forced her eyelids opened. Even this low light in the brig was enough to make her wince as the world wavered and swam before her. Ahead of her on the other side of the bars the vague shape of a man standing over another blurry mass appeared. Some part of her knew it was the jailer standing over the kneeling captain.

Her eyelids fell shut again. There was a thud, and the sobbing suddenly ceased. And yes, that was definitely her last groggy, fractured, terrifying memory before winding up in this dark little cell.

Since her arrival here, they had stopped dosing her. She had no concept of how much time had passed between her capture and the beginning of her time in this little room. Hours? Days? Weeks? Oh how she hoped it hadn't been weeks. It had been days since she had arrived here, weeks even. Each day that ticked by she became less certain that her comrades even knew to search for her. Even Ale did not know where she had been going. Dachande might have an idea, but he had no love for her, not after that trial.

In the solitude of the days that followed her arrival, she had tried all the conventional methods of escape. She had dug at every bit of loose mortar she could find, tugged at every one of the rusty iron bars, but found them to despite their appearances, be as immovable as well... iron bars. It had all been futile, but she had known it would be, it was something to do though. Something to do besides sitting here waiting for them to kill her.

During her futile attempt to dig out the mortar around the stonework she had loosened a small stone from the floor. Just as the window had appeared, she was easily locked behind three feet of stonework on all sides. The stone was not sharp, but in her boredom and solitude she began to use it to practice her letters, as Olorae had taught her with bits of charcoal. Thinking back she began to write random passages from the book they had practiced reading and writing from, and the books that she had convinced Ale to help her read, and then the darker tomes that she had learned from with Orim. With slow precision she etched the words into the wall. The stone had to go over the same spot several times before the lines were bold enough to see even close up.

It had been six days since she had woken in the small cell, now one wall was full of quotations scratched into the stone blocks. There was a jingle far off, of metal rattling, keys maybe. Then the gut wrenching squeal of a heavy door that had never seen a drop of oil in its existence, followed by footsteps. It was not meal time. She had marked on the wall where the edge of the sunlight fell when meal time came around, and it was still hours off. Carefully she fit her stone back into its niche and crawled back into her dark corner.

The footsteps continued down the hall, their echoes repeating and masking the number of those on the other side of the wall. She knew though that at least one of them was the white robed man. Would this be the day she died? Would she simply disappear like that paladin? Except she would be dead, not like him. Or was he dead, too? The robed man's words loomed back in her memory. "...murder of Eriendis Manx..." but that was impossible, she hadn't even found the man, much less killed him.

The turning of the key in the lock almost made her jump. Hushed voices reverberated, outside her cell, muffled by the echoes and the thick stone and overridden by the loud jingle of what must be a thousand keys on a keyring. But that mechanical click of the lock, a quieter sound, seemed a trumpet to her of the most ominous sort.

Three figures stepped into view. As she expected the man in the white robes was there. His narrow face, and high cheekbones gave him an almost elven look, but his ears were as rounded as hers where they peaked out from his golden locks. He was younger than she had guessed, not much older than her. The church's toadies were always brought in young though, impressionable youths could be bent to their will, who lacked the experience to see through the propaganda and deception. The man raised his brows glancing about the room. "You have been busy." It was the first time she had heard emotion in his voice, he was amused. His eyes were coursing around the room, she could see he was reading the scribbled bits from those "heretical" texts.

His eyes picked out one passage and his amusement faded with a disapproving frown. "Shilen awaits in the abyss for you, does she? And I suppose Kain is the father of the human race." he mused dryly his eyes leaving the wall of scribbles and taking her in. "A shame you have fallen to these lies. The instructors at Cedric's had nothing but praise, they were certain you had made your way as a knight of the faith by now."

A piece of parchment, she had not noticed he was carrying fluttered down onto the floor of the cell. The prisoner eyed it warily. "What is that?" she ask her voice much hoarser and weak than she would have imagined. How long had it been since she'd spoken to anyone?

The man smiled and beckoned for the other two men to return to the hallway. "Out with you, I need no protection from this one." As the two gave echoed their "Yes, Sir!" in unison and retreated from the room he dismissed them with an offhand gesture, his cool blue eyes focusing on the prisoner again. "It is your confession of course. Sign that and it will all be over. You can put an end to this." He smiled, but there was no pleasantness in the smile. "Otherwise, I will have to convince you to." the pretense of a smile faded from his face. "One way or the other, you will sign it."

She eyed the piece of parchment and with a cautious hand she reached out and took it. It was a difficult read, the handwriting was flowery and fluid. It almost danced across the page, but it was not the lettering she noticed. It was the seal of the church at the top, and the solitary bar at the bottom where they expected she would sign. Her lip curled in a snarl at the sheet, and her mood darkened with every word she struggled through. It was long and wordy, but she puzzled out enough of it to know what it was demanding of her. Signing this would confess her sins against the church, all those named in her capture, as well as what she guessed was crimes for consorting with a list of names. Captain Tafford was among the last of the names on the list. Accused heretics she supposed, all of them. The letter finished with a promise that after her confession and repentance and renouncing of all that she had been mislead to believe, she would be raised to a Holy Knight of Einhasad, and receive a proper burial in the light. Finally she set the parchment down and stated. "I did not kill Eriendis Manx." They had to be mad to think she would ever sign this!

"It is an easy thing. Agree to the terms, sign it and you will be spared a great deal of pain." He observed her quietly. "You have been poking into matters that do not concern you. My superiors are concerned. For this reason you will not be allowed to leave here alive, and you -will- sign this paper implicating yourself." He frowned. "You will be granted knighthood, and so will die with honor, repentant of your crimes against Lady Einhasad, the terms are quite merciful." He spoke the words with the same tone as everything else, unmoving, dry and neutral. He stooped briefly snatching up the piece of parchment and stalked out of the room with a final word. "You will submit now, or later, we will have your signature and be done with this farce. I will give you one week to consider my words."

She shouted after him "Einhasad does not care for you or your church! Why should I care what honors I die with? I will go to Shilen, and she will care naught for your honors." She spat the last word with venom, but it did not phase the man who was already disappearing through the doorway.

A moment later the other two men that had accompanied him re-entered, one carrying a coiled whip, the other with a length of rope. They bound her hands to the iron bars of the window, stretching her to her tiptoes, and then the whipping began. One... two... three... the lashes were fire and she screamed, hoarse guttural cries. The count continued, until she hung unconscious from the bindings.

She awoke to find her wounds treated, and healed, curiously. Again, time had passed and she was unable to tell how many days had passed. As she sat up, her sore muscles reminded her of how little padding and comfort the stone floor offered. She immediately became aware that she was not alone. The robed man was there, on a little stool in the opposite corner. As soon as he saw her move he nodded. "Good then, you are awake, we shall begin your re-education, since it seems you were mislead to believe some falsehoods. A shame you killed Eriendis when he tried to bring you to the light. I assure you, I will have a better time of it." He then proceeded to pull out a heavy leather bound tome and read to her for several hours on the glory of Einhasad and her creation of the human race. This is how things went, once a week for her duration in the cell.

In between, to fend off the onslaught of propaganda and lies in his readings she scribbled with her stone onto the wall. Her passages grew more and more heretical with each passing day. It was not long before she was speaking the words aloud, listening to their reverberation as they carried down the hallways. When she had run out of quotes from the book of Shilen, and the way of Kain she detailed histories version of the Betrayer Andras. This had a surprising effect upon her guards, who she was certain reported the incident. They did not like the thought of torturing and executing a knight, even if she was pledged to dark gods, who might rise again and remember them. When the robed man reappeared that week his eyes were not so amused, and he looked a little uneasy. It was the first chink she had found to his armor, and she fixated on it.

Days passed and she struggled to remember the stories of each of the undead knights. Their duties unfinished, their wills not carried out that had brought them back from the grave. Sir Kraven, who immortally seeks Orfen in the Sea of Spores, Sir Kabed who rest was disturbed by devils in the cemetery, Sir Ereve, Sir Calibus who was executed for revolting with peasants and rose again to challenge the lord who had killed him. That one seemed to strike surprisingly well at them. She had even seen the robed man frown, albeit briefly as he read that line. They really did not like the idea, and if they were scared to kill her, she might buy herself time. Hungry, tired, and sore she wondered how long it would be before she finally gave in and signed that horrible piece of paper that would deny everything she had come to believe in, and name herself murderer of a paladin. Not that she hadn't expected to kill the paladin eventually.

So many visits had passed, her walls were now covered with the texts of those books, and her stone was worn down to a tiny pea sized thing. There was little enough room to scratch letters onto the wall now though, so she contented herself with simply reading them aloud. They had long since moved all the guards and prisoners from within earshot of her. They did not say it, but perhaps one or two of her lines had sewn doubt. Even one question ask by a guard about her words was a victory. Their withdrawal from the hallway intoned only that her methods were facing some sort of success.

Without fail every week the same song and dance ensued, the parchment was placed before her, she denied it, the whipping took place, and then the next day was consumed by a long reading from church texts. It was a routine, of sorts, and she found herself adapting to it, unwillingly. Yet they did not kill her, they seemed to shift uneasily whenever the topic came up. The robed man still deflected her barbed questions during the reading easily enough, but each time he glanced at her as if expecting to see her grow horns.

It was only three days from the last reading when she heard the rattle of the keys in the distance. With a muttered curse she wondered if they had finally decided to test her words. This was out of the routine, she braced herself. She couldn't let them know she was afraid. She should spring at them, she had never tried, maybe she could take them by surprise. And what? She knew there was another iron bound door down the hall she had heard its hinges shrieking for months, she would never make it through that. This could be the end, she thought dismally, if so what was all the point to these scribbles on the wall?

The footsteps stopped outside her door, and her breath caught. The key fit into the lock and turned. The mechanism clicked over loudly, then the door swung open. The form before her was impossible. She was hallucinating now, her mind was unable to comprehend what her eyes were seeing. It looked like Ale, what sort of wicked trick was this? She stared at the stout form in the doorway unblinkingly.

"Gods, Lass." Was all he said, the battle axe in his hand gleamed red with spilled blood. Suddenly it came to her that there were other sounds carrying through the halls. Fighting, combative sounds, metal on metal, and yelling.

She tried to rise, but her legs trembled, weak from hunger and exhaustion she almost laughed at her ridiculous notion of throwing herself at the guards. She was not strong enough to walk out, let alone fight her way out through Kain knew how many iron bound doors, and guards. She realized Ale was frowning at her, and it dawned on her that she was laughing manically. Then after so many hours of solitude and quiet the world seemed to rush past in a blaze, she was tossed over his shoulder, and they were running. He was running at least. White clad figures were fighting each other all around. She recognized some of them. The hand. In white? And finally there was someone shouting to them and they were outside. She could actually see the sun, not just a tiny strip of sunlight piercing the stone wall of her cell. It felt wonderful despite that her eyes blazed with pain at the unfamiliar touch of it. She was out!

[Allana]

((OOC: This takes place after Allana's capture, but before her return))

Max lay upon the bed, his dark form curled into a circle so his tail nearly touched his nose. A stuffed doll in the likeness of a certain treasure hunter was snuggled between his forepaw and chin. In this pose he looked like an over-sized housecat. This appearance was misleading, for Max was no housecat. He was a panther, all heavy muscle and sinew wrapped within shadow, even dozing as he was now with the doll this was quite apparent to any who might observe.

Such an observation was unlikely. The room's true occupant was away. Where she was the great cat did not know. He had not been summoned, and this meant that he was not needed, and if he was not needed, Allana was safe. She always called him in times of need. This time she had been gone longer than normal, with no summons. This was what had drawn him from the cozy hearth by the fireplace in the hall's common room to this small bed chamber, where he now waited.

Waking, slowly, the panther stretched. Massive paws fit with dark razor like claws stretched out flexing before him as he uncurled and rose. Powerful muscles rippled under his dark fur as he completed this ritual, giving a yawn that displayed a full set of sharp teeth. Still blinking away the sleep, its eyes shot around the room, quickly taking in the scene. Again he noted the lack of Allana. The lady knight still had not returned. He was not one to keep a leash on his pet, but she did not usually stay out so long without summoning him to her side at some point.

Padding around the room, with a silent grace, the cat sniffed the air as he faded in and out of the shadows that were lengthening and darkening throughout the room. It studied the scent, familiar but not comforting. There were other creatures in the scent, he recognized each, picking them apart in his mind instinctively deciphering the scents as one might letters on a piece of parchment. Dark elves, humans, dwarves... but still no Allana.

The shadows told him dusk was near. Dusk, that meant she had been away a full two days now. It was time to seek her, he glanced back once to ensure the doll, his prized possession was still safely resting upon the bed, and then slunk into the shadows in the darkest corner of the room, where the light from the window never quite reached. It welcomed him at once, enshrouded him, caressed him, and they became one. He stepped, or what passed for stepping within the shadows. It was a glide, a shift in awareness, that none but another creature formed of darkness could experience. One step in this dark void could be inches or miles in the outside world of Aden. But its direction was clear and focused, gliding toward reaching the knight who had not summoned it. It was easy, following the path of the shadows, this chaotic world was akin to breathing to the panther.

The shadows flared. Brilliant vibrant light cut through the curtain of darkness. It burnt like a thousand suns, a hot brand pulled from the fire and placed against his fur. In shock the panther hissed, his hackles rising as he slashed at it with his claws, but those deadly razors slid through nothingness. The light parted and reformed, in pristine order just as it had been, impervious to his attack. Now he saw, the bands of light formed symbols and patterns, resplendent markings in perfect order and arrangement, it was holy magic. He had never seen it before, but he recognized it on sight, as only two arch enemies could. It radiated hatred for all things of the dark and chaotic with every bit of its existence. The runes pulsed and the darkness was forced from it, its caress vanished, and he was thrown back and spun out from its chaotic world all at once. The cat crashed back into the small sleeping chamber of the knight. It did not land gracefully upon its feet, it careened into the room, tossed as if no heavier than the tiny doll that watched from the bed. His shoulder struck the hard floor with a jarring impact that carried the great cat into a roll, before it finally landed on its side and lay motionless. Bruised and feeling seared within an inch of its life he rose, wincing. This had never happened before.

The burning sensation faded, as the darkness reclaimed the room. The bright pulsating runes vanished as that tunnel of darkness melted back into just a dark corner of the room once more. The cat shivered, to have been in such close proximity to holy ordered magic, to have touched it. Max felt unclean, stained by it somehow. He slunk into the shadows, welcoming their embrace, he would not try that route again. Wherever Allana was she was on the other side of that wall of light. Out of his reach. Why had she gone there? What sort of place would have such magic in place to keep them apart? The questions without answers plagued the cat as is sat in the dark corner of the room. It looked to the stuffed toy upon the bed, a likeness of the one called Jevin. It offered no answers, it was a comforting sight though after such a sudden and traumatic experience. The cat went to it, bounding up onto the bed once more and laying with the familiar stuffed toy, as it considered its next move. Finding Allana was not going to be a simple matter.

[Allana]

The dwarf who called himself "Ale" stomped into his room over the inn. It was a small room, made even more so by the massive worktable taking up the far end of the room, and the sleeping pallet which claimed most of the remaining space. It was far less than he could have had. The girl, Allana, had offered him a room in the Hall of Echoes. Those rooms were far larger, less cramped, and were fit with real beds and furniture. He had declined her offers though, as graciously as he could manage. She meant well for him, he knew. It was not a bad offer at all, but he could not stomach sleeping under the same roof as that Olorae woman, even though she might not reside there always. He could not find it in him to trust her, but neither could he dismiss her, for she had given Allana a purpose besides hatred and vengeance that he had not sensed in the girl in years. But what did that Dark Elf gain from it all? Surely she had some intent, and he suspected it was in no ones interest except that dark lady's. That was something to mull over another day, for today, he had other things on his mind.

Slung over his shoulder was a heavy sack. The bag jingled and clattered as its contents shifted within. The sound was not uniform, and changed with every shift of the bag, it was the sound of a hundred different materials grating, jingling, and rubbing against one another. Anything that might be worth a coin or two to the right person, whether stone, bone, or metal had been scooped up and added to that sack. Ale had a knack for finding such things on his travels, and he was loathe to pass up anything that might turn a coin.

Letting the bag slip from his shoulder, he caught it deftly, and gave the cords that bound it shut a tug. The knot fell apart easily, and the bag's contents spilled out upon his workbench with a whole new chorus of clatters. It was a symphony perhaps only a bounty hunter such as himself could love, but he did. It was not so sweet as the jingle of a full purse, nor the sound of the coins of the ancient world ringing off each other, and it certainly was no comparison to the barkeep calling out free rounds on the house, but still it was a beautiful sound.

When he had a small pile of odds and ends, he stopped the flow of materials from the bag. His fat fingers retied the knot on the sack faster than most would have suspected them capable of. It was still quite full, but he had more than enough to sort for the moment, so he set it aside on the far end of his table. Reaching up, without even looking, he pulled the eyepiece down from where it hung by its leather strap, from a bent nail in the wall. He fit it over his head, and plucked up a bit at random from the pile.

Peering through the lens at it he smiled. Worthless most would have thought, and for the most part they would be right. It was a gaudy piece of jewelry, a brooch half the size of his palm shaped like a fat housecat, made mostly of tin and ornamented with a dozen glass baubles of various white, tan and brown colors. The construction was cheap and far from the quality even a novice artisan would have managed. Carefully he fit the piece of jewelry into the vice, and spun the handle, tightening the grip on the piece until he was certain it was not going to budge. From his tools he selected a small jeweler's hammer and a very fine chisel. They did not match, none of his tools matched, they were each handmade by some of the finest artisans in the realms. It had taken him years of collecting to gather this "set." Fitting the fine chisel to where the fitting of the piece met the metal, he gently tapped the hammer to it. The cheap, soft metal, gave way easily, freeing the glass beads and one milky white stone that had at first glance appeared to be just another glass bead. Setting aside the hammer and chisel he selected a pair of tiny tongs and one by one picked up each of the baubles and examined them under his lens. Most were indeed worthless, but that milky white stone was just as he suspected. It was a perfect stone of purity, a remarkable find hidden away in such an ugly piece of jewelry. It was not chipped, or scarred by the incompetent jeweler that had set it in the ugly housecat. He held it in the light for a long moment, admiring a genuine find.

His moment was cut short by a low growling sound directly behind him. His hand tensed as did his entire body, the tiny gem held so precisely in the pair of tongs leapt from them. It skittered across the work table, bounced off the wall and disappeared into the shadows behind the table. He whirled to face the owner of that sound, and found only shadow in the unlit corner of the room. His eyes strained to adjust, having been taken so quickly from the bright light of his lamp to now the dark unlit side of the room. Still he could see nothing but the dark shape of his pallet against the opposite side of the room. Gradually, the shadows took form, and relief flooded through him as he recognized a shadow lounging, patiently across his pallet.

The panther did not stir, it simply lay there bright green eyes weighing and measuring the old dwarf. This cat had been sent for him once or twice before. He was not used to it appearing in his room this way though. Always before it had approached as any other animal, through doorways. The dwarf, still stilling his racing heartbeat glanced to the door that lead down a narrow set of stairs and into the common room of the tavern below. It had not been opened. Surely he would have heard that, then it had entered here through the shadows. He very much did not want to think about the proximity of his sleeping chamber and the abyss. The thought of those two places only separated by a thin layer of shadows was most concerning.

"By Maphr, ye startled me!" He scolded the shadowy figure that sprawled across his bed. The cat tilted its head at him, silent still, green eyes simply observing him. The animal rose slowly, lazily perhaps, though under that thin veil of laziness he knew all too well there was a ferocious predator capable of inflicting mortal wounds upon him. It made it difficult to label anything it did as careless or lazy. Always before it had some purpose when sent to him. But this time it did not carry any scroll case, no scrap of parchment, or book with a page marked for him to examine. This was different.

He eyed the cat curiously as it stopped at his feet and as if it were an over-sized housecat, like that brooch he had just disassembled, it brushed itself against him. The strength of the cat nearly knocked him over just at that, but he was able to steady himself on the worktable behind him. "What's this aboot now, I be workin, thee girl send ye?"

Of course the panther did not respond, but he thought, just maybe those ears had shifted when he spoke of the girl. He never had fully grasped how much this creature was able to understand of what he said. He would have to ask Allana about it sometime.

The girl. She was away wasn't she? He had not received any word from her, in a while. She was off looking for something in the far end of nowhere, and though she'd tried to keep it from him till the last moment she had taken an airship with a dozen of the hand along too, and wouldn't tell him the why of it. He'd protested of course, her going off on such a thing without him. He just knew he was missing out on a thousand treasures, and she was risking her neck out there. How long ago had she left? It certainly seemed she should have at least written him by now.

With a cautious glance to the cat he drew open a drawer of his bench, and pulled out a stack of papers. He flipped through them, pausing when he came to the sheet he was looking for. He examined the date with a frown, and then the amount requested. That had been over two weeks ago that she had taken that coin. He knew the prices of airships and the wages of crew, he had been handling her finances for a long while now, she had not the head for business nor the patience to endure a good haggle. By his math her funds should have run out by now. Perhaps the cat was here for that?

He pulled his eyes from the paper, to eye the cat, then to the bed. There was still no sign of any scroll case nor request for any further financing. It wasn't adding up, something was simply not right, and he was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Com'mon then ye, lets get us a drink an den we be figer'in out wha' happen tae oor lass, aye?" He frowned, stuffing the stack of papers back into the drawer and shoving it closed with a glum expression. As he turned toward the door, the great cat glided to his side with what he might have called a prance on any other animal. It rubbed against him, affectionately? And then it even gave his arm a swipe with its tongue that felt like wet sandpaper! He frowned down at the cat. Maybe it did understand him afterall, maybe it was concerned about Allana too. No, couldn't be that.

He frowned then as a new thought came into focus, couldn't the animal have just appeared to her as it had just appeared to him? He glanced at the panther. It wasn't a stupid animal, even if he wasn't sure it understood everything, and surely it would have tried to reach her before it came to him. That was simple logic, it liked her more than him, she understood it more than him. So then he had tried to reach her, and failed? Was that even possible? How did the shadows not reach a place? He did not think these were going to be questions with pleasant answers. He frowned as the sinking feeling in his gut seemed to expand into an abyssal trench. "Yessir, I could be using dat drink right-a-boot noo." He grumbled and then began to make his way down those wooden stairs into the common room, behind him a shadow blended into the shadows of the room, unnoticed by all.

[Sadori]

(Riveting! I am impressed as always )

[Allana]

The Iron Windsus was not much to look at. A dozen mismatched tables dotted the common room, all placed without any rhyme or reason, some so near each other you could not fit between them. They did have one thing in common, none were in good repair, nor that clean. Fights were common, and the proprietor had long ago given up on replacing the furnishings with anything new, much less matching. Tobacco smoke swirled about the room, a thin grey veil that assaulted the senses of any unused to it along with the scent of stale beer, and a vague hint of vomit. It was a first rate dump, by most standards. That kept out the riffraff as far as the patrons were concerned. Riffraff, of course meant nobles, knights, church sympathizers, and any other upstanding citizens.

Ale sat in the back corner of the dingy tavern, nursing a mug of cheap ale that had long ago gone from chilled to tepid. He was not actually here for the drink. He was here because this little dive of a tavern was the heart of the underground in Gludin. The patrons that crowded the small dark place were what he sought. He knew all the regulars, by face if not by name. Names were things rarely used in a place like this, with good reason.

The city knew of this dingy little place. They knew what it was too. They simply chose not to see it. They new the sort of underhanded deals that went on here, and the type of patrons the place drew. Even more so, they knew that if they intervened all these people would find a new place to go. There were too many to lock up, and not enough evidence to keep any of them long. Oh they might catch a smuggler or two, perhaps they might bait a drunkard into boxing the watch and arrest him on that, but all in all the bulk of the patrons would slip away, and reform somewhere else in their sparkling city. So they tolerated this place, and in turn the unsavory aspects of the city remained there, an unwilling far from easy truce as it happened, but somehow it worked.

Unfortunately there were faces missing. Oh there were many he recognized. A long nosed man he knew to be a loan shark sat in the front of the place talking to a scruffy looking man with at least a dozen golden studs in his ear, just behind them a burly dwarf and a hulk of a man waited in silence, he knew those to be the shark's thugs. Then of course there was the little elven waif who was singing some song that did not make it all the way back to this corner of the place, except perhaps when the drunks joined in on the chorus. A few mercenaries diced around a table not far away, their laughter escalating now and then as someone won or lost small fortunes. There were others too that he recognized, who passed in and out of sight amid the busy room, but none of the dozen he knew had accompanied Allana had shown so far. No one had seen them, either.

He had spent the better part of three weeks trying to track down those men. It wasn't easy. They were almost all single, with little in the way of roots tying them down in any one place, except for the Hand of course. The story was the same each time. No one had seen them in a while. They paid their rent early or left a letter saying they had some work to see to. They all had spun various stories about where they were going. According to friends, mistresses, and a wife who was all to free with using a frying pan as a cudgel they had all headed off on seemingly exotic locations across the realms, Heine, Elmore, Rune, Schuttgart, one was even supposedly guarding a convoy that was trying to establish trade with Avella. None of that had any truth to it though, it was all fiction except that the twelve men had gone just as missing as his young knight.

Waving off a barmaid, he sighed heavily, causing the smokey air to swirl before him. She had lifted a brow at his half a mug of ale, and though he felt like drowning himself in the drink right about now he was still fixed on working out this latest problem. "I need you to stay behind and see to the Hand's affairs." He could almost hear Allana tell him again. He kept reviewing that memory trying to glean some detail from it he had missed, but there was nothing there to learn. Well, he was bloody seeing to her affairs, and she'd given him not a shred of information more. There wasn't a shred of evidence to go on that he had access to, he didn't even have the name of the ship.

Running his thumb around the rim of his mug he frowned to himself. Perhaps he was going about this all wrong. He shouldn't be looking for a friend, he should be looking for a mark. If he didn't know Allana, didn't know her men, how might he track them down? His frown deepened as a new idea surfaced. It meant going right into the lair of the beast, past her lily marked minions. Allana might not be pleased, but she was not here to dissuade him and he was running out of ideas.

[Allana]

Note: This follows after Ale's visit to Olorae, which was played out in game. To summarize the in game events, Ale reluctantly visits Olorae and Sadori at the Echoes' clan hall in Gludin. There he inquires about Allana's whereabouts and is given permission to perform a search of her quarters. A Lily marked guard is assigned to keep an eye on him during his investigation within the clan hall.


Chasing Shadows

A deep sigh slipped out from between the lips of the old dwarf nursing his now-warm mug of ale. He stared, oblivious of the drink, the room, the noise in the tavern and her patrons. His attention was fixed on a scrap of paper.

The scrap was almost triangular, with two clean edges and a single rough irregular curving edge, where it had been torn from its sheet. The paper itself was exceptionally mundane and held no interest to him. It was the curious word scribbled upon it and the number beneath it that held his curiosity. What did "Azrael" and "1300" mean? It was scrawled in a child-like handwriting across the fragment, unmistakably Allana's hand. It was the only thing he'd found that even resembled a clue as to her whereabouts. He'd been through the rest of the paperwork that buried her desk a dozen times now. There was nothing more to be found. It had been days ago that they had broken into her vacant quarters, and the guard that accompanied him had long since returned to the witch to report their failure, and the sliver of a clue that was this piece of paper. Everything else had been useless. That desk stacked high with paperwork might as well have been a haystack, and her where-abouts a needle within. No, not a needle, a piece of hay maybe, he could have picked the needle out of a haystack by now.

His mark was eluding him, perhaps his old age had dulled his abilities. People did not just vanish. They left trails of evidence in their wake, witnesses, and memories yet somehow Allana had vanished without a trace. It was goading, and worrisome at the same time. When people disappeared in his experience it was usually the body that was found, rather than the person. Yet there was no sign of struggle, he'd found no blood stains in her room. Perhaps that Olorae woman had sent her to the abyss for some mistake, but then why had she permitted him to search the quarters? Another ruse perhaps, it would be obvious if she barred him access. Perhaps she had bewitched the girl, that was supposed to be something the dark elven witches could do. But she had seemed puzzled as much as he, hadn't she? Or perhaps it was that other one, that Sadori woman who was always with her. Yet Allana had told him she would be going, and needed him to stay behind and see to the hand. It was unlikely she'd have had warning if it had been an assassination, or a double-cross.

So there he sat brooding over that set of clumsy lettering, his brow furrowed and mumbling the word to himself over and over again. His mood was tangible, it spread forth from him inhabiting all the nearby stools. Even in such a tavern as this the other patrons kept their distance. Those that failed to sense it immediately whether from their drunken state or their obliviousness soon relocated themselves to the other end of the counter, or happened to find a table on the other side of the room.

He was still in that state when he became aware of another presence within his aura of unpleasantness. The barkeep seemed almost to loom without doing anything. He frowned down at the dwarf with his one good eye. "Last call." He announced to the room with a voice that had a little too much gravel in it to be easy on the ears. Beyond the counter the barmaids scurried to fill the last glasses and mugs with cheap drink, and more importantly to gather up their last tips for the night.

Leaning closer over the counter the big man grumbled. "Now, normally I wouldn't give a damn about your troubles. I don't get paid for knowing about em, and the less I know the better In this place." He eyed the sullen dwarf. "But this.." He waved his hand at Ale in a vague gesture "..well one ale all night. It won't do. And you didn't even drink it, not that I mind. Drink it, spill it, toss it out the window, ya paid for it. But you've been doing this for weeks, it ain't like ya. I've got a wife ya know, and a kid, so I need you to be buying your usual rounds. Ya see?"

A barmaid scurried over with a final order and the barkeep turned away a moment, plucking a clear glass bottle from the shelves behind him. "So, what's your problem mister Ale. What do I gotta do to get you back." He selected another bottle from somewhere higher, and spilled that into the same glass, mixed it and slid it over on the counter toward the barmaid all in one smooth motion then returned to leaning on the counter examining the dwarf. "If its the drink, I've got some new stuff in..." His eyes found the paper though and he frowned deeper. "When a fellow frowns like that at papers its either money, or a girl."

Ale, who until now had not said a word scowled at the big man. "I liked ye better when ye jest shut up an' served the drinks." His eyes moved back to the paper and he nodded. "Well ye don't be wrong, but its na what yer thinkin either."

A grin spread over the big man's features "So it is a 'lass' then, oh ho! Leave it ta a woman ta put a man in a sour spot." reaching over uninvited he plucked up the piece of paper before Ale could intercept it and held it up for inspection in the poor tavern light. "Bad handwriting for a girl, don't look dwarven at all at that. Odd though, I dont think Azrael has any women on his crew. Don't know anything about the 1300 either."

Ale's head snapped up, brows raising sharply at the man's comments. "Ye know 'n Azrael?" He could not keep the hopeful sound out of his voice.

"I don't know nothin, an I didnt tell you nothin either." The barkeep said with a cautious glance to the other patrons. He peered at them for a moment before looking back "Look, you been here a while, and I don't think you're the sort to go sqealin to the watch. If you do, I'll deny everything, understan'? He's a captain of one of them air-boats. Comes through here sometimes, couple months ago, trying to sell... well you know." He grinned a bit at that last part before crouching behind the bar a moment and re-emerging with an old rag. "I don't think he had any dwarves on his ship though, and no women I'm sure. But that's all I can tell ya. Only because I want my regular customer back, shouldn't have even said so much. You might try Gludio, they get more of them air-boats than we do here."

Raising a hand he beckoned one of the barmaids over and when the dwarven girl finally made her way over he ask in a low voice. "Hey Flora, you know Cap'n Azy? What was the name of that rust bucket of his?"

She frowns. "Yah, I know him. Lousy tipper. Talks big, pays small." She paused narrowing her eyes a moment. "I'm workin you know, talk isn't cheap."

The pouch Ale dropped onto the counter hit with a telltale jingle that any dwarf knew instinctively, and her eyes went to it immediately. "His ship, think it was... a dragon name or something... mmhmm it was 'Wyvern'." She waggled a finger in the air as she recalled the man. "Yeah that's it, Wyvern. He was braggin that it could keep up with one of them and so he named it that. I remember, listened to the whole damn story and he only tipped me 5. Scumbag. Probably owes you money huh? Good luck seeing it." She scowled looking from Ale to the barkeep. "You see him give him a kick in the shin from ol Flora! Now if you two hens are done clucking, I got some tables to clear before I can check out tonight." She made a mock curtsy to them both, snatched up the pouch of coins, and slipped away from them into the small maze of mismatched tables, now nearly bereft of patrons.

Ale smiled broadly. "Ye know, I tink I might try one o them new drinks ye mentioned afta'all." He placed a few coins on the counter.

The barkeep chuckled. "Last call already passed, fella." He grinned broad "But I suppose I can make one exception, just don't be tellin anyone, about any of this. I dont know nothin, never did." The coins disappeared into his apron and a moment later he was reaching for a curious shaped red-glass bottle behind him.

It was the first thing close to a lead that the bounty hunter had come across in a long while, and he sipped the fiery drink and felt the warmth of a little light at the end of a long dark tunnel, or maybe it was just the liquor.