Some Assembly Required - The Brand

[Witchblade]

(Closed to Izvilvin)



It was cold. Then again, it was always cold here. She’d forgotten about that, it had slipped her mind and fallen in the recesses of her memories where everything else eventually fell, everything. She was trying to remember the last time she’d been here, it must have been years ago but years passed differently to her and as she pulled the images, sights, sounds, smells and feelings from that time it felt like yesterday, no, maybe just a few weeks ago. She’d been invited to do some sparring with Xilium out in the frozen tundra, in the vast emptiness that was Salvar. She’d come, she’d trained, she’d enjoyed it, she’d nearly killed Xilium when The Malice had gotten out of control…and the dragon egg she’d had with her had hatched and she’d named the little white dragon that had looked up at her so trustingly Daegun.

Yes, now she remembered those few days rather clearly, and a slow ache in her heart began as she remembered how long it had been since she’d last seen Xilium…or even had any kind of messages from him. He was probably dead by now, not of natural causes, no; he’d probably got his ass in a sling somewhere and had been killed.

She pushed the feelings aside, they did nothing for her and she didn’t need them. Most of the people she’d ever known on Althanas she hadn’t seen in years and most of them were probably dead; she’d never see them again. The sad fact was, it didn’t really bother her that much either, she should feel some kind of sadness over it but her solitude and the years of fighting and killing had hardened her emotions, whatever emotions she’d had to begin with. She’d never been able to feel much in the way that humans did and she didn’t need that kind of weakness in her life either.

Witchblade stopped and tilted her head up towards the sky, an overcast day, small flakes of snow and a little wind. One of the cold flakes swept past the edge of her hood and fell to her cheek. It took longer than it should have to melt away, but then again she probably felt as cold as ice right now, not that she’d know it. Witch had learned on her first trip here that weather didn’t affect her body. Nothing seemed to affect it, except eating, now that really upset it. Funny, all other races needed to eat something to live but she felt like death anytime she did.

With her cloak drawn in around her and her hood up, Witch just looked like an everyday traveller. Unfortunately in this region of Althanas most everyday travellers were bundled in thick jackets to protect them from the cold and she wasn’t, which meant she was being given a lot of stares by the people going to and from their business in this city, what was it called, Knife’s Edge? Something like that, she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to be here long enough to have a lasting impression of the place, she just needed to find a local tavern and see if there were any ruins in the area.

By the Thayne, she didn’t know why, but she’d been drawn back to this region of Althanas, there was something here, something nagging at the back of her mind, something that wouldn’t go away and she did have the foggiest clue as to what it was. Having no memory of one’s past could be a downright pain in the ass especially when sudden urges to go places surfaced, but then again, the forests of Corone had been getting rather boring. A change of scenery was in order and this cold desolate place suited her rather well.

Meandering through the streets the half-ling eventually came across the tavern with a name she didn’t care to read and commit to memory. Pushing the door open, Witch kept her face hidden by her hood and kept her eyes low and to the floor. She could feel people giving her looks and seeing as how she was dressed in a cloak, pants and a shirt that didn’t have much to it she wasn’t too surprised. Normally she wouldn’t care but she wanted information and she’d learned over the years that people were a little more forth coming when they didn’t see the fact that her mouth was sown shut and that she had odd purple markings on her cheeks over deathly pale skin with crimson eyes.

After a few seconds of feeling the stares of patrons on her every step, most of the people in the tavern went back to whatever they were doing before she came in. The conversation in the place rose again, becoming annoyingly high to her sensitive ears, reminding her why she hated frequenting establishments where humans roamed. They smelled bad too; ale, sweat and aged blood invaded her nose and were none too pleasing.

”Just a quick slip of the blade, one cut and they could all be silenced, all the voices.”

”It’s a shame a quick slip of the blade won’t silence you. I’m not going to give in to your taunting, bugger off and return to whatever recesses of my mind you come from…”

Witch had no time to play around with the voices inside her head and to deal with The Malice.

Sliding up on one of the chairs in front of the counter, Witch watched from behind her darkened hood as the barkeep came over to her.

“What can I get for you?”

Someone who spoke common, she was surprised, but not too surprised. A tavern owner would have to be versed in the language widely used around Althanas, especially with travellers coming and going.

”Information.”

Witch had learned that most humans, if they couldn’t see the fact that her lips weren’t moving, didn’t notice she was talking within their head, especially if there was a lot of other noise going on.

“What kind of information?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, giving her a once over as if thinking he could assess her abilities with a simple glance.

“I’m wondering if there are any ruins in the area?”

“Ruins eh? Hmmm, we don’t get too many adventurers coming and going looking for lost treasures in this area since it’s so cold. Not to mention that the ruins, if there are any, would be covered in ice either never to found or inaccessible.”

She didn’t care about that, a little ice was not going to get in her way.

“So you haven’t heard of any then?”

He paused for a moment, “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, pondering something she didn’t wish to further delve into his mind to know, “Right…well, I’ve heard rumours that there are some in the northern parts of Salvar, where the weather’s really bad, but I don’t know if they’re true or not.”

She didn’t care if they were true or not, most rumours had some form of truth to them and she had all the time in the world to do with as she pleased. Without saying anything else to the barkeep, Witchblade pushed away from the counter and turned to leave the tavern. Things never went as she planned though, just a quick trip into town to get some information, if only life could be that simple.

[Izvilvin]

Alcohol didn't actually heat up Izvilvin's body, and even as he took a deep drink from his canteen, he remembered that little fact. But it felt warm, and that's all he cared about as he tucked the container under his thick coat of fur. Pilfering the clothes was no problem, as the tavern was more than convenient to get some free furs from drunken customers. Even with boots and leggings, though, several hours in Salvar was enough to numb him.

But the booze gave him the illusion of warmth, and he was thankful for it.

The Drow kept his distance from a man far ahead of him, trying to make sure that even if the man looked back toward him, a simple drop to the snow would make him invisible. The man never did turn back, though. How often would someone stalk him through this impossible walk anyhow?

He did hate to be sent on these horrible Salvar missions, however insistent Step was about him being the right agent for the job. This was the second time he was in this land, and as interesting as it was for Izvilvin to explore a land that wasn't Alerar, if it was his last trip to the tundra he would not shed a tear.

This mission was one of information gathering, Izvilvin's specialty in Step's eyes. Details were very vague, but an old organization of sorts was stirring in some way, and Step wanted to know what was going on. Izvilvin, in his heart, was quite tired of being sent to uncomfortable places just for the sake of getting some information, but he also knew what could happen to him if he declined. He was in deep, but Step was a positive thing for him, he always told himself.

The man ahead was in a tavern in Knife's Edge not long ago, and though Izvilvin didn't understand a word he'd said to the men around him, he seemed shady. His eyes were sunken and he was constantly twitching about nervously, telltale signs that he was involved in something he didn't want known. How ironic that his body language was more than enough to give himself away.

And so they'd walked northward for two hours now, and finally the man ahead of Izvilvin, so hard to see through the light snowfall, reached a strange building Izvilvin could hardly see. It appeared to be decrepit and beyond repair, but it might have just been the distance.

He dared not move closer just yet, taking another deep swallow of the thick alcohol and weighing his options.

[Witchblade]

Witch was half way to the door, half way to getting out of this human infested Hellhole. The smell was getting to her, the noise was getting to her and she could feel The Malice bubbling up beneath her skin, coursing through her veins. Part of her wanted to get out of here and another part of her thirsted for the blood of every living thing in this room and it didn’t want to feed upon the blood, it just wanted to rip flesh and watch that beautiful red colour coat everything.

One of the male patrons’s bumped into her blocking her way. He was speaking something to her in Salvic, something that she didn’t care to even try and understand not even sure if she could. She just wanted him out of her way but instead of moving he daringly reached a hand into her cloak, warm fingers brushing up against the bare skin of her stomach. Her reaction was swift, she quickly grabbed his hand away from her by the wrist, forcing it out of her clock and giving it a quick snap hearing and feeling the bones breaking. Kicking out the man’s legs the half-ling’s other hand shot out from within her cloak, fingers wrapping around the human’s face and then with a powerful thrust she slammed him into the wooden floor, which creaked, groaned and even broke in some places.

She’d killed him, perhaps not as evident to the other human’s in the tavern but his heart had stopped beating and the back of his skull was crushed. She could smell the blood seeping out from the wound and coating the floor.

He shouldn’t have touched her.

Letting go of the dead human’s face the half-ling stood up straight and left the tavern without saying a word. The second that human had been foolish enough to touch her he’d signed his own death wish and Witch had never been a very forgiving person. Once outside, Witch got her bearings back and without a shred of remorse started heading out into the ice fields of Salvar away from this town, away from humans. She was beginning to see why she’d preferred her solitude for so long.


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The cold is never forgiving. The wind never stops blowing, the snow never stops falling and ice shows no mercy to any one thing that crosses its path. It is like a living creature forever reaching forwards devouring all that gets in its way. It never stops so long as the snow keeps falling and the wind keeps blowing and it will never stop until the sun graces this land and bathes it in a warm glow instead of hiding behind the clouds pretending that it can do nothing.


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The half-ling had been walking for more than a day straight, never stopping and never taking a break. She didn’t need to sleep, she didn’t need to eat, heck she didn’t even need to drink anything, she just kept going deeper and deeper into the northern tundra. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought; perhaps she’d come at the right time. Snow continued to fall from the clouds above her and though there was wind it didn’t lash against her, it gently caressed her and sent the flakes of frozen water swirling about her body. She thought it would be worse then this but with the presence of the clouds never leaving the sky above her she realized it could go bad at any moment.

Adjusting the weight of the rucksack and moving it to another area of her shoulders, Witch made sure it was still covered by her cloak and shielded from the harsh elements of this land. She’d heard no protests or movements from within for some time now but that didn’t worry her too much. She had a feeling that she almost there, which was unsettling. Not knowing where to go yet instinctively travelling in one direction and the fact that her gut was telling her she was almost there. She’d been here before, a life never lived, a time that never was, a memory she could never understand.

Feet sinking into the snow, inches and inches, how many inches she didn’t know, it was passed her ankles and it was growing deeper and harder to move in. She climbed the small embankment in front of her and at the top she glanced into the never-ending expanse of drifting snow, a desert of the cold, so much like Fallien yet so different. Something caught her attention; below her in a small valley what she’d originally mistake for ice formations sticking out through the snow was far from it. Giving it a second look she realised there were pillars of stone standing out in the snow and feet away from that the structure of some kind of building frozen and covered in snow and ice.

Was that it? Was this where she’d been dragging herself through the cold to get to? A small pile of rubble that anyone could have easily passed by twice without even noticing.

Witch started down the top of the hill into the small valley, it wasn’t steep and it wasn’t too hard but the treads of her boots slipped on the ice occasionally. Two stone pillars marked the beginning of the ruins, they may at one point in time have been beautiful or even grand, now they looked worn by the wind and snow and blue, not their original colour. They were covered in ice and snow. Stepping through them Witch paused for the briefest second, she felt someone else here someone that wasn’t human. Not giving away the fact that she knew she continued forward without looking around, walking passed ruin walls and outer buildings covered in snow and ice. Stones that had long ago gave in and succumbed to the elements now littered the ground and Witch had to weave through and over them.

There was only one structure left standing, a larger building at the end of whatever these smaller ones had been. It looked like a mound of snow with a gaping mouth, half of it being completely covered and the other half exposed to the elements. There were also markings engraved into the stone but the ice and whatever elements had eroded it before made it illegible. Could she have read it even if they were still distinct? Would she have known the words carved into this stone? She didn’t know and as the half-ling was about to step into the darkened recesses of the ruins she stopped. She sensed…something, something magical. It was familiar, it tickled the back of her mind but she couldn’t remember what it was nor it’s purpose only that it surrounded the entrance of this place.

Stepping through the entrance, Witch felt nothing that barred her however her left shoulder blade tingled and burned slightly as she walked passed the pillars and into the corridor. She didn’t know why but it quickly passed and she shrugged it off as nothing, another oddity in a list of many she’d already forgotten.

[Izvilvin]

Some time after the man disappeared into blackness, Izvilvin continued his approach. As he trekked on through the snow, more and more of the building in distance became visible. At last he finally saw it for what it was, a half-buried building with a caping entrance. On either side of it was a pillar, though Izvilvin gave them no real attention as he scanned the horizon.

He approached the doorway and made a quick inspection of the area to make sure he wasn't being watched. Feeling secure, he wandered forward and felt the air before him as he walked into an invisible wall, face first and rather painfully. The Drow stepped back and pressed a hand against the space in front of him, and indeed there was a wall there, as he spread his fingers and pressed as hard as he could.

Frustration seized him as Izvilvin made a fist and drove it into the wall, which refused to buckle under his anger.

It appeared that some sort of magic was needed to enter, some password. Maybe only certain people could venture further. Whatever it was, Izvilvin knew he would have to wait around for someone who knew how to enter showed up, so he could leap in after them. He hoped, quietly, that the cold would not get the best of him before that opportunity came.

***

Witchblade's progress through the snow did not go unnoticed, and in truth, it was watched with some happiness. It meant that Izvilvin would have the opportunity to get out of the cold and proceed with what he'd come to do, gather information on this strange building and whatever it was that dwelt within.

But even as he looked on from such a distance, he could see she was not like the man the Drow had been stalking earlier. She had an easy grace to her step and a confident stride, the two most telltale signs that she was no fool he could do away with easily. The other signs were, of course, a pair of sai that were tucked into her boots. He could see them even from here, and took some mirth in seeing his own favored weapon held by another warrior.

He looked on from under a blanket of snow as she approached the doorway beneath him. It was now or never, and faced with the idea of freezing to death, Izvilvin didn't need to think for long.

The Drow leapt from his hiding place and leapt to the ground, landing deep in the snow. Using all his agility and strength, he turned and bolted through the doorway, where the invisible wall had previously stopped him, and was in the building in a moment. Success!

He stopped immediately however, and found himself face to face with the woman who'd entered a moment earlier, giving him the opportunity to follow. He made no move for his weapons, not yet. For now he just looked into her eyes and searched for her intentions.

[Witchblade]

Witch eyed the creature before her from beneath the shadows of her hood. She’d almost forgotten about his presence, that small sense that something was in and around the ruins, until of course he’d decided to jump in behind her and make all kinds of noise. Sniffing the air gently, the half-ling realized she’d been right, he was most definitely not a human, he was Drow, if the black skin hadn’t given it away his smell certainly did. She was face to face with this stranger, he was the same height at her and like herself he seemed to keep part of him hidden, a mask covering the lower half of his face and hair as white as the snow outside sprouting atop his head. It looked odd. Finally someone who looked a little weirder than she did.

But she wanted to know why he was here and why he jumped in after her. He made no move to attack, he seemed tense though, ready for anything if she so much as moved a muscle and that made her sown mouth curve slightly into a smirk. Her hand was already resting on the hilt of her mythril dagger, worn leather caressed by calloused hands. She could strike him down quickly but that wouldn’t answer any of her questions instead she continued to look him straight in the eye and probed into his mind.

He had no mental defences and it was easy to pick at the thoughts scattering around in his brain. His name was Izvilvin, he was a Drow and he was also part of some organization called Step. She didn’t care about that though she continued to search through his thoughts until she find out that he was here gathering information on some kind of organization that seemed to be starting back up in this area. He was in fact doing the same thing she was yet for different reasons. He had been following a man to the ruins yet had been unable to continue inside due to some kind of barrier—that magic that she’d sensed when she’d approached the doorway—yet she’d been able to enter without a problem. All she’d felt was a slight tingle and burn on her shoulder blade but that was it.

Reaching out with her senses Witch found the lone human presence that was within the ruins, far below them in levels she knew not had existed. He had a strong presence but she couldn’t tell how powerful he was, his guards were down, he was in a place he thought safe to relax and had yet to even notice the fact that they were here. However she was unable to probe into his head, he had mental barriers and pushing too hard on them would alert him and that was not something she wished to do.

The half-ling was at a loss for what to do with the Drow in front of her though. She could dispose of him or she could turn around and continue on her way. The thought of asking him to join her in her search did cross her mind but she was not one to ask for the help of others. It was a weakness to show need in beings other than yourself.

Movement in her rucksack threw her off though as Witchblade felt Daegun shifting in the heavy leather material he liked to sleep it. Her cloak shuffled and bobbed and Witch pushed it aside and off the top of her rucksack as a small white head with pitch black eyes poked through the top flat and yawned. It took the small dragon a moment to realize that he wasn’t alone with his protector and his eyes fixed on Izvilvin no more than a few feet away from him. She remember the fiasco when Daegun met Sei and had considered the Vampire a threat to her and jumped on his head so she was rather prepared to catch a flying dragon if need be. But Daegun did nothing of the sort instead he climbed onto her shoulder and sat there looking intently at the Drow across from the two of them.

”You can relax.” Witch said to Izvilvin within his mind, ”I’m not going to kill you unless you make a move for your weapons.”

Her hood had been covering half of her face however Daegun had pulled it down when he’d climbed onto her shoulder, red eyes, pale skin, purple markings on her cheeks and at the fact that her mouth was sown shut and she was not speaking aloud to him were clearly evident. Moving her cloak aside also revealed what little clothing she was wearing under her cloak, black khaki’s and a red shirt open all the way up the middle and held together by thick pieces of material in sparse areas. It was revealing and would do nothing to help a normal person against the cold.

”I see you are here to gather information, as am I. I don’t care where you go or what you do, Izvilvin, as long as it’s not in my way.”

She gave him a final look over and turned her back to the Drow beginning a walk down a stone hallway whose colours began to change from blue to grey as the ice receded and torches began to line now darkening hallways. The darkness was a nice reprieve to the blinding light of the snow on her sensitive eyes.

[Izvilvin]

The woman who turned to meet him was horrid, in some manner. He hadn't noticed from his perch above the entrance, but her mouth was sown shut in some gruesome manner, and she had unusual purple markings over the parts of her body that he could see. His eyes danced over every aspect of her body, taking careful note of where her weapons were, and where he belived her hidden weapons to be.

She was not beautiful, as he viewed Rheawien to be, nor was she cute, like Khalxaen. This woman was something different altogether, something otherwordly that Izvilvin couldn't find the words -- in any language -- to describe. She was not appalling, however.

Suddenly he had a strange feeling, a tingling of sorts in his forhead. The sensation was impossible to describe, as Witchblade picked her way through his thoughts, his feelings and his memories. Were he aware of what she was doing, he would have felt violated in some perverse way, and lashed out at her as soon as possible.

Then she spoke. But her lips were sewn shut! Also, Izvilvin could not understand any words. It was almost as if the idea of what she wanted to get across was put into his mind, without the barrier of language to overcome. It was a strange feeling, one he did not understand, but knowing he could not possibly get it for the time being, Izvilvin forgot about it. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Such as this strange creature that suddenly appeared from the woman's bag, floating up to her shoulder effortlessly. It was a small dragon, though Izvilvin had never laid eyes upon any kind of dragon, whether it be a baby or a full grown ancient. He'd only heard the tales as had anyone else in the realms, in tales sung by bards and old stories from his childhood.

Despite her clothing, Izvilvin could not find himself admiring her, like a typical man might. She was too unusual to him at this point. She spoke again, not having to move her lips to get her words through the him, before turning and making her way down the long hallway.

The Drow followed, of course, for there was only one way to go. *"Ph' dos natha rivvil j'nesst?" He asked in all seriousness, not sure whether the question would be percieved as a joke or as legitimate. *"Dos lor saph uss, lu' quin dos xun naut."

*Are you a human woman?
**You look like one, and yet you do not.

[Witchblade]

Silence was a blessing that was only remembered once it was lost. It soothed and it calmed, it was opposite to its counterpart of noise, something annoying and painful that wracked through the ears and brain of its unsuspecting victim. To someone with normal hearing it was but a nuisance, to someone with supernatural hearing it was a headache that never went away, a sore ear that never stopped throbbing, an annoyance of which was never forgotten and never left in the presence of humans.


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She was hoping she would have no further disturbances from the Drow but his voice broke through the silence that had pervaded the stonewalls and into her ears. Words of jumbled syllables she could only understand by further delving into his mind once more. She didn’t want to be in there, she didn’t want to pick through his thoughts but she also wanted to know what he was speaking to her and she wasn’t about to sit down and learn Drow. Picking through his head was easier and faster anyway, even if she didn’t like it much.

When she finally understand what he was asking she stopped walking and turned back towards him, her brow raising as if questioning the validity of his own question. Surely a Drow would be able to realize she was not a human yet she knew just by looking at him that he was asking her in all seriousness. At a quick glance she looked human, except her skin was too pale, her eyes were unnatural, so were the markings on her face and so was her hair. Black yes, that was fine, but the shimmering strands of gold, silver and bronze were not normal at all, in fact, if one didn’t know any better you could swear her hair was plaited in the metal themselves.

“Of course I’m not human, I’m a half-ling, half Vampire.”

In fact, if Izvilvin looked closely enough he might be able to see the tiniest indents on her lower lip where her fangs were trying to poke through. Whether or not he would look close enough, Witch didn’t know and she didn’t really care. It had been a long time since someone had asked her what her race was and she wondered if it truly mattered to the Drow. Would he act any differently if he knew that she was human or would he attack her out of principal like so many tried to do upon learning that she was of some kind of specific race? She didn’t even drink blood, she’d never bitten a single person with the idea of taking blood from them and only once had she bitten someone, in defence. Because of that, because her hands had been held by Adamantine shackles and she’d had no other way of attacking she’d bitten him and her mouth had been sealed shut by string she could not cut, nor break, nor even remove.

“What of it, Drow? Would you attack someone like the so many other hunters out there just because of what they are?”

She’d asked the question within his head before she even realized it and cursed herself. She didn’t want to know the answer; she didn’t care to hear it. If he made a move for her she would have him begging for her to end his life by the time she was through with him. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, an answer she didn’t need, Witch turned away from the Drow again and continued down the hall.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin was taken aback by the woman's response. She suspected him a hunter, or so he inferred, when he himself was a man far out of his own element and hated by most people who laid eyes upon him. The Drow carried a stigma of evil about him, much like a vampire would. On second thought, he didn't feel so surprised by her apprehensive nature. He understood.

"Usstan xun naut tah. Usstan ritze dro mzild taga Usstan xun colzin," he remarked, claiming he valued life more than coin. He wanted to put her at ease in some way, so the journey would not be a back-and-forth struggle for him to put himself over as someone who did not want her dead.

She turned from him, continuing her walk down the dim hallway. He called to her with a light, melodic sound akin to hey, as the humans so often said. The Drow made his way to her, fiddling with the buckle of his belt as he did so and removing it. All of his weapons were held onto it by small notches that allowed the prongs to pass through. Without any hesitation, he held the belt, and all weapons upon it, out to her. If it took this much to earn the trust of someone he needed to be with for a while, so be it. Izvilvin had a very powerful sense of character, and despite Witchblade's attempts to present the contrary, he knew she was not the type to kill for the sake of killing.

*"Lu'oh verve udos orn tlu ul'naus, Usstan xun naut zhaun. Vel'bol F'sarn zhaunus d' zhah nindel Usstan xuat ssinssrin ulu ol ussta zrivimm. Usstan shlu'ta kl'ae dosst xxizz," he said. He knew she could understand him.

((Heh... *"How long we will be together, I do not know. What I'm sure of is that I don't want to spend it keeping my distance. I can use your help."))

[Witchblade]

Witch looked from the offered belt of weapons to the face of the Drow. His eyes were trusting, his face was trusting, despite the face that half of it was covered. She wondered how someone who barely knew her could think to trust her so easily, could strip himself of his weapons and show them to her as if she wouldn’t take advantage of the situation and kill him right here and now. But then, she remembered another creature that had looked at her like that so long ago and in these same lands.

Her eyes wandered to Daegun, the baby dragon who had probably changed the course of her life. Once he had been born the motions had been set and everything had changed, her personality had changed. She’d become soft thanks to this little guy and she wasn’t exactly sure if that had been a good thing or a bad thing. She killed less, people had stopped trying to kill her less and the lonely days without contact from anyone really weren’t all that bad with him around. To think that one creature could do so much. Yes, he’d definitely done some changes for the better, though sometimes Witch wished she could just go back to being heartless, someone who killed indiscriminately…then again, she still did that from time to time whenever some human passing her by pissed her off. Like that man back in the tavern.

“Put your weapons back on, Drow.”

As Witch contemplated whether not she wanted to work with the Drow, her dragon had other ideas. He’d already decided he’d liked him and jumped down from Witch’s shoulder, landing softly on the stone floor beneath them. His little clawed feet slipped a little bit on the ice though, not used to walking on such slippery ground. She didn’t bother to call her little dragon back, if he wanted to poke at the Drow so be it; she just hoped Izvilvin didn’t try to eat her dragon or try to hurt him, though she really doubted he’d do either.

Daegun let out a little cry as he made his way over to the Drow, feet sliding on ice, claws trying to give traction and only succeeding in digging gauges in the ice. Witch found it amusing, especially when Daegun pushed up against the Drow’s leg, something he did to her all the time when he wanted to be lifted up onto her shoulder.

“Well, Drow, my dragon seems to have taken a liking to you so I guess his judgement is as good as mine.” Him asking for her aid also gave her an out to use his as well. She didn’t know where to begin in these ruins; she didn’t know what she was looking for. “The human you followed earlier is in the lower part of the structure, it seems it goes through several layers, and he is unaware of our presence. In fact his guard is completely down thinking he’s alone here.”

The area on her shoulder blade began to burn slightly again and Witch reached behind her checking for something, not even sure what it was. In Corone she could chalk it up to a bug bite but if there were any bugs that could survive this cold, well, she was scared to think of what they would look like. Or what kind of bites they would leave. She didn’t feel anything though, just the fabric of her shirt, not that she could properly reached her shoulder blade anyway.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin pulled his belt back, strapping it around his waist again in one fluid motion. He was so used to putting the weapons on in the mornings that snapping his belt around himself was simple, but perhaps the movement betrayed more about his abilities than was wise. Regardless, the Drow felt he had earned some semblance of trust from the woman, which would make his mission easier. His hand tucked behind the small dragon's ear as if he'd known the creature forever, and his fingers found just the right spot to scratch, bringing a small screech from the dragon.

Then she surprised him again. Apparently she was able to know he had been following a single man here. Had she been tailing him the whole time? If so, he needed to fix that weakness in himself. Such a foolish mistake would undoubtedly get him killed in time.

Despite the chilling knowledge she had, Izvilvin nodded without betraying his skepticism. Already she was showing herself to be a big help. A bit disappointed at having to do so, Izvilvin pulled his leg away from the affectionate little dragon and began to make his way down the chamber. If they continued to banter for much longer, the man would avoid them altogether.

"Nindol k'lar zhah wun natha feir tir k'lar. Ele orn'la foluss beldro folbol i'dol doeb ghil?" He wondered aloud. It was his mission to find out, but a genuine curiousity had taken him over as well.

((*"This place is in a far off location. Why would someone create something way out here?"))

[Witchblade]

Daegun quickly ran over to the half-ling and she bent down, letting the dragon climb up to her shoulder. Eyes usually wide in wonder at the world and peering with an innocence the half-ling could never understand, this is where Daegun watched the world go by on his master’s shoulder. She never wanted her dragon to lose that innocence either, it made him who he was and she loved the look in his eyes whenever she took him somewhere new. She loved how he always wanted to touch things, explore new places with her and jump on the first person that crossed her paths that he seemed interested in. Even if that was a little dangerous and he might get hurt because of it some day, she didn’t want him to stop doing it.

Turning back, Witch followed the Drow down into the lower parts of the temple, underground ruin, hiding place, whatever it was. It didn’t really matter in the end either. All she wanted to do was take care of the human and then explore this place to her hearts content. She couldn’t do that knowing that he was lurking just a few floors below them or even a few rooms away from them. Besides, he might give up some valuable information before she killed him.

The question the Drow posed made her snort slightly. He was being serious but she couldn’t believe that he hadn’t already found out the answer to that one himself.

“Use your brain, Drow. The only reason to build something so far from civilization is to hide something important, whatever it may be.”

She had no idea what it was either. Though something was luring her here that didn’t mean she knew what that something was. How she wished she did, how she wished her life was a little simpler. That either she knew all about her past or she knew absolutely nothing about it and no repressed memories ever came to the surface and no urges to go to far off lands ever crept into her mind.

Yes, life would be a lot simpler then.

But that’s not her life and she was unsure of whether or not she wanted it. How conflicting things could be.

Walking along side the Drow, the light from the opening of the ruin soon began to melt away into darkness. Though her eyes could pierce easily into it she did not know if her companions could. Looking around the wall she saw sconces with unlit torches placed in them. How convenient. Grabbing two, she called upon what little magic she knew to excite the ions in the air around her hand and then burst into a blue flame.

Lighting both torches, Witch handed one to the Drow and kept a hold of the other, the flames on the torches turning a normal red colour once her hand was no longer in contact with it. And closing her fist, the flame dispersed from her own skin, leaving nothing but a tingling warm sensation.

The hallways further down the ruin were no different than the ones she’d entered. The ice retreated but the cold stayed. Rooms that passed them by were mostly empty, every now and then a piece of furniture would remain, a bookcase, a table, and a few chairs. But nothing of any interesting, whatever this place had once been it was no longer and the halfling began to wonder what the human was doing in the lower section. Was it just as empty and barren down there as it was here?

Unlike a lot of the ruins the halfling had explored, this one had not a single trap within it. Was the barrier she’d passed through the only thing protecting this place? If that was true, if there was some kind of reason she was able to go through but not the Drow…well, the human below them certainly had a lot of the questions to answer.

A few minutes later, another hallway and a flight of stairs found the halfling on the same level as the human. He was further down and unlike the previous hallways this one was lit with torches and each room they passed actually contained things. Mostly large tomes, smaller books, loose papers, tables, chairs, it looked like some kind of library or record keeping area.

[Izvilvin]

"Usstan xuat talinth nindol k'lar zhahus morfel nin. Lu' dal l' loren d'lil do'suul, Usstan talinth nindol k'lar h'uena zhahus killian," replied the Drow, but he figured the woman didn't care about his thoughts. He would keep them to himself from now on, he decided.

The darkness seeped in slowly enough for his eyes to adjust, though he could not see as well as he would have liked. Living in the Kachuck mines for so long had helped him learn to deal with the darkness, so he was comfortable with it. He could see outlines and changes in depth, but little else. Thankfully, Witchblade seemed more than capable of carrying on, and he could see her fairly well.

He did not need to deal with it for long, however, as his traveling companion took two unlit torches from the wall and lit them with some magic. He flinched in response, but hid the reaction well. The Drow was not comfortable with magic of that kind, it was just too sudden. He took the torch, smiling slightly as the flames changed color.

Examing the rooms told them nothing, at least not until they descended a bit lower into the underground bunker. More and more, Izvilvin noticed signs that this place was once inhabited. He wondered just what had happened to drive the people out. That was one thing he figured he needed to learn, in order to appease whoever it was who wanted him to be finding information.

Eventually, they came to a door in the center of the well-lit hallway. Izvilvin hung his torch up on an unused holder on the wall, approached the door, and examined it briefly. He didn't expect any sort of trap, since they hadn't encountered any, but it was best to be safe.

He looked to Witchblade then, nodded, and pushed open the door to step inside as silently as he could.

((*I don't think this place was built recently. And from the looks of the outside, I think this place used to be civilization.))

[Witchblade]

Civilization this may once have been or not, it seemed like a place for storing old documents now. Oblivious to the fact that two people had just quickly entered the room from the door behind him, the human was browsing shelves stacked with books, scrolls and even tomes. He was lost in thought, mumbling to himself that Witch could just pick up with her sensitive hearing, something about the magic and how it has to be here somewhere.

The walls of the room they were in were covered in bookshelves which in turned were covered in documents. Tables with chairs both standing up and knocked over were before her, not the best place to do battle. Candles were strewn all over the tables as well, their small flickering flames providing a gentle glow for the entire room. Apparently someone was not worried about anything valuable catching on fire. There was also a large circle drawn in the centre of the room the ring of it made up of runic symbols she had never seen the like of before, even though they seemed familiar to her.

No longer needing the torch in her hand, Witch tossed it out into the hallway they’d come in and as wood met stone creating a light thunk, the human slowly turned as if expecting to see familiar faces and in turn froze momentarily.

“Who are you, you don’t look like Saehr, how did you get in here?”

So many questions, and which ones to answer and how to answer them at that when she had a Drow with her who couldn’t speak common and the man had mind blocks in place. Well, that really only left the option to break whatever walls he’d constructed around his thoughts then, now didn’t it. She pushed against them watching as the man’s eyes widen and every muscles in his body tense. He pushed back, which actually made her laugh as she viciously broke through his mental barriers and into his mind.

“Now, now…let’s see if we can answer those questions of yours. I’m not going to tell you who I am, I don’t know what the Saehr are and I came in through the front door.”

His eyes narrowed on her as she spoke into his mind, perhaps he hadn’t noticed the fact that her mouth was sown shut making it nearly physically impossible to talk, or at least uncomfortable.

“That’s impossible, only Saehr can enter this building.”

The psychic link she had with the Drow beside her was left open so he could understand what she was saying to the man as well, instead of listening to a one sided conversation he clearly couldn’t understand.

“Well, I answered your questions, now I would like you to answer a few of mine. Starting with, what is this place?”

“As if I’d tell you that.”

Witch sighed, “As if I really needed you to, however it would make my life easier, but if this is way you want to play things then fine.”

Moving closer to the human, Witch narrowed her eyes on him and reached further into his skull none too nicely. Oh, he was going to feel this. As she ripped through his mind searching for the details to this place and what it was he felt every little nook and cranny her psychic link took her too and by the end of it he was on his knees, clutching his skull and screaming for her to stop. It was such a nice sound really.

Finished with him, Witch withdrew yet kept the link there enough to continue to communicate with him. Honestly, if secret societies were going to give members valuable information they should really teach them how to put up some proper mental barriers that a novice psychic couldn’t break through.

“It appears he’s part of some cult called Saehr. Their main thing seems to be that they hate The Thayne and wish for the eradication of the Gods and to instil upon Althanas their own Gods. They’ve also invented some kind of weapon to do this called the Saecadas but this one doesn’t really know much about it other than they lost it and are searching for it. He’s here looking for some magic pertaining to this Saecadas. Oddly enough, Saehr means Godless and Saecadas means God Slayer, did I get that right little human?”

The message had been communicated to both the Drow and the human, who quickly nodded his head as he attempted to control his rapid breathing and calm his heart, which she could hear beating wildly in his chest if she wanted to.

As she moved towards the human, Witch walked into the circle painted on the floor of the room. The symbols igniting into light the moment her feet entered it and a strange sensation washed through the halfling’s body. The feeling of magic pulsing through her very veins. The human before her looked on in disbelief and mumbled the word impossible, then as if realizing something began chanting in a language she couldn’t understand. The light of the runes changed from the gentle blue to a red and suddenly the halfling’s entire body was filled with pain. It started on her shoulder blade and quickly spread throughout her, the feeling as if her very soul was being torn from the flesh.

Falling to her knees, crying out, the dragon sitting on Witch’s shoulder jumped off and quickly ran towards the man attempting to defend his master. However the human quickly formed an ice attack, several small shards materializing before his extended hand to slicing through the air towards the dragon. He managed to dodge some of them, others ripped through the thin membrane of skin on his wings, two more pierced through scale, lodging themselves into the dragon who gave a small cry of pain. That didn’t stop him though; the kick to the creature sending it flying back and hitting one of the legs of a table did though. Silver blood was now dripping off the edges of the ice shards imbedded in the unconscious creature.

[Izvilvin]

A smell of early dusk overwhelmed him as Izvilvin stepped into the chamber. Dust and orange-brown hues covered most of what he saw inside, books, shelves, tables and chairs, but there were a few things of differing color and light. A man in the middle of the room, for example, had no dust upon him as he sifted madly through the pages of a book.

Izvilvin stood patiently as the woman and the human exchanged words, some he could understand, some he could not. Witchblade's words were put into his head, and she kindly translated the important parts of what the human had spoken, though the Drow was sure he hadn't spoken that much aloud. All the same, he nodded, eyes set forward upon the man ahead of them to make sure he made no sudden movements.

Witchblade moved forward, but Izvilvin hung back to keep an eye on things. When she reached a point between herself and the human man, he began to chant, and she screamed in pain. Her pet dragon rushed forward, only to be stifled by some magic cast by the man. Izvilvin growled and drew two of his sai, rushing forward. He had no defense against magic, but if he could get close in time...

He probably would have, if he hadn't chosen to bump Witchblade on his way by, in a very quick, almost passive attempt to knock her out of the circle on the floor. He resumed his approach toward the man, but before he could get any closer, a bolt of lightning shot forth from an extended limb.

The crackling grey bolt cut through the air, twisting and turning on its way at the nimble Drow, promising to fry the little elf as he ran. Impossibly, he managed to twist his body in a flexible arc, letting the bolt of creasing power skewer the air under his back and sunder the wall behind. He was in range now. Izvilvin brought his weapons to bear, slashing twice, but the man was suddenly gone.

The Drow looked around desperately, but it was another sudden bolt that made him aware of the man's location among some rows of dusty books. The bolt came faster this time, lending the warrior no time to dodge or prepare himself as it struck his chest, lifted him into the air and threw him across the room. The world was a flash of grey light as Izvilvin soared, then landed against a case of dirty books, kicking up dust as it tipped over, carrying him with it as it crashed to the ground.

Suddenly, the skilled warrior had become an afterthought as the human mage turned back to the woman.

[Witchblade]

Izvilvin bumped against her. But the halfling’s body was already in so much pain that she barely felt it. She didn’t even notice the fact that she was now on her back, half in the circle half out of it, starring up at the ceiling. The chanting of the human had stopped as he dealt with the Drow, but Witch couldn’t tell. The aftershocks of the magic still running through her veins. Her muscles twitching as if a constantly electrical current were running through her body.

She no longer cried out, her eyes starring up at the ceiling before them yet seeing nothing that was there. She didn’t even react when her dragon was injured, not that she even knew he was injured. Even if the halfling was conscious of what was going on right now there was doubt that she would even be able to move.

The eyes starring towards the ceiling began to change. The blackness of the pupil spreading and engulfing the red iris until there was nothing left, then it moved onto the white eyeball, clouding that over into blackness as well as if it were a spreading disease. Instead of her surroundings being seen, the halfling was watching images flash before her mind of a past she didn’t understand. Symbols she couldn’t decipher and faces that she couldn’t remember with names attached to them that meant nothing. All the answers to her questions of who she was and what she was were floating around in her head as if something had been unlocked but she couldn’t make sense of any of it.

The human smirked as he looked down on at the prone figure of the woman before him. She was still under the effects of the spell, but he hadn’t been able to finish it. He had to bring her fully back into the circle now. Looking down at her he almost stopped as he saw her eyes slowly being clouded over into darkness. He’d never seen such a thing before and didn’t know if it was part of the spell or not, he’d never done this before.

Grabbing her by the ankles, he dragged her back into the circle. The symbols painted into the stone once again lighting themselves up with her presence. Standing out of the circle, the human once again began his enchantment.

[Izvilvin]

It took only a split second of searing light to change Izvilvin from an able warrior to a shaking, sizzling piece of bacon beneath the rubble of the room. Such was the nature of magic. This was precisely why the Drow hated it. It was an honorless way of battle, relying on projectiles that severed through the body. In practice, magic took little skill, merely a lot of time to memorize the right words and the right movements.

Regardless of how it worked, it sure hurt a lot.

The darkness was all around him, as the books and the shelves he'd crashed into were all about him, atop and below. It was remarkable that he was still conscious, let alone alive, considering he'd been hit right on by a bolt of lightning. Perhaps it was that strong will that bolstered him in difficult times. Maybe it was just luck. All the same, Izvilvin pushed and pulled at the tomes about him, trying not to cough due to the dust. He knew if he was heard, he'd not get a second chance to save Witchblade.

From the outside, a single book tumbled from the pile, throwing dust from its surface as it plopped to the ground. Luck played a factor this time, and there was no denying that, for the man was simply too absent minded to notice it. Izvilvin's arm soon came out from the top of the stack, followed by the warrior's body.

His hair was matted to his head, his shirt frayed and torn near his chest, where the bolt had struck him dead-on. Now he could not stifle a cough, which echoed throughout the chamber. The human turned, looking incredulously at the resiliant Drow and firing another surging grey bolt. Izvilvin leapt awkwardy from the pile of books, tumbling down the side as the bolt whizzed past.

He only noticed now that was shaking, as he tried to move with his unique grace and fluidity and found it difficult. This was troubling, as the human ahead was clearly preparing another spell as Witchblade lay on the ground, writing in clear agony and screaming.

So the Drow did the only thing he could, drawing a sai and releasing it in a vicious throw as quickly as he could. The human tried to step aside, but the heavy iron weapon tore into his shoulder before he could avoid it. The man screamed, and Izvilvin was upon him immediately, cutting left and right.

Then, before the human could react or mount a defense, Izvilvin came forward with a sai in hand, driving it up into the bottom of his chin, driving the long prong in the center of the weapon deep into the human's head. Izvilvin pulled the weapon out just as the man went limp.

The Drow dropped to the floor, his hands on Witchblade's shoulders as he shook her. He asked if she was alright, even touched her face to try and help her feel, and make her way back to consciousness.

[Witchblade]

Something was touching her.

The halfling didn’t really know what it was or who it was. Her muscles still felt jumpy, still twitching every now and again from the magic that had been coursing through her, whatever it was. The pain was gone, slowly numbed away into the nothing she was used to. The black that had consumed her eyes was fading, the white returning, the crimson iris returning, her vision of what was going on around her returning.

Lavender eyes, white hair, dark skin. That was the first thing she registered as she slowly came back to her senses, then the realization of touch again, on her shoulders. Cold stones beneath her and that damn tingling sensation still in her very veins.

Before she could tell the Drow to stop touching her, Witch froze as her psychic abilities that she never could control got the better of her again. She was thrust into the Drow’s head and into his past as the image of torture came to the forefront. She watched through his eyes and felt his pain as he was stabbed in the back, healed, then stabbed again, for what reason she didn’t know. As quickly as she was thrown into the head of the Drow she was forced back into hers. The images and feelings gone as fast as they came.

Reaching up with slightly shaking hands, Witch grabbed a hold of Izvilvin’s wrist and removed his hand from her shoulder. Touch was how her psychic powers somehow always got out of control and if he kept touching her she was not going to be able to stop having flashbacks and she really did not want to go into his head again.

Sitting up rather slowly, Witch shook her head to clear the foggy feeling from it only to get a rather sharp pain in return that she knew was going to turn into one mother of a headache soon. Looking behind the Drow, Witch saw the human who had somehow done this to her on the ground, dead, with a rather jagged looking hole in the underside of his jaw.

At least the Drow was good for something. Things could have turned out differently if he hadn’t been here. Nodding her head in thanks to him, since those were words she would never say, the halfling slowly got to her feet, stumbling slightly as a rush of dizziness came over her. The Drow reached out to help her.

“Don’t touch me. Whenever you do my psychic powers get out of control and frankly I don’t want to have another flashback of your past.” She’d had enough of her own today, oddly enough though, none of it had made any sense and she couldn’t really remember any of it. Funny, how she’d wanted a past for so long all those years ago and just seconds ago something had flashed before her eyes, something she couldn’t even understand, something that was now gone. It didn’t bother her though. Maybe she’d grown up and realized she didn’t need to have a past in order to live the future. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to go through that again, it was the worst thing she’d ever felt.

Realizing her dragon was nowhere near her; Witch turned to the Drow, “Where’s my dragon?”

The Drow pointed to a small bundle of white and silver under one of the tables. Rushing over, ignoring the fact that she was still wobbly on her feet, Witch bent down and carefully picked up Daegun. There was a small pool of silver blood beneath him and two shards of ice were embedded in the tiny creature, one in his chest and the other in his shoulder. Even one of his wings was ripped where an ice shard had ripped through it.

“Daegun, c’mon little guy…wake up, Daegun.”

He didn’t respond to her. Reaching out with a shaking hand, the halfling carefully removed the ice shards from him, then took a deep breath and began to concentrate. Her hand a few inches above the wounds, Witch began to draw on magic she hadn’t used in a long time, the magic to heal others. It took a while and a lot of concentrating and at the end of it when the ball of white energy was floating between her palm and his body her hand was shaking.

Slowly, she pushed the energy against him and watched as his body absorbed it. Shrugging out of her rucksack, Witch reached into it and pulled out one of the blankets she kept in there, wrapping it around his tiny little body and setting him inside her rucksack where he would be the warmest. She was pretty sure she’d got to him in time, a day or two or sleeping and he’d wake up and want to play like he always did.

Running her fingers through her hair, Witch looked to the Drow, “Are you injured?”

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin sighed with a measure of relief when Witchblade opened her eyes. There was a tingling in his mind again, a strange mental itch that he could not stratch, but it passed as quickly as it had come. A moment later she took his hands and pushed them back up to him, explaining how her psychic powers worked. The Drow gained a semblance of knowledge of the ability then, yet still did not completely comprehend it. He did, if nothing else, finally know what that tingling in his head was. Even someone with the weakest of reasoning skills would have figured it out.

The Drow was worried about Witchblade's dragon, but also felt that it was not his place to stand by and fret over her pet. So while she attended to Daegun, Izvilvin took it upon himself to examine the human's body. There was nothing exciting to be found, save for a sword Izvilvin had no use in taking.

The rest of the chamber would not be interesting to anyone but a scholar, for though there were hundreds upon hundreds of dusty books and tomes, there was not an ounce of treasure or anything of use to him. He could see the draw in such a place for somebody who valued information over anything else, but otherwise it was useless.

The Step agents would be disappointed, for there was no gathering here, and the lone man who could have given them some information was dead. However, Izvilvin could tell them the place was abandoned, and they could search through the books themselves. For an organization bent on gathering information and knowledge, this was treasure. That was one problem solved.

Witchblade's psychic question to him was the other. He responded with a simple 'no' in his native language, but the truth it was not. His back was aching and his chest was burned, his limbs twitching and eyes feeling as if they were trying to escape his head. Izvilvin supposed it was the aftershock of the human's bolts, but couldn't believe just how devastating it had been.

He asked if she was ready to leave, meanwhile revealing no sign that he was hurt. They didn't have time to fuss over his well-being, not if they wanted to get back to town before the deadly Salvar night.

[Witchblade]

Some people could be just plain stubborn. It was obvious the Drow was hurt; he couldn’t hide it from her. She was in his head; she could feel his pain if she wanted to, which she really didn’t. She’d had enough of pain today to last her for a lifetime. If he didn't want her help though that was fine with her. It was energy she didn't have to waste healing him and it was something she wouldn't offer again.

“I’m not leaving…”

There was a wealth of knowledge surrounding them and she was not just going to let the opportunity pass her by and leave without looking through some of it. There was a connection between her and this Saehr and she wanted to know more about them. She wanted to know what kind of knowledge they had hidden away in here and possibly learn something about this Saecadas, whatever it was.

“You can go back to Step if you want, I’m looking through some of these tomes to see if I can find anything out.”

Besides, they hadn’t completely explored this place; there could be some kind of treasure deeper into the structure, though she doubted it. Whatever this place had been before, it now seemed like a giant library. And there was also one other thing that had been bothering her. When she’d first entered this place, walked through the barrier that the Drow could not, something on her shoulder blade had tingled. When that human had been casting his spell on her the pain had started there and radiated outwards. It was just too much of a coincidence for her to ignore it.

Setting her rucksack down on the table and Flicking the clasp around her neck, the halfling let her cloak fall to the ground. Then, grabbing the strap of material on her shoulder, she ranked it down her arm.

“Drow, do you see anything on my back.”

He probably thought she was crazy, heck she knew she was crazy but she didn’t care. The Drow walked over and looked at her back then in his native tongue told her there was some kind of symbol on her shoulder blade. Poking through his head, the halfling found the image of it there. It was a large circle with three smaller ones side of it, intertwining. Within the lines of each circle were symbols similar to the ones that were painted on the stone floor of the room; the same ones that had lit up when she’d entered them. Unlike the floor though, this was not nicely tattooed on her, in fact it looked burned or even branded into her very skin, the flesh long since healed and whiter even than her naturally pale skin.

Pulling the strap of her shirt back up, Witch moved away from the Drow and began to pace the room. She didn’t normally do things like this but a lot had happened to her within the passed hour and she wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with it all. Pacing wasn’t helping with anything but the tingling sensation in her limbs, that was slowly fading the more she moved, but her head was still fucked up. So, she left the room and moved deeper into the structure. The hallway continued on but the only thing after it was room after room of empty shelves and dust. This place was barren, the only thing she could find to help her would be in that library.

Eventually she made her way back there and sat down in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. What she wouldn’t give for a tree right now. Grabbing the book nearest her, Witch opened it to a random passage and found out it was in Elvish and she couldn’t read that. She could only read Common and Tradespeak. Shoving the tomes aside, she grabbed the next one, which was in Drow oddly enough.

“Here, some light reading…”

The Halfling pushed the book across the table towards Izvilvin.

The next one she grabbed and opened was thankfully in Common. It seemed like this group had amassed quite a collection of information from all over Althanas and as she read through the tome and her eyes began to cross she realized most of it was myths and legends. She didn’t want myths and legends; she wanted information on this damn Saehr.

“Damnit, these guys have to have some kind of tome in here detailing their organization. All bad guys write shit like that down, because they’re too stupid thinking no one will ever get their hands on it.”

[Izvilvin]

The book was, like the ones Witchblade was angrily tossing aside, void of any information regarding the rumored organization and the structure the two travelers now inhabited. It was a short booklet of legends -- more accurately, a book of many legends related to one legend -- regarding a dragon and its treasure horde, said to rival Scara Brae in size. The story was proposterous, but interesting nonetheless. More than anything, unfortunately, it was unhelpful.

Izvilvin spent a bit of time perusing the books yet again, but ultimately found nothing. If Witchblade was going to find any information, she would have to do it without him, for unlike her the Drow was succeptable to the cold.

"It's time for me to go. I want to get back to the city before night falls. Good luck in your search."

He tightened the belt about his waist and pulled the coat over his shoulders again. The underground area was cool, yet considerably warmer than outside, and he had pulled the top of the coat down to his waist much earlier in the journey. Now he was bundled up again, and moved past Witchblade after giving her an approving nod. His eyes went to the bag where Daegun slept, and he smiled.

With that, he was on his way out of the room and through the bunker yet again, hoping to beat the chill of night by a few hours.

[Witchblade]

Witchblade nodded her head as she watched the Drow leave. He had his reasons and she hadn’t really expected him to stay help her any more than he already had. He’d come here on a mission from Step and there was nothing more for him to do now. She still needed to find that damn book though. There was a link to her past somewhere in here and she wasn’t leaving until she found it. The only problem was most of these books were not written in common and though she could understand any language through a person’s mind, unless these books were going to start telepathically communicating with her she could never understand what was written on their pages. It was a lost cause before it even started but she was not about to give up. Daegun was still injured too, she couldn’t move him much while he was in that state or his wounds may get worse and she did not want to lose the little guy. He kept her sane at times when nothing else on the face of this world would.

With Izvilvin gone the ruins were filled with that eerie quiet that she was never too fond of. In Concordia there was always sound, the wind through the trees, the crickets, the soft padding of a nocturnal animal—or monster—it didn’t matter there was always noise. Here there was nothing but the constant turning of pages as she filtered through book after book, all the ones she could find in common and then moving on to others she couldn’t make heads or tails of. It was frustrating to say the least. For as long as she could remember she’d been searching for answers to her past with nothing, not a whisper or hint of what or who she had been before this. No explanation for how she had come to be a vampire, after all it’s not like you’re born one, and no trace of what her other half could be. Nothing on The Malice—she wanted to know why it hounded her ceaselessly, she wanted to know why she hated humans so much and she wanted to know what her real name was! Were those things truly too much to ask for? Apparently they had been and after years of never finding anything she had long ago given up and just decided to live the life she had now instead of constantly looking to the past and never finding the future. And now, after all this time it appeared and bit her in the ass hard. How ironic life was, how fucking ironic and how much the Gods that governed this land—if there were any—truly hated her.

Shoving another book aside, Witch grabbed the next one from the pile, sighed and began flipping through pages. Her interest peeked at this one. It seemed to give some kind of listing of names and locations. There was also some kind of diagram showing different levels, different organizations and different names. People sitting at the top of them and one name at the top of it all. This looked like it could be what she’d been searching for, but luck was not on her side. She’d already looked through all the books in common; this was in another language…something she’d never even seen before. But this definitely looked like the information she was seeking, all she had to do was figure out what language it was and get someone to translate it for her.

Closing the book, the halfling reached across the table and carefully grabbed her rucksack. Opening it and peeling back blankets, she found the form of Daegun sleeping peacefully. Smiling, she wrapped him back up then resigned herself to wait for the morning and then head out. She was done with this place for now, perhaps she could come back sometime and find out what other information all these tomes contained, but not tonight. Her mind was spinning with useless information and there was a pounding beginning to form behind her eyes. Leaning back in the chair, Witch closed her eyes and contented herself to rest until the morning. A bridge had finally opened before her and on the other side of it was a past she’d been longing for, for a very long time. But just how long was it going to take her to discover all the pieces? How long would it take her to assemble them?



((Spoils Tome: A large book written in a language Witch doesn’t know. It may contain information about a group called Saehr and the Saecadas--a weapon they seemed to have developed that is strong enough to kill a God. Somehow, this group is connected to Witchblade’s past, the brand on her back a testimony to that.))

[Ashiakin]

We were technically supposed to move to our new rubric last night, but I haven't seen any kind of announcement on it. I didn't remember that until I was halfway done reading this, anyway, and I had been thinking about the thread under the parameters of the old rubric. So that is the one I am going to use.

[ Introduction - 4 ] Maybe this seems harsh because your introduction was not poorly written, but I think the tavern cliché is something that Althanas really needs to get away from. It didn't offer anything worthwhile to the story, except that it was a crowded place where both of your characters happened to be.
[ Setting - 5.5 ] Your use of the ruins in the wilderness seemed a little stereotypical at first, but I was pleased to find that they just contained one crazy guy and a library instead of a dragon with a horde of treasure. This was a nice way of turning what was expected on its head--not looking for gold, but a book. Still, the use of the tavern in the beginning is what dragged you down here.
[ Strategy - 6 ] I was glad to see an unusual use of magic in this thread, especially by the NPC cultist. Izvilvin's bit where he threw Witchblade his weapons to gain her trust was an especially nice tough, I thought.
[ Rising Action - 7 ] This was definitely the best part of the thread, although I was disappointed that you didn't delve further into the issue of trust that you were touching on. Your initial interaction between Izvilvin and Witchblade was really convincing and interesting, I just felt it developed too easily.
[ Writing Style - 6 ] Both of you had solid writing. The only problem I noticed was that Cyrus sometimes used the wrong word (like caping instead of gaping) but that's not the kind of thing I take off for, since usually Word won't catch it.
[ Dialogue - 6.5 ] In the middle of this thread, you really used the dialogue to show how your characters worked and reacted to each other. In the beginning and toward the end, however, I didn't get this kind of connection.
[ Climax - 6 ] It was good, even though I could have guessed what was going to happen by the time they walked into the little library.
[ Character – 6.5 ] Again, I really liked the point where your characters first met inside the ruins. That was some really impressive interaction! Other than that, though, the character stuff in the thread was just pretty standard.
[ Conclusion - 5 ] Izvilvin's conclusion seemed particularly rushed, although Witchblade's was pretty interesting and managed to keep this at a solid 5.
[ Wild Card – 5.5 ] Like I've already stated several times, the part of this thread where your characters first met showed a lot of potential for interesting ideas and development, but you never really grabbed on to it. What I think happened was that you guys had a set story in mind and this really good interaction just sort of happened as you were writing, so you didn't nurture it and plowed ahead with your plan. In the future, watch out for little moments like these. Don't be afraid to deviate from your plans if you think you have something good!

[ Total - 58 ]

[ EXP ]
Witchblade gains 1980 EXP.
Izvilvin gains 1670 EXP.

[ Reputation ]
Witchblade gains 3 Salvar Reputation.
Izvilvin gains 3 Salvar Reputation.

While you might say Izvilvin being on an information-gathering mission in Salvar for Step was a bad thing, I think the fact that he helped kill someone that the government would consider dangerous calls for positive reputation.

[ Rewards ]
Witchblade receives the requested book and 300 GP.
Izvilvin receives 300 GP.