Relics and Ruins

[Vega]

Eluriand was not dead. Things grew almost everywhere, except where the Unnamable Horde had worked the vilest of its magic. In a few short decades, the streets would no longer be streets at all, but strips of forest running between the buildings like great green rivers. Squares and markets were fields of swaying grass, watched over by the empty black eyes of hundreds of windows. Everything that had been harmed was finished – the damaged towers were already collapsed, the unstable buildings were just shells now, the failed bridges were just places where the streets stopped. The Horde had used catapults to launch arcane bombs over the walls, and where they struck the stones impacted and turned to dust. Now the impact points were bowls of crabgrass. In one, strawberries grew wild.

Eluriand was not dead, nor was it in any danger of dying. It was like an animal caught in a trap and never freed, but sustained by some cruel outside force that fed and cleaned it but did not release it. The city would not die, but it languished, unwashed and pathetic. To Iarion Barathor, it was a fate worse than death. He wished they’d razed it, and left nothing. It would have hurt more at the time, but the overall pain would be less.

He finished tossing the broken corpse of a ghoul into the pyre he’d started weeks ago. Every time the fire began to die down, he found more corpses or corpse-eaters to feed to it, and they burned well and long. He hoped that he wasn’t defiling this place – it had been a park once, but two bombs landed here during the siege and created a very deep crater – but something had to be done with the dead before the people returned. Besides, it reduced the number of ghouls, or would eventually. These scavengers were not minions of the fallen necromancer, but had come after. They seemed to spontaneously awaken in death-places now, maybe because of the residual necromancy in the air or earth, or maybe just because there were so many dead to eat. Maybe they were a natural mechanic of the world: a way to clean up after massacres.

Iarion found the community journal under the marked bench, and made a note. Three more ghouls found in the Snow Quarter, must have migrated from somewhere else. Andanawe Bridge is unstable; seek a route through the auditorium, but with caution. Ceiling collapsed there, more degradation possible. Suffer well. IB.

He considered asking for news, but thought better of it. Every night brought thoughts of people he’d known, faces he hadn’t seen for more than six years, friends who were missing and friends who were lost. He wanted to hold on to the hope for good news for just a little bit longer, and the safest way to get good news was not to ask for any. Besides, there were no notes about visitors to the city, so how could the news be new?

There were very few people in Eluriand now. Most of them were in the university, wise men and scholars with an escort. They were cataloguing what could be saved, trying to preserve the wisdom of the elven people from centuries past. Then there were others, like Iarion: elves that would prefer to reclaim a home for the people of today. They numbered only a sparse handful spread throughout the districts, and spent most of their time putting down ghouls and burning bodies. Like the city, they were languishing.
---

Iarion returned home as the sun began to set. The sky was slate grey, and snow began to drift down sporadically – disturbingly similar to ash. One tended to simplify travel in an abandoned city, traveling in straight lines even if meant passing through homes and buildings. He descended a set of stone stairs, passing through ankle-high foliage that grew from the corners, and he left footprints in the dust among hundreds of others from when he’d passed this way before.

He passed a rotting shrine, which was beginning to lean. He pushed it upright again, just as he did every time he came home this way. He went under Andanawe Bridge, following his own advice, and passed through one of the satellite auditoriums connected to the sprawling Istien University. The wooden seats were intact and coated with a layer of dust so thick that they seemed carved from bone instead of cherry. They formed an upraised semi-circle around an empty stage. There used to be a fine curtain there, but the moths had made quick work of it. Now there was just an empty recess. The ceiling had collapsed right above the stage, so now a pillar of sunlight shined right down on a pile of snow-and-dust-covered rubble. Iarion exited through a side door, and the sound echoed many times through that hallowed space.

---

The Barathor Estate had been extensive before Xem’Zund returned to Raiaera for the final time. They were one of the eldest families in Eluriand, having built a hunting lodge there before it was a proper city. The rest of the estate had come after: the social hall, the larder, the servants’ quarters, an extension to the original lodge, the gardens, the greenhouse, the mausoleum and the catacombs, and finally the manor itself. Only the manor still stood: a battered and blown-out shell except for one intact wing.

Iarion got a fire going in the fireplace, and turned his father’s chair around to face the great open window across from it. There he sat down, and opened a bottle of wine, and stared out at the ruined city of Eluriand – capital of the elves.

When he sang, it was low and mournful, and his misery echoed through the halls.

[Luned]

"I think I feel something," Resolve broke the silence of the stark, windswept plains, the flat landscape studded only by the skeletons of distant, long-abandoned farmsteads. The last sign of civilization –– a ghost town, really, save a few determined to rebuild –– was half a day behind them, and they hadn't seen a soul since as they trekked the neglected remnants of the route to Eluriand.

The girl's friend perked, sitting up, and looked around as she pulled a heavy gray blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Where?"

Resolve gestured vaguely ahead and right, their eyes following the yellow prairie until it faded into the overcast sky without spotting anything of interest. "Close enough," the younger woman shrugged. She didn't seem to mind the chill as Luned did, her brown arms and torso bare to the brisk breeze that tousled the loose end of her vibrant crimson sari, a beacon of life against the gray expanse.

Luned nodded as she succumbed again to the miserable posture of a weary traveler out of immediate danger. "Alright. Keep an eye on it."



Another few hours passed and their destination was growing on the horizon, a low mass that gradually gained size and definition as the minutes went by, inciting impatience in the more worldly of the duo. The remains of various structures became more populous as they neared, but all were equally abandoned as the road they travelled. Luned was agitated and anxious, and her companion could tell.

"Want to sing again?" Resolve offered, impressively chipper in spite of the dreariness of the entire ordeal. A mission to the ruins of a war-torn city wasn't exactly high on her list of vacation ideas, but it being her first voyage outside Corone, just about everything was exciting.

Her question wasn't given the justice of a proper answer, Luned grimacing with a sigh as she shifted in the saddle yet again.

"Don't give me that," Resolve retorted. "My ass hurts, too, but we'll be there by the end of the day and can set up a more permanent camp. There are baths to be had!" She punctuated this with a jazzy uplift of her hands, as if hoping to take her friend's spirits with them. It was quickly rendered ineffective.

"I'm not sure what you expect. I can't imagine Eluriand as much more than a glorified graveyard," the scribe frowned, blue eyes set fast on the destination before them. "And the work won't be easy by any means. I'm not even sure if the landmarks on our map are still in recognizable shape."

"We'll figure it out, and maybe it'll even be fun," Resolve speculated. "Maybe there's a dreamy feral elven lad in there somewhere, gone mad from the war, and––"

Luned shot her a dirty look. "Have you been reading Rose's books again?"

"They're more interesting than yours. Abridged History of the Technological Wondercrap of Alerar," the exorcist weighed on one hand, quickly overcome by the other, "Or The Bawdy Adventures of Miss Fanny Price. Which would you pick, honestly?"

The answer was a rhetorical brow-quirk.

"Oh, come on. It has a wild man in a loincloth in it! How in the world is that not better than reading about a bunch of dead guys who wore normal clothes every boring day of their boring lives?"

Her companion couldn't help but crack a smile at that, but more for the absurdity of their conversation than anything. They were walking into what might prove to be a lot of trouble for nothing, and the imminent thing on Resolve's mind was the novel collection of questionable quality and intellectual value that their dear prostitute friend consumed shamelessly by the ton. Not that she was one to knock anyone else's hobbies, it had been a great enough hurdle to get Resolve reading in the first place, but perhaps out of desperation to find humor in the situation, Luned laughed.

The grin quickly disappeared from Resolve's lips, however, as something seemed to catch her attention, a silent signal that drew her pale eyes out to the plains once more. Her horse stirred, tossing its blond mane nervously, as if sensing her sudden change.

Luned's face dropped, a familiar sinking sensation in her stomach. "Again?"

"Several." The exorcist patted her mount's neck reassuringly, the warmth of the creature's hide just as comforting to her as she shook off the eerie sensation of death. "We're close enough now… think we can run it?"

The scribe nodded and they were off, breaking clean for the ghost city.



Their arrival through what was left of the grand capital's walls was welcomed by a light flurry, frozen ash settling over the melancholy ruins in a manner which greeted them accurately with all Eluriand had to offer: solitary quietness. The stone and wood remnants of the once grand city were laced in ivy and overgrown with saplings and moss, emerald against pale slate, a strangely beautiful juxtaposition between life and death. Winded from the intensity of their gallop, breath came in puffs of white fog and Resolve finally began to shiver, exhilarated. In spite of the wintry temperature her skin had broken out into a light sweat, straining as the spiritual presence of this infamous place was.

"So this is it," she gasped, hesitating just a few feet in on the main road. The wreckage was astounding, everything she could see and feel overwhelming. Shadows swarmed just out of focus, low voices murmured in a vast chorus of white noise, and sparks of life and un-life crowded her astral radar. She opened her mouth, realized she could never succeed to articulate just how acute this experience was for her to logical Luned, and closed it again.

Meanwhile, the scribe extracted a homemade map from her pocket, which she opened and inspected. "This appears to be the main west entry," she explained after a moment of deliberation. "The library was closer to the south side, but it should be easy if the roads are clear."

Conversation was cut short as a few figures, flesh and blood, emerged from the remnants of the surrounding buildings. All carried weapons, deliberately displayed in a less welcoming manner than Luned wished.

"State your business," the closest elf demanded, his voice loud and harsh against the peaceful cityscape. It erupted so strongly and suddenly that Resolve nearly expected it to echo back down off the low clouds. He was understandably stern, arms crossed as he watched them from the precarious balcony of the ruins of half an old tavern. His uniform may have been violet once but, either from the dusting or fading, it was almost as gray as the pale skin on his deeply creased brow.

"We're scholars from Corone," Luned answered promptly and confidently in fluent High Elven. "We're just here to see what's left, for a friend."

Skeptical, the elf lifted a hand to his chin in thought. "This friend?"

"Iestyn Barathor."

"Iestyn is dead." Tension raised, hands twitching at the grips of bows, and Resolve felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. Luned, however, remained calm.

"I'm Luned, apprentice to Bleddyn of Radasanth, and this is Resolve, employed by the same," she explained. "I am aware that there are people working to archive what's left of the university, I'm sure at least one of them can vouch for that name."

"And what does this visit have to do with the Barathors?"

"Iestyn was a good friend of our master's," Luned continued. "Bleddyn sent us to find out what became of him, and to see if we can help salvage what's left of his library."

The elf disappeared into the building, only to return a short moment later on the street before them. He was very tall, and up close he was revealed to be much younger than his scowl had betrayed above. "Dismount. We will escort you."

With a nod of affirmation to her partner, the scribe cooperated, hopping off her horse and onto the ground below. It had been too long since they'd taken a break to stretch and her legs nearly gave out upon impact, and though she knew she didn't look it, she felt quite bow-legged. Back in the port town they'd splurged on the very best animals possible, knowing it would make the trip easier, but it was an unflattering affair to get back onto such a staggering beast, so Luned could only hope she'd be saved the embarrassment. She left the blanket behind and spent a moment tidying her appearance, blue dress rumpled from the long ride.

Resolve just found this all utterly titillating and dismounted gracefully without question, in spite of the fact that she hadn't understood a word of what they said.

With that they began to walk and their escort seemed more inclined to congeniality now that they were on even ground, even if his lean figure towered over the girls nearly as much as the horses. "I apologize for the strictness," he said, glancing over his shoulder as he led. "We have had numerous problems with scavengers." Though he apologized, there was very little trust in his tone.

"Ah," Luned replied, quickening her step so she was even with him. "Sorry to hear that." Her companion, lost in the language barrier and preoccupied by the two additional guardsmen who flanked either side, walked along just behind. Luned caught Resolve's searching expression and spoke up in Tradespeak to clarify the situation. "They are guiding us to the site of the library."

Before Resolve could nod in relieved comprehension, the elf cut her off. "No," he said, also in common. "We are taking you to Iarion Barathor."

The exorcist balked. "Who?"

[Vega]

When night fell over Eluriand, it did so completely. It was a result of the residual necromancy, the elves suspected: a side-effect of the magical trauma the area had sustained. Most animals avoided it instinctually, but a few birds and carrion beasts braved the unnatural, and of course there were those beasts for which escape was not practical. A solitary cricket forgot his place and chirped once in defiance of the aberrant cold, and then promptly fell silent again as he remembered where he was. Even a lonely cricket knew better than to draw attention to itself in the Ruined City at night.

So when Iarion heard his name shouted from outside, he was understandably confused, and then frightened. His first instinct was to head to the opposite side of the manor and look out across the estate toward the catacombs, and as he started in that direction he grabbed his warhammer in passing and suppressed a shiver. He’d been so sure that the haunting was over…

Then the shout came again, and he realized it was coming from the front entrance, and that was all the more confounding. Since when did ghouls or ghosts call from the door?

He stepped out onto the veranda hesitantly, hair running wild over his tattooed face, the neck of a wine bottle in his left hand, the shaft of his warhammer in the right. His visitors did not immediately notice him, which granted him a few precious seconds to overcome his discomfort and puzzlement. He recognized the sentries from the west checkpoint into the city – men younger even than he and high-strung to a one, but tirelessly dedicated. He did not recognize the small figures with them, and that was discomforting and thrilling all at once.

“Hello?”

“Iarion Barathor!” the leader of the escort shouted in high elven. “You have visitors seeking members of the Barathor family.”

“Who?” Iarion said dumbly.

“This is Luned and Resolve, under the employ of a scribe in Radasanth.”

“A moment,” Iarion said, shaking his head and returning to the dark interior of the manor.

Less than a minute later, he finished unlocking and opening the fortified front door, and he stepped out onto the landing to greet his guests. He left the bottle and the hammer inside. Up close, he saw that his guests were human women, apparently fresh off the road.

“I apologize for our manners,” Iarion told them. “It’s just…well.”

He waved at the city beyond.

“I understand,” Luned said. “Actually, it would be more appropriate for me to apologize. We didn’t mean to disturb you so late, we’ve only just arrived. We were actually hoping to find Iestyn Barathor…”

“I’m sorry,” Iarion said, “but Iestyn is lost to us.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Iarion shook his head. “There are many losses to be sorry for here in Eluriand, but good Iestyn made his final deeds count. There was mention of a scribe…?”

“Oh, yes,” Luned said. “I’m apprenticed to Bleddyn of Radasanth, who…”

“The name is familiar,” Iarion said. “Please, count me a friend, and count my home yours. In fact, we should probably get indoors soon. Despite my best efforts, the grounds are not always safe after dark. My friends, if you’d help me stable the horses?”

“No,” Luned’s escort said, looking out across the grounds toward the catacombs. His men were having trouble keeping their eyes from that direction, as well. “Your offer is a kind one, but we must return to our post presently.”

“The way isn’t always safe…”

“We are familiar with it, please don’t concern yourself. We shall send word later in the week. Good evening, Master Barathor.”

Iarion folded his hands in front of him and nodded his farewell, keeping his face bland. When the sentries turned to ride away, he let his brow fall and his eyes sour for half a moment, and then corrected himself when he looked to Luned and Resolve again.

“Please,” he said, “come inside. Let’s get you comfortable, then I will attend to your horses.”

“We’ll help,” Luned said.

“No, I insist. It’d be soothing, and I could use a moment to gather my thoughts.”

----

As it turned out, Iarion’s manor had plenty of surviving guest rooms that were in fine condition, and running water. As he showed Luned and Resolve to their rooms, which were on opposite sides of the same hall, he proudly demonstrated the manor’s ingenious plumbing system and explained the system at length. Only when he finished explaining did he think to politely point out that Resolve hadn’t said a word, at which point Luned explained that she didn’t speak elven. Iarion was mortified, apologized profusely, and from that point on spoke Trade.

While he was outside stabling the horses, Luned explained the system to Resolve. Tremendous bowls were built into the manor’s roof, which collected the region’s copious rainwater and snowfall. The bowls were lined with special stones that produced heat, which melted snowfall and kept the water at a pleasant temperature. When certain valves were opened, the rainwater was pulled down through a series of pipes, which were themselves filled with sand and reeds and a special form of paper, which in conjunction filtered and purified the water before it arrived clean in bathtubs and sinks throughout the house.

Long story short: they got to take hot baths, and wash away the dust of the road.

By the time they emerged from their rooms, wearing borrowed but extremely comfortable sleepwear, Iarion had prepared a veritable spread of fruit and cheese, and he was waiting with barely contained excitement. When his guests began to dig in, he settled back into his father’s chair, immensely pleased with himself. He tried to remember the last time he entertained guests, and realized he never had – not alone. That dampened the mood a bit for him, but only a bit. He was accustomed to bittersweet realizations.

“So,” Iarion said, pouring himself an extraneous glass of wine, “Miss Luned, Miss Resolve. Why, if you don't mind me asking, does old Bleddyn send you in search of Iestyn Barathor?"

[Resolve]

Resolve ate with gusto, quite pleased with this convenient turn of events, and her enthusiasm in turn pleased their host. She rather liked sleeping in real beds and having heated water and dinner being laid out for them, so she had very few contributions to the conversation thus far other than compliments. It should have bothered her that there was always something suspicious stirring in her peripherals, but she reasoned that she could always creep into bed with Luned if the spooky old mansion and the dark presences on the estate's grounds kept her from restful sleep. At this rate, she knew that she could probably count on it.

Her friend, on the other hand, was a bit less relaxed in alien settings, no matter how cultured and diplomatic she prided herself in being. Luned ate, but hesitantly; her anxiety was clear as the Barathor family's surviving crystal that they drank from, and it put a sour note in the wine Iarion sipped.

"Iestyn had some important things in his archive," the scribe answered, pale fingers fidgeting with the neck of her glass. "Important enough that Bleddyn believes they're worth the trouble of excavation to find. I'm going out on a limb in telling you this, but they're things that the scholars at the university do not know about, and should not know about."

This piqued Iarion's interest and he leaned back, pensive. "What sorts of things?"

"We'll know them when we find them. I'll recognize most things of value by sight, and Resolve has talents that will help us pinpoint important objects trapped under the ruins… assuming that is the current state of Iestyn's library, that is."

Iarion nodded. "Indeed, there isn't much left but rubble, I'm afraid. What sort of talents?"

The girl, blessed with enough inherent charisma to balance her dislike of saying things too politely, piped up through a mouthful of cheese. "I'm an exorcist. You know, your house is creepy as hell."

Luned blushed, either from embarrassment or the wine, and looked wide eyed to Iarion, who thankfully took the comment with true grace. "It didn't used to be," he said, quite matter-of-factly. The young women looked to him expectantly, as if his response was to lead into some grand story. There certainly were tales to tell, but their host summarized in favor of keeping the explanation timely. "We Barathors employed many humans over many generations. As family, they were buried on the grounds. However, when the dead started to rise, the estate became very problematic for that reason. The residents of Eluriand wrecked most of the buildings on the estate simply to purge them."

"Then… why are you here?" The conversation took a turn for the personal as Luned spoke up, though it was a natural question. After all, what kind of man –– or elf –– would banish himself to a ghost city?

The gentleman leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table, gazing past her for a moment as he mulled it over carefully. With a slight shrug he held his hands out, palms up. "I didn't know where else to go." There was a smile on his lips as if to dispel the sorrow underlying those words, but something in it tugged at Luned's heartstrings. She could only imagine what it was like to be among the first to return to rebuild from ruins, as well as what kind of strength an individual had to summon to manage sanely in such a desolate place.

This made her feel awkwardly emotional, so she changed the subject. "Could we trouble you for directions to the site? We have a map, but I'm afraid some of the landmarks may not be intact."

"We shall all go together in the morning," Iarion replied readily. "I would like to help, if I can."

The exorcist stretched in her seat, the borrowed tunic almost comically loose on her. She'd tied it off at the waist in a natural effort to pretend it was fashionable, something which she nearly accomplished. This was in contrast to Luned, who simply wore hers like a frumpy dress, her long hair loose while it dried. "That would be great," Resolve said as she stood. "The more the merrier. Can we help clean up?"

Iarion shook his head. "It's no trouble. You're my first guests since becoming master of the estate, consider it much needed practice on my part. Please, make yourselves at home, and we'll set off first thing in the morning."

Luned followed suit, standing and pushing her chair, but as Resolve started toward their rooms, she hesitated to get one last word in. "Thank you for everything," she said, offering her first genuine smile of the strange evening. "If there's something we can do to help you while we're here, please let me know. I don't know what that might be, but we'll certainly owe you one."

He simply nodded, gracious as always. "I will."



It didn't take long for Resolve to sneak into Luned's room and climb into bed next to her, just as predicted. The scribe gladly made room; even if she couldn't see what her friend could, anyone could feel the intense darkness that shrouded the estate. It made the night feel heavy, uncomfortable and stifling like midsummer humidity. It was difficult not to let it seep in, and she was continually amazed that Iarion managed to maintain such refined social skills after living there alone. She was quite sure that if it was her, she'd go mad.

"Too much," Resolve complained sleepily, her voice low as if they might be overheard. "But it's worse outside, I'm not even sure what's out there. I can't imagine if we went with the original plan to camp out."

Luned had taken to laying in the fetal position, perhaps a callback to childhood when unseen monsters clawed at her feet in her dreams. She settled in and peered over at her friend, trying to make out her distinctive features in the dense shadow. "Hopefully it's only for a few days," she offered encouragingly, also in a whisper. "Have you heard from Ags?"

The exorcist buried her face in her pillow, her words muffled. "No. She probably forgot, but Bleddyn will remind her."

With a sigh that was half exasperated laugh, Luned concurred. "I thought it was a bad idea to leave the supplies with her. Hopefully we'll get them tomorrow."

"Mmm." Resolve burrowed deeper as if seeking warmth, disappearing under the blankets and quilts, and there was a long moment of silence in which Luned wondered if she'd finally fallen asleep. "What do you think of this Iarion character? Not very feral," she added, as if disappointed. "He is kind of pretty, though."

Luned considered her opinion carefully. "I just think it's sad."

"Is that really all you have to say? Aren't you a woman, too?"

"Well…" the scribe trailed off, realizing what a loaded question that was, and twisted it into a halfhearted jest. "Haven't you heard? I'm a student, and a teacher, and sometimes an idiot, but I don't think anyone's labeled me as a woman."

"Oh, Lune," Resolve sighed, and then she drifted off to sleep.

[Vega]

Iarion woke to a pale morning. The night before seemed a strange dream made fuzzy by too much alcohol, so he rolled over to face the window and stayed in bed for a long time. There were naked trees on the grounds – not dead, but stubbornly dormant, looking for all the world like black veins against the slate grey sky. In time, big flakes of ashy snow began to drift, hitting the glass windows and melting into brown tears.

He decided he wasn’t going out today, the ghouls be damned. The city would survive a day without his futile attempts to purify it – three or four shamblers to be saved for another time. He wanted more wine, so he threw a robe on in addition to his slacks for warmth, and then he shuffled out into the house bleary-eyed. The dream of sharing a meal with two civilized people made the place seem vast, empty, and tomblike – sensations he could usually push aside.

He passed the window, and a pair of horses peered out at him through the stable windows, perhaps expecting breakfast. He kept shuffling, oblivious to the incongruousness of an occupied stable, rubbing his head and mussing up the mop of blonde while he yawned. He grabbed a bottle off the table and gave it a shake, but it was empty. He groaned, disappointed with himself. Then he went searching for another bottle.

Then he realized there were three glasses on the table, and he tensed.

He thought of himself as a witty person, but the amount of time it took him to figure it all out said otherwise.

---

By the time Luned and Resolve emerged from the room they’d shared, Iarion had erased all evidence of his silliness. The table was not only cleaned of all alcoholic paraphernalia, it was set with freshly cooked chicken’s eggs, apples, and plenty of water. And he was dressed.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Sit, eat. I had a late start myself this morning, so I hope you’ll forgive a lapse in manners if I attend the horses while you break your fast. It would be best if we started out soon.”

They did their best to smile and say their thank-you’s, but Iarion saw it as clearly in them as he had felt it in himself. Eluriand was spiritually draining, so much so that not even a solid night’s rest could keep it at bay. He made note of it, and took upon himself a solemn charge: he needed to do everything in his power to keep this party’s spirits up.

---

Iarion was bad at keeping spirits up.

The city wasn’t helping, either. The elf hadn’t been this way in some time, and he’d forgotten how much devastation the south-central section of the city had seen. Indeed, between the ruined hulks that had once been sturdy stone buildings, the party could see through the misty haze where the walls had been torn asunder and most of the buildings reduced to an endless field of rubble. Every so often they would find elven siege machines, collapsed and rotting and overgrown with moss and fungus, all pointed south. It was an endless reminder of what exactly the city had suffered, and of the continued existence of the Red Forest beyond, and the monsters that had called it home.

Iarion tried to talk about anything but the city – he asked questions about Corone and Bleddyn, which awarded him simple answers. He didn’t blame them. Luned looked around with wide-eyed wonder, and kept finding and pointing out works of art that had been buried or marred or partially concealed by the ubiquitous devastation. Resolve was even more preoccupied, and Iarion remembered her comment from the night before – he could only imagine what an exorcist would think of a dead city.

At a loss, he began to sing. At first he did so hesitantly. It always seemed wrong to sing outside, to break the oppressive silence. He told himself it was prudent to be quiet, in case ghouls or shamblers heard him, and so he’d never tried it. Now that it was happening though, it felt good to defy the silence. He sang a mournful song, because that was appropriate, acknowledging the atmosphere of pain and loss. And then he launched immediately into a wholly different song, one of fervent determination and unshakable will, one of seized hope that would not be relinquished for all the abuse in the cosmos.

When the last of his rumbling song echoed off the stones there was a moment of silence, and then Resolve said, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Luned agreed. “That was…”

“Thank you,” Iarion said. “Coincidentally, I received much of my vocal training right in that building there as a boy.”

“Really?” Luned said. “What was it like?”

“It was magnificent,” the elf said humbly. “There was a garden just in front. You can see where the grass is growing up through the stones there. Anyway, they used to train a pair of students from each of the registers at a time, separately, and at the end of each session the whole choir would meet in the garden and harmonize. More often than not, this street was alive with song at all hours of the day.”

“Even during the siege,” Resolve said.

“Yes,” Iarion said. “How did you…?”

“They’re still singing,” she said softly.

[Luned]

Iestyn's archive wasn't impressive in its size, the foundation perhaps the dimensions of Bleddyn's main library, but once upon a time its ornate facade was truly a sight to behold. Iarion assured them of this as they approached its ruined husk, all remaining in testament to its past glory a couple leaning columns of marble and the northeast corner, which seemed to coddle its center by shielding it from the lightly falling snow. The walls around it had fallen away but there were remnants of ornamental carvings climbing that last remaining spine, tangles of yellowed vines shielding the faces of the figures within them as if the spirits who protected the ancient space had gone into hibernation. The old courtyard grew like an oasis in the very heart of the ruin, an apple tree well out of season extending meager shade over a cluster of dried herbs and withering shrubs, the skeletal fingers of its branches reaching toward the sky as if to coax the return of the sun.

"I'm not sure what you hope to find," Iarion said, standing at the collapsed threshold of the main entrance. He was skeptical that two young women could excavate such a lost place, even with his help, but was intrigued enough to see what plan they had up their sleeves.

The scribe, clad in her dusty traveling clothes from the previous day, climbed over the last of the wall through a spot that was once a window. Resolve followed, making quicker work of it than her friend with her long legs, and they picked their way over tumbled pillars and rotting timber toward the center of the structure. There were scattered objects visible in some places under the rubble, glimpses of faded and tattered upholstery and shattered furniture. "Can you feel anything?" Luned asked, calling out behind her.

Resolve hugged herself with her arms for a moment as if holding in a shiver, her skin riddled with goosebumps, and she sent her friend an unimpressed glance with her cold blue eyes as if that was the silliest question she'd ever heard. She managed a constructive response, however. "It's like Bleddyn said, there's something big here in the center, under the old courtyard. The stairs were over there." She gestured vaguely to her right.

This conjured a vague memory once lost in the back of Iarion's mind. Iestyn wasn't estranged from the family so much as simply strange in general, somewhat of a recluse who would disappear for months at a time without word or trace. He had few recollections of the man as more than a solemn face in the background at social gatherings, but he did recall some details of the visits he made to the archive while growing up.

"There's a space down there," he said, climbing over the rubble to join the others. He took a moment to visualize his folly as a rambunctious child, exploring the nooks and crannies of the mysterious old building. Once he found the passage to the cellar, and when he investigated, it was one of the few times he'd ever seen Iestyn betray some level of emotion. He could still see the elf's brow furrowed with deep creases, the sternness in his pale green eyes scolding him more than words ever could. Iestyn always wore his hair long and loose, a shimmering platinum past his waist over white robes that matched the stark marble of his mysterious palace. The cellar wasn't grand and bright, though. It was dark and dank, built merely into the gray stone foundation, and when Iestyn discovered him there, little Iarion thought for sure he'd found a ghost. Iestyn wasn't old for an elf but he always seemed exceedingly wise, and when he warned Iarion away, the demand was never questioned. "I remember seeing a door, but never what was behind it."

"A safe room," Luned said. "He never touched base with Bleddyn once the war reached Eluriand. He thinks he buried what he could before it was too late and things got into the wrong hands."

With a sober nod, Resolve climbed over to the projected stairwell and knelt to begin sifting. "If we're lucky, the passage is still open," she said with a groan as she hoisted a brick and heaved it aside. "We just have to find it first."



The first few hours of the excavation went slowly. Resolve powered on relentlessly, impressing Iarion with strength that perhaps even exceeded his own as she slung bricks and displaced segments of old beams. He sang for them as they worked, filling the dreary silence with hope and adding some entertainment to the rather monotonous task of clearing out rubble. The exorcist didn't mention the voices again and tried to sing along as Iarion taught her some words, but once in a while she paused in her work as if overhearing a distant conversation.

It was quickly obvious that Luned was of little use when it came to lifting and moving things, so she set about picking through the shallower debris for anything worth saving. She didn't find much at first, but when she discovered the graveyard of some old shelves, she enlisted her companions' help in uncovering the skeleton of one. As they returned to their task she picked through a layer of decomposing books, seemingly melted together into a soup of paper compost and moss, only the treated leather of their covers often remaining. Instead of reminding her of a library with the familiar scent of dusty old paper, it simply smelled of earth, and she wondered what knowledge they'd lost to the elements. When she accidentally disturbed a nest of ants she trembled a sigh of relief, grateful that they were not the size of dogs and, for a pleasant change, much more afraid of her than she was of them.

After some digging, she eventually unearthed some intact objects. One of them was in a mahogany case, once pristinely polished to a vibrant auburn, but now worn and warped from weathering. The glass was broken and the obsidian-inlaid face was cracked, but it appeared to be an old clock from Alerar. From the style of it, it appeared to be made by the same craftsman who invented the music box she'd seen in Bleddyn's study many years ago.

"Did you find something?" Iarion asked, maneuvering over a few obstacles to get a look at Luned's discovery.

The scribe held it up, prying open the face to reveal the mechanisms beneath. They were tarnished and far beyond the point of repair, but the glint of brass made it seem like treasure. "I wonder who makes these," she wondered aloud, searching for some signature mark from the person who designed it.

She offered it to Iarion and the gesture was answered with a grimace. "It's from Alerar, isn't it?" His tone of voice was strange –– not disinterested, but almost accusing.

"Yes, I believe so," Luned answered, looking up at him as if not quite sure what he meant.

The elf could see that his bitterness hurt the mood, so he changed the subject. "How would you like to choose the next song? I'm sure you've got something you could teach us," he encouraged in an attempt to lighten things.

With a shake of the head, Luned glanced back down at the clock where she clasped the face back into place. "No, that's alright."

"You don't like to sing?"

"No, it's fine," she answered, almost defensively. "I've just enjoyed listening. If I joined in, I wouldn't be able to hear it as well." Warmth blossomed in her cheeks and this time she didn't have the wine to blame.

Iarion caught onto the subtle nonverbal language but, before he could respond, the rubble beneath their feet groaned. The pair looked around, turning to check on Resolve just in time to see the ground beneath her feet collapse, the last tension in the rotting wood giving way and sending her plummeting into the lower level. They lost sight of her figure as it fell into the pit in a blur of crimson, quickly buried under a gray shower of debris. The reverberations caused the ground to shift and the closest column swayed, excruciatingly slow at first, and before their eyes it slammed to the ground between them and the lost exorcist. It fell with a thunderous impact that shook them to the bones and inspired a flock of birds to abandon its roost in the apple tree, a dozen flecks of white tumbling reverse into the sky through the light snowfall.

"Resolve," Luned shrieked, shock catching her voice in her throat so it came out in a choked gasp. After a few quick breaths she tried again, and her voice rang clear to the clouds. "Resolve!"

With speed on his side, Iarion flew into action. He leapt over the the fallen column with astounding grace, bounded over a pile of relocated bricks––

"No, Iarion, wait!"

The scribe's voice met his ears in a panic and he halted with a glance over his shoulder, blond hair sweeping over his face. "But––" he protested, but then he realized she was right. The ground around the pit was likely unsafe, and if he dove in too quickly he might go crashing through the brittle floor and come to harm as well.

She had fallen onto her knees and was pulling various little books and scraps of paper out of her pockets, trembling hands dropping them to the snowy ground as she searched frantically for her pen. She found it, cast away the cap, and began writing on her arm, the most convenient surface available.

Iarion watched, eyes the color of spring squinting as he took in the spectacle. The only explanation for her actions he could think of was perhaps she was casting something, but if she could heal through magic, shouldn't they recover Resolve first?

The little scribe finished, her shoulders heaving in a heavy sigh, and she looked up and past him. He followed suit, turning… and, to his astonishment, the floor had reassembled and Resolve was standing atop the rubble once again.

It was like Luned reversed it, hitting some magical note that undid the miniature catastrophe. He stared at the exorcist in amazement, and she caught his strange look.

"Did… something happen? Are you okay?" she asked, looking between her two companions with concern. She dusted some grime off her clothing, the impact of the moment lost on her.

Iarion realized the disaster really was completely reverted, the girl and the structure restored to a checkpoint in the recent past. She didn't know what had happened. "Come away," he insisted, words coming automatically as his mind reeled. "It's not safe. You fell, but Luned fixed it."

"Oh, oh dear," Resolve frowned, quickly scaling the rubble to reach her friend. Iarion noticed, then, that the column was standing again, and he found himself gazing up at it against the pale sky for a long moment. What Luned just did had implications… beautiful, astonishing, wondrous implications.

When he turned his attention back to the women, Luned had wrapped her arms around Resolve's waist in a relieved embrace, but it seemed to be the other girl who held on more tightly, as if holding her up. "Lune? Are you alright?"

[Vega]

Working together, Resolve and Iarion helped the little scribe out of the archives and back out under the cold sky. The elf was so preoccupied with the task that he didn’t – couldn’t let his mind wander through the natural extension of what he’d just witnessed. That would have to come later.

They’d left the girls’ horses tethered nearby. Conferring quickly, he and Resolve agreed that it was prudent to make a camp now, both to make Luned comfortable and to facilitate the excavation. Soon they had a small fire going, and a blanket wrapped around Luned’s shoulders, and a pot of water was suspended above the flames.

“What was that?” Iarion finally asked as he poured the finished tea into a tin mug.

“What was…? Oh, that,” Luned said, smiling apologetically. Iarion forced himself to be patient: it was clear that the girl was exhausted to the point of confusion. He could only imagine how taxing such a feat must have been.

“She’ll be okay,” Resolve said.

Iarion glanced around the courtyard and nodded vaguely to himself. The area was open and surrounded by difficult terrain. Ghouls might investigate it, but there would be nothing here to tempt them in. If a shambler happened by, they would have ample warning, and scavengers were a distant threat in this area – everyone knew there was precious little left to loot in the south part of the city.

“We should continue while we still have the daylight,” he told Resolve. “We’ll check on you in a bit, alright? Call if you need us.”

Luned sipped her drink, blinked when she realized she was being spoken to, and then smiled sleepily and nodded.

Resolve looked to the elf, and he looked back. She shrugged.

When they returned to the archive, they spent a long time poking around, carefully examining the area surrounding the site of Resolve’s temporary fall. At her insistence he recounted the event, in as much detail as he could recall, and then she asked him to explain it again. The second time she stood where he had been standing, and seemed to look beyond the floor and the walls.

“You really don’t remember any of it?”

She shook her head. “For me, you two just suddenly got quiet, so I turned around, and you were looking at me like I’d grown an extra set of eyes.”

“Where did she learn…?”

Resolve scowled and shook her head. “I don’t know. She keeps doing stupid things with stupid people, but I guess some good as come out of it.”

“You’re going to have to elucidate on that,” Iarion said, pushing on the once-collapsed column experimentally.

“It’s a long story and I don’t feel like talking about it,” the exorcist said.

Iarion nodded, nudging the base of the column, and then looking up along it to the sky. “That’s fair.”

“First she went to Salvar on some stupid errand, and she’s just so…I mean, she’s my best friend, but she can be so…”

“Naïve?” Iarion offered.

“Dumb,” Resolve corrected. “She gets herself into so much trouble, and I know she got herself into something there, but she won’t talk about it. And then she ran off again, and later I find out she’s been to Ettermire of all places…”

“Ettermire?” Iarion said, temporarily distracted from the pillar. He had a sour look on his face, but Resolve hadn’t noticed.

“...and she won’t tell me about that either, but I know she got herself into something pretty serious there. I think she got hurt. I know she got hurt, I’ve seen the scars, I’m just not sure how bad. And she’s mixed up with the wrong people, and she just…”

Iarion frowned. “It sounds like she’s struggling with something. I can’t imagine what darkness would compel a person to go to Ettermire willingly, but she seems like a sweet girl. There must be a reason.”

“Yeah,” Resolve said stubbornly. “She’s dumb.”

Iarion cracked a grin, and Resolve struggled to keep any and all amusement from her features.

“Well, she cares about you very much,” he said.

“She has a funny way of showing it.”

Iarion shook his head. “She showed it pretty clearly today. I’ve seen a lot of people in the midst of losing someone, Resolve, believe me. You are precious to her.”

Resolve scrunched her nose and made a face. “How are we going to do this thing?”

Iarion nodded, switching back to business. “Well, I had an idea for that, maybe. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but…”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“Okay,” Iarion said. “I’ve been trying to picture the archives the way they were, which hasn’t been easy because I’ve only been here a handful of times, and…anyway. We know now that there’s an empty space below the floor there, and it must go pretty far down.”

Resolve paused, narrowed her eyes, and seemed to think about it.

“I think there used to be stairs…there,” she said, and pointed to a place beyond the patch of ground where she fell.

Iarion nodded. “That lines up with what I remember.”

“I’m not going over there again,” she said.

Iarion cracked a wry grin. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything.”

“I don’t,” Resolve said, “but it’s…you know.”

“Creepy,” Iarion said. Resolve nodded. “Well, I’m with you anyway. I don’t think either of us should be going over there, especially because I don’t think Luned is going to be repeating that trick again anytime soon.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Iarion told her. She liked it.

They spent some time discussing the particulars, but there was only so much planning to be done: the idea was a simple one. Iarion pulled his warhammer from its place on his back and then shrugged his duster off and tossed it aside. Resolve took her place beside the column and nodded, and then Iarion swung his hammer fiercely at the base of the column, opposite the side Resolve stood on. The stone chipped and shattered, and the ground shuddered under their feet.

Iarion hesitated, but Resolve did not. She pushed one toned shoulder against the uneven stone of the column, gritted her teeth, and shoved. Iarion watched, dumbly impressed for a moment, and then gave the base of the column another blow. The column began to lean, and then threatened to rock back toward the exorcist. Iarion hissed, dropped his hammer, and hurried over to help. He was now sure that she was the stronger one between them, but he helped her push with as much might as he could summon up. To his relief, the column toppled away from them.

It struck the floor just beyond the spot where Resolve had fallen through, and the ground immediately gave way with a thunderous roar and an explosion of dust. The ground leapt under their feet as the column struck, causing elf and exorcist to stumble, and when the dust cleared and their ears stopped ringing, and they heard Luned’s panicked cries from outside.

“We’re alright,” Iarion shouted. “We’re fine!”

The little scribe appeared, a thin silhouette in the dust cloud, wide-eyed and panting, and then she sneezed.

“Our hero,” Resolve said.

“Are you insane?” Luned hissed, fuming.

“Our apologies,” Iarion said. “We had an idea. And, well…”

He very carefully approached the column, the base of which was now standing at a steep angle at the edge of a hole in the floor. They’d created a ramp down into the unknown.

“…it looks like it worked.”

[Resolve]

Iarion and his partner in crime both started toward the mysterious cavern they'd made and the scribe put her foot down, calling after them with authority. Resolve knew it as the dreaded 'teacher voice'. "No, you are not going down there," she said, arms crossed. "Not today, not until I can cast again. We can't risk it."

The pair in question were inclined to agree. Iarion nodded in compliance while Resolve clarified. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Luned confirmed.

"It's getting late, anyhow," Iarion said, glancing up to the clouds. The sun was difficult to spot in the overcast sky, but from his approximation, "It looks like we have just a few hours of light left. I'll cobble together some handholds to make tomorrow easier on us if you two finish setting up camp."

The exorcist offered him a curt salute and marched off to join Luned, and as Iarion got to work in a hunt for makeshift supplies, they disappeared from sight. The campsite was tucked away against one of the more intact outer walls of the old archive to shield it from wind, some thick, skeletal shrubbery offering protection from a second side that gave them a nearly cozy nest in the otherwise open street. The fire was in the center, creating a warm little hearth at what would be the feet of their bedrolls, which Resolve lined side-by-each within the embrace of the wilted vegetation. Inspired to keep the snow off their faces while they slept, she went about tying a large canvas tarp like a canopy over the little retreat, and by the time she finished, she discovered her friend dozing by the fire.

She sauntered over and knelt down next to the scribe who looked surprisingly comfortable with her cheek resting against the cold stone of the wall, cocooned in her heavy blanket. "I thought you were going to make some more tea," Resolve teased quietly, low enough that she knew it wouldn't wake her. As she went about adding another piece of wood to the fire, however, she sensed the presence of two foreign bodies not far away, and she tensed. "I'll be right back," she announced to deaf ears, and then rose to investigate.

Whoever it was, they didn't feel like the elves who greeted them at the entrance of the city; even if she had allowed her senses to become clouded then, initially overwhelmed by the sheer number of presences haunting the city, she would still recognize them. Cautious but confident, Resolve crept across the street and down what was once an alley between buildings, but now breathed open with expansion granted by a lost wall. As she neared the presences, however, they changed course, taking flight in the opposite direction without so much as a physical glimpse.

Though the girl lacked the life experience that her companions had over her, she did have a good sense of judgment, and something told her these individuals were scouting the area, beckoned by the noise they'd been making. That caused unease and she was tempted to follow, but the concern of leaving Luned out of sight won out, so she went back.

Iarion was there, stoking the fire. The scribe appeared to be awake and she pulled in the hem of her blanket in to avoid some sparks as they crackled across the ground. Resolve couldn't hear what they were talking about, but she was smiling.

"They mentioned scavengers yesterday," she interrupted as she arrived, the others turning to her with concern. "I think we've garnered some attention."

The elf clasped his hands behind his back and considered the predicament. "I imagine they'll keep an eye on us until we leave," he speculated. "I have yet to experience a confrontation with any as of yet; perhaps they need to scavenge because they're cowards." He looked to Resolve with a smirk. "We'll keep close, but I suspect they won't move in until we leave, and at that point we will have what we came for."

Resolve nodded, and though she still frowned, she relaxed somewhat. "Alright." She trusted his instinct, considering he was the expert on local predators.

"For now, let's focus on recuperating," Iarion proposed as he diverted to the pile of supplies against the wall. He pulled out not one, but two bottles of wine, and the girls couldn't help but wonder if he'd brought the entire cabinet with him. From his enthusiasm for entertaining, they wouldn't have put it past him. He dismissed any offers to help as he produced a dinner much like the night before, but packed efficiently into a large picnic basket.

As they settled around the fire, enjoying an impromptu feast and a swilling enough wine to stave off the first chill of the evening, their host turned to Luned. "Resolve mentioned you've had some adventures recently," he said, much to the exorcist's chagrin; she tossed him a death glare, but he brushed it off and focused on her friend. "Any good threads come of it? I think we could use something to fill the silence."

The scribe seemed to shrink a bit on the spot and, after a long moment of careful consideration, she shook her head. "Nothing worth sharing."

Resolve buried her attention in her mug of wine as Iarion encouraged her secretive friend. "Surely there must be something."

"Well," Luned conceded with a sigh, "I did go to Berevar."

And then Resolve perked up, glancing over. "You did? What happened there?"

"It's a long story, but… hmm." Luned took a moment to organize the pieces together in her head, then began. "There isn't much work if you're a scribe in Salvar, save right in the cities, which are few and far between much of the time. I was desperate by the time I reached Knife's Edge, so I volunteered for a journalism gig that no one else wanted. They sent me off to Berevar, to a little village where it was rumored there lived a boy thrice as tall as a grown man…"

And so the tale in shrink (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24370-A-Tale-In-Shrink-(Closed)) began, and the scribe proved herself a decent storyteller as she recounted how she met Gurdon and a rather infamous fellow named Leopold Winchester. They packed the boy away in a caravan and carted him all the way to the legendary city of giants, a journey studded with little anecdotes from the farm he grew up on and their sadly amusing pet cemetery, to the grand gate of the city, the largest wall of stone she'd seen even in books. As Luned talked, Resolve caught Iarion's eye and offered him a reluctantly grateful smile. It was obvious she hadn't heard this part of her friend's travels yet, and she hated to admit, but she had to give him credit for his subtle finesse; the scribe was hesitant to spill to Resolve alone, but in this context, some of the weight of whatever she carried was lifted. The exorcist considered herself a congenial, approachable person, but there was an inherent social grace in Iarion that she couldn't help but admire, perhaps even with a tinge of jealousy.

By the time Luned finished her story it was getting dark, a faint rosy glow in the distance where the sun was just disappearing. The trees began to look like silhouettes of skeletons as the world dimmed, nestled into the nooks and crannies of Eluriand's ruins against the horizon. The bits of green that kept the city alive grayed in the changing light, and soon only the flickering fire before them would boast real color.

"I would say that was definitely worth sharing," Iarion reassured their storyteller. "Is there more?"

Luned considered, something nearly undetectable in her face darkened, and she shook her head.

"How about you?" Resolve spoke up, saving the conversation from her friend's gloomy silence. "Where were you during the Corpse War?"

As Iarion drained the last of the first bottle and reached for the next, he indulged them.

[Vega]

“I had a pair of uncles,” Iarion began, topping off their mugs. “Not Iestyn’s brothers, they were from the other side of the family. Very much his opposite, they were wild explorers, hunters, and adventurers. Such proclivities were passed down to me, and my parents realized it early on, so I spent a lot of time in the company of those uncles.”

Iarion paused to smile fondly at their memory, and then he took a sip. He was surprised at how much better wine tasted out of a proper vessel, rather than straight from the mouth of the bottle. He made a note of it, but figured he was going to be drunk enough tonight that he’d forget it anyway.

“At first, when I was a boy, they’d just take me on little trips. Camping some miles outside the city walls, long hikes to the east and west, simple things. For me it was an adventure, for them it was a chance to impart what they knew so they could foster a new companion for themselves in me. And of course it worked. I might have started classes at Istien and ended up some stodgy mage if not for them, and never left Eluriand.

“Instead they took me out wandering or ranging or hiking, sometimes for years at a time. In fact, I think the last time had us adventuring for some seven years in and around Gunnbad before we came home to Eluriand for a time. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time I would see the city whole. I wish I’d stayed a little longer but, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

“We were in Trenyce when I saw my first shambler, and I suppose that’s when the Corpse War started – at least for me. Trenyce wasn’t the proudest elven city, and so I think it was set apart by Raiaera as a whole, and thus that’s where many of the displaced and most unwelcome human beings went. That will be important for we elves to remember, because it’s a sign of our guilt. We thought we had atoned for the Great Sin by simply acknowledging its occurrence, but still we pushed our unfortunate cousins into distant corners like Trenyce and left them to suffer, and, well…”

Iarion shrugged, then shook his head and took a sip from his mug. The sip turned into a long drink, and then he topped it off again with the bottle. He didn’t notice Luned and Resolve sharing a glance.

“I’m getting ahead of myself, though. You are both young, so I’m assuming you’ve never been to Trenyce. What you must know is that it was a regrettable place, and many unfortunate and disadvantaged human beings lived there. We had only planned to stop there briefly, but in that time we heard rumors of strange sicknesses in the city slums, and my uncles thought it wise to investigate. So of course we did, and of course it was worse than the rumors said. The humans were dying in dozens daily, and would burn the bodies, but the plague would take whole families suddenly and it was impossible to keep up with it. Soon enough, the expired were wandering the streets in small gangs.

“We called them shamblers because in the early days of the war, they were directionless. They were much as they are now, in fact. Perhaps the Forgotten One hadn’t extended his control to them yet, or there weren’t enough of them to be worth his attention. I can’t be sure, but they weren’t an army then, just an alarming nuisance. People would wake up in the morning and their sick loved ones would be wandering around the house as if in a daze. They wouldn’t attack, not usually, they just…well, shambled.

“So we went to the city council and informed them. At the time I was dumbfounded at how blasé they’d been about it, but in retrospect I realize they simply had no concept of how many human beings there were in the city, even though they lived and worked alongside them. They were old elves, and so insulated within their circles that they did not feel the passing of decades, and so the humans were as mayflies to them.

“They did eventually listen, and for a few weeks there were token efforts to contain and cure the plague. As I said, these events were alarming, but not panic-inducing. Xem’Zund was an old threat long defeated in our minds, and we figured this was just an echo from his last uprising. The most popular theory was that his necromancy had somehow settled into the earth itself, and had mutated a local virus, thus causing the people it killed to be reanimated.”

Iarion scoffed.

“I found the whole thing infuriating. I think I told you already, my family has always had a close relationship with the humans we employed on our estate, so it has always been difficult for me to understand the mindset common to my people.”

“How do you mean?” Resolve said.

“Elven elders can be very callous toward humans. The older one gets, the faster the years seem to pass, until sixty or seventy years just feels like a season. To them the birth, life, and death of a single human being seems insignificant. My father used to say that it was like watching a leaf bud and grow green, and then fall in the autumn. He found it beautiful: so many complex lives blooming and blossoming and then burning out like countless explosions.

“He called our servants fireflies. I realize how offensive that must seem, but he meant it in the best possible way. Thousands of sparks in the dark, impossible to track or differentiate, but each one thrilling and unexpected in its own way.”

Iarion paused to drink again.

“I wish I knew how my father would have reacted to the plague, if he could have done more to spur the council to action. My uncles and I, we did all we could, but in the end it wasn’t enough. By the time they realized how dangerous this plague was, the truth was revealed to all of Raiaera and it was too late. We scarce heard news of the massacre at Carnelost before the shamblers formed a horde and overwhelmed the city’s defenses. Trenyce fell before a contingent of the Forgotten One’s army split off for the north, and we were in the middle of it.

“My uncles decided at first to make for Galonan and from there to Tilgonar before returning to Eluriand to join the defense. We made it to Galonan just in time to hear that Tilgonar was gone and the horde was on its way, and that there were ravagers spreading far and wide between us and home. With no hope of reaching Eluriand by land, we decided to try and reach Anebrilith by sea, with the hope that there would be a counter-attack toward the west from there.”

Resolve gathered that this had not been a good plan. Iarion paused to drink, and Luned – who had surely read all about the troubles in Raiaera – was frowning.

“We were good woodsmen, me and my uncles, and we figured that Timbrethinil would slow the horde down. We cut through the forest intent upon Mirdan Timbreth, where we hoped to find a ship to take us south to Anebrilith. We were right that the forest was an impediment to Xem’Zund, but we hadn’t realized how ruthless the necromancer could be. We were there when he cast a spell over that place and began twisting the wood into what it is today – an arcane badlands.

“I wish you could have seen it as it was. When I was a boy, a fawn ate out of my hand there, and songbirds would fearlessly join a party’s cook fire and sing for seeds. After the necromancer’s touch, the songbirds gave way to equally fearless buzzards, who would try to take our eyes while we slept. The trees lost all their golden leaves, and turned into skeletal hulks with hooks for branches. Even the horses became twisted by that place, developing sharp teeth and predatory tendencies. It only took him a month to turn a place from heaven to hell.”

Iarion paused and thought to drink, but didn’t. He didn’t want them to see his hands shake.

“We were forced south to Nenabreth, right into the horde’s vanguard, which had been taken while we were in the forest. We were trapped for weeks essentially living out of a logging camp, unable to risk a fire because we were in sight of the city. I just remember how quiet it was. No birds, no crickets, no hammering or shouting. They never lit fires or built anything. Once the city was defeated I guess they just…stopped, and waited. Which meant anything we did felt glaringly obvious. I dropped a tin cup once and a man on a dead bear rode out from Nenabreth to investigate, we had to hide in the cellar for three days waiting for him to go away.”

Iarion shook his head, and finally finished another drink. “Anyway,” he said, filling up again. “Eventually the Emyn Naug Irregulars liberated Nenabreth and we took some time there to recuperate and learn the news, and none of it was remotely good. Raiaera’s loss seemed inevitable then, all they could give us was a long list of razed cities and dead friends, and stories of the hordes they’d faced and the heroes they’d seen die.

“And they told us about Nalith Celiniel, who captured my uncles’ imaginations so completely that they were determined to reach her and join her resistance. They managed to convince a small group of the Irregulars to join us in a push northwest to reach Winyaurient, and we even made it past Tilgonar before the horde cornered us and forced us to fight.”

Iarion smiled, but there was absolutely no mirth in it. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever taken part in,” he said, taking another deep drink, and then he sighed. “We were wiped out in minutes, outnumbered twenty-to-one easily.”

“How did you survive?” Luned said, barely a whisper.

Iarion laughed, and the sound was sudden, and this time his amusement was honest. “I played dead,” he said, smiling lopsided. “I buried myself in corpses and just prayed they wouldn’t find me, and they didn’t for a long time. The shamblers ignored me until one of their handlers came along. I never saw him but I heard him muttering spells to keep the shamblers in line, maybe raising new soldiers up or repairing the ones he’d lost, I can’t be sure. I know he saw me, and I think he tried to raise me from the dead, and when it didn’t work – for obvious reasons – he just made excuses and moved on. He sounded so afraid…”

The elf shook his head, smiling almost conspiratorially when he said, “and you know, he must have been talking to him. He must have been, and that’s just terrifying. That’s as close as I ever got to Xem’Zund, and that was enough to chill me to the bones. Just one of his lackeys making excuses from leagues away. The idea that I was able to hear the same words that the necromancer himself was hearing at one tiny point in time, and the thought that those words were about me, even indirectly…it still gives me nightmares.”

“But you’re still here,” Resolve said.

Iarion nodded while he drank. “They moved on, and I eventually made it to New Aurient by myself, and that’s where I rode out the rest of the war. By the time I got there, Nalith had moved on, and it was only a few weeks later that people started saying that Xem’Zund was dead.”

“Just like that?” Resolve said.

“Just like that.”

“What about your uncles?” Luned said.

“I haven’t seen them since…since that last day,” Iarion said. “Of course I wonder, and part of me hopes to see them again but, well…we elves have learned that that can be a dangerous thing to wish for.”

“When did you come back here?” Resolve said.

“Shortly after rumors started filtering up to New Aurient about the horde being broken, that the shamblers were directionless and the most dangerous of the necromancer’s generals had been destroyed. I packed a single horse and traveled home, hoping other members of my family made it before me, but I was the first. So far I’m the only one to make it back, though I’ve heard good news otherwise. My mother is alive and in Anebrilith, putting her expertise to use in rebuilding the damaged parts of the city, for example.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Luned said quietly. “I’m glad you made it.”

Iarion saluted her with a raised glass and a small smile. “Sometimes I’m not,” he admitted, “but tonight, I’m glad I did, too.”

[Luned]

Luned's loneliness was selfish.

That's what she decided as she laid awake, having had just enough wine to leave her restless, but not quite enough to enjoy the warm and fuzzy alcohol-induced doze Resolve quickly succumbed to next to her. She could hear the exorcist's contented sighs, that and wind the only sounds to mar the silence of the ghost city's night save the occasional merciful crackle of the last embers at their feet. The dark canopy above their heads blocked out the stars and it almost looked like the back of her eyelids as she stared up at it, but the winter-chilled air stung too much to fool her. She couldn't sleep, so she dwelled on Iarion's story instead.

Iarion knew true loneliness, his tale made no mistake of that, and Eluriand did more than she ever thought a city could. Resolve knew it, too, the scribe was pained to admit, in the way her closest friend kept secrets when there were none before.

Luned knew loneliness because she was afraid of these secrets. She was afraid Resolve wouldn't forgive her, and that acknowledging them would make these unwanted truths a permanent part of herself. Her personal brand of loneliness was a self-imposed emotional exile.

The restlessness won out, and for a moment she held her breath to focus on the sounds around her. When she was satisfied that the others were sleeping, she let out a misty sigh, creeping from the warm safety of her blankets and into the night air. Extracting her journal and pen from her pocket, she crawled to the foot of her bed where the fire was just bright enough to see, and as she laid on her stomach, she propped herself up on her elbows and opened the little book.

Inside it were the numerous scraps of paper she'd dropped earlier in her panic, some still carrying debris, and she brushed the dirt out from between the pages. The contents of the journal itself were shared notes between herself and her mentor Bleddyn who remained back at the library in Radasanth, communication achieved through enchantment. There was a message waiting for her, but his arthritic chicken scratch swam in her weary, intoxicated vision, and she decided to save it for morning.

Something she couldn't ignore, however, was the larger sheet of paper that was pristinely creased and pressed flat inside the back cover. Luned carefully dusted it off, taking much more care with this artifact than her scattered notes, and then with some hesitance, opened it.

There were only two lines on it: the first in utilitarian-style print, the second in her precise cursive.


I'm alive.

I'm glad.

The scribe's thumb ran over the handwriting absentmindedly and she pursed her lips in thought, freckled face pale in the glow of the last embers. The owner of the mate to this piece of correspondence was Flint Skovik, one of the "wrong people" Resolve had mentioned to Iarion earlier. Luned might have been inclined to agree with that assessment if she'd overheard it, but to her, it wasn't an insult. Flint was important to her precisely because he wasn't "right". He didn't judge her because he'd fallen from the straight path, too. She needed him for that.

Without thinking, Luned hovered the nib of her fountain pen over the paper, using the journal as a hard surface underneath. She didn't know what she'd write, only that she wanted to say something, anything.

Careless in her distraction, pen met paper and ink bled through the page in an unsightly splotch of sepia before she noticed her mistake and withdrew the implement. The scribe frowned, meticulousness inciting her to cringe at the error. If this was a piece of professional work, she'd consider it ruined and start over… but this was all she had to reach Flint. She had to make every inch of the page count.

So Luned began to draw and the horrendous spot bloomed into an artful little flower, fashioned after a particular white posy that grew on creeping vines which flourished only in Raiaera. In springtime Eluriand would be full of them, ruins haloed in heavenly clouds of tiny flowers, and the thought was nearly a pleasant one. Then she wrote a concise little note, informing Flint of her trip and the fortunate coincidence of meeting Iestyn's nephew.

She didn't write this because she thought the man cared to know. She wrote it because she wanted to know where he was, what he was up to, but it felt intrusive to simply ask. With a silent wish that he'd answer in kind, she signed off with elaborately spun initials… or at least they felt elaborate, but in the morning it was quite possible she would wake in shame of her drunken scribblings.

As she fanned the ink to help it dry, there was a sudden rustling directly to her right and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Luned glanced over her shoulder to see Iarion rise onto an elbow, his face barely illuminated as he squinted at her silhouette.

"For a moment I thought the scavengers had whisked you away and left only your feet," the elf teased with a sleepy grin. He kept his voice low as not to disturb the other camper, barely audible above the low groan of the wind.

Luned blushed, sitting up to withdraw her feet under her while she reassembled her journal. "Sorry, I hope I didn't wake you," she apologized, perhaps a little louder than necessary in her surprise.

"No, not at all. It's a little late for composing, though, don't you think?" He pressed his finger to his lips and made a quick glance to the exorcist who slumbered mere feet away.

The scribe laughed quietly, then continued their conversation in whispers. "Resolve does a very convincing impression of a dead person while sleeping. Honestly, it's a bit alarming at times." Her things safely stowed away, Luned laid down on her side to face him, pulling the blankets up to her chin as she suppressed a shiver.

Iarion rested on his back again, somewhat more composed in the cold than the girl. "That's good, then. If I could see and hear what she does, I'd never sleep." Even without extra senses it was difficult at times, even with copious amounts of wine. He didn't intend to say anything, but he'd been awake the whole time, preoccupied with his own thoughts. While the company was pleasant enough, it had been a heavy day for all, and he was only beginning to comprehend what it actually meant.

It was quiet for a moment, nearly long enough to end the conversation, before Luned spoke again. "What do you do here all by yourself?"

The question may have been too personal for some but Iarion felt strangely appreciated by their audience earlier, as if their quiet awe validated his presence in the ruins, so though it may have been merely for the purpose of self-gratification, he readily indulged her. "Think. Plan. Wait. A man can not rebuild an entire city on his own, but slowly more return, and I'll be here to organize efforts and do all I can to kindle our rebirth. A mere decade of ruin will not stamp out Eluriand's centuries of greatness, and Raiaera will rise again with it."

It was easy to admire the elf for his dedication. Bleddyn was a staunch opposer of unshakable nationalism in young people, he felt it bred more misunderstanding and hate than anything good; this penchant for true neutrality was ingrained in the scribe through her training, parts of which were heavily marked by the civil war in her own country. She understood the old man's reasoning then, but hearing something so eloquent, it seemed like a truly beautiful thing.

Maybe that's what Luned needed in her life: a cause, something greater to live for than herself. She was envious of his pride and ambition and the meaning it gave to his existence.

Words loosened with wine, Luned spoke again without thinking. "But aren't you lonely?"

[Vega]

“Painfully so,” Iarion admitted. “I never could conceive of Eluriand’s size until it was emptied of people. I’ve gone months at a time without seeing another living person.”

“I understand restoring your estate,” Luned said thoughtfully, “but why not have the sentries come stay with you? Or visit them, if they can’t get over the estate’s…history.”

“I’ve tried, believe you me. I feel a cultural shift in my people, and it’s...well,” he paused, furrowing his brow. “After suffering tragedy on the scale we did, one would expect us to come together like never before. Instead, we’re pushing everyone away.”

“The elves have lost so much,” Luned said.

Iarion nodded. “My thinking exactly. We’re keeping everyone at arm’s length because we just expect to lose everything again.”

“Do you?”

“No,” Iarion said. “I understand the fear, but I don’t feel it myself. Xem’Zund is gone, this time for good. We’ve paid for our crimes, and for the first time in memory we can put our past behind us. I feel nothing but pride, and a longing to rebuild.”

“But you said it yourself, one man can’t rebuild a city,” Luned said, and then tensed, peeking up at him to make sure she hadn’t offended him. As usual, her tipsy bluntness only inspired thought in him, not offense.

“You’re right,” he said. “Perhaps I will have to start by rebuilding my culture before there’s any hope of rebuilding our homes.”

“That sounds like a good goal to me,” Luned said.

“Lovely and wise,” Iarion said with a smile. “You’re proving to be a fascinating young lady, Miss Luned. I feel very lucky to have made your acquaintance.”

“Oh,” Luned said, smiling and dropping her eyes. It was difficult to tell if it was the wine alone reddening her cheeks. “Thank you. I think it’s Resolve and I that are the lucky ones, though….what’s wrong?”

Iarion tilted his head to one side looking confused, and he held up one finger, and Luned realized he was listening to something very closely. She held her breath and listened too, but couldn’t hear anything but the distant wail of the wind through the ruins of the city.

“Do you…?” he whispered.

“Who said that?” Resolve suddenly said, sitting up and looking toward the archive. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Luned said.

“Iestyn,” Resolve said. “Somebody yelled ‘Iestyn.’”

Luned and Iarion followed her gaze to the dark hole in the wall where they’d created their way down into the archive.

“Somebody’s down there.”

[Thorne]

Eluriand was a mixed blessing in Thorne's eyes.

The thief mulled over the pros and cons, as he had every night since arriving in the ghost city. On the one hand, the place was a veritable gold-mine, brimming with untold riches and unique treasures. These same treasures were also unguarded. Mainly because their owners are dead, he thought dryly, idly chewing on his thumbnail. But, therein lay the rub for the veteran rogue; there was little challenge to be had in stealing them. He missed the thrill of pitting his skills up against the various guards and security measures of the bustling cities he so preferred...

The black-and-grey clad thief stopped dead in his tracks, sliding silently through the ruins of a family house. His keen senses picked up approaching footsteps, telling him to hit the dirt. Keeping his hood low, Thorne laid flat on the rough uneven rubble. Granted, raiding ruins like this had it's own risks..

Case in point.

Roughly ten feet away, carrying a torch in one upraised hand, was one of the elves he had noted patrolling the city. He had seen them often enough in the fortnight since he'd entered the war-ravaged ruins of the Raiaeran capital. But to date, none of them had ever managed to notice the moonlighter. So much for their famed hearing, he smirked arrogantly. Thorne lay motionless until long after the elf had moved on, his thoughts racing. He was on his own, stalking through the remnants of the once proud city - and while he was normally quite fond of his own company, even the jaded thief had to admit the oppressive gloom of the haunted ruins was grating on him. The place was, for want of a better term.. spooky.

Slowly, with glacial patience, Thorne got up, keeping in a low crouch - keeping his ears open for any other sentries, or worse, any of the corpses that still wandered the city, he made his way back to the camp his little group had set up. His lip curled in distaste as he thought of his.. accomplices in this little endeavour. The thief took the long route home, prolonging his next encounter with the other scavengers. Even as he padded soundlessly through the debris, the man had a sheet of paper in hand, making markings and notations with a small piece of charcoal; it was a habit, something his former mentor had trained him to do when he undertook any sort of criminal enterprise - make maps. Now, he admitted even to himself he was far from a cartographer, but it always helped him do his work. Idly sketching the layout of the streets, he hopped on the remains of a shattered wall, perching in a crouch.

Satisfied with the additions he had made, not hampered in the slightest by the lack of light, he rolled up the sheet, and tucked it into one of his multitude of pouches. The thief glanced up at the buildings around him, and with a sigh, he scampered lithely up to the nearest roof. It was a quicker way to travel, albeit less safe. But I'm not as likely to get eaten alive, he added mentally with a grim chuckle. The undead, even this long after the end of the Corpse War, were a prevalent threat throughout Raiaera.

But, Thorne was too quick, too smart and too busy getting rich to die.

---

An hour later, Thorne was back in the little camp sitting off alone, swathed in shadows. He kept his mottled frame hidden away without thought, preferring to be out of sight. Especially when he was surrounded by his accomplices and allies. The thought brought equal parts disgust and amusement to his face.

Allies? In this line of work? He could almost hear Seraph's cutting laughter in his head.

The rogue let his sharp eyes dance over the other scavengers, hidden under the edge of his thick cowl, tossing his dagger into the air, catching it on the fall almost without noticing; the first one to notice he'd returned to the camp (in fact, the only one) was Sibrith. The Dark Elf sauntered over from the side of the small cook-fire, dropping to his haunches next to Thorne, smiling. He was wrapped head to toe in close-fitting leathers, dyed a deep, greyish-brown; over this he wore a simple cloak of deep green, looking almost black in the midnight murk. Just visible to Thorne's twilight-attuned sight were the dozens of swirling, almost tribal tattoos that Sibrith so adored; all across his exposed skin, breaking up his image like camouflage- indeed, it was the first thing one noticed about the Dark Elf; it gave him the appearance of a common thug, but the cross-trader knew better. Sibrith was every bit the cold, calculating criminal he was.

"Good pickings, little brother?" he asked in hushed Guildspeak, making Thorne return his smile. Sibrith always called him that, even now, twenty-five years after they first met.

Thorne glanced at the elf, his ashen skin blending into his attire, making him seem an indistinct blur. The slight tilt of the human's mouth, the look in his eyes told the elf all he needed to know.

"Aye, we aren't the first crows on this corpse by far," he said, his voice little more than a murmur. It was a habit, one Thorne was guilty of himself, bred into any recruit of the Guild.

Sibrith had been one of the "kennel masters" in the Thieves' Guild back in Ettermire, when Thorne had first been inducted into their ranks. He was the one who taught the young recruits various forms of combat; from dagger work, to archery, to unarmed take-downs. Of course, Thorne had been trained further in every aspect of his trade by Seraph, another Aleraran elf, and the closest to a father he'd ever had. But the thief-in-training had spent plenty of time with Sibrith. The veteran had always spoken highly of the human's skills as he rose through the ranks, and treated the boy with more respect than most. Even after Thorne's rather.. messy departure from the Guild, the two had managed to stay in touch, albeit with extreme difficulty, and a lot of paranoia. The heavily tattooed Aleraran had managed to buy his way out of Ettermire not long after, bringing he and Thorne closer together. The enemy of my enemy.

In fact, it was Sibrith who had contacted Thorne in the first place about this scavenging job.

He had written brief missives to the younger thief over the course of a few weeks, stating he had a team together for raiding the depths of Eluriand; that he was looking at a big score, and needed someone he could trust (at least, compared to everyone else), and whose skills were at least the equal of his own. Thorne had agreed, for old time's sake.. and to get out of Radasanth following the latest run in with the guards. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24889-Bar-Room-Blitz-((Andric)))

The memory of that night brought a wry grin to the thief's lips.

But, the rest of the group sitting around the makeshift camp killed any trace of amusement in its tracks. Sibrith had managed to hire on a professional in Thorne, but the rest of the group was hired quickly. Necessity had outweighed personal preference; two of them, human cutthroats, hailed from Alerar as well, from some minor border-city near Raiaera. Neither of them spoke Guildspeak, which left Sibrith and Thorne free to communicate in privacy. Both were large men, muscular, and wore leathers and chainmail, and neither had the first clue about stealth. Sibrith had brought them in for heavy lifting, and carrying the loot they found. The pair of them were fussing over the campfire, cooking up a stew and generally tromping around like a herd of elephants. The third member of the group was an Orc, Berevar-born, and for now, absent. He stored that nugget away for further examination later. The final member of the group was a female; that in itself was cause for concern, given the looks the three hireling thugs gave her when her back was turned. Why she was here, Thorne didn't know for sure, but he planned to find out; judging by her fair complexion, and shining golden hair, the girl was a Raiaeran native.

The Aleraran followed Thorne's gaze, a small quirk at the corners of his lips telling the human rogue he wasn't the only one on edge around the common thugs. But the look passed quickly, replaced by Sibrith's ever-present smirk of amusement. He snapped out his hand, whippet-quick, and snatched Thorne's dagger out of the air before the thief could catch it. Running a thumb across the edge of the blade, the ex-instructor was proud to feel how keen the weapon was.

"I see you haven't forgotten everything I taught you, little brother. But are you still as sharp as you used to be?"

Under the edge of his heavy hood, Sibrith saw a creeping smirk. Thorne closed his eyes, sitting back against the remains of a wall behind him, resting his hands up on his knees. It had been years since he had played this game.

[Thorne]

"You have three daggers, two at your belt, one hidden in your left sleeve. You've been out in the ruins yourself up until about an hour ago, judging by the dust on your boots. The girl's finally slapped one of the Brother's Dim over there, and judging by the black eye on the other, he laughed a little too much for his friend's liking."

Sibrith chuckled - Thorne was spot on.

"And there's another rot on the pile," Thorne concluded, opening his eyes. He nodded to the pile of undead at the outskirts of the camp, taken out whenever they stumbled too close for comfort.

The pair of former Thieves' Guild members stood up from their concealed position, sauntering over to join their companions by the fire. Each of them took a bowl of the thin stew, everyone eating in silence. They never spoke much. It seemed almost.. profane, to break the deathly silence that hung over Eluriand. Thorne ate his stew, savouring the taste, even as his eyes moved from person to person around the fire. He managed to catch a meaningful glance between the Brothers Dim, and the frown on his face deepened. The two of them were up to something, there was no doubt about that, and whatever it was, it didn't bode well for the rogue.

But his musings were cut short, when the sound of heavy footfalls broke the grave-like silence, running closer with every step.

Instantly, everyone was on alert, springing up from around the fire, weapons in hand in seconds. Was it another rot? A sentry finally managed to track down their always-moving camp? Another scavenger group?

No.

As it turned out, it was the final member of their little group - the Orc, barreling back to their camp, with all the stealth and guile of a rampaging buffalo. How these people have avoided detection for so long is beyond me, the thief thought.

Everyone relaxed a fraction, while the Orc took a swig from the wine-skin at his belt. Everyone waited with baited breath to find out why he'd been in such a hurry.. but the bastard took his time, drinking and catching his breath. After a few moments, he turned to everyone, and smacked his head as if suddenly remembering something important. Everyone sighed in unison - after the few weeks they'd spent in each other's company, they all knew the Orc could bench-press a loaded wagon, but was definitely not the brightest spark.

"Oh, yeah," he grunted, his voice a rumbling monotone. "That other group we saw yesterday, they's up to sumfin back that way," he finished by jabbing a meaty thumb back the way he had come.

The thieves had noted a new pair of scavengers entering the city the night before last, and the human had followed them for a while - always better to make sure you didn't have any serious competition for the treasures. He had watched them from a rooftop as they were led to a crumbling manor, and was still perched on the roof the next morning when they had set out with a hammer-wielding elf, travailing the decimated city together. His interest had waned somewhat, and with the sun in the sky, he had decided to try and catch some sleep before the night's activities. Instead, he had dispatched the Orc to keep an eye on them, the Berevaran's skills at tracking far superior to his own.

Thorne flickered a glance over to Sibrith, reading the same conclusion in the Aleraran's pure black eyes as was in his own head.

"Let's check it out," they said in unison.

[Resolve]

"Bleddyn never mentioned, but… do you think it's possible?" Luned speculated aloud, afraid to put the idea into words. If it was a real possibility her mentor would have mentioned it, right? Or was even he too spooked to consider the implications of such a thing?

The trio picked their way over the wall and into the wreckage once again. Resolve and Iarion had armed themselves with what laid nearby; the scribe took a hastily crafted torch. They all shivered, both from the wintry chill and the eeriness of their predicament.

"He is undead," Resolve said, confirming their worst fears. "I can feel it. There is a man down there, and he is undead."

Iarion frowned, taking the lead. The moonlight was enough to see his way, even ahead of the torch. Everything was pale, as if coated in a fine layer of dust, and his foot nearly slipped on some unstable stone as it rocked under his weight. "Most undead do not call out names," he said, his voice low on the breeze. "Most do not speak at all."

As they approached the puncture wound in the flooring and the dark depths of the passage below, Luned wracked her brain for what she knew about necromancy. "It is possible an individual of exceptional willpower could resurrect with psyche intact," she said, finding some scarce level of comfort in her ability to fill the silence of tense situations by regurgitating facts.

The voice called again, quieter this time, as if growing weary. And this time, they all heard it clearly. Resonating up from the frigid belly of the ruins, the words they dreaded to hear reached their ears, pink with cold. "Is someone there? My name is Iestyn, I am trapped!"

In spite of the fact Resolve didn't know a lick of Raiaeran language, she gathered the meaning from the paleness of her companions' faces. "It's him, isn't it? Don't just stand there, we need to help!" The impulsive girl climbed down into the passage without so much as a second thought, sliding down the broken stone column to disappear into the inky darkness. The others rushed to follow, and with an echoey voice, Resolve hollered up to them. "Pass the torch, will you? Just wait, Iestyn, we're coming!"

[Vega]

"Miss Curie!" Iarion shouted, tensing as the bold girl disappeared down into the inky blackness below. He pressed his palm to the pillar she'd used in lieu of a proper staircase, straining his eyes against the dark to track her.

He feared the worst until she called up for the torch, and the tension in her voice moved him to action again. He deftly maneuvered over the rubble of the ruins, bringing his superior elven vision to bear in the low light cast out by Luned's torch. He took her free hand and helped her after him, but despite all appearances and the manner of her dress she was a capable adventurer and kept up with him well.

"Careful now," he said gently as they approached the fallen column, testing the surrounding stones a little more delicately than Resolve had. When he was sure the floor around the opening could bear their weight, he helped the young scribe over. "I think it best if I hold the torch for a moment, you will likely need both hands to descend."

To her credit, Luned only hesitated for a moment, adjusting her skirt before climbing onto the column-turned-ramp with Iarion's help. He took the torch from her, and lit her way as she half climbed and half slid down the stone's length.

"Luned is coming down first," he called down into the dark. "Let me know when you're clear, and I'll be down with the light!"

"Alright!" Resolve called back. "She's down! Hurry!"

Iarion adjusted his hammer from where it was tied to his back, and then adroitly danced, leapt, slid, and skidded down along the column, torch held in front of him to light the way. A short, mad, breathy moment later he was in the sub-chamber amidst his friends again. The darkness was heavier here, pressing in on the torch's light so that he could only just make out the dust-gilded features of the ladies. The trio were silent for a breath, listening hard.

"Here!" someone cried from inside the walls.

"No, wait," Iarion said, interrupting Resolve before she could dart into the shadows again. He retrieved his hammer, and handed the torch back to Luned again. "Let's go together. Who knows what we might find down here, and it is wise to distrust the dead."

When he was ready, Luned pressed in close behind him, and he nodded at Resolve to lead the way. Her sense carried them into dark, narrowing earthwork halls, overgrown with vines and roots that were dead but would not rot. The stones were etched with ancient elven text, a dialect so old that even Iarion hardly recognized them.

The exorcist suddenly stopped, turned and stared directly at the stone wall to there right. The elf took half a breath to whisper a question to her, and swallowed it with a gasp when the voice cried out again from that very spot, hardly muffled at all.

"Help!" it said. "Whoever you are, please hurry! Hello!"

Iarion looked to Luned and Resolve in turn, and then turned back to the wall. "Stand away!"

Resolve stepped aside, and Luned held the torch a little higher as Iarion began pummeling the wall with his hammer.