Finding a Fate - Silver Court

[Cassandra]

Falcia Schwarz, Leader of the Silver Court, stood on the steps to the new guildhouse. Every piece of wood-shavings had been brushed out of the door, every window fitted, every stone placed and brushed, every piece of masonry smoothened and every piece of wood varnished. The furniture had been bought, brought and arranged, files from the mounds of paperwork moved from the Silver Corner to their new home. Three stone steps led up to the double door made out of a fresh pine. The wood still had a scent to it that seemed strangely welcome to the assassin. The façade of the house was mainly made of cheap grayish stone and tarred timbers. Five windows looked out onto the street and a sign swung slightly in the stiff breeze. The emblem of the Silver Court, a silver cross with a circle as its edge on a field of navy, set nestled between the words themselves in a flowing blue script.

Bandages from their brush with Sovereign still wrapped over her chest in a figure of eight, supporting the now healed fracture over her heart. The elf, Aurelia, had been surprised to see Falcia stagger into her and Dintathra’s “establishment”, but when she explained what had happened and how it had happened, the young mage had been willing to render what aid she could to both Falcia and the stricken members in exchange for a hefty fee and an as yet undeclared favour. Being able to move without that constant stabbing pain was refreshing, as she took in a deep breath and smiled to herself. For such a special occasion and the beginning of yet another rebuilt guildhouse, she wore a lacy red shirt tucked into her leather trousers and turn-over boots. A scarlet rose nestled against the back of her head, somehow twined into her ponytail, occasionally leaving a crimson petal behind her as if a drop of blood. Her lips had been painted an accompanying shade while her deep navy eyes flashed a fin of intense sapphire as they glimmered in amusement.

A group of the Silver Court were waiting below, arranged in a semi-circle. She could see the faces that had grown small in the recent trials and tribulations. It seemed there was barely a single member in each group and two of the Captain positions stood empty. Trialees were still applying and the quality seemed to have gone up recently but still, the slow decay of the guild’s fortunes held her to pause for a moment. Nicolayuth heckled good naturedly, ‘So, are we going to have to wait here all day?’

She looked down and smiled again, before taking a large silver key from out of her palm and turning it in the lock. As it opened, the click was met with a chorus of laughter and yells. The double doors were pushed back, and the guild entered their new residence.

The guildhouse opened up from the doors into a large area full of round table and chairs set about each one. At the end of the room there was a bar, stocked thinly with spirits, beers and wines but also with food and water. A spiral staircase resided in the furthest leftmost corner, corkscrewing up the next two levels and into the attic. Three doors led out from the lounge.

Falcia moved through the guildhouse, showing the guild around with a quiet assurance, ‘The door here to the right is to the office.’ She gestured at where two desks were set across from each other, a large set of cupboards between them on the eastern wall that reached to the ceiling. Smaller bookcases leant behind each desk and chair, on opposites sides of the room and pushed up against the walls. Paperwork was already threatening to swamp the desks. She retreated through the press of bodies and walked over to the western door. Keeping an eye out for Nico, she stated calmly, ‘This is the Vault.’ A heavy iron door with an incredibly complicated lock was set into a thick wall. She produced another two keys, which she opened the door with, one after the other. Pushing the steel in, an empty room that was surprisingly small for the space it took up had a stone floor. ‘The Vault has a double-lock that is almost lock-pick proof and walls a foot thick. The floor is stone and unless you have the keys, it is very difficult to get inside.’ The small thief was standing beside her and she gave him a quiet smile, as she dropped the two keys into his hand. His face was a picture to behold, even as she whispered gently, ‘Take good care of the guild’s possessions.’ Greed warred with fear, responsibility and suspicion for a moment, making a rosebud smirk appear on her face.

She moved out again and then to the southernmost door beside the bar. As she opened it, a chill wind moved into the guildhouse and ruffled hair and clothing. Pushing it all the way out, she walked into a large courtyard that now took up the empty space between the guildhouse and the building behind it. A timber fence, black with tar, stretched from one end to another only interrupted by a small gate. Beyond it, pale sand shimmered in the overcast sky, and three large straw targets were affixed to the eastern wall. A pump sat in its accustomed place to the right, beside two stone benches and on the left, a large weapons rack with a wooden slatted roof to keep off the rain.

Now up the stairs to the first level. A narrow corridor led from the stairs and she turned into the first door of the three before it turned sharply right. Inside, a fireplace stood laid next to a cupboard, a comfortable bed and a metal trough scrubbed clean. The cupboard was low enough to be a table, and on it various medical staples were arrayed neatly. ‘The medical office. Though we no longer have a doctor.’ There was a quiet muttering and murmuring from those gathered around her. Pest’s death had come as a shock to most of them, he had died while they had been hunting Sovereign. Ironic, really.

She pushed out and opened the next door, revealing a bedroom. ‘There are eleven bedrooms like this, all available for rent for Silver Court members. The fee is not particularly expensive, but it isn’t free either. I have a bedroom in the attic.’ The bedroom was fairly plain, with a small single bed accompanied by a bedside table. A small dresser and cupboard edged away from a woven rug on the wooden floor. As she showed the other eleven, apart from one which was shaped oddly to make way for the spiral staircase, they were more or less the same.

The attic room sported a double bed, two bedside tables and a smaller rug at the foot of the bed. A small wooden chair and cupboard completed the ensemble, barely fitting in the room that was large but had sharply sloping ceilings. At the edges of the room, one would have to crawl to touch the wall.

Making her way through the crowd and leaving the guild to explore at her leisure, she made her way downstairs to the lounge and picked up her cloak from the hat and cloak stand in the corner. Swirling it around her shoulders, she glanced up at the guildhouse, so beautifully restored and replaced with new and beautiful things. The glass was thick in the windows, but it was glass, the walls were smoothened on the inside and painted a soothing white while the floorboards were a grayish pine. It smelt fresh and new and full of beginnings.

A secret smile passed across her face like a shadow and she ghosted towards the door. She had an appointment to keep.

******

The scent of the few flowers that bloomed in the day in Ilsa’s garden twined through the stems and wound around Falcia’s form, sat serenely on a small smoothened wooden bench set beneath a trellis of night flowering roses of the palest lilac. Lavender and honeysuckle swayed in the breeze and spread their aroma throughout the small piece of paradise. Delicate pale fingers lifted up to touch the rose set in her hair, feeling the luxurious softness of its petal against her skin. It seemed so unreal, that Sovereign had vowed to leave Ilsa alone, that whatever happened to Falcia, her daughter would live on - free, alive, able to find her own way in the dark world. It was all a mother could ask for.

She closed her eyes, letting the events of the caverns run through her mind again. They had been like looking through a lens, blurred and uncertain as she tried to recall her motives and desires as she had moved through the place like she belonged there. Her behaviour had frightened the group, especially one. Her behaviour, after she left the cavern and regained some distance from the place, had frightened herself.

One memory however, still thrummed with her heartbeat, crystal-clear and pristine in every detail. She had whispered to him, her hands at the back of his neck, and he had leant in and given in to her temptation. A single kiss.

No, other memories lingered still as well, the moments after the kiss were almost all incised in precise detail. The walls had come alive and upon them had been painted atrocities; both her own and his. She had struck down a daemon, and then the vampire had struck her. A moment of damage as Sevrecht and Henri moved against Sovereign and then:- acceptance, a vow, a flight. It still seemed strange, yet she knew somehow that she had nothing to worry about, that it was truly over. His voice, his song in her mind, had said it so very clearly.

She reached out a hand and let the thin reeds of lavenders bounce carelessly and happily against her palm in the brisk sea breeze. It ruffled her hair and pulled it out into streamers that danced on the wind. She heard the click and metallic screech as the iron railing gate was pulled open, the crunch of boots on the gravel path that wound through the beautiful flower beds.

She looked up at the approaching figure with a soft smile and glided gracefully to her feet, ‘We have a lot to talk about… my love.’

[SirSeptin]

She looked up at the approaching figure with a soft smile and glided gracefully to her feet, ‘We have a lot to talk about… my love.’

"Paper is so fragile, ink on the page so little, why then can they cause such wounds?" Falcia froze, the smile on her lips faded as she beheld Septin, not her love. The asur continued to speak, softly. In his hands he held a rolled up letter, slowly he turned it over and over. As if contemplating. "A child can rip a page asunder, a drop of water smear the ink. Why then can they combined rip the heart?" He sighed and continued to look at the page, troubled.

Falcia opened her mouth to speak, "Septin..."

He waved a hand and interrupted her. "No, there is nothing you need to speak of. This page and the ink on it speak all your words in advance. Which is saddening." He looked up from the page straight into Falcia's eyes. "By the very fact this page has said all your words I know the words to be true. Otherwise why would you let a page speak for you?" He gave a short bitter laugh. "One who has never been afraid to disagree with me, rage at me, insult me. It seems the only words you cannot say to me are the ones I would have liked to hear from your lips and not read on a page." He clenched his fist and the page crumpled. "See? Paper is so weak, yet you have managed to use it to injure me more deeply and completely than your blades ever will, Kitiara." He gave her a sad smile. It contained more pain than she had ever seen on her old friends face. More than when he had two dagger wounds from allies in him. "I will go, I have troubled you far to much with what you pushed aside. I leave you to enjoy the meeting you have prepared with your true love. I pray you prosper."

The asur turned back the way he had come from and strode away, grateful the woman he had confessed love for could not see the tears of bitterness he shed unwillingly over the letter she had sent.

********

Nicolayuth made the various "ooh" and "ahhh" noises expected as Falcia showed everyone around the new guild house. Then they reached the vault and his interest pricked. As she explained the vault's new security settings he mused how hard it would be to gain entrance, maybe he could use explosives on the locks or cut the hinges....

Falcia turned to him and dropped something in his hands. He looked down and gaped. The keys? THE KEYS! He grinned like a madman on the inside, then a moment later, The keys?! What was she playing at? She knew he couldn't be trusted with val...Then it hit him. The keys.... was his final gloomy thought. He looked sorrowfully at the objects that were both his desire and his nemisis. She had neatly cornered him. As expected of Falcia.

He sighed and paid little attention as Falcia explained the rest of the guild house and renting rooms. She had uplifted him and then dashed him against the rocks. Maybe he could get Ilsa to make her take the keys back.....

He was still thinking such thoughts when the tour ended and Falcia left, he didn't pay much attention, still wondering what to do with his new found curse.


OOC: I accept my death but oh, I LIVED!

[Warren]

OOC: Ta to Cass for the help with this, and I've got a stick for your butt, Seppy...

IC: Sevrecht's boots clicked and scraped an irregular rythm on the cobbles as he strode slowly towards his goal. He brought the small roll of parchment with him, safely tucked away under his belt, though he didn't need it. The map, and the words, were etched into his mind after long study.

I need to talk to you.

What did it mean? No indication of what she wanted to talk about; no hint of her demeanour in the note. Very mysterious, and deliberately so, in all probability. That was like her. Her and her games. She liked to keep her cards close, and even the telltale twinkle or glint in her blue eye was there only at her bidding.

A slight smile tweaked the corner of Sev's mouth, but it went no further. She did keep her cards close; too close. At this point it was beyond Sev to tell either way, and the worst imaginings kept gnawing at his mind, ever since he read the letter.
That wasn't so long ago, just a few days. After the matter of... after their return. Falcia had disappeared somewhere - to the elven healer Aurelia, he had later learned. He hadn't visited her. He didn't know how she'd react. On the journey back to Marienburg their relationship had been cordial, even affectionate, but not much was said. On their return Sev's mind was preoccupied before recieving the letter.
He, she... they had both seen things. It had affected them. Horror had clawed in his gut when he looked at the images of her. Images of that unspeakable something that blighted the world, that he had renounced, sworn to to strive against. And yet... there was nothing of that in her, as far as he could see. When he beheld her it was the last thing on his mind; no foul blot on her fairness. Besides, he of all people should know of escape from such powers.
She knew, too. She had looked into the opposite wall, and had seen more of his filthy past than he could probably remember himself. Though now he remembered her attitude just after, her coldness. It seemed to wane, but was that the reason for the few words on the road? Was that why she now summoned him, to send him away or even to dispose of him? That was why he hadn't visited, at any rate. He didn't know how she would react. The thought actually frightened him.
Now, it was her decision. She took it out of his hands. He would see her, and know.

Another turn, another street, and an iron gate between two townhouses. The ink line lay before him and drew his feet. Turning the corner he saw the street was deserted, all but for one figure in the distance, walking away. That figure turned it's own corner, and vanished.

Septin?

It gave him pause for thought. Was it the elf? If so, what business did he have? Perhaps the letter in his own belt was not as unique as he thought. Perhaps it was not so much a meeting as an audience.
To say what? Sevrecht had some inkling of Septin's involvement with Falcia, if only by the plain signs he saw with his own eyes. And yet now Septin took his leave, or was dismissed. Why? And was that Sev's fate, too? A hundred possibilities rose in his mind and warred with eachother. It maddened him. His pace faltered, but now quickened. He would find out one way or another, as soon as possible.

The iron gate. A pause for a breath, and he put his hand upon it. It did not move easily, and screeched.

Like the garden of the house where the ball was held, and yet unlike. Smaller, less formal, less extravagance. Yet blooms rose from beds surrounded by narrow paths, creating a rolling landscape in miniature. Beyond it she stood, and the sight of her, so often in black or navy, now in red, surprised him. He stood and stared. She started, as if deep in thought when the noise of the gate disturbed her, and looked at him. Her shoulders rose and fell, slightly, gently, and she smiled. That was good. He relaxed, just a little.

"Sevrecht."

"Falcia. I... The note..."

She moved as if to say something, but closed her mouth again. He saw thatr some tension of her own left her, and she laughed. A gentle sound. Almost... musical?
That was good, too.
Falcia moved slowly but steadily among the flowers, drawing close to him but stopping at arm's length. Miles. She looked away, and sighed again.
She looked up, into his eyes. "I want to talk to you, which is why I asked you to come here today."
Sev returned the gaze, trying to seem calm but scrutinising her, trying not to get lost, attempting to gain some kind of insight. Eventually he piped up, careful to keep his tone neutral.
"What do you have to say?"

Her chin tilted back, just a fraction. Her hands disappeared to link behind her. The tension returned. Now she seemed to Sevrecht less like Falcia, and more like the leader and commander of the Silver Court. Sevrecht could feel something in his chest begin to drop.

"I love you."

He didn't catch it, as utterly unexpected as it was. Fortunately she repeated herself, more strongly.

"I love you, Sevrecht."

The edges of his vision blurred, and threatened to swamp him with white. The world seemed to recede. He could hardly believe what he'd heard. His eyes wandered into the distance, even as his mind did. Septin, departing. Sev, arriving. Denial and commitment. Neat and tidy.
After an age he returned to the garden. She still stood there, assertive, expectant. He had to say something.

"You... me?"

That was the connection. It hardly seemed real. But it wasn't complete. There was another word in there. Yes. There it was. Finally. The connection that had been years in the making, years in the dreaming.

"Yes."

That was her. Her peered at her through a wavering haze. She seemed almost to shrink. No, no. Don't do that. No need. She spoke again.

"Do you...?"

Did he? Did he? He almost laughed, at the ridiculousness of it, at the relief, the joy.

"Oh yes. Yes I do."

She smiled again, allowing something more through than he was accustomed to. Some hint of openness. She almost looked coy. It was irresistible. Before he knew what he was doing he stepped forward, wrapping his arms about her and drawing her close. He never wanted to let go. He looked, half-unbelieving, half-questioning, into her eyes. Still dark blue. He could still lose himself in them. He felt her arms about his neck, felt the slight weight of them pulling him down, pulling him in. Just like before. It wasn't just the caves. They met, and kissed.

Then. She let go. She stepped away, quietly cleared her throat. "We still have a lot to talk about." She gestured to the small bench.

[chrisgooding56]

Kosh was glad to be back it felt like a homecoming almost, for many years now Marienburg had been his home away from home. He'd made many friends here and gained himself a fair share of enemies, from just outside Marienburg the Black Wolves had been his family but that seemed like such a time ago.

Kosh felt some satisfaction in knowing that the man responsible had died slowly and painfully from wounds he had inflicted upon him. Kosh smiled he had got vengeance for the slain and they could now rest easy knowing that their killer was among damned to spend eternity in torment. Kosh felt tired and sore, the fight to kill the Baron had been hard, they had been outnumbered and had been forced to cut their way through the bodyguard ranks. Luckily for Kosh they had been ill trained and spread out so that their forces were picked off piece by piece until only the personal guard of the Baron himself had stood between him and vengeance.

Kosh rubbed at his left arm and felt the still healing wounds cry out beneath his touch, he'd lost his normal cool and had launched himself at his foes with an almost uncaring attitude. His wounds were a reminder to Kosh that he was still a mortal being and not invincible, he had been lucky...very lucky.

The smell of the sea wafted into Kosh's nostrils followed quickly by rotting fish, the smell of unwashed bodies and the sewage of the city made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, even after all these years he was still amazed that humans could live in this mess. Though he was more forgiving than most of his race of their flaws, he had seen first hand their courage in battle and mental fortitude and their willingness to take a bath at least once or twice a week.

Kosh ran his hand over his close cropped hair glad to be rid of his long hair once more, the dark hair that remained was too short to be grabbed during combat which was how Kosh liked it. He'd killed plenty of foes by grabbing their hair and sliding his blade across their exposed throat, his dark eyes scanned the road ahead he was unsure if he had found the right place. Rumours said the Silver Court were back and that meant Falcia was back, though according to his friend they were to re-open their guild hall sometime soon his friend had been unsure of the date.

Swift his faithful mare had been left at his friends residence where she would be looked after and left to rest after her long hard ride from the Southern Empire. His friends had moved onto whatever they had in mind, it had been hard to leave Laurana behind but he had to he couldn't allow himself to stand idle. Since the Wolves were gone and the Serpent Guard were silent he could only go to one person for the guidance that an old soldier required Falcia.

As he turned the street corner deftly dodging one pickpockets obvious attempt to swipe his purse he knew he'd found the place the sign that hung from the building was that of the Court. Grey stone and tarred timber formed the front of the building pierced by a double door made of what appeared to be pine before which sat three steps, with five windows being the only entrance for the natural sunlight into the front of the building. A few people were stood outside but Kosh couldn't recognise any of them, he knew a few of the Court from the days of the Legacy though if some of them were still around he didn't know. Isilecet was one he knew wouldn't be around and if he was he'd be sorry he'd not left...

Kosh reminded himself that he was here to find a job, a home and in some ways a new family, walking in and beating Isilecet to death wouldn't be a good way to start the day. Taking a deep breath he stepped up to the door he hoped to see a friendly face but found instead a room empty of people. Stepping in Kosh glanced around he was about to step outside when a voice called out to him, " Can I help you? "

Kosh turned to face the stranger trying to ignore all the aches and strains of his body, " I am Kosh Sorindor former General of the Black Wolves Mercenary Company and as a former ally of the Silver Court I request an audience with your leader. " Kosh reached up to his neck and removed a simple pin and held it out in his hand the black wolf paw pin.

[Cassandra]

The words hung in the air as Falcia alighted onto the stone bench warmed in the sun, and looked up at the ex-pitfighter, her wide dark eyes glimmering with glints of sapphire. He glanced back, sapphire and steel meeting, his brow furrowed slightly in puzzlement. Slowly, it cleared and he sat down next to her, a reassuring weight and warmth nearby. She turned, reaching out to take his hands in her own, feeling the rough calluses beneath her fingertips as she looked into his eyes, even now a mix of elation and uncertainty. She moistened her lips, swallowing as the thoughts of what could happen now writhed behind her stare. Words fell from the ruby mouth like gems, ‘We both saw… things. And… we’ve both done things. Sometimes… to each other.’ Their sum of sins would be enough to drown the world, if not for their fight for redemption; harder and harder each day.

The features of Sevrecht seem to become as if inscribed from stone, statuesque in their stillness as a silver gaze flutters away from the dark ice of her own. Muscles knot and hold fast behind her hands and beside her. A deep breath, another small flicker towards her.

Falcia squeezed the warm flesh in her hands, feeling it respond slightly, even as she whispered gently. Sunlight cascaded down and tangled through the flowers that bobbed in the faint breeze. ‘Sevrecht, I forgive you for what you’ve done to me in the past.’ A heartfelt moment of pain, a close of the eyes of the aging assassin. ‘And what you have to others is between you, their souls and Sigmar.’ The voice hoarsened slightly on the last phrase, and then cleared, grew sharper and more edged. ‘But it is not me I worry about. It is you.’

He looked up, confusion and surprise reigning on his face, ‘What do you mean?’

She leant in, features sharpening, the shadows seemed to lengthen and darken around her and the blue in her eyes dove into the dark for a few brief moments. ‘I am worried that you are frightened of me.’

He returned the squeeze, and smiled wryly, suddenly no longer avoiding her gaze but meeting it. Something beautiful glowed within it. ‘I am, or was; but that happened long before the... the caves.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘What I saw was... strange. I don't know if it was all in the past, or some in the future, or outright lies. But I know you as you are now, or I hope I do; and I'm still frightened of you, in some small way, although... not with anger, or hate.’

Falcia looked at him, it her turn to looked slightly confused as she let the words settle in her mind, dragging it out. He didn’t fear her, more than most who knew her would. Isilecet never had, but Isilecet had been an arrogant idiot. She let a smile linger on her scarlet lips, ‘Will you spar with me in the mornings, without fear? Will you stop me if I... lose control? Will you forgive me even if I throw plates at you. Will you allow me to continue being an assassin and a guild leader?’ Her voice deepened on the last question.

He was laughing, he was actually laughing! His deep soft voice filled her ears, tainted with an off-hand sweetness, ‘Which do I answer? For all but the last: I can try. For the last: allow you? I don't know how I could stop you.’

He didn’t understand. Her voice was low and gentle, ‘By being sad and uncomfortable, Sevrecht. If you were unhappy, how could I be content in it?’ Her eyes were two deep pools, shimmering softly as she let seriousness and sadness twist around her voice and form.

He sighed, so soft a breeze against her face, ‘Would you be content if not in it? Would you be content with me, if I stopped you? I... don't know. I don't know what I should think.’

Her face lingered still with sadness, as her gaze ghosted over his beloved features, vicariously allowing herself the thrill of accepting her feelings and acting upon them, ‘Then until the day we find our thoughts diverging, let us enjoy this moment.’ Her fingers entwined with his, as her voice slipped into wry amusement and her lips into a smile, ‘I will not easy to live with.’

He stared at her, ‘You would not be easy to live without, Falcia.’

What? She felt the blush colour her cheeks a faint rose, a hint of life on her ivory façade as her eyes widened in shock.

He smiled again, ‘Is that so hard to imagine? You put yourself down with little words and comments, but some of us still don't believe it.’ He gazed, drank deeply of her eyes as she could not look away from the silver chains that seemed to bind her, ‘I don't know which words to use. Falcia... you amaze me. You enchant me. There... might have been a time when it didn't show, but you always did. From the start.’

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then gently let it drop, before slowly, like a sunrise, a smile lit up her face. It sparkled in her eyes without a hint of mockery, just pure incredulous joy. She whispered, ‘Thank you.’

He leant forwards, as if sharing a secret, his warmth close and her hand captured between his, ‘Whatever happens, after we leave this garden, know that. I can't hate you.’

The smile broadened into a grin, ‘I love you too.’ The words spilled from her easier now, as if they were natural. They were natural, but the fear, the tension, the tense waiting for the other shoe to drop had gone.

The silence stretched out for a moment before her eyes flickered up and across to the flowers, measuring the time by the length of the shadows, it was later than she had thought. ‘The 'Court probably wonder where we are, we should likely get back and see if Nico's managed to steal anything yet.’ The thought of the look on the little Rogue Captain’s face as she gave him the keys still amused her.

He leant in closer, ‘Can they wonder a while longer?’

She turned back, looking up at him with a mischievous expression that danced in her dark eyes like a demon, ‘Oh? What did you have in mind?’

‘Just this.’ His voice dipped into a hoarse whisper that sparked more things than simple love from the depths of her soul. A finger lifted her head back as his lips once again found hers.

[Ashnari Doomsong]

Amanar stood lounging by the door, unofficially on guard duty. His funds were very limited, so he would probably have to resort to theft or murder for what he needed. Briefly, he cursed the group for changing lodgings. Briefly, he considered gathering up his few possessions and simply leaving. But only briefly. Such thoughts did not stay long in his fancy, for he was a Dancer of the Drakwald still at heart. Recently, he had taken to provoking various anti-elf bands in the city of Marienburg to slake his thirst for battle, and he had no illusions that without a well-concealed and discrete net of contacts, he would not long survive these streets. Riddled with dangers, this city was. Riddled with dangers and horrors and filth. And yet... he was staying.
Why?
He did not know. Perhaps because he had come to learn of humans, and this was the most human city in the slice of the world available to him. Perhaps is was because this group, like so many of his allies in the Drakwald, were outcasts and misfits and it made him feel somewhat at home. Perhaps. Such thoughts did not matter, really. Doubt sowed only fear and fear disrupted everything. He could not afford to doubt. He could not afford to fear. He must remain focussed.

Then the door opened, and in strode an elf. At first, Amanar thought it might be Nirthan who had strode through the door, but though the similarity was startling, there were many differences - this one looked older, was even more scarred and had a deep tanned hide, and his features were somewhat less intensely angular. The rest were identical to Amanar's old rival, the waywatcher's black eyes mirroring a black mane of hair. Tall and lean, the newcomer was no-one the wardancer recognized - not that that said much. He seemed to stop for a moment, as if savouring a scent or a victory. Amanar, de-facto doorman of the Silver Court at this point, blinked once and briefly debated whether he should greet this one or simply subdue him and dump him on a street somewhere.
The latter was purely wishful thinking, though, and if this one was here to stay, Amanar might just get someone to talk to who was not an infant or a perverted aberration.

"Greetings," he said, though the other seemed not to have noticed Amanar from his previously-concealed place, and the word was probably lost on him - indeed, he was about to leave, something Amanar could not allow to happen without at least a small struggle.
"Can I help you?"
The other elf turned, though slowly, as if reluctant.
"I am Sorindor Kosh," he said, following up with some titles that meant nothing to Amanar.
"...and I request an audience with your leader."
In his outstretched hand was a simple, black pin. Amanar glanced at Sorindor's face with a hint of puzzlement shining in his azure eyes as he took it and studied it carefully.
"I do not know you, but are you here referring to the human girl, Falcia? If so, I would not exactly request an audience, for that would merely serve boost her already-inflated ego further into the realms beyond. If not, the leader you seek is probably dead or has suffered some other unpleasant fate, and you have my condolences."
Without waiting for a reply, Amanar nodded to the inside with a wry smirk on his face.
"Do come inside, and I'll see if I can find her."
The gods were cruel, to tease him with hope of a reasonable person and bring him another such disappointment. Ah, well.

He was off to find the girl. If this strange newcomer decided to rob the premises, it mattered not really to Amanar. Then he saw Septin, traces of tears upon his face, looking downbeat but proud, holding himself with all the pompous folly of one of the soft islanders. A malicious smile formed on Amanar's lips as he realized what must have come to pass.
He quietly congratulated Falcia with her choice, and moved on, eager to get the bland monotony of his lonely post allievated with some new intrigues.

[chrisgooding56]

" I do not know you, but are you here referring to the human girl, Falcia? If so, I would not exactly request an audience, for that would merely serve boost her already-inflated ego further into the realms beyond. If not, the leader you seek is probably dead or has suffered some other unpleasant fate, and you have my condolences. " Kosh watched the Doorman nod towards the inner core of the building with a smirk, " Do come inside, and I'll see if I can find her. "

Kosh was annoyed with this elf he obviously didn't understand the politics that had to be played between organisations such as those he had served and this one. The Black Wolves were gone but he wasn't, hundreds of his friends and comrades had died slow painful deaths others were gone only the gods knew where. Falcia was one of the few he knew how to find, he had served her once as the Noctis of the Legacy, they had left contact on the same terms they had met under.

Kosh took yet another deep breath, he tried to calm his mind and ran through everything he had to tell Falcia, Kosh's mind conjured up the idea of having to tell himself back when he was the Sergeant in charge of the recruits that the Wolves were gone. Kosh knew his old self would have cursed his lies and tried to fight him but that seemed an age ago now so much had happened to him during the time between then.

The retirement of Korvac, Delanta and the manipulations of House Scrall, his elevation of Captain, Laurana, Kristiana and his Generalship. So much so quickly he knew that he had changed with them, Kosh smiled when he thought of how much had changed during his time hunting down the Red Hounds commander. He'd returned to the times when he had been single minded in his hatred twisting his character into something that had once been known as Deathbringer.

Kosh let his hand rest reassuringly on the pommel of his sword, the pommel was an ornately crafted Wolf's head barring it's teeth in a snarl. The black of the Wolf's head was pierced by two small rubies that picked out it's eyes the crossguard was formed by two paws reaching out claws ready to pierce skin. Kosh considered himself lucky to own such a well made blade, many young adventurers dreamed of finding a magical blade that would make them invincible almost all died with that dream unfulfilled. Kosh knew that the truth was magic couldn't replace years of skill and training united with a well forged blade and a strong sword arm.

Kosh was jolted out of his thoughts by the appearance of a face he did recognise his keen eyesight picking out the tell tale signs of tears that had already dried up. " Septin? " Kosh said as he stepped forward to confront him, they had been the left and right hands of Falcia in the Legacy and they had clashed on a few occassions. Despite all that however Kosh trusted Septin and in some ways liked him as one might like an old rival but Kosh was now concerned for Falcia, he had heard rumours that she had been injured as had most of the Courtiers.

[Draegan]

OOC: Missus is havin a night on the town, kids are asleep, must be time to get my groove back....
IC:

Things had changed. People had suffered, lost, and been reborn. The world itself seemed somehow....different. None knew this better than the man who had once been Treymont Bennedict, Bounty Hunter and Former Mercenary Captain. Now, he was.... different. Crippled for the most part, barely able to walk, unable to speak above a whisper (although the elf had assured him this would change with time) and most certainly walking (or shuffling as the case may be) upon a different path than he'd ever imagined he would be. Funny, Treymont thought, that it took his death to show him how to live. For now, he would be content to follow and to observe, rolling the feel of his new being over his perceptions like a velvet cloak - soft, warm and comfortable.

He watched Falcia's presentation of the new Guildhouse with only a mild intrest - after all, a building was a rather impermanent thing, as the history of the 'Court had testified. What he was interested in was the reactions of those gathered, those that had survived. Business as usual it seemed for the majority, but then there were those among them who had not developed such a blase approach to sudden change, or those that weren't truly a part of the Court itself. Such as himself, or the boy. Ah, the boy.
Bennedict had watched Draegan carefully ever since the few that had gone below to Sovereigns lair had returned, and eventually made their way to the inn where they recovered the wounded, himself included. Bennedict's transformation had already begun by then, and he had noticed something in the boy he hadn't seen before, something that demmanded Treymont's attention with a force of intent that he had never experienced. The boy had seen terrible, terrible things in his lifetime, and still he wandered as though he was still the carefree prince of thieves, untouchable and unassailable by man or beast, or so it seemed.
Treymont knew better than that. He knew the boy had seen things, heard things, felt things in that cave that he would never be rid of, never divulge. How he knew these things, Bennedict did not know, but he was sure it was heading somewhere, a purpose of nature that coincided somehow with the changes Bennedict himself had experienced.

Soon, he would be revealed for what he had become. Before then, he had to figure out exactly what that was, and what exactly he was going to do about it....


################################################## #######


"She knows you too well Nicky - she's sucked all the challenge out of it?" Draegan laughed, while the younger of the two thieves nodded sullenly.
"Heartless, absolutely heartless." he sighed, hefting the keys in one hand. Drae couldn't help but wonder if the poor lad was thinking of throwing them just so he would have to break in every time the vault needed to be accessed.

"I'll tell you what" Draegan offered "we'll make a little wager, you and I, to throw some at least some semblance of intrigue into the situation." Draegan grinned, and was glad to see his friends face light up a little at the suggestion. Drae had only been back in Marienburg a short time, but he had seen saddingly little of his friend's mischievous and cheery spirit in that time, something that he had been looking forward to on his return. Hopefully now the Sovereign issue had seemingly been put to rest, Draegan thought, perhaps he would see his friend's spirits rise once again. He explained the terms of his bet with guilds most proficient rouge, his fingers literally itching as he explained:

" I wager, young Nicolyath, that I can get into that vault before you can, despite that cheaters 'pick you've got in your hot little hand there.
"Furthermore, I swear on Ranalds own sweaty armpits that if you somehow manage to overshadow my considerable prowess, gaining all the sundry accolades such a feat deserves, I'll tell you what really happened to that purse you 'lost' in the barfight we had in Erengrad."

Before Nicky could react to the idea that Drae knew something about the Erengrad incident, an issue he had taken great offence to at the time, his one time partner in crime zipped off to examine the remaining rooms of the new building, looking back only briefly to savour the look on his friends face. He paused for a moment then, when he saw Bennedict.

Trey had not seemed quite the same since their return to Marienburg, although this was not unexpected. Draegan knew that the big man had not looked into a mirror since the forest, and he wasn't sure what would happen when he finally did. Not only had Treymont lost the use of his left leg, his sword arm, and his powers of speech, but the poor man's face had been battered beyond recognition, His eyes mostly closed over, the top row of teeth almost completley exposed, and scabs covering the lower part of his face where his jaw had almost been torn clean off, Treymont Bennedict was a monster. And Draegan had no idea if he even knew, nor if he should tell him. Well, until then, it would be all smiles and some sense of normalcy (even if it was forced) and when Treymont was ready, Dreagan would be there as a friend to help him in whatever way he could.

In the meantime, Draegan wandered the rooms of the Silver Court's new Guildhouse, thinking to himself just how valuable or safe a fully fledged membership would be, when he was knocked aside by a particularly brazen elf, who apparently in his haste failed to notice that Draegan existed. "Hey!" he called - "What's the rush?"

[Ashnari Doomsong]

Amanar was growing a little annoyed. He couldn't seem to track down the girl, and failure was not something he was at all comfortable with; it carried unfortunate associations of pain and friends dying. Getting his bearing in this warren was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined. Bloody houses. What was the point of building cities, he wondered. It seemed like a colossal waste of time to him.

He moved quicker and quicker until he barely registered who was around. Then he almost knocked one of those sneaky little humans over.
"Hey - what's the hurry?"
Amanar halted rigidly and turned around. He couldn't be sure, but he *thought* that he was talking to the one whose friend had almost died in the forest. Ironically, Amanar was the one who was lost now, in this maze-like den.
"I need to locate Falcia. I would... appriceate it if you helped me out."
That's it, he thought. Get more-or-less friendly. Try, at least, to be civil. If you can't do that, at least don't be outright rude. Establish a bond. Help out, and ye shall be helped out.
Hopefully, this human would refrain from stealing whatever he was carrying and tell him where to find her. Something else occurred to him.
"Oh, and your friend - how is he holding together?"

[Draegan]

The elf stopped and turned, and for a moment, Draegan mistook the scorn in his face for something far worse, and made ready to attempt a dodge of the blow that was no doubt going to be swung in his direction. When their eyes met however, Draegan recognised the elf as the one who had helped him drag Bennedict's bloody torn and battered body through the forest after Sovereigns fateful attack. A truly black day, in every possible way.

Each recognised the other, and what seemed to be an uneasy, yet psuedo-friendly reckoning came between them.
"I need to locate Falcia. I would... appriceate it if you helped me out."
Thick as the elf's voice was with pride, Draegan got the impression he was not particulary impressed with whatever mission compelled him to seek out the Guild's illustrious leader. He was about to point out the irony in what he thought would be a hilarious and witty comment (that very nearly may have had his throat sliced in 'appreciation') when the elf, Amanar as Drae remembered, added: "Oh, and your friend - how is he holding together?"

Now, to understand Draegan's reaction to this, one must keep in mind that in the three and a half years that Drae had known the big man, he had not once seen him falter in his ambition, nor show weakness of any kind. Gods above and below, he could count on one hand the times he had seen the man smile!
Added to this was the strange change in behaviour Drae had observed sice his encounter with the murderous beast - perhaps not unexpected in itself, considering the devestating physical consequences for Bennedict himself - Unrecognizable, his face a putrid mess, his arm shattered, his legs crippled, broken and forever unable to ride, to run, to hunt. Even still, Draegan had expected anger, sullenness, even bitter scorn for convincing him to assist the Silver Court and take up their accursed grudge...

Amanar coughed, a little impatiently, drawing Drae's attention back from his own dark thoughts.. "Treymont Bennedict is invincible.. He'll be fine."
The elf raised an eyebrow, but this was the only indication he was bemused by the thief's response. Draegan took a deep breath, and returned to Amanar's original query "Weren't you looking for Falcia? Well, we won't find her standing here chatting will we?" He set off to assist in Amanar's search, taking long strides in the hope that the elf would stay behind him, and wouldn't see the tears forming in his eye.....

[Cassandra]

Falcia glanced up from the bench as the iron gate screeched again its metallic warning against the intruders in the peaceful hideaway. Sevrecht sat back, looking up at the two figures who peered in and then walked along the gravel path towards them. Regretfully, with more than a hint of reluctance glittering in his silver eyes, he released his arms from around her waist and twisted to face the two that were approaching ever closer.

Falcia moved also, the wind tangling itself in her tresses, the faintest hint of pink in her alabaster cheeks as the breeze floated pale blossoms through the air. Amanar stepped forwards, his gaze flickering to the pitfighter and then back to Falcia, ‘You made the right decision.’

Her ruby lips pursed and then spread into a smirk, ‘Not because of you. What reason do you have to disturb me today?’

Draegan lingered in the background instead of coming forwards, a troubled look on his face as he skulked in the shadows of the wall. Amanar stood up straight, towering over the shorter human on the stone bench, making her almost have to lean the rear of her head against her back. ‘There is an elf at the guildhouse that wants to see you, he says his name is Kosh Sorindor.’

Her eyes widened slightly and then softened, ‘An old friend. He had some trouble last time we spoke; if he can come out of hiding then I guess he must have dealt with it.’ She glanced back at Sevrecht, who gave her a slightly wry smile as she ghosted gracefully to her feet. ‘Thank you Amanar,’ her voice held soft suggestions of sarcasm, ‘I will make my way to the guildhouse immediately. You have a good day, I will see you at the guild meeting this evening?’ Amanar gave a curt nod and she looked back to see that Draegan had seemingly disappeared. A slight frown creased her brow and then she sighed. Draegan had not being the same since the mess that had become of his friend had been fully realized. She could not blame him; nor Bennedict for his reaction. She could only blame herself for dragging them into danger. But hadn’t she warned them, over and over, those who had come – Sovereign, vampire, was nothing to be trifled with. That almost everyone had survived had been a miracle. A few more seconds and I would have been dead and then most likely Henri and Sevrecht. She had not asked Henri about the dark-skinned child that she had seen with him in the blackness of the chasm. He had not volunteered the information.

The five who had been in the cavern when that last reckoning had happened, had not talked to each other much at all. Even Sevrecht had left her to her own devices. Thoughts of old loves and dark memories had returned unbidden; as she sifted through her past to make a decision for her future. It was obvious to everyone, even her, that Isilecet was never coming back to her. For her or for Ilsa. He had made his decision and now she had made hers, and they had moved on in separate directions. Perhaps they would both find their own happiness there.

She hoped so.

‘I have to go.’ Her tone held overtones of apology, and he nodded, gaze moving to Amanar. She walked past the elf and out of the gates, walking easily through the city streets that were as much a home to her now as any place had ever been. Even the familiar reek of the docks seemed a homely scent. Well, almost.

It only took a score minutes walk to reach the guildhouse and walk up the new steps, admiring the handiwork once more. She reached up and walked into the interior, not sure of what she would find there.

[chrisgooding56]

Kosh heard a voice cry out from behind him but by the time he'd turned around to see the source of it was gone and by the time he'd turned back to face Septin he too was gone as was the doorman if that was his job. Kosh frowned and stood still breathing in the air of Marienburg that wafted through the building, the smell of salt water reminded Kosh of his home in Ulthuan. He stood there for a while daydreaming in his own world thinking of days long gone when things had seemed simpler and he had been happier.

The sound of footsteps clicking upon the wooden planks of the main hall made Kosh turn around to face the door way, he smiled a warm smile as he instantly recognised her. Falcia Schwarz at one time his commander but now a dear friend whom Kosh would do almost anything for, he smiled warmly glad to see that he wounds were not too g[FONT='Times New Roman'][FONT=Tahoma]rievous. " Hello Falcia. " Kosh said as he bowed low in a very formal style common with the Elven court. She smiled back, " How are you Kosh? " [/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman'][FONT=Tahoma][/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman'][FONT=Tahoma]Kosh paused for a moment before he spoke, " I found him and all his wretched soldiers and gave no mercy. " Kosh knew Falcia would understand who he meant... the Red Hounds. They had butchered the Black Wolves like animals torturing, mutilating and worse, they had scattered the Wolves upon the winds leaving none they found alive. They had however underestimated Kosh and those few survivors and once they over reached themselves Kosh had led those survivors and several mercenaries upon a mission of vengeance. No Red Hound had lived to tell the tale, Kosh had been wounded as had most of those that had accompanied him but they had their victory. " I see your wounds are not too serious. " Kosh stated gesturing to the bandages strapped around her chest.[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman'][FONT=Tahoma][/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman'][FONT=Tahoma]" So what brings you here Kosh? " Falcia asked her voice friendly Kosh smiled once more, " To put it bluntly Falcia... I have nowhere else to go. My soldiers are all dead and my friends have business of their own to attend to, I am here to join the Silver Court... if you will accept me. " Kosh straightened up knowing that Falcia was his only hope, " I want to find my friends those that have scattered without a trace and I also want to make sure that every last Hound is dead those are my goals... will you help me? " Kosh looked straight into her eyes letting them say everything he could not. [/FONT][/FONT]

[Bob]

Ruthan stumbled down the steps of the shop, nearly losing a heel to the swinging door, and called out a friendly farewell to the owner. Setting his feet towards the road beyond, the magician began to make his way, dare he say it, home. Yes, now he had a home. First time in a while. Sure, he had to pay to live there, and sure, it wasn’t actually his, but he planned to make a place there, and the rent wasn’t too high, after all. It also had warmth, camaraderie, and various delicious beverages.

As did he. Clasped between his two arms was a small crate, in which was a fine selection of his own choosing. Purchasing the said box had cost a small fortune in coin and favours, one that he would likely have to pay for many months, but one he was willing to accept in return for those many months being largely impossibly to remember. The wind coming in from the docks was ripe, his heart warm and his step lively, and beneath the rim of his hat Ruthan wore a childishly idiotic smile. A new time was beginning. One of quiet dignity, study, and drunkenness; everything he wanted from life.

After a short while Ruthan approached the new guild house itself. It was, though he had never seen the other one, much better than its predecessor. Everything seemed new, expensive and if not upper than at least comfortable middle class. Definitely better than most of the Silver Court deserved or were used to, but something he, personally, knew he could appreciate.

"I want to find my friends those that have scattered without a trace and I also want to make sure that every last Hound is dead those are my goals... will you help me?"

Passing Falcia, whom he had so far barely spoken to, and whoever else it was, Ruthan paid at best a passing interest in their conversation, more concerned with moving in. Help? He could find the buggers in an afternoon, assuming whoever else it was could describe them pretty well. Well, probably, assuming his cards were in a good mood, and that the winds of magic were alright… and that he was lucky… He might be able to do it.

More importantly, that Falcia, attractive woman that she may be, was still higher ranked than him. In a way, he still found that hard to credit; he’d yet to see a woman capable of a real job past a barmaid. He’d better pay her though… when he had some new money. She wouldn’t mind. Giving an anxious glance to the bar, Ruthan wondered if buying his own drink was a form of treason. Slight feelings of guilt crept out of somewhere, but he made sure to stamp them down before ascending the spiral stairs with a great deal of care. He had a lot of glass bottles, full of very expensive stuff. It wasn’t betrayal anyway; it was just foresight, in case the bar ran out.

Morally correct, Ruthan opened the door of the room he had decided his. The funny shaped one. Why exactly? Well, for multiple reasons. Firstly, it was closest to the stairs and, thus, both the exits and the bar. Secondly, it was different to the others. Finally, there was something appealing in its quaint asymmetry that pleased him. This was his room. Pushing his way in and placing the crate on the bedside table carefully. Now all he needed was a few more clothes to put in the wardrobe, and he was set. Life was going well. Give it time, this place would be home, the people here friends, and he could grow rich and drunk and wise in peace.

Finally sliding the lid off of his crate, Ruthan decided to dedicate half his dresser to alcohol. Taking the rich, glass bottles out one after another, he placed them reverently, by type and worth, until at last he was satisfied. Taking a small glass from a pouch at his belt, he set it before them all. Perfect.

Now, thought the magician carefully, now was the time for him to make that most momentous decision. Which cork should be pulled first?

[Warren]

"I have to go."

He watched as she walked away, every simple movement seemingly holding more rythm, more music than before. Since the ball, which now seemed so long ago, when he first realised. And before that, which he did not dwell on. And yet again, before that, when their acquaintance grew stronger and they grew closer. This, now, might have been the expected progression if matters at a graveside had not brought everything crashing down. Almost irreparably it had seemed, then and since; but that event, and the consequences, now seemed little more than a bump in the road, a hillock of sand washed away.
He glanced towards the intruding elf, a being who regarded them much as a young Sev might have regarded a pair of wrestling beetles, and a sneaking thought suggested that the delay might not have been wholly bad.

Sevrecht rose with a vague smile on his face, and followed after Falcia. He paused by Amanar, exhaled a short chuckle, and patted the elf lightly on the shoulder. The response was a flinch and a barely repressed shudder, and possibly the restraint of physical violence. Severett walked on.

* * *

The new guildhouse stood tall, fresh and new and almost gleaming, particularly in comparison to it's much older neighbours. The effect was uplifting, speaking of new hopes, new possibilities and new beginnings. Sevrecht looked up at it as he approached, appreciative of the truth it held for at least one, and hopefully another. Septin's retreat came back to him, and his mind flitted back further, recalling the expressions and actions of the Lord Inquisitor. He knew at least two great (greater) rivals had been rejected in his favour, and now he thought about it he wasn't sure why. Did she see more hope, possibility and a new beginning with him? If she did, maybe she was longer-sighted than he. He had half a mind to bring up the subject, but the other half...

Don't jinx it, you fool.

The heavy door swung smoothly in and Sev made his entrance to this new hall. Some looked up and he casually nodded in greeting, but Falcia's eyes briefly flitted to him and stung him. Something in him jolted and settled into pleasant warmth. It was a fine feeling; and all his self-control and his usual gruff facade, could not prevent the wide smile from breaking upon his face.

The one she talked to must be Kosh. Another elf who claimed her friendship - how did she do it? This one was much more unusual, though. His close-cropped hair and more imperial garb seemed almost unnatural for one of his race, but to Sevrecht's surprise he found this elf initially more likeable than many others. Any others.
Kosh also glanced at the newcomer, which quickly put paid to the silly grin on the newcomer's face. The elf quickly returned his attention to Falcia, although something in his gaze told of a number of new questions he had for her. Nothing as pressing as his current business and questions, though. Sevrecht hesitated in his approach. What kind of business, and how personal?

[Rudger]

It was a particularly quiet day at the Silver Corner. The vast majority of the Silver Court were over at the new guild house for its grand opening. In fact, only two guild members were present in the Tavern. One being Carlin Esposito, owner of the Silver Corner, and the other was Rudger Heldorf. And in all honesty, Rudger was only there to pick up what little he had entrusted to Carlin. Once handed over, they were secured in one of Rudger's pouches. The traveller looked about the lonely tavern, seeing only a few patrons. The place had lost its usual hint of cheerfulness, but perhaps that was just temporary.

"Well," started Rudger "I should set off. Will you be coming down to see the new guild house soon?"

Carlin didn't reply for a few moments, but continued to clean the bar-top with a cloth. The young man glanced at Rudger before shrugging.

"I suppose so."

Rudger couldn't help but think that the boy felt as if he had been cast aside. The ageing traveller gave Carlin a half-attempted pat on the shoulder before leaving the Silver Corner.

******

As the man walked briskly down the street, he wondered whether the others would recognise him. He certainly looked quite different. His usual messy long hair was replaced by well-kept hair that just about touched his ears. The frizzy beard was now gone and in its place was a thin goatee. All his clothes were either well cleaned or new, most notably his cloak. It was still the same dark green, but much less ragged and torn.

His overall demeanour had changed as well. He no longer shuffled about uncomfortably, hunched over and hidden beneath his cloak. The man now stood tall and proudly, walking smoothly and in a much more fluid manner. However, he was still as cautious as ever. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his family's sword. Those same deep green eyes darted from side-to-side when something warranted his attention.

Putting the apparent changes to his appearance aside, it was a reasonably nice day. The people seemed to be in a sort of uplifted mood, and the wind brought in some refreshing sea air. It was not long before Rudger came to the new guild house. Thankfully it stood out quite a bit, so it was that much easier to find. The building looked so new and fresh, giving him the sense of some sort of new start, though he already had that feeling for other reasons.

Stepping through the doors, Rudger stepped into the building and almost walked straight into Falcia. Thankfully he moved to the side just in time. She was talking to a rather odd looking Elf. His manner and appearance was a lot different to most other Elves he had come across. In the few seconds that he saw the Elf, Rudger noted a number of insignias belonging to the Black Wolves, something he had not seen in a long time. As he passed by, the traveller sent a glance to Falcia and noted her injuries. He still regretted not accompanying them on their journey. Perhaps if he had gone then things could have been a little better, though he doubted it greatly. There was not much that one man could have changed when facing a vampire.

Rudger didn't stop to admire the details of the guild house, but merely walked about to find out where everything was. He passed familiar faces as he went about the building, but did not stop to talk. It took only a few minutes to find everything and having nothing else to do, the old traveller rested his feet outside by the training area.

He felt refreshed.