Poker Face.

The newly formed hall in Virgil's sanctum stood empty before him, unlit and hollow. It's stonework, beautiful and unblemished, save the two dozen scorch marks on the back wall.

Sleeves rolled up, jacket and wide brimmed hat thrown unfavourably in a corner, Virgil readjusted Thorn's ornate holster to a new position before buckling it again. He hoped this new angle would allow Thorn to be easily drawn and brought to bare. He knew this new position left Thorn visible, presented to any that would stand before him. Gone now was any pretence for  discretion.

Virgil used his powers of Prestigitation and summoned two small floating illusory targets before closing his eyes, hand poised above Thorns ornate grip.
Muscles sprang as he opened his eyes and went for Thorn. His hand found the grip and he drew, loosing two bolts in rapid succession.
The first came close, finding the wall just to the side of the conjured target. The second struck the spot where the target has been, it already having faded from sight.
Not fast enough, Virgil. He heard the voice, his voice, in his mind.
Whoever is killing the other Shades is going to take you down like a lame dog.

He'd been at it for hours now, a combination of fatigue and frustration had hold of him. This new threat had him worried. Whomever this was had skill and experience that clearly surpassed his own. He felt this new fear trying to take root. His was no magical fear like he had faced with the dragon, no this was a fear that he hadn't felt since early his early adolescence. The fear of losing.
"No," he whispered to himself, attempting to dismiss the tangible fear around him. "No!"

A long moment later came a knock from his door that echoed into the stone hall.
A sudden realization that it must be late. He and Obcaeco were heading out tonight to see if they could shake loose any information of this  'Shade Killer' from the criminal element of Waterdeep.
He strode to the door as he smoothed down his sleeves and donned his coat and hat before using his magics to clean away the sweat and turn the fabrics to the blacks and greys of his alter ego. He paused at the door, took a steadying breath and allowed the mask of arrogance to settle back upon his face before swinging it open.
She stood there before him, in the outfit he had secretly fashioned for her. A vision of beauty and strength.
She smiled her tiny smile. The smile was his to see for no one else.

"Shall we?"

Tonight

Virgil noticed Obcaeco's strength looked to be returning. Whatever medicine had been provided to her seemed to be working.

There was no denying that something had been developing on an emotional level that put him in a state of unrest. This was something new, something foreign. Beyond a moment, this lingered and grew with a life of its own.

He thought back to the battle with the white dragon. The fear and excitement he had felt in that moment had suddenly frozen at the sight of Obcaeco being struck by the great beasts frigid blast. 

A feeling of loss so profound had struck him that he abandoned his own instincts of self preservation to get to her, to the point where some gift from Neifion manifested and allowed him to jump through planes of existence and appear next to her cold, near lifeless body.

His dexterous hands, always so stable now shook as he had tried to administer the healing fluid to her. The dark liquid splashed upon her lips and provided a false semblance of colour. He had watched as the fluid began its magical work. Her skin began to flush with healthy colour, returning to it's radiant pink hue, moving further from the pale white that the frost blast had inflicted upon her. A deep, gasping breath followed by several ragged coughs burst from her body as she had jolted near upright as Virgil clung on to her, thankful for the life that flooded back into her body.

The trip back to Waterdeep had only nurtured this new force within him now. Although it had been left unsaid between them, he felt a reciprocated bond growing. Lingering touches, he would be caught looking in her direction by her supernatural senses.

Lirra's family had arrived in Waterdeep a few days after their arrival. Virgil had never seen Lirra so vibrant and joyful. She bounced around like a child. Yet still, Obcaeco was not herself, more withdrawn than normal. That battle lust she'd exhibited had not resurfaced, withdrawn to a point that kept Virgil's attention fixed upon her.

Toasts were made, food was eaten and Virgil used all of his charm to make the night as palatable as possible. The joy on Lirra's face wasn't lost on him. He did his best to make it a good night for her, even as his mind wandered to things that he could do to help improve Obcaeco's mood.

It wasn't till the late hours of that night that he had a sudden epiphany. He would act upon his idea come morning. 

Obcaeco moved through the motions of the day. Her mind occupied, quite literally by an entity she didn't understand. She could detect with her senses that the others had already left. She heard no heartbeats within her companions rooms. 

Her senses guided her downstairs to the common room of the tavern where she detected Ulfgar seated at a nearby table. The favourable scents of freshly brewed coffee baked bread with cinnamon filled the room. 

"How ye feelin, Lass? Ulfgar asked as he rose from his chair and pulled the adjacent one out for her. 

"Better," she answered quietly, seating herself before delicately pulling apart one of the sweet smelling rolls set out on the table.

"This is Stedd's handiwork," she said after tasting a morsel of the soft bread. Ulfgar chuckled into his mug of spiced mead. 

"Aye it surely is," he replied after wiping a forearm over his mouth. "The boys got a talent!" He reached over and grabbed one of the rolls for himself and ate it in a much less delicate fashion than young monk had demonstrated. 

"Where are the others?" She askes between bites. Ulfgar looked around and motioned towards the door. "Young Lirra an' her kin are making preparations for their big fight." He began. "Virgil I had not seen leave, maybe he's still asleep?" 

"He's not." She added and Ulfgar knew better than to disagree. Her supernatural attunement to sound could be trusted. 

"If ye need me, Lass I'll be tendin to some work at the temple down the road." Ulfgsir said as he rose and wiped his mouth again with his forearm. She detected the faint rustle of fine fabric scented with  various oils as Ulfgar picked up his vestments and placed them over his clothes. 

His large calloused hand gently touched her shoulder as he passed. She acknowledged his gesture with a faint smile in his direction as he made his way out. 

She sat alone now at a table made to seat six. Just her and the voice within her head remained.

It wasn't until Midday that Virgil bustled through the door of the inn. The place now quite busy with the lunch time crowd. Despite the number of people in the room, Obcaeco detected his presence and she turned her head to his direction and he pointed upstairs, towards their rooms.

She stood and walked up the stairs, into his room, leaving the door open for him as he entered a moment later.
His heart beat faster, he was excited about something, she knew this just through his movements.

"I have the greatest idea for some fun!" He stated, unclasping the buckle on his bag of holding before producing a large flat box, placing it on the bed before Obcaeco.
"I got you a present!" He said, the excitement not leaving his voice.
She moved to the bed and opened the box.  Scents of lavender and jasmine greeted her as her hands moved the soft tissue paper to the side with a faint rustle. Her hands moved to the item below. Soft velvet and linen, embroidered with an all too familiar symbol of Tyr upon a stiffened collar.
A tunic, breeches sash and an extended cowl to cover her strange, beautiful eyes.

Another box was produced, this one Virgil opened himself and she smelled the soft leather within. Flat soled boots that extended to just below the knee. 

"What is this, Virgil?" She asked smiling.
"Well," he began, "I need to do some snooping around for some Neifion business and I want you to come with me, But you need to be -" He paused, "less identifiable."
A smirk crossed her lips and Virgil didn't know if he was in trouble or not.
"You bought me a disguise?" She asked with a derisive tone that told Virgil he may have assumed too much.
He paused. "Well, yes! Technically." He said, trying to recover. "I remembered all of your measurements from Baldur's Gate. "It is in the style you like, darker tones, I swear it's beautiful!
She couldn't keep her face straight any more and for the first time in weeks, she laughed. It was honest, mirthful and it healed her in unseen ways.

Virgil raised his eyebrows in complete surprise at this, before joining in at the spectacle of actually being duped by her ruse. It felt like a long time since he'd been on the receiving end of any kind of mind game. He basked in her laughter, feeling relief wash over him.

She laid the clothes out upon the bed taking note of its textures and lines. It was indeed beautiful.
"Turn your back, please Virgil." She said and it took a moment for him to realise why as she began to disrobe, Virgil's eyes shot downward and away respectfully as she trusted him to do.

The fabric slid over her slender athletic form, and it did indeed feel light and flexible. the leggings, tight but supple woven of a material she hadn't felt upon her skin before. She bound her chest with a length of material provided, supporting her female form. Black and silken cloth that she wound down her right arm and fastened it at the wrist. The tunic was next fastened together with similar silken ties, it was embroidered above the breast with the symbol of Tyr, she ran her hands over the symbol. It's familiarity of it enamouring her further to this these new garments. She felt the longer left sleeves lining as it slid along her arm, small pockets and a sheathe? small enough to hold a dart or small knife.
Oh yes, Virgil did indeed oversee the design of this.

Finally, the soft boots, slipped onto her delicate feet. She could feel the embossed patterns upon them, little swirling designs that wove in and out of one another.
They felt like a second skin to her feet, contouring to her soles and calves, allowing  full freedom of movement.

Lastly, a dark shawl placed over her head and rested across her shoulders, its cowl, longer than necessary, she appreciated that he knew her enough to know this was her desired style.

"It looks amazing, Obcaeco." Virgil said, pride and admiration in his voice. "How does it feel?"
She spun, a leg coming up in a whirling kick, before dropping down into a cat like stance, her hands a flurry of movement.
"This is lovely, Virgil," She said, a wry smirk at the side of her mouth. "Tonight then?"
"Tonight."

Parnast Interlude.

"That was the craziest day we've had! Ever!" Virgil exclaimed. Hanging his jacket on the nearby rack in the room he and Stedd had rented for their wait in Parnast.
He felt wrung out, feeling the wear and tear of his efforts finally hit now that he was safe and somewhat relaxed. He poured himself a cup of wine and offered Stedd one, who declined, before sitting on the single bed and kicking his boots off, letting his stretched legs relax.

Stedd was busily rummaging through his bag of holding, smiling as he produced various gems and coins. He looked surprisingly well for someone who'd just been at the business end of a dragon breath. Virgil silently praised his resilience.
"We've made out like bandits," Stedd claimed through his grin. "We've more coin here than I've ever seen."
"Plenty more to come too," Virgil added as he took a mouthful of wine, sighing contently after he swallowed. "Provided our undead dragon friend doesn't burn my books down, we've got even more coming out way if my hunch is right."
Stedd smiled at that and had to readjust his place on the bed as that new sword he had on his hip got in the way.
"You should bite the bolt and get Lirra to show you around that thing," he said, pointing to the ornate looking hilt of Stedd's new weapon.
"She knows her weapons and she's gotta lay off you now that you stood up to, and!-" He added emphasising the latter, "it was your doing that took the fight out of the dragon." A look of unshakable certainty on his face.
Stedd nodded to this last part, still seeming unconvinced about dealing with Lirra as his nods turned to shakes.
"I dunno man," he hesitantly spoke, as Virgil watched his preservation instincts battle to the surface. "She's all bluster and bravado, I've got no interest in getting shown up by her."
Virgil nodded, seeing pride coming to the forefront of this conversation. He waited the right length of time before continuing.
"Okay then," he added with a tone that would imply a new thought. "What if we train together, and we get Lirra to instruct us both?"
Stedd cocked his head slightly, eyes looking off to the side as he began to consider that possibility. Virgil pressed the idea, hoping to edge it in the right direction.
"I want to familiarise myself with other weapons. How they work, what to expect. We can use this time to learn to defend ourselves better! We can still get killed by swords even if we don't like using them." Virgil's momentum carried on.  "Let's use this time to learn how to stay alive better, and help protect our friends in the process!" Virgil raised his tone slightly, allowing an inflection of excitement to coat his words.

*in game, Virgil would be using his diplomat ability to persuade Stedd.*

"Alright, alright," Stedd conceded, "but we spar and Lirra can oversee us." Virgil nodded in agreement.
"I'm not fighting her!" He stated in a final tone.
"Of course, man!" Virgil agreed, reinforcing Stedd's decision. "This will be great!" He added  gulping down his wine before pouring two more glasses out.
Stedd frowned and turned the outstretched cup down. Virgil didn't want to press too hard on his friend. He clanged the two cups together, toasting his own success and drained them both before settling in for the night.

"Hey Virge," Stedd began as Virgil opened one eye too look over in his direction.
"What's going on between you and Cake?"

The Wild Card. Part 1 - Virgil's Perspective.

Virgil watched Landrigosa work her way down the line of his companions. Her decayed, decrepit form explaining the ins and outs of dragon survival.
Keeping a practised look of undivided attention upon his face, he watched the others as she quizzed them on the information she had just provided.

The revelation that Lirra was once trained by this thing before her transformation was quite disconcerting. He wondered if it would effect her judgement when the time came to kill this one. He contemplated taking matters into his own hands.
How easy would it be to blast a few holes in her parachute upon exiting this floating castle. He could easily do so without being discovered. But no, he placed that thought to the back of his mind, not dismissing it completely, but removing it from likely outcomes. 

Right now he hoped that Stedd's nerve would hold and that this plan of his to taunt a dragon would pay off.

Landrigosa finished her briefing and Virgil nodded along with the others. His plan already formed in his head. The trust he was about to place in this group was unprecedented. He donned his wide brimmed hat, and drew his illusory guise about his face. 

"Good hunting to you all." He said before walking away.

He saw the affirmative nods and felt the encouraging pats on his back.
Virgil's eyes locked with Stedd, and he made an effort to soften his gaze and nodded directly to him reassuringly. Stedd returned with a few sharp nods. His eyes wide as his courage and fear waged its own battle.

Virgil turned to move from the group, feeling Obcaeco's fingers bush past his arm. The veiled angled face carried a soft, small smile and it was this that he put in his mind to keep close that he may draw some courage for what he was about to do.

He walked to the end of the intersecting halls, Ice covered walls angled down opening into the large chamber where he saw the form before him, bigger than any beast he'd ever seen. Just one talon would be enough to end him.

He drew Thorn, and he felt the green energy begin to thrum gently within the device.

Thorn cried out, two beams of eldritch energy finding the mark.
"I, Neifion, have come for you, beast!" He projected with his best practised stage voice. The dragon sprang up, quicker than a thing that size should be able to, and bore towards him.
Virgil didn't allow himself a second to consider his decision. He followed the plan. His friends lives counted on his ability to do his part. Down the corridor he leaped, The white hulking form not too far behind him.

Before We Go.

The portal stood before them. A circular glyph of arcane scrawling.

Virgil halted a few feet before walking into the teleportation ring, Turning turning to face his companions.

"Guys, wait a moment," he said, holding up a hand. "I've got no idea what is beyond that portal, but I just wanted to say that traveling with you all has made me feel like we can achieve the impossible."
The faces look back on him all read differently.
Ulfgar's proud knowing face. The voice of reason, the rock of conscience.
Stedd wore his grim demeanour, eyes darting here and there watching for any slight movement or imminent danger. Virgil could see the weight of decision and consequence upon his face. He knew Stedd was fighting a guilt from a decision that had nearly cost the lives of his friends.
Lirra, leaned against her great spear, calm and relaxed. The confidence she showed, it empowered them. Virgil knew this to be fact.
Virgil looked to Obcaeco. The girl blinded literally by her faith and lineage. Half angel, half human. The one who sees much, and sees no more. 
She smiled when Virgil's gaze fell upon her. It was a kind, warm smile. A smile of one who is fighting a battle within, yet shows none of it to those around them.

"Ulfgar," Virgil said breaking from his inner thoughts. "How about a prayer before we leave?

Virgil took a knee in front of the armoured dwarf.
Stedd was first to kneel with Virgil, then Obcaeco, and Lirra as Ulfgar looked upon those before him for the briefest moment before he began. 

"Family comes to us in times of need," his words and tone fatherly and warm. "It is not the family of lineage, but the family that is forged in times of strife and struggle." Ulfgar closed his eyes, a hand hovering above the heads of these brave folk before him. 

"Mother Truesilver, I call to you now. 

To look upon us in this time of strife.

Let this family be forever watched over. 

Let their faith in each other strengthen them. 

Let their courage be bolstered in times of fear.

Let no force break their bonds to one another."

There was a pause. Only the dripping of the water in the adjacent caverns could be heard. 

"Ye can stand up now," Ulfgar chuckled. "We got work to do."

 

Together they rose, as Virgil took a deep, steadying breath.

"Alright," He said, drawing Thorn giving it a customary look over. The cool green crystal housed within the core of the device pulsed slowly at his touch, reassuring him of it's readiness.

"Let's get this done."

All In

Books, Lots of Books.

Virgil took a moment to reflect on the feat he had achieved. He currently stood in an ornate library, within a hidden castle, surrounded by an enemy force that he now controlled.

He couldn't help but grin at this.
With but a few augmented words he had turned ally against ally and overthrown a major enemy stronghold.

The powers that Neifion had given him felt godlike and for the first time he could remember, he felt like he was doing good. Something that his parents would be proud of.

Deception, gambling and exploitation were all things he used for personal gain. Never for a moment did he think his talents could be used in this way.

He had killed. Again. As the grin evaporated from his face, he recounted the fight against the commander of this castle, the cold calculating elf and his cultist guards. He had almost discounted it considering the whirl of events that followed.
He'd also sent his enemies into a trap, a trap in the form of dozens of lizard folk spears and teeth, to be torn apart in an ambush.
Virgil put the books down he was stacking onto a nearby pile and took out his own journal and lay it atop a chest high column of invaluable volumes of what appeared to contain information about the stars. "Henry's gonna have kittens when he sees these." He mused before focusing back to the blank page of the magical tome.

Castle Neyartar is under our control.
Coerced local lizard folk tribe to turn against current cultist regime and assist in coup.
Lizard folk still believe that we are cultists. We have taken no prisoners to ensure our cover remains in tact. Using this to our advantage.
Cultist presence in castle has been removed. Dispatched majority of Cultist forces through deception, ambush and confusion.

He lowered his pen, allowing the words to seep into his magical journal, before adding.

Was this the correct course of action?

This last question wasn't an easy one to write.
He understood Neifion was concerned with bringing balance, restoring the natural order of things but had he achieved this here?

He thought back further to the chain of events to date. He turned his memory to what these cultists were capable of in Greenest. People slaughtered on the streets. Families torn apart. He'd seen dozens die that night. He'd witnessed the power they would bring to bare against defenceless folk.

Grim faced and resolute, Virgil closed the journal and returned it to his satchel before a reply even arrived.

Yes, he was doing the right thing.
The balance will be restored.

Child of The Sea

Cove stuffed her belongings into her backpack. Some salted meat and dried fruit were bundled in along with a other items she deemed necessary.

Lastly, Cove paused and looked to the polished oak table and the sole occupant upon it. 
A small, dirty, threadbare doll that was missing an eye looked back at her lovingly. She had an arm that had been mended several times and meticulously plaited black woollen hair. Her dress was blue, like Cove's skin and had a beautiful, albeit dirty pattern that reminded her of the ocean around it's hem.

This she placed in her pack last, carefully so as not to upset her.
The ridiculousness of this wasn't lost on Cove as she tucked her in, chuckling lovingly. She was 17 years old now and knew playing with dolls should be beyond her.
But Tilda was her oldest family member.

 She donned her fur lined leather coat and swung her laden pack onto her shoulders before opening the door to the small but comfortable cabin that was her home.
As she climbed the few steps on to the deck of The Osprey she was met with the entirety of her family waiting for her, standing to attention. Thirty two sea tested men and women that made up The Osprey's crew. She noted some of them were glassy eyed. Others were doing their best to smile bravely.

Two figures above all else caught her attention after the initial surprise faded and was replaced with near overwhelming love that she fought to contain, lest she weep openly.

Her Fathers. The Captains of the Osprey.

"Look at our girl, ready to leave us on the next leg of her voyage." The man to her left said said stepping forward, arms out in front as if presenting her to the crew. Denon's face wore the experience of thousands of days of seafaring. It was hard to say how old he was for his skin was like leather yet his vibrant and jovial nature eluded to a much younger man. His coat was pressed and it's buttons polished he wore his thick, auburn hair in a tail that was clasped in an ornate silvery loop. His smile was wide and Cove could feel the pride he felt for her. It was almost tangible, like a blanket she could wrap around herself that would keep her warm and safe.

Denon stood next to her, before her other father, Renyar, moved forward. He too wore his pressed jacket with a tricorn hat that covered his bald head.
"Such eagerness, yet so ill equipped!" He quipped in a loud voice, before standing to her right and faced the crew, "just like our dear Cove to rush into the thick of it." Reyner added, his smile beaming.

Cove looked up at the two men with such adoration in her heart that she could feel the tears welling almost to bursting.  As the crew laughed an all knowing laugh the tension broke and she felt her blue skin flush. She sheepishly joined them, laughing at the misadventures and trouble she had made for them over the years. Her eyes turned down as she blushed before Denon's voice brought the crew's attention back to him.
"Before we let you leave, you will stand before us all and be held accountable for your actions." Cove gulped nervously at these words as it was the same words used to discipline the crew when a grievance was brought to her fathers. She wasn't in trouble again? Was she?

Raynor, as if on queue added, "Who among you who wish to bring your words to bare, do so now."

Cove held her breath, not sure now of what was about to happen. Her fathers could hide their emotions well behind their commanding presence. 

"I will speak," came a voice from the crew, the accent thick and distinctive that Cove knew the voice belonged to Wilten, the ships Carpenter. He was an ox of a man. A powerful frame that housed the experience a skilled artisan. In his hands he carried a long  object, wrapped in sail canvass. 

"Wilten, attest now to Cove's actions." Denon commanded. Wilton nodded, not meeting Cove's eyes. Quiet settled over the crew. Even the lapping of the sea seemed to stop.

"I've seen my share of storms over the years and I've lost people to them." This last part he said with a tone of deference. "So on that night when I went over in that storm, I thought that was it for me." He paused a moment, sniffed again before looking up. 

"Then you were there," His voice quivered slightly as he fought to keep his emotions in check. His head tilted and she could see the smile behind his bushy salt and pepper beard. "Our little water sprite." 

Cove couldn't resist any longer. She dropped her pack to the deck and ran forward sobbing. Wilton took a knee as she approached and she kept into him, Wilton's bear like arm wrapped around her tightly. 

Raynor and Denon looked on smiling as the Crew burst into cheers. A moment passed Wilton gently moved Cove back a step, still keeping to a knee. 

"Cove was able to ferry my lumbering arse back to The Osprey. I have no doubt I'd be fish food if not for her." He stated loudly as he began to unwrap the long object. He spoke to Cove now, excitement in his words.

"After the damage we took a few months back on the topsail yard, I got the idea to make you something from the timbers,"  Wilton produced a beautifully carved and polished staff from the canvass wrap. "Ive seen you training with the mops and I asked your dads if I could make you this." He turned it in his hands and Cove saw that Wilton had planed it on six sides, and carved images of ospreys into the centre. Beautiful flowing patterns ran the length of the staff, each end capped in polished steel. He presented it to her and she gingerly accepted it. She could feel the carvings under her fingers. The polished wood felt familiar. 

Yes, this was most certainly a part of The Osprey. 

"You saved me, no doubt about it." Wilton added, "I'll always be in your debt, Little Sprite."

He stood and turned quickly, joining the crew again before they both potentially broke down again. "Thank you Wilt!" She shouted to the bear of a man. She watched as the crew around him patted him on the back roughly and ruffle his hair.

Cove took a few steps back as Raynor's voice asked again who would speak. 

A woman this time stepped forward, a woman with pale skin and flowing markings across her face, her hair swirled loosely of its own accord. Zephyn was an Air Genasi, the Ospreys Navigator and Cove's mentor in Martial Arts. 

"Zephyn, attest now to Cove's actions." Stated Denon. 

 Zephyn stood forward and pointed to Cove making a series of gestures with her hands that Cove understood and turned to her fathers. "I will speak her words." She said as Zephyn nodded her approval to her captains. 

Zephyn began, her hands moving intricately. And Cove began to speak.

"Cove came to us when she was but a child. Removed from a life that would have been one of horror for her. This life was known to me and I'll be forever grateful to our captains for their compassion."

Zephyn stopped briefly before bowing curtly to both captains with a hand on her heart before she began again. Cove continued to interpret. 

"In her time here she has been a beacon of light that has helped guide this ship. Her character and heart has touched us all. She is a fine student, sailor and above all she has a unblemished soul."

She could feel the tears welling again at Zephyn's words. She knew that her crew loved her, as she loved them. She didn't realise how her leaving might effect them. Her hands continued to weave.

"Cove, I've taught you how to navigate by the stars," Zephyn took a bag from her shoulder and handed it to her nodding for Cove to open it. 

She pulled the flap back and within she saw the all too familiar tools needed to navigate by the stars. Sextant, paper, charcoal and a map of the sword coast. 

For you, to navigate your way forward, then eventually, back to us. Zephyn signed to Cove. These words, Cove kept for herself. Zephyn bowed low and Cove, in turn did the same. As she had been instructed. A proper farewell between mentor and pupil. 

Cove took her gifts and returned you stand between her two fathers. She put her pack on, Denon giving it a look across and evening the weight across her shoulders. 

Denon nodded to Raynor, who drew the Sabre from his hip and held it aloft. Denon joined him and the crew parted in the middle, drawing their swords and making an arch. Behind them waited the Gangplank that lead into the Neverwinter docks. 

She turned around to her fathers who both looked down to her, smiling. Each so very proud of their girl. 

"Protect yourself," Raynor said in a lowered voice that was only for her. "And protect those who need it."

Denon smiled a very charming smile. "Find what you seek, then come tell us all about it." His voice encouraging and boyish.

She stretched an arm around the waists of her fathers and squeezed tightly. 

"I love you, Dads," she whispered as she felt both their hands around her completing the embrace. "Thank you for my life!"

"Farewell, Daughter." They both said in unison. 

She looked up them both, rising onto her tip toes to kiss each on the cheek, at this the crew cheered. 

She turned and strode intently though the raised swords, gazing at her family as she passed them, she captured their faces in her mind and took her first step onto the gangplank. A chant of "Cove! Cove! Cove!" Sprang up behind her. Turning, Cove took one final look back, taking in the last member of her family. The Osprey herself. Her home for the last thirteen years. 

With possession of the knowledge of her family and the memory of their love swelling within her, she disappeared into the crowd of the busy streets of Neverwinter.

Sea Tower Aftermath.

"Are ye alright, Lad?" came the gruff but calm voice from behind Virgil as he picked himself up off the turrets cold floor. He ached from a dozen or more blows, cuts and abrasions.
"Ulfgar," he said weakly, taking one step towards the armoured dwarf before the world begun to spin again.
"Woah, easy there, lad." Ulfgar braced Virgil with a strong gauntleted hand. "May the light of Berroner Truesilver return ye strength."

Virgil felt a hot flash race up his arm and settle in his chest. With each breath the warmth spread to all his limbs as his vision and balance righted.
"The battle is won," He surmised, "No shortages of casualties on either side though." The two of them looked over the turret's walls to the courtyard where strewn about lay the dead and dying on both side. "I'll be down there healing what I can," Ulfgar said. The dwarf lingered a moment longer, assessing Virgil's condition with a trained eye before stomping off towards the wounded.
Virgil gazed at the scene below. The horror of battle splayed before him like a grotesque mural. A telltale glow came from the satchel he wore at his side, drawing his attention. The tome's pages lit up the area under his long coat as he withdrew it and held the leather bound book on both hands. As expected the book flipped open, stopping on an empty page that begun to fill with that distinct letters with long thin bodies and sharp short serifs. 

These were the words of Neifion.

'The fey creatures, born of fear and blood descend upon you. You must cleanse the blood upon the soil. Do this quickly lest your allies be overrun.'
Virgil knew better than to argue with the words. He recalled those wicked yellow creatures burst from the fleeing men, Saw what they did to the others that they had fought against.
He moved to the edge of the tower, leveling Thorn at the ground and loosed an emerald bolt with a resounding crack! Soldiers looked up at him with surprise, weapons at the ready.
"Move the bodies, wounded or otherwise to the entrance!" He shouted down to the courtyard. Over his shoulder he beckoned to the group of veterans he had just fought alongside, "You lot, Come with me, we need to burn the battlefield now!"
The bloodied veterans didn't even hesitate as Virgil sped towards the stairs, passing Lirra on the way down.
"Spread the boxes of alcohol across the blood, as much as you can, and quick!" he ordered, stopping to speak with Lirra. When they were alone he dismissed his illusory mask, smiling in her direction.

"You're alive." She stated flatly, looking at the sword in his hand. Virgil's smile shifted  awkwardly.
"I am, thanks to your training." He offered politely. She looked him up and down briefly.
"You look terrible. You need more training." She stated flatly "put that away before you stab yourself." She brushed past him, continuing her ascent to the top of the tower. He blinked a few times, letting that sink in before he continued down to the courtyard. 

The soldiers had gotten to work, rounding up other survivors as they smashed open crates and spread the liquid around liberally.

Virgil thought he spotted a patch of red mushroom caps sprouting from the blood on the field. Yes, before his eyes he watched as the patch begun to grow.  He grabbed a bottle from a nearby crate biting down on the the cork and giving the bottle  of a very old and very expensive looking brandy a twist. With an audible 'pop' he spat the cork and took a swig of the strong liquid before hurling it at the patch, focusing his fey given talents upon its contents before igniting it with a click of his fingers.

The flames roared up, shrivelling the red capped fungus. 

The blue flames suddenly turned green and roared anew as Virgil took control of them, willing them across to the other spilled grog. 

It caught easily and in moments the battlefield was ablaze with a pyre of green flame. 

The soldiers continued to hurl the bottles into the magical inferno and cheered at the spectacle of the masked man with the black eyes consecrating the ground. 

'Time for a bit of showmanship.' Virgil thought as he begun to swirl his hands, gathering the fire into one area, it's magical flames casting an emerald hue across the area. Brighter and brighter the bonfire became. 

The fire then took the form of a giant bat stretching it's wings before it sped into the air a short distance before bursting in a bright green flash.

As eyes adjusted, they looked back upon the battle field to see a single large distinctive letter aflame in the centre of the field. An extravagant 'N' with a long thin body and sharp, short sarefs.  It remained aflame for a few moments before flickering away. Just enough for all at the tower to see. 

 It was all the power he could muster, nut he knew it would be enough. All the best stories start in spectacle and rumor. From one ear to another they travel before they take on a life of their own. He would help it grow. Nurture and care for it. 

The masked man with the black eyes walked from the courtyard, long coat billowing behind him and all traces of battle gone from his attire. It was as if he had never been touched. He tipped his hat as he passed the soldiers, their torch flames turning green as he walked by. 

Under the guise he was shaken and shocked. He had survived a major battle where others had not. 

He showed none of this now for he had a reputation to build after all. 

And presentation was key. 

Suit Up

Virgil's reality continued to be shaken around him with this latest revelation that these terrible acts were happening within Baldurs Gate's walls. Forget Greenest and the Dragon, and the little scale covered beasts that had made his life less than fun for a few weeks.

These things were happening on his own doorstep and from the look of it, by his own people. The criminal element in Baldurs Gate had always been a constant, but none had considered blowing up one of the biggest defensible bastions the city had going for it.

Henry and the group had been informed and his reaction was one of hastened efficiency as messages were written and rolled into tubes of glass. Virgil wondered what kind of magic must have been on those tubes as the contents faded to nothing.

Mikarro and Ulfgar seemed to take the news in their stride, as if this was expected of this place. They conversed to themselves over a plan of the tower that Horus unfurled over a small table. Two stacks of books at each end preventing it from curling back up on itself.

Stedd did his usual thing and went wide eyed out of Harry's office, his loud footfalls stomping up the stairs could be heard.

Obcaeco just sat still, as if assimilating the information she'd just heard hadn't swayed her here nor there.

Virgil felt his mind cloud over. His thoughts jumbled and he couldn't rationalise what action was about to take place. 

He left Henry's room and motioned for the barkeep to grab a bottle and two glasses and he moved up the stairs. 

From Stedd's room the sounds of hurried packing could be easily heard. From the open door Virgil watched Stedd cramming everything into the bag of holding that lay open on his bed.

"Don't you think you're-" Stedd cut Virgil off with his sudden turn and drawing of his dagger.

Stedd took a step back suddenly, his dagger held only by his thumb as he outstretched the fingers on both hands and raised them slightly, eyes darting from Virgil's down to Thorn that was drawn and pointed at Stedd.

"You gonna put that away?" Stedd asked, as he sheathed his own blade. Virgil complied, placing Thorn back into its holster, coughing to clear the awkward silence.

"Drinks?" Virgil asked, glasses and bottle clinking as he raised them as he took half a step in.
Stedd's hand shot up, "Wait!" He said with hushed urgency. "Don't step there," He pointed directly in front of Virgil's raised boot. "Or there, or, you know what? Let's drink in your room."

Virgil nodded, smiling slightly and exited, opening the door across the hall and poured the fragrant red wine into the cups before setting down the bottle and handing a glass out to Stedd who followed him in a moment later.

"You gonna run?" Virgil asked. Stedd's hands slightly shook as he took the glass and gulped a mouthful.

"I was gonna go get Dad and Keri ready to move as soon as possible." He said, calming down a touch as the alcohol did its work.

"You're not gonna do the same?" Stedd asked, "I mean, go get your folks and make them safe?"
Virgil took a sip, considering his response for a moment.

"I'm gonna help fight," He said looking elsewhere, before his black eyes locked onto Stedds. "And I want you to fight with me."

Stedd' started to shake his head involuntarily before  Virgil had finished his request, as he'd seen him do several times before when the idea of a prepared fight had been raised.

"I get your not comfortable with yourself in fights, you dress tough to try to dissuade people from fighting you. But I need you to stop looking scary and start actually being fucking scary!"
Stedd still didn't seem convinced, his eyes having trouble meeting Virgil's.
"I want that fucking guy who was ready to gut someone just to get information about his loved ones captives. I wan't that guy to watch my back in whatever is about to happen next."

Virgil went over to where his leather armour sat on a chair and slid it over his head, fastening it down the sides, is face grimacing slightly at the weight and restriction of it. He strapped his long knife to his left thigh. Sheathed a dagger on his belt and rechecked the fastenings on the embossed holster that held Thorn.
He flung his fine long coat over his shoulders, it billowing out behind him as it settled as he turned around, Stedd held out the final part of his transformation, The black, wide-brimmed hat. 

Virgil took it and placed it on, adjusting it slightly at the front before calling upon his innate magics to alter his appearance. All of his clothing, his armour and boots, turned into a mat black, the lining of his jacket a deep purple and finally, a black mask with etchings of silver materialised over his lower face, completely masking his identity.

Stedd smiled. "Either you're going to a really fancy masquerade ball, or a whole bunch of people are about to be killed by the best dressed guy in town." Stedd quipped.

 "Excellent," Virgil stated as he moved to the window and flung it open before climbing out onto the ledge. "That's what I was going for. Tell the others I'll be waiting at the outskirts of the Fort. Go see what they want us to do."

Without waiting for a response, Virgil was gone from sight. Stedd rushed over to his window to see him running along the side of the wall up to the buildings roof. He scoffed loudly "Gods dammit, Virgil." He said in a hushed whisper to the night sky, still shaking his head before turning around and almost falling out the window as Obcaeco stood only two feet from him. "Gods Dammit! Obcaeco!" He shouted, visibly shaken. 

"I just noticed Virgil outside and thought I'd come up and see what was happening."

"Come on," Stedd replied with a huff, turning Obcaeco around and leading her back out the room. "Time to tell the others that Virgil's off to kill himself."

The Cost of Doing Business

The Hag sat behind an ornate oak desk It listened with false intent to another woman weep a tale into her withered land-worn hands. It nodded along with the story, wearing the best look of concern that could be mustered without breaking out into a fit of hysterical laughter. The guise of a lovely middle-aged woman worn perfectly over it's true garish form.

It heard the tale of the wilting crops, of a sickly husband and the young daughter the woman could barely afford to feed. It nodded with rehearsed empathy when hearing of how her husband needed to recover from his illness or their crop would be lost entirely and they'd be forced to forfeit their plot.

It savoured every word, every tear. Every single thing the woman spoke of was occurring by it's design. The farmers wife spoke in poorly structured sentences that marked her as uneducated, simple, vulnerable, perfect.

The hag would provide her with the things she needed to stop these horrible events. A salve for her ailing husband. A herbal concoction to water their crops to reverse the wilt.
When actually, all she would do, is cease the well designed curse upon the wailing woman's family. 

For a price, of course.

In return, all the hag asked is for was a small favour. That her daughter, when she comes of age in a months time become her apprentice. To the ears of a desperate mother, this sounded too good to be true! What mother wouldn't want her child to learn the arts of the apothecary! To be able to help others in need. To be educated, fed and cared for.

Yes, she would give her daughter willingly. 

In truth, It would be the end of the young girls life as she knew it, for she would be fated to become a hag herself. Consumed quite literally, then birthed anew in a dark, forsaken ritual. All essence of who the child was would be gone, twisted beyond recognition into a new generation of evil.

The hag's mind then drifted to those sisters that it had lost. Taken by the hand of the Lord of Bats and his allies. The Hag was now the last of the Coven. It had been allowed to flee that night Nefion had come for them. It was compelled to carry a warning to all fey that prey upon the innocent. The ultimatum was simple. Cease your activity, or Neifion would come for you. All of you.

At first those like the hag fought back in numbers. Arrogant. and ignorant of who they would face. All of them now gone. Captured, banished or destroyed utterly. Its two sisters fell into that final category of punishment. No hope of revival, rebirth or reunion. She had fled far to escape Neifion's influence.

Yes, it was now the last, but not for long. For seated before her now was a chance for renewal.

"Worry no longer, child," The Hag reassured her in a composed, caring tone, "For I have the answers to all your woes." It's gloved hand sliding a box containing the foul smelling and useless salve, along with a stoppered bottle of swamp water towards the woman.
"If you would agree to my terms, I will aid you and your family."

She slid a piece of fine velum parchment over to her. Perfectly handwritten words mapped out the deal it had connived.
The contract stated everything plainly. Every morbid thing that would happen to the poor child upon her "employment."
The woman, looked over it quickly, eyes darting from the page, back to the hag, her face still a portrait of tears and grief.
"Oh miss," She stammered in her thick, rural accent, "I cannae read a word!" She blubbered, sobbing anew. She had counted on this. Made sure her illiteracy was fact. Tested her prey and found this family to be the prime candidate for it's dark works.
The hag hushed her soothingly stood and oozed over to her side of the desk, inkwell and quill in hand."
"You needn't be concerned, child." It purred into her ear, as it slid a gloved hand around her shoulders before setting the inkwell down before stabbing the quill into the black fluid. It placed the grey feather into the woman's trembling hand then pointed  to a blank spot below the vile contract's words. Her eyes watching the blank space with almost unobtainable anticipation.
"All you need do is leave, your, mark."
The final three words coming out slowly as a horrid realisation struck. The hag's opposite hand, the one it had placed upon the woman's shoulder caused an almost imperceptible rippling effect upon the fabric of her homespun shawl.

"How?" It shrieked, lifting her hand as if it had been burned by the touch of this woman. All pretences were cast away suddenly as the hag's skin became green and sagging. Boils, sores and pustules spreading across her pock marked flesh. The same gloved hand that had recoiled in horror became a massively clawed and filthy thing. It hurtled down to the where the woman stat, only to smash the empty chair below. Wisps of mist curling between the long fingers before speeding between it's bowed, gaunt legs and taking form at the opposite end of the room, less than fifteen feet away.

All disguises were now discarded. The charade Virgil had maintained for the better part of three months while he, Stedd and Keri, had set up this elaborate trap was no longer required.

He stood smirking, half his face hidden beneath the brim of his black hat. One hand comfortably resting upon the pommel of Thorn. His long black coat billowing customarily around him, despite the lack of breeze. He could feel the Hags fear and rage and he savoured it. The moment before the kill.

"Now you'll fucking learn what it costs to do your kind of business," his tone cool and confident. His words weren't a threat, but an assurance. "Just like the rest of your bitch sisters did."

It let out a shriek of grief, rage and hate. It's wrinkled wart covered face contorted, rotted teeth revealed in a gaping, infected maw. Consumed and blinded to all but this man before it, The hag charged, its sinewy legs carrying it faster than it would be perceived possible. Clawed fingers outstretched, reaching for his soft throat.
This cacophony of sound would be enough to drive fear into the hearts of the bravest heroes.
Virgil knew better. He understood that this cry heralded it's imminent defeat. It represented vulnerability, instability and reckless abandon. He would use these weaknesses to his advantage.

A single heartbeat was all the time between them now.
The moment he so loved had arrived.

Virgil's hand flashed and Thorn joined him.

Outside Stedd and Keri watched as dazzling flares of green escaped from any window or door frame. Thorn's distinct crack sounded with every flash, punctuating the otherwise still, clear night..

"Why does Virgil insist on doing this part alone?" Keri asked, not looking away from the stone cottage.
Stedd looked over to the young girl as her face lit up with every blast of Thorn. 

He thought back to that first encounter with the hag in Baldur's Gate. The one that had Keri and intended to do the very same thing as this one did.
"I'll tell you one day when you're never." He answered drily, a serious tone emphasising his final word.
Keri sighed, expecting such a response from her over protective uncle.
He handed her a freshly baked roll to his niece. She took a bite and let out an exasperated sigh, glaring at him with frustrated eyes. Stedd turned away from her, watching the light show as he took a bite of his own roll.

"Never."

The Hand You've Been Dealt.

The Hand You've Been Dealt.

During the festivities of Elturel he found one of the quieter gardens of town with a large tree shading a grassy area and put his back up to it, resting for a time.

He recounted what he had learned about his companions. Their strengths and weaknesses. Like any hand of cards, you had to know what you hold, and how to play them. Right now the group was naive, untrained and out of unison. He included himself in this analysis, of course. A hand of cards is stronger when there are pairs, or three of a kind.

He had discovered that Stedd, the thief that he'd met in Greenest but a tenday ago has also ties to Baldurs Gate. A father and a niece. His criminal inclinations had sent him to that cursed town. I really should just teach him how to play cards properly. There are legal forms of robbery that are just as lucrative as the real thing.
He was a wild card. An uneasy draw that could tip the hand in the opponents favour. Or, turn certain defeat into victory.

Mikarro, the Dragonborn. Conflicted, confused and dangerous. He's spent years of his life devoted to a god that he lost faith in at the first sign of trouble. Only to have some other power take up his cause for peace.
Godtouched, he thought. Had to be to have that kind of luck. Virgil reminded himself to keep his extra curricular activities away from the lizard's attentions. His kind of nativity was so very, very dangerous. On the battlefield however, Mikarro was an unrelenting force. His conviction evident as he strides fearlessly into battle.

Lirra, the entitled. Heiress to the prestige of one of the greatest fighting academies the sword coast had ever known. Arrogant, proud and angry. A bad combination but there is a fragility to her now that Virgil saw. The revelation that her brother had been granted a family heirloom is the reason for her being out here in the thick of this mess he deduced.

These two were his first pair in the hand. Their worth as a pair would have to be worked on.

He stood up from his shaded spot under the tree and adjusted his new wide-brimmed hat. With a thought he altered its colour and that of his clothes, changing his face to something else. As he'd done a dozen times already today.

He thought he'd take in a play. It had been some time since he'd seen any kind of theatrics other than his own.

He left the garden, turning down the street and blending in the townsfolk as easily as if he'd lived here all his life.

Questions and Reflections. - Hoard of The Dragon Queen. Chapter 2.

Just shut up and listen.
Don't write back or interrupt. I need to get this out of my system.

What in the nine hells have you gotten me into?
Greenest, these people, this 'Cult of The Dragon.'

You say that I have skills that are needed for the task. But if the task is to be surrounded by dragons of all shapes and sizes, then that's a shitty task.

I'm not stupid or narrow minded. Cards are all about knowing what's ahead of you. Prediction, awareness, opportunity. And, I know that this force that is pillaging these small towns wont stop here. This is just the precursor to something big. But I think you've got the wrong guy!

Haven't you?

Fuck! You know what? Three days ago I wouldn't have given a care about this blasted little backwater town or its bloody people, but you put me in the thick of it. Even this group of folks that I've been lugged in with were better equipped to deal with this mess.

A walking lizard that looks like the bloody creatures I've been shooting at for two days. Yet devoted to bringing these bastards to a peaceful end.
Another bloke from Baldur's. The "Locksmith" Interesting bloke though. We had a few moments that first night it all went to shite.
A blind(?) holy woman that can do the most incredible things!
A dwarf priest. Bristling with armour and the ability to heal the most ghastly wounds.

And Lirra. 
Now this woman was able to make me question more of my sense of self in one night than all the nights I've hustled cards and played dubious hands over the last decade.

In two days, I have seen horrors that I'd never thought I'd have to. I've been granted these "gifts" from you.
I've walked through an entire camp of things that wanted me dead. I've faced a dragon attack, and aided this town of Greenest with information pertinent to the discovery and perhaps prevention of this cults next move.
I've killed monsters. I have killed. 

Is my role in all of this over now? Or has it only just begun?

And who is Neifion? 
Are you Neifion? 
Am I?

I'm closing this book now for a bit. I need to rest and I can smell Stedd's baking down the bloody hall. 

The Bringer of Silence

The Vanguard stood in a loose formation as a blasting headwind slowed their progress. Before them loomed the swirling nimbus of cloud and lightening that they new to be the portal to the Plane of Air, Yan C Bin's prison. They all knew that he watched them now as five of his armoured elemental warriors made their final push to take back Windvane, the magical spear that was the key to his freedom.

Sheth saw an opportunity to close ranks and charged forward, landing blow after devastating blow against the magical guards. Reed took a few steps forward and hurled his magical hammer at the encased elementals. Morthos began an incantation of telekinesis raising both his crafted replica of Windvane and the true elemental weapon.

Suddenly screaming into action, the Elementals charged forward, taking hit after hit from their exposed flanks to exploit the small gap in the vanguard's line. Two coming face to face with Morthos quickly, and without his Goliath ally to shield him, they rapidly slammed their flails down into the wizard, his magical wards holding for only a fleeting second as blow after blow landed and laid the wizard low.

Peren, slid to the side of his fallen companion and scooped up Windvane in his free hand, before reluctantly touching Morthos' barely breathing form. He uttered an incantation under his breath, tracing a quick symbol in the air that hung shimmering before it broke into golden dust and covered the Tiefling's broken body. Bones mended and energy was renewed as the healing magics entered his body.

Morthos lifted his aching head and saw the Elementals rampaging close by, Peren looking down suddenly at Morthos, his face only showing the barest expression of worry.
"Do you trust me?" Morthos asked.
Peren quickly glanced back at the elemental swinging the massive flail above its armoured crown and nodded as the flail descended. A shimmering portal opened up beneath them both as they fell suddenly. The fall narrowly saving Peren from the impact of that dreaded weapon. The flail slammed into the stone floor of the cavern as the portal closed as quickly as it had opened.
Together they sped through dimensional doorway and landed with a sudden disorienting thud under the howling nexus itself!

Blasts of wind assaulted them both from all sides as Peren ducked into a crouch, Windvane poised as he looked at the swirling sphere of cloud and crackling lightning above him.
Still weakened, Morthos lost his balance and was knocked back suddenly, his feet finding no ground as he involuntarily stepped off the plateau and as he fell, he watched the armoured elementals hurtling towards Peren with desperate clawed gauntlets outstretched.
He landed flat as the wind was knocked from his lungs and he gagged and gasped for air.
He was alive, for now.

Peren looked back as Morthos was swept from the plateau he fought his instincts to help as he eyed the rapidly approaching elemental guards.
He looked down to the spear and thought to himself, 'Had you have been an arrow, Windvane, this would have all been over by now.'
Peren closed his eyes for a moment and whispered, "Umsheryoth, Guide my arm and grant me clarity."

Peren's eyes crackled with golden energy as he opened them and before him.
He saw his target, the centre of the nexus. He also saw the swirling wind and he saw its intentions, its patterns and motives. He looked to the portal and he lifted Windvane close to his ear, the point of the spear angled upward, He breathed a few breaths before holding it in as he waited for the wind to play its part.
'Not now, wait. There. NOW!'

The muscles in Peren's arm became taut like a spring as he launched Windvane up and it flew as if it were a silver bolt of lightening that yearned to return home.
Then a moment of complete silence sounded as sudden and jarring as any tolling bell before an inverse in the wind forced Peren to clutch a nearby rock as it threatened to sweep him into the collapsing portal.

The Elemental guardians shrieked as they were sucked back into their Plane of Air and in a span of breaths, silence tolled again. Peren stood nimbly, blinking rapidly as his eyes returned to their normal hue. He took a step to the edge of the plateau and peered over the precipice. His companions were all breathing, including Morthos who still lay face up upon the stone floor.

He hopped back down easily, nodding to his companions as they gathered around. Reed half smiling in return. Sheth, acknowledged Peren's  deed wtih a stern clap on the shoulder.

Without standing, Morthos began a new spell. A circle of energy surrounding them all."Gather round," He muttered in his usual contempt filled voice. All stepped in and a moment later, with a flash, the Vanguard was gone, leaving only the liberated silence in their wake.

To Where The Stones Gather.

Attondel watched as the two women slowly rose on the gusting wind of the tunnel leading upward to the fortified hold of Tyar Besil.  Clutched by the blade close to the hilt, Obsidian's black surface prickled against his palm, signalling him that something had caught his sentient blades attention.

"Master, another approaches through the stone at speed!" Obsidian's grating voice heard only in the Goliath's mind rang with a tone of urgency. 

More urgency than usual. 

Attondel turned a weary eye upwards, spinning the massive great sword with such ease that it may as well have been a willow switch. It's gleaming back blade, nearly seven feet in length coming to rest upon an armoured shoulder.

A moment later Attondel's true sight caught the almost imperceptible ripple in the stone ceiling. To him it was as obvious as tidal wave approaching the shore as his eyes seldom missed even the most minute detail, especially when it came to stone.

He widened his stance slowly and raised his free muscled arm close to the hilt, ready to grip and strike.

There were no tremors, no dust fell from this strange event. It behaved as if the rock was a pool of clear water reflecting a mountain range that had been disturbed by a solitary pebble.

A moment later a small, lithe form sprang out of the stone and landed in a kneel, one arm stretched out to the side, the other hand with the naked palm flat against the stone. The rippling ceiling near instantly returning to its solid state.

He noticed the black bracers first, around supple wrists, shining and flawless. Familiar, like his blade.

"Attondel, well met." Came a cool feminine voice, devoid of any emotion. Flat, calm, tranquil. His attention returned to the form before him. A moment of contemplation brought remembrance.
"Helenrae," boomed his baritone voice, a stark contrast to hers. "What are you doing here?"

She stood slowly, running one open hand down her chest to her hip, straightening the small crease in her flawless attire.

"My final test awaits. Lord Samular has dispatched me to aid you in your task." She replied in that cool, controlled voice.
A crimson hood of velvet, complete with a veil leaving only her mouth and angled cheeks and chin visible adorned her head. This extended into a fine robe of a durable looking fabric, adorned with beads and small polished stones.

She suddenly cocked her head and pointed away from their position, through the wall. As if lending an eat to an unseen whisper.

"Your companions are suddenly close to here."
"That would be Morthos," He stated nonchalantly as the howling wind that blew up the shaft to the ancient dwarven kingdom became still. Now filled with only an eerie silence.
"It appears my companions have completed their task and closed the air portal." Attondel deduced.
"We should rejoin your party and continue your task." Helenrae suggested as a hand went a black rod fastened to her waist. It extended by three feet almost instantly as it entered her grasp. She tapped it once against the floor, then once against the nearby wall, allowing a small echo to escape. Then she turned and walked further down the hall with a confidence of a person who had lived down here all her life.

The Gloliath's gaze went quickly back to Helenrae and her forearms that were adorned with those black, gleaming bracers.
He couldn't see a seam, or a crease, and he knew that they were most certainly made from same gleaming stone that Obsidian was wrought.

He dismissed his speculation and focused again upon his surroundings.No questions now. He knew there would be time for that once they had rejoined the vanguard.

Helenrae

Master Renwick.
I have received word from The Vanguard that they have breached the inner sanctum of the Howling Hatred and the destruction of the Elemental Air Portal is imminent. The Vanguard seek to move on The Black Earth immediately after their assault on Howling Hatred.
I have a task for the one in your care known as Helenrae. She may have intimate knowledge of their compound and sending her would be sufficient test to see where her loyalties rest.
Enclosed with this scroll is the arcane missive with the necessary incantations to provide Helenrae with the means to track The Vanguard.

Send her, Renwick, with all speed.

Anveena.

Neifion - The Lord of Bats

Neifion The Lord of Bats.

He had watched Virgil move from tavern to tavern for weeks. Uncaring and calculated as he fleeced unsuspecting card players, novice and expert alike.

Virgil's hands and acuity, naturally quick. He was impressed with Virgil's ability to run the hustle completely. From start to finish, a flawless exercise in planning and execution.
He was Neifion - Lord of Bats, and he had been at his masters service for near all his adult life.
He was older, and slower now. Slower than what was required to be the embodiment Neifion.
He thought of what it had been to be Neifion all these years. The lives he'd made better, or worse. He had thought of those lives he had taken.
To have his name whispered by the people his actions influenced. To the nobility, he was a scourge upon their corrupted tax collectors. To the criminal underworld, he was the shadow that fought back against their stand over tactics and violence. To those that toil endlessly in their fields to feed and clothe their families, he was a Godsend. To Gamblers, like Virgil, he was a flip of a coin. A favoured patron, or a name to curse when your luck was down.
Neifion had fought to maintain a balance of good and evil. Favouring neither, but not allowing one to completely overthrow the other.
The balance must be kept.
He saw the potential in Virgil. He saw the skill set needed to be Neifion. The cunning, the guile. Neifion had accepted his proposal for Virgil to become the next. He would force the man's hand. Move him like a pawn on a chessboard.
Yet a single decision from this pawn could turn him into a knight, to smite oppression. A rook, to be a bastion that holds back the tides of darkness, Perhaps he may even become a King, and surpass where he had failed.
What was important now was maintaining the balance.
Time was running short and Neifion knew he must act soon.
The balance must be kept.

Virgil Crane

The piles of gambling chips in front of Virgil made the other two piles look tiny in comparison.

He had been working the tables in this tavern each night for a tenday now, losing more than he won.

All his losses were inconsequential, as he would leave this tavern only to enter another and break even a few hours later.

Tonight was the payoff.

He was two hands from cleaning house and this round was all but done.

"Call" The grizzled older player to his left laid down the last of his chips along with an old oak container no larger than a shoe box. "That's all I have" he said with a half smile on his face.

A powdered noble smirked and met his bid, before both of them turned to Virgil. He allowed his eyes to flinch, just enough for his opponents to see before meeting the bet. Cards were flipped, firstly he older man, Displaying two pair. Jacks  over eights, with a lone four.
Virgil let out an audible gasp which caused the noble to grin and turn his hand.
Full house. Jacks over black aces and one hand went greedily for the pile of chips in the centre of the table.

Virgil threw his cards with a flick of his wrist to his right, the nobles face turning to a grimacing hatred as he saw the red aces, flanked by three queens.

"Get your hands off my chips." Virgil calmly stated as he scooped the centre of the table back to his corner.

The old grizzled man. Smiled and stood turning to the bar.

The noble, now flanked by two burly men towered above him.

Virgil woke in the alley, his left eye swollen closed, blood in his mouth and s sharp pain near his ribs.

"Ye played a good game  lad, but you need to work on your withdrawal." Said the grizzled man as he helped him to his feet.

"At least they didn't take everything of value."

Virgil looked down through his one good eye and saw the oak box.

"There's riches in this box but they couldn't open it. Only a man in the village of Greenest can open it."

Virgil spat some blood and tongued a loose tooth in the back of his mouth.

"Greenest?" He said incredulously, "I have to go to greenest to get anything from this bloody night."

The old man, still smiling offered a shoulder and Virgil accepted.

"I swear it's worth the trip. You've got a good soul." He now locked eyes with Virgil and Virgil could not look away.

"You will take this box to greenest and stay there until it opens."

The words resounded within his very core.
"Y-yes," Virgil stammered. "I will go to greenest."

The Dream

I am dreaming.

Lost in a realm where I cannot find home.
In my sleeping mind I see images of places long gone. Warm visions of people's faces that I may have once known.

I awoke, completely submerged in an ocean in storm.
My mind believing I was drowning was the first encounter I conquered.
I walked in the deep waters until the light became truth. My journey on the oceans floor imparted it's secrets and when I emerged from its depths I had an understanding of what made it strong. 

I could now use it's power as my own.

This construct, this "Frame" that I now inhabit allows me to move amongst the people of this land with little trouble. It allows me to fight, to learn. To live.

When I am weary I wake.
I wake to darkness. I am some place elsewhere, distant and ancient. I can feel my body fill with air. I can hear the sound of my breath.
Beyond these few sensations I am lost.
Am I truly alive?

I will use this frame to wander and I will seek knowledge. Some day perhaps, I will know the truths.

I am timeless. I am patient. I will find myself again.