Return Upon the Silence of the Raven's Wings

Cwmfen nic Graine · 03-14-2012, 05:09 PM

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Table by me (Req)

Hope this is okay… >u<
WC: 658

Cwmfen trotted silently in the lands outside of Dahlia de Mai. She was deep in thought, considering what had occurred the night before. Pausing in the brush, the black female shifted, taking on the luperci form. She lay there alone as she had spent every night. And yet, ever since the Long Nights, that solitude that she so required held a different quality.... Her mind turned the happenings of the prior night over, trying to reason through the events, attempting to uncover something she might have missed. Why had he been there? Unexpectedly, the Pied Wolf had appeared within her dreams, seeking…something that she was not yet ready to give. The warrior sighed, trying to push the thoughts away. She wanted to believe that she was something more, something with a soul pure and bright. But how could she of a pure soul? His blood ran in her veins. He had pushed her into woman hood and given to her the shape of humans. While the woad marked fae knew that the Crow Wolf had raped her, there was still a dangerous pull within her. Her soul was drawn to the darkness, was made to revel in it in a way that she should not. While her belligerent ways gave her the will to resist His pull, she feared that one day she would succumb to the cold, tenebrous tendrils of her father.

The female considered her own confusion and wandered from the company and advice of others. Social confrontations of any nature were never really her strength. War. That was what she knew. She knew how to fight, and she was good at it. It was easy for her to decide who would die, or who would live. There was no complexity for her in such basic, aggressive instincts. But she had, and possibly could, never adapt fully to the social life. In the culture from which she originated, the wolves never took mates. They only took lovers; while usually the nature of these relationships was usually very similar to mateships in the respect that only one lover was taken, the relationship was not binding. Indeed there was love, but there was nothing restraining both parties from the freedoms of life. Lovers shared warmth in the cold nights. They made love in their dens. And (perhaps most importantly to this particular female) they were comrades in battle relying upon one another, protecting one another. Why could not the relationships here be of that nature. She found often—especially after the rites of womanhood—that she desired companionship. But she did not want the ties that would prevent her from being the wild and free warrior creature that she was. And she did not think she desired companionship with her father—and yet his soul attracted her. In the depths of her soul, she could admit that.

Suddenly, the woad-marked female found herself wandering in strange lands. She had never really explored these particular lands, but from what she could tell from the strange, exotic city that surrounded her, she must be in the place named Halifax. The female did not like these constructs of human existence. Of humanity, she found only their ancient weaponry to be fascinating. There was nothing for her in these concrete jungles. Yet, she could not help but feel curious about these graveyards of man. What caught her interest the most was the way in which the earth was re-claiming that which was lost. The white orbs wandered over those seemingly frail vines with tendrils that penetrated and grasped at the sides of these edifices. How curious it was that these thin tendrils were slowly but surely conquering these seemingly eternal constructs. It was evidence only that nothing was eternal. The concrete jungle called to her, urging the Raven Dreamer. She hesitated at its borders, tempted to regress to her natural shape and find solace in the darkness of the woods.

Asmodai · 03-15-2012, 06:03 PM

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Wasn't sure which character to use, so I read up on some old threads and decided that this one was a good mix of "never met Cwmfen before" and someone who might have something in common with her. I was going to pick someone she'd known from before, but then was thinking on it and she's already plotted like crazy with Brennt, so there probably wasn't a lot left to write about between them!

Near the edge of the vine-ridden ruins, a one-eared wolf sat huddled against a low wall, its cement foundation crumbling from years of neglect and rainy days. It had once stood mighty among the other steel giants, but the elements had stripped away its walls, a gift from the age of mankind's power worn away to reveal the bare skeleton beneath. And so Asmodai stared with hollow eyes at his hands, his claws washed again and again but never clean, the art he had learned to work with them despoiled by its own application.

The wind shifted, and brought a new smell gusting through the alleyways. He did not recognize it...no one from Phoenix Valley, no one from Shadowed Sun. His hackles lowered and he looked sadly down the street from which the scent had come. Whoever was coming, he did not think they were coming for him. He did not know how that made him feel. His story had come to its conclusion; he had reached the end of the final chapter, and succeeded in his task. And now there was nothing left. He was broken...broken by the realization of what he had destroyed.

A life. A family. His friendship with Iskata, and the trust of a pack which had accepted him with no questions asked, had taken him in when they thought he needed a place to belong. Perhaps worst of all was that he had destroyed his illusions about the righteousness of his cause, destroyed his belief in what his friends had died defending. Skoll had used the art more appropriately than he had...if what Iskata had said was true, he had used it more appropriately than most of its practitioners from GreyClaw, as well.

A black she-wolf came into view, and he fixed her with his gaze, wondering what business brought her, if she would stay at all or pass him by like the discarded shell that he was. He saw the strangeness of her eyes, the war paint that shone bright and vibrant upon her ebon coat..the surety of her stride. Was she a spirit? An avatar of war or vengeance, summoned by his vile deed to cleanse the land of this betrayer? He did not know, but whatever her purpose, she seemed to notice him. Without rising from where he sat or moving at all, he watched as she came closer, unsure of what would come next...unsure of what he wanted to come next.

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Cwmfen nic Graine · 03-16-2012, 08:42 AM

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Table by me (Req)

Sounds good!
WC: 567

The white eyes drank in the dark shadows of the stone woods, unable to find warmth in its cold lifelessness. But then she paused, the stillness of her body strange—as if the world continued to move while she did not. The fathomless gaze found life beyond the struggling flora. It was another wolf, bearing no scent familiar to her. The Caledonian-Korean considered him with a mild curiosity, her troubles momentarily forgotten as it slid back into the dark recesses of her mind. Her erect posture seemed to straighten, if possible. Her body was relaxed and did not seek to dominate this stranger. Yet all at once, the Warrior herself seemed insurmountable. It was as if she were the avatar of Nemain transcended upon the earth, the fury of the goddess flickering in the depths of the Raven Dreamer’s heart. The light of her soul lit up her gaze with gentle, silver tendrils, and it was as if the shores of that soul moved the light within her fathomless eyes. In the half light, her white gaze glowed.

That mild curiosity wondered at the male. The two stood watching each other in silence. The young Raven Warrior thought she saw something—a shadow—within the male’s face, but she was unsure. The social inadequacies of the Warrior would never allow her to truly understand another, or so she believed. The one of the tenebrous pelt had decided to pass him by, to allow the stranger his solitude, when the Pied Raven passed overhead. The rough craw shattered the silence with its ominous sound as he landed upon a corner of a skeletal edifice. The Raven’s voice echoed in the silence. It was as if he did not quite belong. Woad banded auds swiveled to catch the dissipating song and the following silence. She breathed in the cool air, listening to the song of the night as the Pied One’s voice fell away; it was as if she could hear and taste something there, as if the colour of the songs revealed much to her. White orbs momentarily turned up to consider her Dream, meeting his one-eyed gaze before returning to the strange one. The Warrior took several steps closer, her movement fluid and ethereal. It were as if she, too, did not quite belong within these lands.

Once more she grew still. The woad upon her sinewy form seemed to glow in the half-light of the moon-lit night. The silence was allowed to ensue for a moment longer. Perhaps the Warrior, a creature of belligerence and action, knew not the words required to be spoken. At length, “Forgive me for intruding,” was sung upon the air in a quiet, Caledonian lilt. Her voice danced upon the air with silver feet before silence was allowed to continue. The woad tipped plume moved behind her like a sinuous snake—a thoughtful movement, perhaps. The tranquility within the woman’s features was unreadable. While not unfriendly, the Woad Warrior gave no thing to her thoughts save for the transient flickering of thoughts within those fathomless orbs. Those thoughts never lingered long enough at the surface to be read by others, and yet that white gaze sought the other, piercing into him as if to find something in particular. She did not know whether he would be lingering in her presence, or whether she would continue into the shadows of the night.

Asmodai · 03-16-2012, 10:01 AM

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Ah, thanks for the tip about the table! I didn't want to bust this guy back out without showing off Pilot's (now ancient but still wholly awesome) table!

The moaning wind went quiet, and when the painted woman stepped into the moonlight her eyes came alive with an eldritch glow. A raven soared over the two of them, cackling into the night as her luminous gaze fell upon him. Suddenly, his trepidation fell away. She was beautiful...serene and terrible to behold, and he knew that she was in truth some spirit of war descended onto this mortal plane for him. Discipline reasserted itself in his mind, and Asmodai rose slowly to his full height, leaving his pack and its weapons on the cracked tar by his feet.

Nearly eight feet of werewolf stood in silent vigil of her approach, the nicks and scratches of a life lived killing staring back through the moonlit alley, a mass of scar tissue marking his belly where he had once been brutally savaged. He was the larger of the two by far, but he had no thought of opposing this apparition. If she had come for him, then he was blessed that his killer should be so elegant...so awe-inspiring. He met her gaze, never wavering, drawing courage from her ghostly grace, strength from the wraithglow in her eyes. He heard her voice, and its melodic tones echoed in his good ear as she paused, waiting for his answer.

"I welcome the intrusion." His voice was gruff, but failed to reclaim the apathetic coldness it had acquired prior to his duel. His thoughts were a plague on his mind, his guilt a corroding poison on his soul. The wolf called Asmodai had been broken by the realization of his deed, and he would need to discover--over the following months as he made his way back to GreyClaw--what new wolf would emerge from the shattered pieces. For now, he was a shell with nothing but his discipline to get him through. Before this spectral glamour, he would show none of the weakness that wormed its way through him. He did not doubt that her eyes saw through him, saw his weakness, but if she was in truth an avatar of battle then he would present her with his strongest side...perhaps as a last send-off to the way that he had lived, a debriefing for a life that he knew he must now turn from, or be destroyed.

"You are most welcome here, lady of the night. Whatever tidings or tasks bring you here, I am glad of them. Whether I am graced with your presence by happenstance or in the spirit of vengeance for what I have done, it is enough to see you before I depart." Forever. Whether she killed him here or he made it away, he did not ever plan on returning to Souls lands. The hurt was still fresh within him, and he knew that he would not--could not--ever deserve to visit Soro or Skoll's graves after how he had failed them. His devil's errand was completed for good or ill. When he departed this woman's company, he would be away for good.

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Cwmfen nic Graine · 03-17-2012, 10:25 AM

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Table by me (Req)

No problem! And this table is old too… >u<
WC: 557

The eyes that held the light of the moon beheld the silent male. Her gaze flowed over the form that effortlessly towered over her. His hide held evidence of battles fought. The deepest of scars sung quietly to her, calling her attention and intrigue. Those white eyes slowly moved up along his silhouette to fall lastly upon his missing ear. A mild curiosity stirred within the woad-marked woman. The larger male was one who had fought enough to receive such significant scars. And yet she wondered if he were truly warrior, or simply one who had fought in defense or in rashness. The black furred woman found herself wondering who he was. She wondered if the Song of War thrummed in his soul as it did in hers, and she wondered at its quality. But she did not draw closer, nor did she make any movement or gesture to further increase her knowledge of the stranger. She might have passed by, leaving the unsated curiosity to remain until it was forgotten or time made it irrelevant. But it seemed as if a few more words would be exchanged between the two. The woad bound auds twitched slightly, shattering the stillness of her form.

“For that, I am relieved,” the silver toned melody replied. The quiet voice seemed to command the silence, and yet as the silvered tones grew still the silence was allowed to ensue. She might have moved closer in an amiable fashion, but she did not trust the stranger. It was difficult for the Caledonian-Korean to trust in others, for she understood the treachery of hearts too strongly ruled by emotion. While the dark woman had dulled her emotions, had hidden them far within the tight restraints of her will, she knew that, by the dark blemish upon her soul, she too was vulnerable to treachery. Her pure heart wished otherwise, but the blood in her veins she could not escape. The words of the stranger that followed caused her thoughts to pause. It was as if he believed her to be more than mere flesh and blood. Perhaps it was within the light of Nemain that she appeared so…different to him. “I am a mere mortal,” the quiet voice replied humbly, her gaze falling to the shadowed earth before the white eyes lifted to meet the gaze of the stranger. “Nothing more.”

“What solace you seek for deeds done, I cannot give.” Her quiet lips were still, offering neither a smile nor a frown. Expressionless features left her thoughts a mystery as she stood motionless before him. The soft breeze of night moved gently through her fur, tendrils exploring the woad in her fur and caressing the sinewy form with cold fingers. The One-eyed Raven crawed above them, his empty voice echoing in mockery above them. She wondered at his words—why was it enough to see her before he departed? She did not know him. They did not share a pack. She was not a figure of history but a mere pawn of Nemain moving through the world to fulfill her doom. The Woad Warrior was at a loss for words, unable to find the right ones. While she felt that she was inadequate for his current desire of solace, she did not yet move to depart, held fast by that mild curiosity.

Asmodai · 03-18-2012, 11:49 AM

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Hmm...wondering where we should go with this. We didn't come up with a plot or anything o__o *is out of practice*

Ah. He smiled ruefully to himself. Of course. She must think him a fool to think her such, in spite of her ethereal beauty under the light of the moon. He shook his head and looked to the ground once more.

"My apologies, then. I suppose I am in a spiritual mood...a long chapter of my life has ended recently, and it did not end happily." He reached up to the mess of his ear and the stab of pain nearly made him wince. Still, it was hard to show such weakness before someone like the woman before him. He got the impression of strength despite her calm manner. If she were mortal, he did not fear for his life: though his confidence in GreyClaw's purpose was shaken, he was still a few days away from finally accepting that they did not have a monopoly on fighting prowess. But fear or not, he was compelled to show her no weakness. To veil his pitiful state with at least a veneer of respectability.

"And I did not expect to see someone so beautiful in the epilogue of this years-long misadventure." He shook his head at the foolishness of his words and reached down to pick up his gear. He was vulnerable, the very last place a warrior should ever allow himself to be. If he kept talking to this woman, there was no telling what he would let slip, where he'd come from and why...what he'd done. He would have one more enemy in the Souls' lands before this was all said and done, he was sure.

Yet the thought of a sympathetic soul being the only one to have observed his departure was oddly comforting. The idea that perhaps someone might think better of him than his former packmates in Phoenix Valley, think him more than a treacherous murderer who had reached in and plucked one of the land's protectors away. Still, in spite of everything, he had his training to consider. There were so many things to sort out now...so many questions he would need to answer if he heeded that inner voice which had implored him to stop...which had convinced him that his duty was monstrous and that he was wrong for pursuing it. But he had stayed true to his objective, and now his next step was to report the mission a success. To go back to the world that had set him down this road in the first place, only to--he now suspected--advocate the very views that had gotten Gronnor and all of his students killed.

He made as if to walk away from her before revealing anything more of himself, but the cawing raven drew his gaze, and he wondered. Were there such things as omens? Would that carrion bird be the symbol of his stay here, a harbinger of death who fed on the wickedness of the world? How could he ever make up for what he had done...how should he try? He turned his troubled eyes toward the woman--he was much closer to her now--and met her cold eyes. He did not know the answers. He might never know them. But one way or the other, he was not dead, and in one direction or the other life had to go on.

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Cwmfen nic Graine · 03-23-2012, 12:31 PM

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Table by me (Req)

Sorry for the wait! My pace is really slow now that I’m back at school >n<

Yeah… Hahah! That’s okay… Let’s see where it goes within the next few posts, and if we want to we can plot something out. OuO How does that sound?
WC: 670

The Raven Dreamer’s woad banded ears drank in the male’s heavy words. For a moment, in the silence, she considered those words carefully, weighing them. White orbs followed the path his larger hands created, falling lastly upon that missing ear. The wound must have been recent for the tenderness it caused within him. She was once again made curious, and wished also to explore the place where the appendage had been. Like all scars, this wound would have a story. The Warrior was interested in the tales of fighters, wondering always how training and battles changed the landscape of the body and mind. Within the male, defeat had caused the feeling of failure. The white orbs that shone in the half-light returned to the other’s gaze as if finding something familiar there. She watched him slowly, the silence alive to the Raven Dreamer with songs of the night and the slow thrum of her own soul. “The death of a chapter is but a birth of another,” the melody sang quietly. She did not tell him that apology was unnecessary, for the words were already spoken. She offered, instead, those quiet words to him. Yet it seemed that she spoke to herself.

Her thoughts lingered upon her own inner Darkness, of the Darkness that seemed imminent for the blood that ran within her veins. Not only was she drawn to the Darkness within others, but she was drawn strongly to the Darkness of the Crow Wolf. Despite what he had taken forcibly from her, a strange desire flickered there within the pit of her being. White orbs lifted, the quiet thoughts falling back into the fathomless depths of her gaze. Her impassive, simple features, adorned by the belligerent Woad, flickered with something—but it was gone before it could be discerned. He had named her a beauty. The Woad Warrior did not know how to respond to such a thing, for beauty had never been a factor in her training. The black woman was silent, her stillness allowing her form to become one with the Darkness as if the Darkness itself wished to devour her ethereal form. What would you do now, having encountered it?“” A curiosity. The silver tones were quiet, a mere ruffle in the cool, nighttime breeze. Now that he had encountered such ‘unexpected’ beauty, would it change anything? Males, for all their strength, seemed perturbed by beauty. And yet, she herself was perturbed by the strength of males. As a fae creature, her strength would not surpass that of the larger strangers, but with technique and training, power could be generated beyond mere strength.

But the male made as if to leave, and the Warrior, for all her social inadequacies, rose from her pulchritudinous solitude. The woad-bound hand reached out to him, drawing close enough to feel the warmth of the lifeblood beneath his coat. And yet she did not touch him. Her hand withdrew and fell placidly at her side. “You need not yet depart,” the quiet melody offered, although it felt somehow like a command. “Your mood lingers in the spiritual world,” the song continued. “Perhaps you could find a small measure of peace before your new chapter begins.” The dark fae turned, her movements as fluid and as strangely wonderful as quicksilver. The woad painted woman moved into the darkness of the woods, the blue tipped tail carving a sinuous path as she beckoned him to follow. She did not know what this stranger sought, but she was compelled—by the hand of Nemain, perhaps—to aid the stricken fighter. Perhaps she would be able to understand the stranger, to know him through battle one day. But for now the quiet Solace of Peace was required more urgently than the Fury of War.

Nemain’s white face was high within the dark heavens, and the deep pools would reflect the light, becoming the domain of Nemain. It would be a spiritual place, and perhaps a Warrior or two could cleanse their souls of weakness.

Asmodai · 03-23-2012, 09:32 PM

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If you want to change the direction this (seems to be?) going, that's fine. I'm just kind of rolling with it/playing by ear for now!

Her words took him by surprise, and he found himself astonished in spite of himself. He had dismissed his initial trance as a trick of the moonlight on her midnight fur, on the exotic paint and otherworldly eyes, and yet she stood before him as more than a mirage of light and circumstance. She took his compliment at face value and seemed...unfazed, but not untouched. When he found her hand so near, his muscles began to tense and his heart sped up, but then she withdrew, and his combat reflex relaxed. It took another moment for him to realize that his heart did not slow down with it.

"Stop making a fool of myself, for starters," he muttered inaudibly under his breath. While not a great charmer of women even when at his best, he was accustomed to at least having mastery over himself in their presence. To be flustered now, in light of his training and the harrowing situations which had always failed to break his composure before, he must have been more badly shaken than he'd believed. Or perhaps it was simply the effect of finding softness...acceptance...in a place where he had never expected any welcome again.

"Perhaps I could," he intoned, following slowly behind her, finding the measure of his steps and regaining himself once more. He saw her as she approached the woods, her curves silhouetted by the light of the moon, and found that he was once again entranced by the ethereal allure of her form and motion. It was little wonder he had seen something more than just another wolf when he had first seen her.

"What kind of peace does the forest hold for two souls such as ours?" Swallowed by the shade under the trees, he found they afforded a sense of privacy that he had been denying himself beneath the open sky, among man's decaying monuments. Perhaps he had been depriving himself of a feeling of security he had not felt he deserved. Perhaps he did not have the power to forgive himself, or at least, would not until he had sorted out the warring voices in his head. Whatever the reason, he found the forest an infinitely better place to find the peace that the she-wolf spoke of. He also found her company infinitely preferable to the solitude he had endured before.

Beneath the shadow of the forest, he stepped closer to her and searched her eyes for an answer to his query, though he did not know what he would find there. Despite her assertion, she looked more and more like an angel of war as he walked with her in the lunar shadows. Something greater than what she claimed, something grander and more breathtaking. Perhaps it was just because everything he knew was now in question, or perhaps she truly was just that awe-inspiring, but he was drawn to her in this moment, hidden from the moon, spied only by the stars between the branches of the canopy overhead. He did not know if the same was true for her, and did not wish to press her lest this meeting end and he find himself alone once more, left to his thoughts without her melodic voice or even the cackling raven to take his mind from recent events.

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Cwmfen nic Graine · 03-28-2012, 03:07 PM

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Table by me (Req)

Thanks for your patience with me! And yes, let’s see how this plays out OuO
WC: 648

He spoke of his stupidity. White orbs flickered with a faint glimmer of some emotion that faded into the lunar glow of her gaze. A faint smile played upon her quiet lips and was gone. She responded with silence. At times silence was better than speaking. It was the true nature of the world, the Raven Dreamer found, and being closer to the wolf than the luperci, she had often chosen silence. Her life had walked upon a path of solitude, a beautiful, solitary path in which the Songs of the World and of War had guided her. Her soul followed it, bid on by the intangible hand of Nemain.

The stranger agreed to linger with her, and for now that pulchritudinous solitude was interrupted. He questioned, however, the peace within the woods that she had promised. That faint, almost imperceptible smile played once more across those lips. The woad glimmered in the moonlight and shadows as she moved into the darkness of the woods. For a moment she paused as if waiting for something more, and yet it was but her own voice that the silence awaited. The woad-banded maw turned back as her gaze sought him. The white eyes met his golden gaze easily and remained unwavered. “Peace does not chose who accepts it, but accepts all who are willing.” The silvered tones of the Warrior’s voice rang quietly upon the cool, nighttime air, floating to the male as if upon the wings of some astral bird. Had he forgotten his roots? Had he forgotten what it truly was to be Wolf? For a moment, the quiet smile seemed to brighten, a silent, almost mirthful laughter shining in her pale gaze. And then it was gone. As fleeting as a song bird, she had already turned and passed into the woods. Whether he truly followed now was not within her will but within his.

The Woad Warrior lead them into the darkness. Her steps were deliberate, and yet fluid and ethereal. With dancing feet she moved swiftly through the darkness, and yet seemed a spectre of death. The One-eyed Raven followed overhead, his shadow dampening the moonlight. The harsh voice called with its cold and empty craw, and yet those sounds resonated within the Raven Dreamer’s soul. And the dark blemish upon her bright soul seemed to draw in the tendrils of the night that gripped her heart with cold fingers. As from a bear trap, she could not escape it, and yet it seemed as if she belonged. Perhaps because of the Pie Wolf’s blood within her, or perhaps because of the path of War, death seemed becoming....

Ahead, the full moon lit a round break within the woods. The light was reflected within the cool waters of the pool at its center. The soft, bubbling laughter of the small creek joined the whispers of the trees as the creek filled the pool. This was a domain of Nemain, the face of the lunar hare reflected in the waters. She had been here before, the woad-decorated hare’s skull hanging from a low branch so that it barely touched the waters. Solid ground was plentiful enough that her training was able to occur. For the Raven Dreamer, it was a sacred place found far from Caledonia. The musical movements of the Warrior grew silent and still as she drew near the water’s edge. Turning, she looked upon the nameless stranger, her face peaceful and yet unreadable. A small movement of her woad-tipped tail bid him closer. “The waters of Nemain may clense your soul of your shadowed thoughts.” The Pied Raven crowed ahead as he landed upon the hare-skull branch, his claws grating against the wood. A woad bound ear swiveled to hear his voice before her attention was given to the stranger. She offered to him, a fellow warrior—or so it seemed—this place.

Asmodai · 04-02-2012, 10:45 PM

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A little bit more to work with this time. Took some liberties with physical contact, please let me know if I need to revise.

He followed close, entranced by her voice, her eyes, her form as she led him deeper into the shadowed wood. When at last they reached their destination, he found himself surprised that it could take his eyes away from her at all, but the clearing had a serene beauty of its own, which would not be denied by any earthly fixation. The raven descended upon a low-lying branch, and the decorated skull which that branch held aloft dipped into the waters of a still pool. A faint ripple carried to the edge of the water, where Asmodai stood next to the woad-painted woman.

"It may be they will," he answered softly, drinking in the details of this secret place, this sacred place, bathed in the light of the moon. It all seemed like a dream, but if so it was one he hoped he would not wake soon. A wry smile twisted his mouth as he knelt before the water.

"But those shadows are many and strong. I come victorious from battle, alone among my comrades...both in survival and the foregone conclusion that our mission was...in error." He looked up from the placid pool and gazed into the woman's ghostly eyes.

"But too many were dead by the time I realized that. Too many had given their lives for me to turn back." So we continued on with our farce anyway, pursuing duties absent desire, exacting vengeance for the crimes of others. All to settle an argument started before we were born, between a wolf named Gronnor and his brothers in arms.

"It is the task of a warrior to do things which others will not...which others cannot...things which will have permanent and often regrettable consequences. Still, I welcome the tranquility of this pool." He looked up at the falling moon and slid his hand over the young woman's. A genuine smile came over his features, the first of what he hoped would be many more once this was all behind him.

"Thank you for bringing me here. This peace...I did not think I could feel it's like again. My name is Asmodai. I am a warrior from Greyclaw, and my task in this place is done." He turned back to face her, this ethereal spirit-woman come real at the foot of the pool. "In the morning, I think, after resting in this sanctuary, I will depart."

He squeezed her hand, glad of her presence but fearing that she would leave, every bit the ghost she claimed not to be, having delivered him to this holy place where a warrior--marked by the weight of his deeds or no--could recover from his injuries. Tomorrow, he would be solitary again. Come the dawn, he would be the lying, calculating, self-reliant warrior he needed to be to get himself back to GreyClaw in one piece. That was what he must be, if anyone from the Souls' lands gave chase. But for tonight, for right now, he was not ashamed to want her presence. He was not ashamed...because beside this pool under the light of the moon it did not feel like weakness. It felt like release. It felt like a promise of what might come tomorrow.

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