From alt.pub.dragons-inn Fri Feb  4 09:59:55 1994
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From: foleye@storm.cs.orst.edu (Stilt Man)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [DS] Dining With the Enemy
Message-ID: <2iq85sINNoh9@flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU>
Date: 3 Feb 94 07:13:00 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Department, Oregon State University
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NNTP-Posting-Host: storm.cs.orst.edu

[ADMIN:  A few credits go to Corey Venour and Mike Sander for a few tweaks
they put in my rough of this . . . ]

Kryalla Simuel looked up from her prostrate position on the cold stone floor
in the catacombs of the Obsidian Tower.  Arcania and Velric had taken few
chances with the Shrouded One.  They had placed her within a room that was
practically a stone tablet.  Archeologists might well come to this place and,
if they survived the powerful wards the letters engraved in the walls, would
find this place an amazing artifact of ancient writings.

Kryalla examined herself.  The Shroud was missing.  So was the katana blade.
She had no indication as to whether those precious items had fallen into the
hands of her enemies, or whether Emrikol might have somehow escaped with
them.

What Kryalla thought of during this time of captivity, no bard knows.
Perhaps she pondered the reason why Arcania had ordered herself and
Emrikol taken alive, why the Dark One had not reduced the both of them
to a discolorment on the floor when she had the chance.  The chronicles
of Arcania Dorval demonstrate very clearly that the particular spell she
had used to capture them was capable of slaying any creature that was
unfortunate enough to be caught in its path; at least, no creature had
ever survived an attack unless Arcania had moderated its power to subdue,
as with Kryalla's case on this occasion as well as once before, on the
world of Arghan, at the conclusion of the War of the Signet.  Perhaps
she considered Emrikol's fate, or the reasons why it appeared Emrikol of
the Bandaged Hands was being so easily tracked by the Dark One.  Perhaps
she wondered why her wounds were closed and fully healed; what fate the
Dark One might have in store for her that would require nursing her back
to health for in advance.

All that survived in tales was that when Arcania and Velric strode into
the rune-scribed room to check on their guest, she was alert and watching
their every move.

"Greetings, Shrouded One," said Arcania, all in the manner of a gracious
host.  "I hope you find your accomodations well?"  Her face was the epitomy
of seriousness.

"Oh, quite comfortable, in fact.  Though you must speak with the servants;
the room service is not up to standards," said Kryalla.  Her face was as if
carved in stone in its lack of emotion.

"No service?"  Arcania gasped in mock indignation.  "Well then, my dear
friend," she turned to Velric.  "This guest has not received her due from
your esteemed staff."  Kryalla's eyes looked at her searchingly at that.
"We must make amends for the slight."  Velric was taken aback.  Arcania
turned back to Kryalla.  "This very evening, you will have the best food
in the house, the same as the owners eat.  Can you ask for any better
quality than that?"

Velric stared at Arcania, then began laughing hysterically.  Kryalla's only
reaction was a raising of her narrow eyebrows.

Arcania looked at Velric, shaking her head as if dealing with a novice host
who has no idea how to extend hospitality.  "Velric!  Your composure," she
said curtly.  "You, too, will answer my invitation.  The three of us shall
dine at the master table, and you shall make every effort to extend the
hospitality our guest so thoroughly deserves, in recompense for your rudeness."

Velric's laughter died.  "You are serious?"  He was agape, then shifted his
head back on his neck as if trying to get a better look at the nymph.  "Shall
I get our guest a gown to wear for the occasion?" he said, voice dripping
with sarcasm.

Arcania folded her arms behind her back, turned to Kryalla.  "You will forgive
our keeper if he does not understand the ways of etiquette."  Arcania was
still all seriousness.  "You will, of course, enjoy our hospitality?"

"I would not think of declining it," said Kryalla, looking at Arcania as if
the Dark One were standing on her head.

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Arcania sat at one end of the long rectangular table, her eyes on Kryalla
on the opposite end.  Velric sat between them on the longer edge to Arcania's
right and Kryalla's left.  He was grumbling anrgily about the whole affair,
until Arcania finally spoke up.

"Velric!  Where are your manners?"  The necromancer's eyes glittered up
angrily at her.  "And how can you expect to show hospitality if you take
some shape that looks like you're trying to frighten off the servants?
Really, take more consideration of your appearance!"  Arcania was smiling
widely as she finished this statement.  Neither Velric nor Kryalla doubted
that she was enjoying herself greatly.

Velric glared at her a moment ere his shape altered.  His flesh filled and
colored to living, human skin.  He threw his hood back, his eyes now the
stone gray, the hair the ebon of his former human shape.  He glanced at
Kryalla, sneering.  "I take it this meets with your approval, guest?"  He
fairly hissed the last word.

Kryalla wordlessly nodded.

Now that she no longer concealed half her features with the Shroud, Velric
realized that he was getting a good look at her for the first time.  She
was not an unappealing woman to the eyes, striking in the image of a
marble maiden, with the black leather fatigues and long, rich-colored ebon
hair.  Her eyes were so dark that pupil and iris appeared as one single
pool of moonless midnight, her lips a bright ruby red.  She was slender,
but had a fair amount of muscle on her as well.  Kryalla glowered at his
examination of her; Velric suddenly realized he was staring at the woman
and turned his eyes back to the table.

The hobbling spirits that wandered the Obsidian Tower did not look to be
cooks or butlers, but Velric had made an effort to tone down their normally
terrifying appearances as well.  Arcania had to give him this much credit.

"So, Shrouded One," began Arcania, "how is it truly that you have come to
the world of Nexus?  Has the Fellowship of Wizards been mistreating you?
Illyria Dulgor's venomous suspicions getting too annoying?"

These names meant little to Velric, but Kryalla smiled slightly and nodded
in recognition.  "Yes, the little vixen has indeed never ceased in her
criticisms despite my best efforts, never gives me the slightest acknowledg-
ment in her mistrust."

"I am lost here," toned in Velric.  "Who is this Illyria Dulgor?"

Arcania looked to Kryalla, asking with her eyes if she wanted to answer or if
the Dark One would fill in the blank.  Kryalla shrugged.  It made little
difference how much Velric knew of the Fellowship; a quick trip to Arghan,
to the city of Philinost where Mithrandantilus the Silver Eagle held court,
would answer his questions anyway.

"On our world, I am a tenuous member of a group called the Fellowship of
Wizards," said Kryalla.  "Only informally; I do not bide well with groups
attempting to direct my movements."

"I can well imagine," said Velric.

"The Fellowship groups together for research and defensive purposes . . .
defense against our hostess who sits across the table from me," continued
Kryalla.  "I am not trusted by all members of the group; Illyria Dulgor,
a veteran sorceress of the War of the Cataclysm five centuries ago, has
continually tried to raise suspicion out of her own mistrust for me."

"Why?" said Velric.

"Mine to know.  Yours to guess," said Kryalla, lowering her eyes to her
food.  She hesitated only a moment to consider whether it might be poisoned.
Not likely, she thought.  If the Dark One wanted me dead they would be
cleaning me from the floor of the catacombs with a mop.

Velric seethed.  "You forget your place, woman!" he stood, slamming his palm
down on the table.  "I do not understand why the Dark One has brought you,
her greatest enemy, here and is treating you like an honored guest . . ."  His
voice trailed off as Arcania fixed his gaze with that mind-shattering glare
of hers.  How does she do that? Velric wondered, feeling chilled to the bone.

"Then calm yourself and be seated until you do," said Arcania in a low, soft
voice.

Kryalla's brows raised at this.  Velric's eyes looked ready to murder the
Shrouded One on the spot as he slowly resumed his seat.

"So tell our prisoner, Velric, what it is you plan to do here.  How is it
that you have come upon this power, and what plan you to accomplish with it?"
said Arcania.

Kryalla looked at Velric, not entirely certain if he would answer.  "Newfound
mastery, perhaps?" she ventured.

"First let our prisoner tell us something," said Velric.  He turned to Kryalla,
his expression calmer.  "I have long been curious about something . . . have
none of your enemies simply cast a true sight spell, and used it to pierce
your illusionary deceit in battle?  Have they no such power on Arghan?"

Arcania's eyebrows raised.  The shift from hostility to academic yearning
was sudden, sudden enough that Arcania watched Velric very closely those
next few moments.

Kryalla hesitated, but a glance at Arcania quickly informed her that she was
expected to answer the question.  She considered it a moment, and finally
came to the conclusion that Velric could learn of the spell without learning
of any secrets.

"In truth, Arghan's wizards do indeed possess such spells as you describe,"
said Kryalla.  "They are not quite as foolproof as you would think."

"They aren't?" asked Velric, puzzled.  "Why are they then called true sight?"

"The struggle between illusionists and diviners has gone on for millenia.
The illusionists constantly try to devise visions of greater subtlety and
power to fool the unwary, and diviners always attempt to conjure spells that
will render that which is unknown plain to the naked eye.  Until a few
thousand years ago, the battle was evenly matched.  The illusionists could
not consistently fool the divinations, nor could the diviners research a means
of consistently seeing through the illusions.

"Then, on some world or another, even Arcania and I know not where it
originated, a group of divining wizards and priests managed to find a
spell in their researches that was so much more powerful than any illusion
or shapeshifting spell's ability to deceive, that no deceiver, be it a
possessing spirit, an illusionist, a shapeshifter, or a demon, could at
the time manage to fool anyone using this spell.  For centuries, those
who sought to burgeon their deceptive powers tried and failed to overpower
this spell.  Over time, they gave up.  The spell's knowledge spread to the
wizardly schools and priestly sects of many worlds, and as time went on
without anyone ever managing to break it, it was concluded that it was in
fact impossible to deceive any who used the spell.

"As such, the common name on most worlds for it is 'true sight:' for it
allowed its wielder to see the true nature of things despite all mystical
deceptions of the age," said Kryalla.

"But someone managed to eventually find a way," said Velric, looking at
Kryalla expectantly.

"I cannot claim responsibility as the first on Arghan to break the reputation
of the old true sight spells," said Kryalla.  "I was indeed the first to
deceive a true-seer with illusion, but not the first to deceive one altogether."

"Who, then?" asked Velric.

Kryalla looked across the table at her adversary.  Velric looked over at
the Dark One, realization dawning.

"The Thurlans," said Arcania.  "When I created the daemons for the coming
War against my uncle for the throne of Thyaris, one of the first forms I
created was to serve an important purpose:  the infiltration of any enemy
stronghold without the slightest hint of any foul play.  You see, simply
shifting a daemon's shape and sending it within the walls of a fortress
would not serve entirely.  True seeing spells would find them, and anyone
who did not recognize the intruder would immediately become suspicious.
As such, the infiltrators I needed had to be able to perfectly imitate a
being already within an organization I wished to pierce, they had to be
completely within the bounds of the ordinary to all appearances, including
magical."

"Imitate?" asked Velric.

"In truth, the Thurlans as you know them are not daemons in human form,
as you might well suspect from looking at them.  Neither are they humans
who have been corrupted to my service," explained Arcania.  "They are
daemons who have physically merged their shapes with that of a human
victim.  The victim's psyche is absorbed into that of the daemon, and
the poor soul for all intents and purposes is slain in the process.  They
have access to every memory of the human form they inhabit, and are also
capable of morphing their shape within a human host to their battle-form,
which I am sure you are familiar with.  However, when a Thurlan who has
possessed a human remains in human form, they are to all appearances and
scrutinies the human they appear to be.  The most powerful true sight spells,
to this day, cannot tell them apart from humans or elves or whatever body
they inhabit.  Their access to the victim's memory makes them able to
perfectly assume the identity of whomever they find themselves possessing.
As a result, they make extremely efficient spies and assassins."

"During the last few wars in which invading armies assailed Thyaris, a
common terror tactic used by the Dark One's forces was to send a Thurlan
or two into the opposing army, possess a few soldiers, remain the day,
and shift to beast form in the middle of the night, slaying and maiming
everyone within sight before flying off to rejoin her forces on the opposite
side of the lines.  It was a powerful blow to morale amongst her enemies
when they saw their longtime comrades suddenly transform into grotesque
carapaced monstrosities and mow down all they lay eyes upon.  They always left
enough survivors to explain what had happened," said Kryalla.

Velric's eyes widened at the thought.  Yes, he could well conceive of the
terror such monsters could instill in an army of lay soldiers.  "Always
someone to spread the horror amongst their fellows," he echoed.

"I was, however, the first to create illusions on Arghan powerful enough
to deceive the first true sight spells," said Kryalla.  "And so, the
battle between the spells of illusion and divination rages on between the
Dark One and myself."

Arcania muttered something not repeatable at this.

Velric thought for a moment as he mulled over the Shrouded One's words.

"Well now, Velric, she has answered your question.  Now, will you speak of
your aims or shall I?" said Arcania.  Seeing that Velric was volunteering
nothing, she reassured him, "Do not be afraid.  Kryalla is going nowhere."

Kryalla made a sound that was half a grunt, half a chuckle.

"Well, then, so be it," said Velric.  "Since you will not ever be about to
tell anyone this . . ."  He sat back in his chair.  "Fifty-four years ago
Velric was a master of magic, with the scholarly learning to match any on Nexus
and the power to break solid stone walls with ease.  As he reached his 
seventieth year, the secrets of eternal life began to call to him, if you
will.  The two of you are either inhuman or have found some means of
preserving your youth," noted Velric.  "However, he was indeed human."
His tone seemed to regard the time with a certain amount of disdain, as
if he were speaking of another and not himself.  "That man Velric as he
was made an attempt at such youth.  Rather than doom himself to the
existence of lichdom," there was a certain irony to his words, "the mage
set out to return his mind's sharpness and body's strength and vitality to 
the time when he was just leaving the final years of his mystical academy.
He cast the spell to revert his age to the time when he was learning the
most, those very years."

Velric's lips curled into a sneer.  "When the ritual was done, he lost
consciousness.  When he awoke, he could not remember ever having cast the
spell, despite the fact that his notes recorded every detail of it.  He
surmised that he simply had temporary amnesia as a result.  He was indeed
growing younger.

"As time went on, he came to realize that more and more of his memories
were slipping past him, as his notes slowly detailed more and more events
that he could not remember having experienced.  His notes, he also noticed,
were growing less proficient as time went on in their articulation of his
spells; he was losing the powers of magic he had learned as time passed.
For each day he lived on, he grew a day younger, he forgot a day more of
his past.  He attempted to reteach himself his greater powers, but
inevitably his understanding of these levels of magic grew hazy, and his
power perforce waned as a result.  As he reached his fiftieth year of this
existence, he expected that the process would halt, as his notes indicated
that the age of twenty-five was the target for the spell, the year he was
learning the most, when he completed his dissertation work in magic.

"He learned with growing horror that he was not out of the woods yet.

"He quickly went over his notes, cast a divination spell to discern what
time fit the description he had set as his target.  The answer was:  his
infant years.  This discovery made his quest to undo his fate all the
more desperate.  Soon, he would forget even the most basic magic he had
learned in his early academy days, be unable to circumvent the doom he
had condemned himself to.

"Around this time, he became a thrall to a wizard who called himself BBD."
His stony eyes turned to Kryalla, and smiled.  "BBD was also rather foolish.
But he did have enough guile to trick Velric into putting on one of 
his 'helpful' bracelets.  And even Velric would have to admit Bek provided
better conditions for finding a cure, even if BBD indeed only wished to 
control someone with Velric's former full abilities.  But BBD allowed a 
little too much freedom, and Velric found a way out of his imprisonment, 
though not a permanent cure.  As revenge, Velric helped a certain sorceress 
turn BBD into a stone statue."

Kryalla's eyes narrowed at this.

"Soon after the fall of BBD, Velric became more and more desperate.  At
last, he found the journals of his former master, detailing an alliance
betwixt that master and one Arcania Dorval, who proved most beneficial in
providing some extra expendible muscle."

Arcania smiled in amusement.  Indeed, the episode whence she had broken
the warrior Parsephulas to her will had been quite entertaining.  All
had been led to believe Kryalla was her ultimate target.  No . . . Zydrax,
breaking Parsephulas, gaining influence in Generica, on Nexus, had been the 
goal all along.  And what was more, she had accomplished it despite BBD's 
failure.  But the other two dining with her had no need of this knowledge.

"When summoned before Arcania, a bargain was made.  Velric accepted the
artifact that called itself the DarkSeed, which ended the curse and the
backward progression of the man's memory," said Velric.  "Velric became
that being of dark magic that dines with you now."  Velric's gaze bore
deeply into Kryalla's imperturbable eyes.  The adage of the irresistible
force meeting the immovable object would have been most appropriate in
describing the staring contest that ensued briefly.  "And now, I plan
to use that power as that old man who inhabited this body before me never
dreamed possible."

"Not the master of magic you once were, however," observed Kryalla.

Velric glared at her in fury.  Arcania chimed in.  "Not in the sense of
the scholarly ways, as you and I or Mithrandantilus or the Mages' Guild
of Generica or the Fellowship of Wizards of Philinost, no.  He commands
the power to rival any true master of magic, but on an academic level he
is a budding master, still in the middle of his great years of his schooling."

Velric turned toward her, sputtered in rage a moment, and shook his head.

"Not for long," said the Dark Lord.  "I have the journals, the libraries,
of that old man still in my possession.  The power of the DarkSeed pulses
within me.  Give me a year, and I will exceed the knowledge of that old
fool as well as the power!"

"I am sure," said Arcania, not quite serious in her tone of voice.  But
whatever private joke she had in mind, she kept to herself.

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Emrikol hid in the rocky mounds of the Mysty Mountains, still within view
of the Obsidian Tower.  He could sense the evil of that place, of its evil
mistress, permeating the sulfurous red sky all around him, reaching out
despite the anti-detections of the Shroud he wore, and threatening to
smother him where he stood, pondering the future in fear.

What if She found him here?  She had found him before, She had known he
was in the Tower.  How could even the Shroud protect him from Her watchful,
all-seeing eyes?  She was all-powerful, She could not be stopped no matter
the efforts of himself or Kryalla.  How could he even get outside the
mountains without Her seeing him from those high parapets on his flight
to Generica, let alone go back within and somehow manage to break the
Shrouded One loose from its dungeons?  Velric, he was confident, would present 
little problem.

But She was there.  If he was not careful, if She managed to find him, She
would place him back in that insane prison of Hers, and would not permit him
to escape Her this time.

His brain went on in this irrationality for hours, the picture of the Geyser 
of Death bearing down all around him, devouring everything it touched, playing 
its dreadful vision through his mind's eye in unending terror.

Every sound of wind, every rock falling in a clatter down the slopes of
stone whenever a chipmunk hopped along and disturbed them, every strike
of mountain thunder, every raindrop that spattered on the ground, all of
it had him jumping in fright, looking about in fear that the inevitable
had come, that She had found him and was going to lock him up yet again.

As the night went on, it occured to him at last that he was still free.
This came as no surprise, once his reason asserted itself for a moment.
After all, Kryalla had succesfully hidden from the Dark One with the
non-detection power of the Shroud for years, if not centuries.  He knew
then that he could well evade Arcania's notice, and the katana blade
would make a useful weapon if it came to such.

She can overpower you still, the voice of horror said to him.  These things
failed Kryalla when She confronted you all face to face.  And confront you
She will, when you go in to resuce your friend.  It is hopeless!  You must
flee!

For long Emrikol could do little but huddle down on his knees, the Shroud
draping over the dust and dirt of the ground, marring its perfect blackness,
staring at the Tower for a sign that he had been discovered, pondering
between his reason and his fear what to do.

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"So what do you intend to do in the mean time?" asked Kryalla.  "Surely
your activities have not been confined to reading over your old notes?"

Arcania nodded at Velric, prompting him to answer.

"No," said the Dark Lord.  "When I am done, none on this world will ever
threaten me again.  For I will have the power of hell at my beck and call."

Kryalla's eyes widened.  "A pact with some devil?"

"No," repeated Velric.  "A portal to the netherworld, through which I will
draw my armies of demons of my own.  I will create an empire on this world
to mirror that of the Dark One on her own, and rule with ultimate power."
He stared off longingly into space, seemingly oblivious to the here and now.

Kryalla looked at Arcania questioningly.  The Dark One nodded, her face
entirely serious.

So this is how Arcania would extend her power to this world from her own.
Velric would act as a viceroy, a regent, with his own armies of the super-
natural to act as his soldiers as Arcania's daemons acted as hers in Thyaris.

Arcania broke the silence, rising from the table.  "Well then, the night
grows old.  I must rest before my journey back to Thyaris.  Oh, and Velric,"
Arcania continued as an aside, "if you do manage to apprehend the other
man, do be sure to deal him out of the picture.  I have given him a homing
spell, to find his way back to me if he ever escaped.  When you capture
him, activate this enchantment and he will journey to my present location."

Kryalla's brows rose at that.  Velric nodded in acknowledgment.  Arcania
left her seat and strode from the room.  The moment she was gone, the
mortal facade vanished from Velric's visage.  The decay from human to
wraith-lord was daunting to behold, even for Kryalla.  

A dark elf strode into the room.  Not the same one as before; Velric had
evidently found a need to replace the Voice he had used before.  The elf
spoke.

"Now, my beauty, we will dispense of this facade of 'hospitality,'" the
hissing relation of that last word reached even the elf's speech, "and will
return you to your proper place in the dungeons!"  At that, Velric slammed
his hand on the table again, and several of the spectres entered and bore
Kryalla from the room bodily.  The Voice saw that he was no longer needed,
and left the room, leaving Velric alone to mutter to himself.

"Hospitality, indeed," said Velric with contempt.  "What could it be with
those wretched goblins, Dark One?  They must form some sort of spell with
their entrails that might threaten you in some way, but what?  In all my
notes from the necromancer that came before me, and in the knowledge the
DarkSeed has imparted to me, no major spell has come from the remains of
goblins, no matter the means of their death."  Velric counted the ways in
a brutally nonchalant way on his fingers.  "Beating their skulls in with
their fathers' thigh bones doesn't do anything.  Strangling them with their
mothers' or sisters' hair does not.  Hanging them by their intestines doesn't
do anything.  I've tried everything," he muttered in exasperation.  "There
must be something about these creatures you fear, or you would never go to
such great lengths to see them exterminated.  Their blood, their brains,
their genitals, their bones, the powder ground from their bones, their marrow,
their vital parts, their hearts, the blood of their hearts, none of it has
any effect no matter what I try in my necromancy to work with it."

Velric rested his head in his hands a moment, then looked up at the ceiling.

"Could it be you simply kill them out of some hateful prejudice?" wondered
Velric.  "What if there isn't anything to them at all?"  He shook his head.
"No.  You are above such failings," mused Velric.  "Purpose it must be, then.
But what?  What am I not going about correctly?  There must be something
I am doing wrong!"  Velric's eyes turned the way the Minions had drawn
Kryalla.  "And what of this Shrouded One and this Emrikol.  She knows now
what I plan, my past, of the DarkSeed, of everything.  What if she were to
escape?  She could ruin me entirely," he observed.

--Do not concern yourself with such, Dark Lord.  She can never escape this
Tower, as well you know.  Her magic has been pacified, she is no match for
you or the Dark One without the Shroud, and the other is to afeared of the
Dark One to return to rescue her.--

The DarkSeed's sibilant voice came unexpectedly to him.  He no longer jumped
when the all-present artifact spoke to him of a sudden.  In fact, the 'Seed
was becoming almost a close friend, a comforting presence.

"True," Velric mused.  "Perhaps I am second-guessing myself too much."

--It is always wise to examine your plans, in the instance that you have left 
something to go unnoticed.--

Velric raised one hairless brow, bobbing his head back and forth in
consideration.  "Also true.  As always, you reassure me when I doubt
myself, DarkSeed."

--Your thanks and good will are my meat and drink, Dark Lord.--

Perhaps it is all nothing, Velric thought.  What could go wrong now?  Bek
was even now preparing to steal what he needed from Generica's Mages' Guild,
and Adzistamn was preparing to unearth what he needed in the east.  Soon
the two of them would return, and the Portal could be opened at last . . .

His gaze fell upon the mirror lovingly.  Soon now, very soon . . .

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Morning broke, and Emrikol's eyes, which had known no sleep, looked to be
such that a vampire could live upon a week apiece.  His eyes had not left
the Tower, not abandoned his vigil, that he might run when She found him.
He feared to run now, feared to move into the open, that She might find him
all the sooner.  And so he remained still.

Suddenly, he saw a figure on the top parapets, dressed in red robes and
cloak.  It was She!  She had found him!  His heart beat wildly, the runes
beneath the Shroud flared brightly.

He watched as She stepped up to the battlements, and seemingly leapt from
the highest ledge of the Obsidian Tower.  But fall She did not.  Instead,
she floated along like a bird on the wind, slowly vanishing from view.

It took a few moments for him to realize that She was gone.  He looked
down at his hands, scribed in tattooes except for the fingertips.  He looked
at the katana in its sheath, hanging at his side as it had ever hung at
Kryalla's.

"There is no excuse now," said Emrikol, fighting down the choking terror.
"The Dark One has taken her leave.  Which means that there is no reason why
I cannot return and free my friend," he said to himself.  

He was talking to build his own courage.  The voice of fear piped up once
more:  No!  She has deceived you into coming so she can have you!  Stay
where you are!

But this time, the voice was locked away into a dim corridor of his soul,
far enough that it could not influence him, but not that he could not still
hear it calling him back.  His legs ached as he came to his feet; he had
been on his knees too long.  He abashedly dusted off the Shroud; Kryalla,
he suspected, would not appreciate him returning her possessions to her
soiled.  He could never remember the Shrouded One with a speck of dirt on
her person.  Sighing in half agony, half determination, he began to slowly
walk back toward the Obsidian Tower.


+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+	Kryalla Simuel the Shrouded One			  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+       . . . scribed by the Stilt Man,			  +
+		foleye@xanth.cs.orst.edu		  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+