From: Heather Arnold <typodrgn@arches.uga.edu>

Erelan looked over as the elf Dak returned to the group, with a courtly
lady she had not met, and a small, slumbering child. The teal dragon
nodded once toward the newcomers, in respectful acknowledgement, before
returned her attention to the plans. The grand lady-unicorn walked over
toward her. Expecting a question or request, she leaned a little closer,
then drew back, rather astonished, as Ynys's form suddenly melted,
expanded, and billowed with diaphanous light. She blinked - the shape was
one she was more accustomed to seeing underwater, in those soft and
translucent creatures the elves called jellyfish or water-brights.

Before Erelan thought to do more than thrust her ears forward in
curiosity, Ynys coalesced into a perplexingly human shape, though she
seemed to be made of stars, rather than flesh and blood.

<<The unicorn let her control over the humanoid form slide, and willed her
usual horse-like shape into being. She molded her essence into that form,
and in moments, stood again as the unicorn with her brilliant blue horn,
beside the startled dragon.>>

Erelan recovered after a moment, with a shake of her head and a quiet,
dragonish chuckle. The warm, friendly sound rumbled through her chest,
and she crossed her paws before her on the clearing floor, her tail tip
twitching idly, side to side. There were much worse things than being
outclassed - being noticed, for instance. She thought perhaps the
noncombatants would take the offered assistance, and relieve a great deal
of worry for all those left in the clearing or jaunting off for the
Citadel. Considering the rapid shuffling and reshuffling of party
members, she was silent, until Muranog's voice loomed over the rest.

<<"Indeed, friend Erelan could be of use to both the assault and
infiltration groups, if she is willing: she could transport some of the
infiltrators, as she has suggested, and then return to join the assault
force."
Muranog bowed to Erelan and looked questioningly at the young dragon.>>

She nodded thoughtfully for a moment before speaking "I am willing, if
ssssuch is rrrequesssted. My only arrrgument would be in leaving the
infiltrrratorrrsss without a meansss to return frrrom dangerrr. Thissss
can be decided laterrr, howeverrrr. I will rrrreturn to fight bessside
you if I am able."

<<"Sable was successful in contacting our dragon allies. One of them is on
her way. It appears that this Nirathei is known to them of old, and
Stormwing comes to aid us in any further confrontations with him.">>

Erelan nodded again, a little ruefully this time. If another drake was
coming to take on Savar's mad dragon, so much the better. She had already
tried and failed to best Nirathei, and though it hurt her pride a bit, she
had never had much hope of slaying Nirathei with anything but her own
suicide. If the fight had been fair, she might at least have rid the
group of the black dragon's attacks for good. (but then again,) she
thought wryly, (then I wouldn't be sharing company with these fine
people).

She hoped that if she was to join the infiltration party, they would all
be well on their way before this 'Stormwing' arrived. In a deep, secret
corner of her heart, she was afraid of what he would think of her - after
more than half a century of self-imposed exile from her people, Erelan no
longer even pretended to believe she was an acceptable sort of dragon.
(It wouldn't change me,) she thought stubbornly, flinging the self-doubt
back where it came from. (He couldn't think or say or do anything that
would change me in the slightest.) She sighed. (But I still would much
rather not hear about what an disobedient and ungrateful and foolish child
I am, how I should be at home waiting to take a mate, how no proper dragon
would lead the life I've chosen. I could go my whole life without hearing
that again.) Restlessly, she tightened her wings against her back to
conserve heat and waited.

From: Heather Arnold <typodrgn@arches.uga.edu>

Thorn hunted the night, as silently as one of the low-hanging clouds, and
as dark. Mist twined about his black muzzle now and then, chilled his
wings, momentarily blinded the piercing silver eyes. There was a deeper,
heavier, brooding silence coloring his expression than one might have
expected in a hunting predator.

He ranged far from the Citadel that night, hoping to escape the tendrils
of anger that threatened to make him forget his purposes, and now, far
from the cold stone reminders of his servitude, he was once again the lord
of all the world he surveyed. The shadowed tops of trees flashed by him
as he flew low, under the clouds, and the forest itself was hazily bright
in his night-vision, flashing now and then with hints of life and heat.
Dropping even lower, until some of the taller trees actually brushed his
wings, he searched... and searched...

Until -- there.

Like a panther leaping down from the trees, he dove, fell upon his prey,
grasped the doe by the shoulders and broke her neck with a hard twist.
Almost in the same moment, he tore out the throat of his kill and hauled
the carcass by the hind legs over the limb of a tree to let it bleed,
gutting it neatly with a twitch of one hind claw.

(Slaughtered lambs, Savar?) he thought as he began to feed on the
still-hot meat, and his silver eyes narrowed angrily. (Over my dead body.
Or yours.) He was born to hunt, and born to rule. If the wizard had not
guessed this for himself yet, Thorn would point it out to him soon enough.
He growled softly as he tore at his meal, letting his thoughts of
interesting ways to kill the mage slide away in favor of pure animal
enjoyment. The doe was tasty, if small. He was far more used to hunting
the great steppes brekki - just one of those furry, oxlike beasts was
enough for a hearty meal, even for a full-grown drake. He left the
stripped bones and offal on the forest floor for the scavengers and
sharpened his claws against one of the nearby trees, pulling his great
wings tighter against his back and moving off to find launching-space.
With a thrust of powerful legs, he launched through a break in the trees
and spread his wings against the sky.

He would find another kill before he returned to the Citadel to sleep.
Winging a little higher over the forest a flash of something caught his
inner sight - something that smelled of magic and glinted in brighter
tones than Medivh Savar's carrion power. Interested, he veered off to his
left and increased his speed, pushing off in search of the distant source
of magic. Savar did have a certain liking for lesser magic users, and
there was always the chance that if Thorn could return with a prize before
Nirathei, Savar would take the younger dragon more seriously. Baring
teeth in a crafty grin, Thorn continued his pursuit.

From: "Raven Darkblade" <abbykat@hotmail.com>

Raven fingered one of the lockpicks in the silk-lined leather case.
"Well," she said dryly, "I am impressed."

"I thought you might be," Mikhal responded, calm and cool as always.

She slanted a look at him. "Smug, that's what you are."

"I?" He contrived to look innocent.

She snorted. "Mmm-hmm. I assume you're going to lecture me now."

Mikhal shook his head. "No. You have chosen your path. I cannot say if
the choice was for good or for ill... but it has been made." At Raven's
curious expression he smiled slightly. "For shame, warrior. I am not so
given to fits of pique as that."

She shrugged. "You never know." Kneeling, Raven tucked the soft case of
picks into her boot, then straightened and looked herself over in the
polished mirror hung on the wall of Mikhal's wagon.

Her cotton shirt and woolen breeches had been replaced by silk and
leather, dyed the same light-absorbing black and treated with some
special, secret formula that would, according to Mikhal, partially foil
infravision. Her boots and gloves, soft and soundless black leather
lined in silk, were treated the same way. Her black leather tunic
muffled the chime and flash of elfsteel chain-mail.

Bound securely to her belt was an assortment of equipment; an iron
grapnel, three palm-lengths long, the ends of the three prongs bound in
wool to keep them from stabbing into her leg should the grapnel twist
about wrong; a small case of hardened leather, full of sharp-spined
caltrops and securely fastened; the slender metal tube of a blow-gun,
tucked carefully out of the way, and a small case of poison-tipped
darts; a long-lashed bullwhip, the steel handle bound in black leather,
coiled up and tied to remain that way. Raven quirked a grin at that
last; trust Mikhal to think of something like it. (Just hope I haven't
lost my touch. It's been a while since I've used a whip like this one.)

Tied over her belt, carefully arranged so as not to get in the way, was
a length of spidersilk rope, intricately knotted into a wide belt of
smoky gray that, Raven knew, would unravel completely with a tug on the
free end.

"That does it," she said, shrugging on the Darkblade's baldric. "And a
good thing, too. Any more stuff and I'd rattle when I moved. If I could
manage to move."

Mikhal chuckled quietly. "I expect you would manage. Here." He held out
the satchel of spellspheres. "I have removed the spells you will not
wish to use."

Raven nodded, taking the now much lighter satchel. Ordinarily she'd have
wanted to sort through the spells herself--but she trusted Mikhal's
intuition. He would only have taken out the spells that were completely
useless or too flashy for the situation.

She opened the satchel and added a few new fleece-wrapped bundles; half
a dozen vials of various poisons and other useful concoctions, like raw
Jidoan pepper and corrosive venom in a small cast iron bottle.
Everything was carefully arranged, then Raven closed the satchel again
and shrugged it over her neck and shoulder.

"All right, then," she said. "Time for me to get moving again. Get
Banshee and the rest of those spellspheres to Solarin if you can--he
could use the spells, and Banshee's better battle-trained than Redlegs."

Mikhal nodded. "Of course." He led the way out of the wagon, and walked
with Raven to the edge of Celi'Ardi's camp. "Luck with you, warrior.
You've chosen a dangerous path to walk."

"My choice to make," she told him, as Mor settled on her shoulder.

He nodded, face impassive. "Yes."

She quirked a wry grin and turned toward the darkened forest. "I'll see
you around, Mikhal--unless Savar gets lucky."

Mikhal nodded again. "Indeed. Walk softly tonight, warrior. The wind
sings of danger."

With that statement, he melted into the shadows and was gone.

Raven looked at the place he had stood for a moment, then shook her head
and slipped away into the brush, Mor rising from her shoulder with a few
wingbeats. She had a good bit of ground to cover before sunrise, and no
time to waste.

From: "Lady K. S. Sylver" <sylverrose@snet.net>

Kay sighed as she listened to everyone. (I guess I had better speak up.)
She raised her voice so that she could be heard by everyone.
"I believe that I shall be most useful with the noncombatants, where ever
they shall be headed. I have little magical skill, and I am unaccustomed
to fighting with others. I am a duelist, not a foot soldier, so perhaps my
skills could be of use protecting those noncombatants who need protecting.
Thus I offer my skills in the woods, at the cook fire, with a bow, and with
a sword to, I believe your name is, Lord Dak? If I am mistaken, I am
sorry, and hope that you take no offense at my misjudgment of your name; I
have not learned who everyone here is....But that is besides the point.
Now, will you accept my offer of help, or nay?"
Kay waited for him to speak, standing quietly with her hand on
Winddancer's head, her other hand just touching her horse's reins.

From: Heather Arnold <typodrgn@arches.uga.edu>

Thorn scented the wind like some great panther, the heavy, plated scales
that guarded his face no impediment at all to his sense as the night air
brought its stories to him. His moonlight-colored eyes shifted over the
night forest before him, once, and again, and he growled soundlessly
somewhere deep in his chest. He was annoyed. This creature he stalked
must have passed beneath his sight more than once as he overflew the
forest paths and game trails, for its scent was fresh against the earth.
Still, he had not been able to see anything with his night vision that
resembled the creature whose trail he now followed, nor had he been able
to Sense any magic after that last burst ended. It irritated him to be
slowed in any way, but the challenge of hunting invisible prey was enough
sport to keep his temper at bay.

Standing now under the darkness of tree cover and the leaden sky, he
lowered his nose to the ground again and moved off on the path his quarry
had taken. It had a curious mixture of scents... human and elven mostly,
female, with contact-scents of horse and herbs. He imagined it was either
a human that had spent an inordinate amount of time among elves, or it was
one of those bastard crosses between the two breeds. Thorn snorted
quietly in derision at that thought. From the number of mixed-bloods
running around, he thought elves out in the Cold Lands must either be
desperate for a tumble, or possessed of monstrously bad taste.

He caught a whisper of another scent as he hunted, and paused a moment to
let it speak to him before he continued after his prey. Gypsies had been
here, he thought with disgust. Annoying little brigands that they were,
he wasn't terribly surprised. Savar had not yet managed to rout them out
of these woods, which Thorn found a bit laughable. Thorn himself had not
bothered to volunteer for _that_ pathetic rabbit-hunt, and relished the
idea that Savar might someday have to beg him for help in clearing the
trash out of the forest.

The scent of his quarry was very fresh, here - the freshest yet, and Thorn
smiled to himself, speeding up his pace with all the silent swiftness of a
hunting dragon. He drew closer to her, and closer, until she must have
been within a few hundred meters of his position, and still he could see
nothing but the occasional faint flicker of some unidentified heat before
him. It mattered very little to him, though. In another moment, he would
close the distance, and he would hear her movement through the woods.
Then, the fun would begin.

Closer... and closer... and...

From: "Raven Darkblade" <abbykat@hotmail.com>

Solarin didn't speak for a long time. When he did, it was with an air of
reluctantly setting aside other grave concerns in order to deal with the
matter at hand. "Time grows short, and I still sense danger approaching.
We must decide for certain what we are going to do, and quickly.

"This is what I suggest. The noncombatants, under the charge of the elf
Dak and Fallenangel, shall be transported away from here by Ynys." The
elven ranger gave a nod of acknowledgement to the unicorn before
continuing. "My first choice for their placement is the camp of the
gypsies of Celi'Ardi, as the combined abilities of Ynys and the
Celi'Ardi mages should keep Savar from learning where they have gone and
finding a way to use them against us. However, if there is strong
objection to that, then they can be transported elsewhere. I would not
recommend that they be taken to any town or city within the area; Medivh
Savar has agents all around."

"Erelan shall transport the infiltration party to the grounds of the
Citadel and then return to join the attack party, to aid in scouting and
attacking from above. This will leave the infiltration party without
that manner of returning, as Erelan has noted, but," he cast a mildly
questioning look towards Xenon, "I believe there are other ways they may
return?"

"Raven will not return. She will not listen to me; she has locked me out
as best she can. I could break that barrier with some small effort, but
if I did so she would likely never forgive me." Solarin sighed, trying
to keep his expression and voice from betraying the bleak fear he felt.
"She has made her choices. It is not in her nature to be careless. Raven
has... a knack for finding allies. I can only hope--"

Abruptly he broke off, shaking his head. "Enough. We are running out of
time. What is it to be?"

From: Seashimer@aol.com

Sea's prayer has not gone unheard. . .

A slender dark-elven woman sat at a table, long fingers delicately turning
the pages of a freshly bound volume. As her eyes focused on the clearly inked
works, a shape, so nebulous as to barely deserve the title of ghost, formed in
front of her. Her hands stopped moving as she looked up, and let the book
fall closed in her lap. She bowed her head for a moment, but only a moment;
the barest of courtesies.

"Yseth," she said, softly. The gaze of the shade flickered down, to read the
book's title, then returned to the woman's eyes. "I have a task for you, if you can be persuaded to leave off your. .
.scholarship for it." Her voice showed disdain for the volume, as it had
cause; the title was not on of great knowledge, but that of a popular romance.
The woman glanced down at the book, running her fingers over the spine.

"I take what pleasures I may. But what task, and why ask?"

"And when have I not asked?"

"And when have I not said yes? And when have we not had this same
discussion, year after year after year?"

"It bears repeating."

"Does it?" The elf shook her head slightly, as if in doubt. The conversation
seemed finished, though, for Yseth continued.

"There is one who has. . .turned against me."

"There are many such."

"Never-the-less, this one has drawn my attention."

"And you wish me to do what? When have you ever needed mortal aid in this?"

"Many times, as you should know." Her voice cut sharply through the room.

"I do not interfere, directly."

"Of course not." The response sounded faintly mocking.

"There is a group of. . .adventurers, already on their way against him. I
wish you to join them. Make sure he does not escape."

"Why allow them the task at all?"

"That is none of your concern." The dark elven woman looked startled, if
anything; she was not used to being denied knowledge. After a moment, her
face smoothed out.

"Very well. Where are they?"

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"You will. . .know one among them."

"Ah? Who?"

"Your sister." The words shocked the woman, cut through her masks and left
her expression one beyond reading.

"Her."

"You still go?"

"When have I had a choice?"

"Always. Never. Someday." The shape shifted, then, and began to shrink and
fade away. Images poured into the woman's head, images of the party, in a
clearing, in a dark wood, unfamiliar faces except for one she would not look
on. As the last wisps of the shade vanished, she stood, placing the book
carefully on the table. There were things to pack, spells to ready, plans to
make. . .she walked out of the door of the room, lost in though.

* * *

Ready for travel at last, she stood in front of the entry to her room, hands
raised. Slender tendrils darted out from them, shifting and weaving, filling
the arch. She dug deep for the images Yseth had given her, giving them to the
threads as they drew away, searching. Suddenly, the image snapped into place,
and she stepped through, leaving the room empty.

On the other side, storm clouds had begun to gather, remnants from the Gate
spell that she cared little about. She stood at the edge of the clearing,
looking in at the group surround by warding spells. Her lips curved, faintly,
and she raised her hand, reaching for the power the Yseth gave her. A few
sharp passes and she stepped through the wards, triggering any and all spells
set to watch.

From: "Lady K. Sylver" <sylverrose@snet.net>

<< On the other side, storm clouds had begun to gather, remnants from the Gate
spell that she cared little about. She stood at the edge of the clearing,
looking in at the group surround by warding spells. Her lips curved, faintly,
and she raised her hand, reaching for the power the Yseth gave her. A few
sharp passes and she stepped through the wards, triggering any and all spells
set to watch.>>

Kay turned from watching the group discussion when she felt a jolt of
magic slam into her amulet. Winddancer whined as he felt the wards set
around the clearing trigger. The wolf's magic senses cringed away from the
source of the power. Kay wasn't sure what he knew or what he was thinking,
because he refused to answer her mindspoken questions. In the sudden
darkness from the storm clouds that had appeared so silently, Kay could see
a stranger, standing just inside the clearing.

Kay walked over to the figure, not sure who or what she was facing. With
her hand resting ever so lightly on her sword hilt, she narrowed her eyes
and spoke.

"I request a name, wanderer. You have come upon us unexpectedly, and I
ask for identification of yourself." Kay's voice took on the hint of a
command, and she could feel herself falling back into mannerisms from her
home. The widening of her stance to show aggression, the sharper note to
her voice to show her strength. Her amulet was warm to the touch, which
worried Kay faintly, for it had taken more stress since she had come to
this clearing, and she knew not the effects so much magic so close would
cause. When Kay caught herself at it, she was surprised. (It has been a
long time since I felt the need to take on a persona. I wonder why I do so
now?)
Shaking off her odd feelings, she refused to back down, waiting for an
answer from the newcomer, and for a response from the rest of the group as
to the intruder...

From: "Tim & Tiffanie" <tntgray@sprintmail.com>

Xenon listened to those who spoke, periods of waiting and periods of speech
like the tides of time over a changing world. Tingle's of gate magic began
to form very quickly, but Savar's essence was not on it or through it, and
he wondered what new would be ally or foe the forces arrayed were entering
into this soon to be epic fray.

Solarin's words worked in his mind, and he had no further anger at them.
The elf was in the sadness and struggling to still go on and help as best he
knew. Xenon could not possibly care less where Raven was now for her own
sake, though he did pity Solarin's pain. A dark elven woman walked into the
clearing, setting off all alarms about and sure to annoy the troll to no
end. She had style and he gave a last moment to her performance. Then he
spoke to Dak.

"This way Dak. Bring the Lady and her son, our charges, and those of you
who choose to seek solace in a town. The way will be open momentarily, and
you need not fear my Uncle's influence in it. He has not the power...but he
will know whos hand set it no doubt. Yet agents in a town are not Medivh
Savar in his fastness and forest."

He looked at the two soul boy standing so defiantly with arms crossed, and
spared him a moment of amused pity before he motioned with his hand. There
was no particular significance to the gesture for any but the most subtle of
Binders, but Zeke would feel its force quickly enough. Zeke had called him
challenge, and as the patterns skewed and settled, he saw a way for all to
benefit. From Zeke's pouch, disappeared his Gem, and it landed with gentle
grace about the neck of the Lady Aya, bound by spells few or no hands could
remove. Time in conversation and waiting had given Xenon the time he needed
to recover from healing the dragon Erelan, and he was ready to move.

As Zeke's face began to light with astonishment, Xenon said simply "You seek
to learn of the Light Zeke. You are given opportunity at this time. I bind
both the masculine and the feminine within thee, in all their forms and ways
and powers, to the service, aid and protection of Lady Aya and her son
Reuven as well as that property which is theirs if such protection poses no
threat to theirs, Aya and Reuven's, personally, the service to last for the
period of one year from this day as time is measured commonly within this
sphere." With that, the binding was done, etched deeply into the souls
before him, and let those who heard understand if they could.

Xenon turned, motioning Dak to bring those who chose to come, and with a nod
to Muranog as required by courtesy when stepping through another Adepts
wards and then stepped through those wards. After he had done so he spoke
to Erelan.

"Lady Erelan, I will be ready to attend you in the manner that Solarin has
suggested in but a moment. Thank you for your courtesy. And to you dark
lady, a good day, cause no harm."

With that he moved a few steps further, and set the energies to open the
gate, drawing much of it from Kang, as they had prepared, though he was more
than powerful enough to set a gate and traverse it several times repeatedly
of his own power. Still, now was a time to let no weakness enter, and as
the bright silvery blue colors coalesced into a door, a door to a city in
which there were few of Savar's agents and where his power was still weak.
Xenon used the power Kang gave willingly, manifesting it in colors likely to
uplift and soothe those choosing to enter, and often used to symbolize
goodness and the light, though Xenon knew that Power was simply Power in and
of itself.

As the door fully formed, insulated from attack or warp by Savar, Muranog,
that Gypsie crow, or any other, as well as from the lingering traces of the
gate before opened to here, Xenon tossed a bag of red and yellow gold to Dak
for the Lady Aya, and a ring with a arduously prepared spell (for teleport
was not Xenon's forte) for Dak himself and then simply said "Return to me
quickly my friend" and held open the door.

From: Heather Arnold <typodrgn@arches.uga.edu>

The meditative hush that had fallen over those gathered in the clearing
was the most peaceful Erelan had experienced all night, but time was
passing swiftly out of hand. Just as she was wondering whether the lull
would continue indefinitely, Solarin began to speak and the gathered
party once again began preparations. She stood slowly and carefully, for
the rest and damp chill had stiffened her already sore limbs and set a
fierce crick into her back. Stretching out as best she could without
knocking anyone over, she cast a glance skyward. The cloud cover appeared
to be holding for now, at least over this area, but the weather had been
so capricious lately, she didn't dare trust that the opportunity would
last.

Clearing her throat with a marginally non-threatening sound, she rasped,
"Sssshadowblade? Sssolarin? I do not know which of you wissshesss to
join the infiltrrration, but we ssshould away now while the sssskiesss are
ssstill dark."

She unhooked the clasp that held her satchel with some regret and shrugged
out of the straps. Pulling loose a few of the many buckles and ties that
wrapped about the satchel, she separated the body of the pack from its
tough leather frame. After a brief moment's searching, she removed a
single, cloth-wrapped bundle, then closed the bag once more and took it
between her teeth, moving toward Muranog. As she deposited her burden at
the troll's feet, she mindspoke him privately, :Muranog, I must ask a
favor of you, as a friend of dragons.: She nodded toward the satchel.
:This is a treasure of my people, the life work of my uncle, Aristide the
Wanderer, and the poor chapters I have been able to add in my few cycles
of journeying. I cannot take it with me and carry these travelers, but I
would give it to you for safe keeping, if there is such a thing in this
part of the world.:

The teal dragon smiled once, a calm and quiet confidence in her eyes. :If
I do not return, will you see that it is returned to my people?:

As she spoke, she rearranged the shape of the pack frame slightly, pulling
loose a strap here, tightening one there. The frame was cleverly enough
constructed that she could adjust it without shredding it with her talons.
When she had finished and shrugged back into the now almost weightless net
of leather straps, it looked as if it would make a serviceable enough
harness for the travelers to hold to. She had no intention of dropping
someone in a foggy sky and losing them to the darkness.

She raised an eyeridge at Shadowblade, and spoke. :I believe this harness
will serve adequately to safeguard those who travel. Mur...ah...a friend
of mine once used it thus,: she said, the break barely noticeable. :It
was made to bear a lighter burden though, I think - if you know of a way
to reinforce the lines, perhaps it would be better?: she pulled the
harness loose and shook her head with a wry grin. :My talons are not so
handy for delicate work.: