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17. Wind-Singers Volume III.I: The Final Quest; Ivordir and Daerfalas journey into Gondor to face the Enemy and find tidings of Guldrambor
Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,121 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXIII: Dark Beauty

Duvaissel suddenly appeared at Gurthbainor's side.

Gurthbainor announced, "This one was favored for survival by our Master."

She gave her mournful account of her beloved's death, which made it sound as if Morchon had betrayed their cause. Gurthbainor thanked her for her loyalty. She had managed to survive the thirty-foot drop by flipping herself on top of Morchon's tumbling choked body, cushioning her fall, before swimming deeply beneath the waters of the Sirith, so that the last sight was Morchon's final descent into the deeps. She had alerted the watch with a made-up story as the fishermen found the bodies. A certain soldier had vouched for her.

And she had returned home and changed her clothes, and made for Gurthbainor's resting place as fast as her feet could carry her. And Gurthbainor had revealed the gold beneath the cloak, weaving his webs around her as she cried and sobbed, and soon their sobbing gave way to deeper kissing, as they rested together, deep beneath Malnoron's Manse.

And Gurthbainor commanded that none should travel or rest alone, so as to not imperil their quest further. And now Duvaissel smiled in her wiles, pleased that her childhood rivals had finally fallen to her web of lies, fallen to her carefully crafted and planted seeds of envy, and now, her chief loss and source of mourning was that of Morchon and all his dreams and aspirations, all his pleasant words to her, all their kissing and resting in his golden silk, all their plotting and scheming together, for further wealth and power. Morchon's fear of poverty had ever propelled him. And Duvaissel had fed that fear, and further fed his greed, with her whole being. And now, Gurthbainor promised her far more. Still enslaved to the shock and depth of grief, he became her love and chief source of trust, as she fell into his arms, her golden skin resting against him.

And now she had changed. She had grinned strangely. And she had resolved herself to bury Morchon, banishing him from her heart.
Edited by Ivordir, Sep 26 2015, 10:18 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXIV: Fragmented by Death

Mirth was not the same when Daechon and Isenadin returned to their manse. They long drank wine and then reclined alongside each other in their place of rest, beneath their cloaks. They no longer discussed how many maidens they had sought as suitors, or anything else. They cuddled so close together that they could feel each others' heart-beats. Isenadin broke into sobbing, "Daechon.... I'm afraid........"

"So am I my friend..... so am I.......hang onto me....... for I will protect your life....... my kiss of beauty....."

"And I yours.... my kiss of magic........"

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Himelon and his beloved, Rostiel, were permitted to stay in Caldor's manse. Rostiel's parents were away in Dol Amroth on business. They had long sipped their wine, churning their wine in circles in their glasses, in a cold and solemn evening. Then they retired to their rooms.

Rostiel kissed Himelon deeply on the lips as they lay alongside each other, "I'm afraid for you..... for us.... my life.........this tragedy is awful......"

Himelon nodded, "Let us not rest in terror, my love..........these powers shall see us through to the end." He gently stroked her rusty-brown hair, "We are one.... and we have naught to fear, my beauty......"

"My love....my kiss of triumph." They kissed each other deeply yet again. They showered each other with kisses. They clung to each other as closely as they could.

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Caldor was lying on his bed as his wife, Rildis, approached in her glittering nightly cape. She lay beside him and kissed his cold, pale cheeks, "My kiss of love...... come and cloak with me...." She wrapped him closely in her arms, dominating him with her cloak. Then she suddenly rose, "Come... my love... and watch me dance." He crawled to the edge of the resting place on his tummy, and watched her as she twirled, the edge of her glimmering-blue cloak brushing his nose and lips.

She smiled inside herself, He is finally mine.... my beauty..... and I shall be as if his Queen.........and over this whole society.... I shall have my victory.......... "I am your Angolhel...... let me enchant you..., my dear beauty...."

He stood, ran to his wardrobe, and removed his finest cloak of silk, of a deep, rich green. Isenadin's father had kept them all well-supplied with extravagances from the South. And within the green.... was deeper golden beauty. She had kept dancing. He laughed, "And now my dearest, deepest beauty....... now, you shall come unto me....."

They were soon twirling together, the world spinning fast around them, dizzying and dazzling their eyes, till they fell into each other, returning to their place of rest, where they clung to each other, the deep-rich fibers of their being swooning. She had wrapped her webs around him. Long had she plotted to control the constraining world around her. In her own beauty, she found liberation.

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Silevren poured through the archives, seeking for details concerning previous battles in Pelargir. Dúon and Dochon guarded him, for one of the other scholars had noticed Silevren's even odder behaviors. Once Silevren obtained the knowledge that they required, they returned quietly back to Dochon's manse, without leaving a trace of evidence behind. Silevren sat triumphantly, stroking his silky beard, "Castamir's chief error was in riding forth to meet Eldacar at the Erui."

Dochon sighed, "The city still never long survived besieged."

Silevren smiled, "Because Castamir misused his forces."

"That is true."

Dúon noted sadly, "The strength of Gondor is not what it once was........."

Silevren still smiled, "But our King is strong."

"And where is he?" Dochon muttered, "Where is he..... Saelbainor is sly and clever. He's as slippery as his cloaks."

Silevren grimly nodded, "One of us will have to spy on him."

They both stared at Silevren, smiling. Silevren shrugged his shoulders, "Why me?"

"Well," Dochon noted, "You are a pleasure to look at."

"But Saelbainor is intelligent!"

"And so are you."

Dúon noted, "Who else could we spy on?"

Silevren smiled slyly, "What of....... the Lord-Regent? Malnoron?"

"Now there," Dochon sipped more red wine, "is an intelligent suggestion."

"I am too much of a coward."

That word stung Dúon to the core. He tried to mask it.

"Oh no," Dochon smiled, "We must increase your courage..... you are among the wisest scholars I have ever beheld......... we will go with you. All you need do is to simply ask him."

"Ha!" Silevren asked, "One of the coldest lords in all Pelargir..........."

Dochon laughed, "And one of the most devoted. We shall ask to be received by him on the morrow."

Silevren drank down his entire glass.

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"Have you ever sailed before?" Limben asked Gwathron with beaming eyes in Gwathron's manse.

Gwathron smiled in his velvet sea-blue cloak, "Several times."

"I love the sea.... the free, salty open air...... the stars at night........."

"As do I........."

"...........how will we poison cisterns?"

"We shall need to ask Saelbainor......."

"I was much afraid of that............."

"Do not worry, my friend. All shall be well."

"One of our own brethren is -dead- and you dare to say that......."

"It's just a feeling. You survived nearly drowning at sea, what have you to fear?"

"Everything."

"Oh come now, my friend......." Gwathron wrapped his cloak around them both in an embrace, "We have nothing we need be afraid of......"
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:09 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXV: The Diplomat

All day in Tumladen on the 20th, preparations had taken place. Maps were drawn and potential routes discussed by the Council of Ivordir's Company. It was decided that more men were required, and that they needed to sway many of Colhel's former suitors to their cause.

Sainion decided that this was his province: diplomacy. And so he and Arhbaineth were granted a route and direction, and letters were sent by trained mountain birds. They would depart on the morrow. Sainion still had the remnants of his rashes and bruises, and scratches, from the wilds, though his hidden wounds were healing well.

Arhbaineth had learned as much as she could from Colhel and her Lord-Father about the manses that they would have to visit.

She was not surprised at the past developments. She merely endured, protecting her husband since the incident at the riverside camp.

She was walking along the balcony as the winds gushed around her. She was wearing her husband's cloak. She saw him standing there, robed in his maroon velvet, staring at the moon. She ran over, shocking him, enveloping him in their cloak, "What is wrong now?"

He smiled, "Nothing. I was merely meditating on what to say."

"Leave that to tomorrow............"

Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:35 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXVI: Priestess of the Harad

Duvaissel had processed alone in her long, dark hair, long, dark silky cloak, as it spread wide and long behind her in the cellars of the House of Malnoron in Pelargir. She glimmered in the moonlight.

Another cloaked shade arose to join her, "Who comes before Melkor the Great, Master of all Ea?"

"His Priestess comes before him." She knelt before the statue, groveling on her hands and knees. She drank the bile from a silver chalice.

"Rise my Priestess." He enveloped her in his equally vast cloak, "Receive the kiss of power."

Duvaissel plunged into a deep ecstasy that surged through her entire being, as his cold, wet lips caressed her own. Then they passed together into the throne chamber. They slowly began to twirl and dance, passing vast portions of their cloaks atop their heads, as they moved through a sea of fabric gliding and flapping on the air. And then their cloaks fell atop their heads, as they embraced closely together, pressing their heads into the cool, smooth fabric. Together, they passed into the depths, their black cloaks slowly crawling behind them on the floor and down the stairs.

And then, on the following morning of the 20th, her dagger was raised. And then in their dance, the rest were entranced, beguiled completely.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:36 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXVII: Beruthiel Avenged

They had always regarded her as "foreign." While many southern Gondorians held this appearance, the noble families of the four girls had ever disdained the tone of shadow, the skin-tone that they had come to associate with the Haradrim, the mysterious tribes of men who opposed the might and majesty of Gondor.

Galdis and Celairhel were splashing water from the fountain at each other, while their parents ignored them on their business. Suddenly, Borneth pointed at Duvaissel, "Here comes long-lost Beruthiel! Did you bring your kitties?"

The other three had laughed and mocked her, tossing water at her as an insult. "Drown, Beruthiel! Drown!" They mocked.

But Duvaissel was clever, "You are the ones drowning in your fountain, not I."

They had a strange respect for her, alongside their bigotry. Borneth smiled mischievously, "I know what you Southron women love...." She came out of the fountain, her white dress dripping wet, and mockingly kissed Duvaissel on the lips. Duvaissel slapped her, resulting in a clawing fight that their parents finally noticed, breaking them up, "Ladies! You shame our households! You shall be confined to your chambers for a week!" spoke Duvaissel's father, the other parents nodding in agreement. And so it was.

Duvaissel never forgot that day. Nor did she forget the day when the three were trying to drown each other in the shallow water of the dock near the river. She did not forget how they submerged her, how a guard spared her life, as she was dragged down by the others in dark and murky waters. But she found that she was strong, she could hold her breath, and she ultimately victored.

There was one richer boy whom she had come to love: Morchon. But Morchon's family fell on hard times, her parents would hear none of it, for they had little respect for merchants who traded with the Harad. But she had helped Morchon whenever she could in secret. The other girls had also loved Morchon. Duvaissel knew this.

And so she gathered the others together, and just before they were about to mock her, she proposed her plan: they would break the rules and all share in Morchon's riches and beauty.

Borneth ever wanted him for herself, but she had agreed, awaiting her opportunity. Galdis decided that wedding Morchon had become her life's purpose, and she would play along, so as to know the plots of her friends. Celairhel was sick of their constant antagonism and bickering, and wished for an end to it. Each had desired some form of liberation. Borneth desired to choose a man than for society to choose a man for her. Galdis desired the same. Celairhel wished for a mutual love that would break all the stifling rules and norms of Gondorian lordly society. But Duvaissel had plots of her own: she would coax them into giving Morchon as many of their riches as they could afford to in order to earn his favor, and, then, she would pit them against each other, so that they would destroy each other in the name of love. And then -she-, Duvaissel, would have control over Morchon, his riches, and the world around them. And no one would dare refer to her as "Beruthiel" ever again without losing their tongues. They were all otherwise typical lordly ladies, with headstrong and wealthy parents, who all played the same games as the likes of Ballithor and Malnoron, competing for influence against each other. The ladies drank their wine and attended social gatherings, behaved in courtly ways, and kept their true feelings to themselves. Gondor had become but a shell of its former glory, the glory that had triumphed in the days of Elendil and his sons. Now, that glory was nearly faded away entirely. The King was gone.

And when the plot had reached its apex, Duvaissel did not count on Borneth dragging her beloved Morchon to a foul, choking death, followed by a final departure before the statue of Morgoth. She had lost everything. Her plots had been for naught. Only one person became her beacon of hope in the midst of these shadows, only one person, vibrant and beautiful, and terrible, and yet his beauty nullified her terror: she clung to every powerful word that danced from the fragrant lips of Gurthbainor, and the bile of Guldrambor seeded itself within the marrow of her blood. And now, she had killed a lordly man, fulfilling her life-long dream. And the thought of Sauron's victory, ushering-in a new era of equality, diversity, and peace, away from the tyrannical Valar and the harsh words of the god of judgment and the harsh dictations of the god of winds and the ridiculous weeping of that pitiful goddess and the false lies of the god of dreams and the falsely woven tapestries of fate and the overtly masculine hunter god and the cruelty of how many ships had been drowned by the gods and goddesses of the sea... And thus the Eye became her greatest dream...... as precious to her as a golden Ring.
Edited by Ivordir, Sep 28 2015, 09:33 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXVIII: Ciron


Circhon was a strong and younger man, still barely finished with his life as a boy. He had trained himself to be strong, for his Lord-Father did not desire for him to be akin to the rest of the lords. He wanted his son to life a long and useful life, rather than a life of sloth and fatigue. Circhon's father was reasonable, allowing for his son to live a life that was balanced between pleasure and physical training. They had even assisted the southern Dunedain of Ithilien. Their family once had roots in an old estate in Ithilien. Now their estate was ruined, due to the rise of Morgul.

But Circhon, exalting physicality, did not find Fingaereth to be appealing as a suitor. And so it was that Colhel had rejected him.

They had been expecting the arrival of Sainion and Arhbaineth.
Edited by Ivordir, Apr 9 2016, 01:54 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCXLXXXIX: Confessions

Ivordir paced to and fro in his chamber. Daerfalas was with his mother, and Glossel was dining with Colhel. Ivordir was not hungry.

"I know why you are restless."

"Can a man not knock Mithon?"

"I am a ranger, after all."

"Oh, of course......."

"I've lived a rough life, alone in the wilds with my comrades. I remember when I was raised hither, right here in this Vale and in Pelargir, and all because the ancestral lands of my House were lost......when sorcery came to the Vale of Ithil. And yet I've come to prefer the wilds..... and do you know why?"

Ivordir shook his head.

"The troubles that you've been enduring.... with these treacherous noble lords.......... beneath the Trees of the Moon, the world is far more simpler........ honor is honor, life is life, and death is death......... it is far less complicated."

Ivordir nodded, "I understand......"

"Less complicated, save for one thing.............. I've always stared at corpses..... of my fallen brothers and of my foes............ and sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it. Oh, Captain Faramir adores the memory of old Numenor............. but is a husk of stone truly worth so much blood?"

"The glory of old Numenor........ is not within its stone, but within its blood.......... not within the rings of Minas Tirith, but within the pulsing hearts of the folk who dwell there......."

And Mithon smiled, "My Captain would have said the same thing. In that respect, I agree. But there is much that you are not telling me.... and I understand that you are oath-bound.........."

There was a knock at the door. Ivordir stared into Abrazan's eyes in shock. And Abrazan said, "But I am not. I will attend all, for the sake of the Quest. But you, Lord Mithon of Ithilien, must swear a sacred vow, to tell neither kith nor kin, nor even your Captain, nor even your Steward, and nor even the King himself should he ever return to reclaim his throne. And you, Lord Mithon of Ithilien, being a man of honor, shall keep that vow, and live and long and storied life. A time may come when thy vow is lifted, in elder years............. but that time has not yet come."

Mithon nodded, "I must do what I must then, for the sake of Gondor. I'll vow then. I swear it."

Abrazan's eyes gleamed, "And the penalty, should you break this vow, is the loss of thy identity, and everything that you hold most dear. And when I tell you, you shall find the prophecy would be self-fulfilling, for no one would have ever dared to believe such a tale."

Ivordir nodded, "We had better sit-down. We are in for a long one......"

And Abrazan spoke to him of the Elder Days, of Aman, of Yucalwe in the Gardens of Lorien, and of Amanuiron, his only comrade. Mithon listened to the tale, astounded. He learned of Auruiron. He learned of Makalaure. He learned things that seldom did ever mortal ears attend to, save those blessed to know the Eldar, who may yet be many, even if many more even still do not know the truth. Mithon learned of the rise of Guldrambor and the fall of the Noldor and the terrible woes that befell them. And when he learned of Eregion, it struck his mind like a hammer, as the revelation of the Dark Lord of Mordor made his spirit see the light of truth, of how all of it was part of one grand epic. And as he heard that epic, following the tales of these minor figures, these Elves....... he began to believe every word even more, with his vision of the glory of Numenor in Amarthon's cloak present in the depths of his heart. Then, he understood the Quest. When he heard of Yucalwe's failures in Emyn Arnen, he understood their destination, and far more.

And Abrazan even dared to confess his background, and everything, and Mithon could only respond by embracing him, saying,
"On the maps of this world, we are enemies........ But I find in you a friend............a brother, a man whom I may call 'comrade,' for you are the key to unraveling this riddle...... the riddle that I have seen in the eyes of countless Haradrim corpses.......... I believe, for my part, that you are true.... based on what I have heard and seen........ but war is coming to Gondor, I do not know when, but I fear for your life in this realm if it does.....you are good at behaving as a refined, southern, Gondorian lord....... but if unfriendly ears should learn the truth...."

Abrazan nodded, "This is where I will need your aid............. for in Gondor, I must not be.... when the war comes.......... I must be where my aid to Gondor can be at its greatest. The South will be emptied............. save of those whom are enslaved beneath the iron crown of Mordor.............."

Mithon pondered his words, "You seek.... to overthrow that iron crown....... but we have not the men to spare."

"A small band, enough to become a larger one............ we would need to sneak south of Umbar.........."

"My absence would be noted, and I would be slain on-sight........."

"You will be slain far quicker in this war. Ithilien will be the first realm to perish, followed by Osgiliath, and then........"

Mithon heaved a deep sigh, "Minas Tirith herself....................................... but I would rather die defending her, on the fields of my country.......... than die in a horrific desert far away..............."

"You shall not die," Abrazan smiled. "And you may yet return to find her in greater glory.........you wonder how? Tell me. Do you doubt what you have seen?"

Mithon sighed and shook his head, "I do not doubt it...... and I may know a few men, who may find interest in your proposal............ but it feels like desertion."

Abrazan laughed, "No, my friend. Call it a diversion rather than a desertion. A movement behind the ranks of our foes...... to harm them from within."

And Mithon smiled, "You may well prove right in the end, my friend. I thank you for your tale. And of course, I stand by my vow.......but tell me something. What is this madness with these cloaks, as if they were somehow sacred banners rather than articles of clothing? From the mythic shoulders of this spirit to the bathing in the mystical spring, to..... the ones that you are wearing..... and then, these dark sorcerers, they wear silks as well......................."

It hammered down on Ivordir's mind, "From the shoulders of.............. oh no. Our foe..... began this......... because fabric is fluid, mysterious........"

Mithon's eyes glowed, "Dream-like.... in accordance with his powers...."

Abrazan bowed, "So, the powers of the West.... must have turned some of these powers against our foe......... that would explain the cloaks of Auruiron and his kin, and of my Ada.....................whereas the Haradric silks are being defiled for fell purposes.................."

Mithon nodded, "And the cloak that was given to Amarthandor somehow enchanted my mind with the glory of Numenor of old....... I accept this task before us, though dreams and visions oft terrify me...... I much prefer the smell of soil, the hardness of stone, and the scent of pine.......... the rootedness of Ithilien. And yet..... I cannot deny these powers of their existence and their part to play....... but why is it..... that this is all.... so repetitive, I wonder?"

Abrazan's eyes glowed brighter, "The Jewels of old were good, held hostage by the Enemy. The Rings of the Eldar are withstanding the influence of.... the Shadow of the East........ but it was Guldrambor who truly began all of this............... the repetitiveness.......... why are we so drawn?"

Ivordir's eyes grew wide, "The poison! It is assailing our minds! Elf and man alike! It is turning these cloaks against us!"

Abrazan shook his head, "No.... not entirely..........the maneuvers are frightfully similar............ but their substance.............there is a different from loving someone truly, and masking despair with what appears to be love............."
Edited by Ivordir, Sep 29 2015, 09:02 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCL: Fearful Beauty

Isenadin wore a deep-black tunic and flaming red cloak. He passed into Daechon's chamber. Daechon was not there. Isenadin strutted to the place of rest as he normally did, and Daechon emerged from the wardrobe in a deep black silken cloak lined with silver. He spread his cloak and dazzled Isenadin's eyes, before crossing the room, wrapping him in a deep and tender embrace, Isenadin's head bathing in Daechon's beauty.

"Come unto me, my kiss of beauty."

"...my kiss of magic. Do you find me beautiful?"

"You know that I find you beautiful."

"And do you confess to see my beauty?"

"I do confess to see your beauty."

"And do you revel in the gaze of my eyes?"

"I revel in the gaze of your eyes."

"And shall you come and fly in dreams with me?"

"I shall come and fly in dreams with you."

"..........will you do a magic trick for me?"

Daechon smiled, "Of course, my kiss of beauty."

Isenadin felt the gnawing in the back of his heart, "Dance for me, my kiss of magic."

They drank from the bile-laced wine.

Daechon turned back toward the wardrobe, his shiny, silky black reflecting behind him, pouring onto the floor. He began to spin, the cloak rising around him in streaks of silver amidst a sea of black, his silky-golden-brown hair and chin-beard flying around him. He raised his arms, silver pouring to the floor beautifully, as he enveloped Isenadin within the cloak and in a flash of light within the bile-induced vision that veiled reality, black transfigured into a glittering, shining gold, and silver into a deep, ruby red. Daechir stepped-back, his arms still outstretched, grasping the folds of his cloak. Isenadin stared at him entranced, for his hair and chin-beard had appeared even longer, as if forming a cloak that cocooned him. It was all a grand illusion: bright and brilliant and false. But the bile deceived their senses.

And now Daechon began their banter anew as he spun: "Will you then behold my deepest power?"

"I shall behold your deepest power."

"And shall you fly within my dreams?"

"I shall then fly within thy dreams."

"Then come unto me... my sweetest kiss of beauty......come and cloak with me."

Isenadin slowly felt the gnawing assail him again. He ran to Daechon, hiding against his chest, stroking his silky hair that fell from his chin. Isenadin felt himself slowly rise. He buried his head into rich ruby-red and kissed the silk, as he felt himself rising, and then the gnawing struck at him again.

The ecstasy ceased, the hallucinations ending, as Isenadin burst into cries of terror. The bile was bubbling from Daechon's throat as he gagged on the floor. The bile burned the remnants of that dark cloak into dirty, grey dust. Isenadin grabbed the remaining phials of bile, stuffed them in a sack, and fled toward the House of Malnoron.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:27 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLI: The Blood Rising from the Stones

As Isenadin ran, he saw an eagle flying above him. It was not a great eagle. It was normal for its size, and yet majestic. He halted as the eagle flew before him, spreading its wings aloft, as golden feathers suddenly melded into silver silk, as Isenadin gazed in shock. The cape passed atop his head, as he passed into its depths amidst the sound of flapping eagle's wings.

Isenadin found himself entrapped within the chamber again, Daechon shaking him. But the horror of that vision made him weep. Isenadin embraced Daechon tightly, telling him everything.

"Perform a power for me, my prince of magic..... make my terror vanish away......"

Daechon gazed at him sadly, "I am sorry.... I do not have this power, my kiss of beauty......."

Suddenly Isenadin screamed, "Their blood! Their blood! It rises from the crevices of the stone!"

Daechon shook his head, staring at the floor, but then he suddenly understood, as the terrible memory of the sacrifices flowed throughout his mind. Daechon closed his eyes, "There is something terribly wrong......... why we are seeing this, I do not know............ but we must linger in Pelargir no longer.......... and yet, I saw that same look of terror in..... Amarthon's eyes..........and his brothers......"

Isenadin nodded, "I remember........... he may have forsaken these ways as well. We must find him!"

"Keep quiet! We will need..... a special display of magic..... to aid in our departure..........we must conceal our intent. Only by traversing through the greatest danger can we prevail. We must endeavor to....... earn Saelbainor's good graces, that he may send us as "spies," to the northern lands...... only, we will be escaping."

Isenadin wept, "I'm sorry for all the evil that we've done....... so sorry.........................................."
Daechon nodded, shedding quiet tears, "As.....am I.............how is it..... that the bile is not choking us...........nor preventing us from thinking thus......................"

There was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. For there is but one Master of Visions and Dreams, who foresaw the roles that they should play, through their choices. And only One desired that through their choices, their lives might reach a truer, deeper, fulfillment.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:27 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLII: Testing Loyalty

Isenadin and Daechon entered the House of Malnoron. Malnoron was away on business.

"Magic and beauty come to me," Gurthbainor commanded. Isenadin and Daechon knelt before him. Duvaissel was there, her cloak streaming around her. Gurthbainor grimly smiled, "Come... that you may regain the strength that you have lost...... for it art within thy eyes."

Panic seized Isenadin, but Gurthbainor calmed him, "Oh my poor... fearful... confused... kiss of beauty...."

Duvaissel smiled, "You need not resist...."

Gurthbainor grinned, "And now my dearest brethren, attend me....take hold of my vestments as we process."

Isenadin took the left-fold as Daechon took the right, of that massive, billowing blackness lined with golden silk, and Duvaissel took the center, while her own similar cloak streamed behind her. They processed through the sunlit halls, streaming beams of light passing through the tall, high windows, making their cloaks glimmer. Then they passed down into the cellars. All Isenadin could do was hope, clutching onto the cloak. They processed through the throne chamber. They approached the throne as priest and priestess outspread their arms. They began to spin and twirl their cloaks as they danced around Isenadin and Daechon, as they were oft to do. Isenadin noticed that it was the sacrificial dance.

When their dance was over, they passed down the rear stairs, spiraling down into the abyss. These had once been wine-cellars.

They processed into Gurthbainor's inner sanctum, coming unto his place of rest. Isenadin and Daechon sat down, staring at them. The bile was still within their bodies. Gurthbainor declared, "You shall rest with us.......bathing in the power of our Lord's great Light..............................................oh glimmer, glimmer, glimmer gleam..................come and behold these powers so pristine.................."

Flames were licking the wood of nearby braziers. Gurthbainor and Duvaissel raised their arms, the gold falling to the floor in flaming reflections of light.

Isenadin felt the foulness of it all, despite how fair that everything had seemed. And he spoke boldly, "Why do the Gondorians fear Lord Melkor?"

"They knoweth not the greater truth," Gurthbainor retorted.

"You are not Saelbainor, Gurthbainor. I have heard your whisperings with Lord Malnoron. Let us not pretend."

The folds fall back on the floor. Gurthbainor stammered, "Rebellion! It shalt not be tolerated."

Isenadin shook his brave head, "No........it is we who are the rebels. It is we who are the traitors. I know our Lord's true name: Morgoth, the Black Foe. Why do we serve him, if legend says that he passed into the void so long ago?"

"The Eye shalt not tolerate this insolence!"

"Why do you serve Melkor? Why these sacrifices?"

"He demands -our- lifeblood in return for......"

"For....?"

"He demands -thy- blood!"

Duvaissel slowly began to gaze at Gurthbainor with estrangement.

Daechon watched it all unfold helplessly.

Isenadin did not relent, "Why? If the Lord of Mordor is so brilliant and bright, why do terrible Orcs assail our men? Why are the skies dark above the Black Land?"

Gurthbainor screamed, "ENOUGH, THOU INSOLENT!"

Isenadin caught him, "Why are you afraid?"

Gurthbainor turned, "I.....I........"

Duvaissel was holding a sheet of parchment. Her hands were trembling. She had finally mustered the courage to unveil it from beneath her robes.

The note read:

"The Master hath grown most impatient with thee, thou fool! Thou hath lost sight of thine true mission. Command art granted unto Malnoron. Bow unto the Eye, or thou shalt perish, thy spirit left bereft and naked before His Wrath! Thou art exiled from Umbar, under penalty of death."

And scrawled was the blackened signature of, "Carndrambor."

Gurthbainor shook the page madly, shouting, "TRAITORS ALL!!!!!! TRAITORS ALL!!!!!! THOU ART TRAITORS ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He fell backward on the floor, tripping on his own cloak in his flourish.

Isenadin stood nearby, gazing down at him, "You intended to sacrifice us.... did you not?"

Gurthbainor nodded, tears forming in his eyes.

Daechon reproached him, "We should all perish.... for the crimes we have committed....... drugged in the name of vanity.... beauty....magic and power....... while their blood cries from the stones, screaming against us............... no tradition can truly justify this. No tradition can truly undo the horror......................"

Gurthbainor was writhing in agony on the floor, Duvaissel collapsing beside him.

Gurthbainor muttered, "I.....I do not understand............why did Melkor betray us so!!!!!"

Isenadin slowly smiled, "What if we were worshiping the wrong god? What of the One whom the legends say made.... Melkor and all the others?"

Gurthbainor gazed at him blankly, "Where.... learned thee thus.....?"

Isenadin nodded, "I read it in a book."
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:28 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLIII: The Wages of Treason

Daechon closed his eyes, "Malnoron has likely received this letter...."

Duvaissel nodded sadly.

Saelbainor rose from the floor, ".................I art gravely confused............. the shadows......... they once seemed so beautiful........... now they hast bitten us deeply.....................exiled from Umbar, threatened with death.................... Melkor art a traitor............ Sauron art a traitor................. the One you speak of............. how couldst I dare hope to pray to one whom I hath betrayed so grievously, if betrayal I hath done so deep? So many corpses tossed in the river...... so many men, slaughtered.............. in the name of treasonous gods! I must die!"

Saelbainor drew his dagger, attempting to destroy himself in despair, but Daechon and Isenadin grabbed his arm, pulling the knife away. It glazed Isenadin's hand, but something moved them as they drove the dagger away from him. Gurthbainor's hand was rising to slay Saelbainor. Both names were of the same person. But now, it was Gurthbainor who became the falsehood.

They all wept and wailed, beating themselves harshly, crying deeply. And within themselves, they felt a power that they had never felt before, a greater strength turning to guide them. A choice remained before them: to continue in darkness, or to turn towards the light. The light in their chamber then seemed brighter, as the shadows slowly retreated. Saelbainor gazed around the room, uncertain of the future, or what to do, now that his pride had been cast away, plunged even deeper than the corpses in the river.

Saelbainor had been raised by the Masters of Umbar to serve and worship the Darkness. His world was unhinged. The treason of his Masters signified the treason of his gods. The treason of his gods signified the betrayal of everything that he had lived for. He lost his purpose, as if his cloaks had all been stripped away from him, leaving him exposed and in terror in the midst of the darkness that shrouded him. Yet the presence of the others gave him an emotion of strength that he had never felt before. One by one, he cast his lies away, as he fought his desire to slay himself. He stepped into the void, but found himself in the presence of a light that he knew that he could not bear to comprehend.

But now he had seen the reverse. The One whom the Masters had taught him to believe was evil and false, became the Truth, as the falseness of Sauron and Morgoth were exposed and cast away. He wondered why he was daring to make such a leap. But his desire for survival propelled him above all things. To conclude and clung to the truth of the contrary was the only thing he had left to do. It made him sick to his stomach. But he made within himself a promise: he would try, even if it killed him.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:28 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLIV: A Greater Escape

Duvaissel slowly stood after weeping for everything, for Morchon, for her rivals, for Saelbainor, for all their victims in the sacrifices, and for everything and everything and everything, as solemn tears flowed from her eyes. Daechon enveloped her in an embrace, as she wrapped her cloak around him, enclosing them both, as their eyes glimmered tearfully.

Saelbainor was sitting on his bed, when Isenadin suddenly poured silk atop his head. Saelbainor heard the voice, "Receive the kiss of truer, greater, and deeper beauty," as he felt compassionate lips undo his lies. Saelbainor wept anew as they embraced, wrapping their cloaks around each other.

There was a commotion upstairs. They quickly packed in haste. Daechon carried their clothing in a sack on his back. Isenadin traveled freely. Duvaissel bore the rations. Saelbainor bore the rest of it, including one of the phials of bile. The rest he left behind.

"Ah, I see that you have made travel preparations," Malnoron coldly spoke as they passed through the throne-chamber. "I believe that you have lost your favor." Malnoron's guards drew their swords. Saelbainor spoke quickly to the other youths, "Melkor and Sauron hath both betrayed us......... my former Masters hath betrayed us....... Amarthon art our sole hope. Ye among thee who would join with us and he, choose now......."

Tinnedir had remained silent throughout their meetings, disgusted at the sacrifices and at everything. Relieved to hear their former priest finally utter wisdom, he drew his sword and stood beside them. Dúon did so as well. He had fled from his Captain earlier that day, narrowly escaping his former comrades-at-arms in the alleyways of Pelargir. Dúon's association with the Haradrim had been discovered. Himelon gazed into the eyes of Rostiel, and he knew in his heart that Amanuiron had deceived them. He had seen the cruelty of Malnoron, he had known it to be cruelty, and he drew his dagger, as he and Rostiel joined the opposition. Rostiel felt a final thread of relief, deep within the marrow of her soul. She had been terrorized by the thought of blood, of terrible human sacrifices, when Himelon had told her the truth. Relief flowed through her like a river: they would die as martyrs for Gondor, if it truly was their fate to die. Limben and Gwathron stared at each other, sensing the shift in the tides, as if they were at sea. They rushed to join their former Master.

But the rest of the chamber stood tall against them. Malnoron shouted the command, but Daechon suddenly began to spin, tossing the soldiers into awkward shock and disbelief. Malnoron continued to bark, but they had all rushed out of the chamber at once, as the stunned soldiers stood as Malnoron shouted at them, claiming he would hire others, and that if they breathed a word of what they had seen, they would perish. But they soon began the chase. Saelbainor and the others managed to escape the Manor of Malnoron, to their great surprise and relief. And they fled to Daechon's Manor. Malnoron reached the gates of his Manor, to find his soldiers standing there confused. Malnoron barked, "What type of soldiering is this!"

The foremost among the soldiers declared, "Forgive us, my Lord. But we did not wish to harm the children of nobles of such reputation within this city. Word would have spread like wildfire in the brush. Your interests would have been compromised!"

Malnoron stammered in his fit of rage, and then slowly calmed himself, "You are correct. I suppose that I should thank you. But now, they have escaped, and they will cause grave damage to our interests."

The foremost soldier shook his head, "It is not my place to disagree, my Lord. You pay me, and I strive to serve you. But know this. There is still a chance to capture and destroy such traitors to our cause, so long as they remain in Pelargir."

Malnoron nodded, "Then we must bar the gates and watch the port. Go to it then."

The soldiers bowed and proceeded to divide their ranks, as they marched to secure their influence at the harbor and city gates.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:29 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLV: The Final Chase

Daechon's cloaks were kept in a sack on Isenadin's back. Himelon and Rostiel had an unpleasant and tense conversation with Rostiel's parents, along with Himelon's own, and they did not confess to Morgoth-worship. But, they did confess to Malnoron's desire to have them slain. As a result, the seeds of civil strife had been sewn, and the parents of both lover and beloved deemed that it was time to set aside their differences. Rostiel's parents vowed to raise the status of Himelon's House in the city, provided that Himelon protect their daughter. And so it was that a mutual threat managed to end a rivalry of households. Saelbainor and his escapees were provided with horses. And Malnoron's guards nigh the northern gates were ordered away under penalty of imprisonment. Rostiel's parents provided them with honorable and trustworthy guardians, in addition to horses. It was too good to be true, after the blood that they had seen, the helpless eyes of their victims, but even Himelon began to dare to hope.

With their caravan prepared, they processed down the major side-roads of the city, and through the northern gates, as Malnoron cursed the influence of his peers. But Malnoron's spies began to track and keep watch from afar, as the caravan began its seven-day journey north.

But the bearer of the letter awaited Malnoron: a darker, sinister man of Umbar, fanatical in his service to the Eye. And there were no more cloak dances. And only sacrifices. And the bile of Guldrambor was disregarded by all, save Malnoron himself, who drank it in secret. The rest were fanatically persuaded to serve the Lord of Mordor without compromise. The Shadow of the East was rising.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:29 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLVI: Uncertain Paths

The escapees all hid inside their capes around the campfire in their tent, their guards maintaining their watch on shifts outside. They reflected on the remarkable ease with which they escaped Pelargir, and how far their worlds had transformed across past several hours. It was now the deepening night of February 20th.

Saelbainor broke their silence with a sudden laugh, "So much for our plans to topple statues and thrones, poisoning cisterns, and deceiving nobles!"

Limben chuckled, "I still did not know how I would have done that...."

Gwathron smiled, "Tell me......... what will we do about Amarthon...... we cannot be certain that he and his brothers have........... discerned such treasons as we have......"

The fires burned brightly, crackling the wood in the solemn, silent air.

Isenadin gazed outward from the warm protection of Daechon's cloak, "Let us concern ourselves with this when we reach our goal even closer........... word has it that the Lady Melimir is in Tumladen, and it is likely that.......... I heard that Amarthon fled from Malnoron..................."

Saelbainor nodded, "Where learned thee thus?"

Isenadin blinked, "From some guards who had befriended me. There was quite a commotion at the House of the Silver Fist, and....."

The fire burned sadly in Saelbainor's eyes, "I fear that I may have had a hand in this.........for I am partly responsible for the mysterious disappearances of Lord Denethon and his much-maligned wife....."

Rostiel spoke sadly, "Oh..... but that is in the past now."

Duvaissel smiled, "Well spoken, my sister...." She wrapped her cape around Saelbainor, resting her head gently on his lap as he stroked her hair, as the flickering reflections of the flames danced around the tent, painting its white cloth into a dull and flickering orange. The crickets were singing outside, as the breeze blew gently through the grass. They had hidden themselves in a dell, encamped between several treeless hills, out of sight and yet not far from the northern road.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:29 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLVII: The Greater Power

Isenadin deeply sighed. His mind was broken. The world that he had known had collapsed into the abyss. And he knew not where to step, but forward, wherever that may be in the shadows that he felt surrounded him, drowning his spirit. The only constant was the cloak. It had not abandoned him. He stared around the others, huddled around the fire, careful to keep their draping cloaks away from the flame. He stared into Saelbainor's eyes across the flames. He had begun to fear those eyes in recent days. But now they seemed to calm him, with a touch of reassurance. He turned to Daechon, who smiled at him.

Suddenly Daechon stood, maintaining his distance from the flames, as the others stared at him. He spoke confidently, "I have long... studied my spare time... as a magician. I've loved the myths and legends of powerful swords and Elves since I was a younger boy. And I've ever loved the mythic tales of the Istari, traveling from land to land, hooded and cloaked in mystery. With every death we've witnessed, due to our Gondorian heritage, the norms and values within which we have been raised since we were children, I believe that, deep within our souls, grotesque and murderous fanaticism has revealed itself, in and of itself.... precisely, what it is."

The others were silently shedding tears as he spoke.

Daechon continued, "I've learned to see-through many illusions.... my parents have barely tolerated me for this fetish, if it can be called a fetish, at least until they learned how to use me for their political ends in the city, as a living, breathing attraction... a spectacle. And ah, Isenadin, my beloved kiss of beauty... my brother.... we have had deep and decent mirth together. Saelbainor, the fact remains that we were plotting such an escape, and I am most relieved, for your sake, that you are arriving..... at similar conclusions. To see one's view of the world change, over the course of a single night, is no magic trick of mine. And I have realized that we must not deceive ourselves into believing that there is nothing beyond the stars, for this reason. I..."

Daechon's arms were spontaneously raised, his silken silver lining gleaming brightly, as a deep scent of roses flowed into their noses. There were no roses in the camp, nor outside of it. They stared with widening eyes, as Daechon stared in shock, "That was no doing of mine!"

They wept anew, and this time, for relief, as they felt the epiphanic power of redemption. And when their tears were dried, Isenadin embraced the sweet-smelling folds of Daechon's cloak, burying his head within them, sweetly and deeply kissing its silky, sweet folds, as the sweet scent of sanctity filled the air. Saelbainor and Duvaissel, and Himelon and Rostiel, were embracing each other tightly, followed by a stream of sweet, chaste kisses. It was said that even the soldiers in their tents could smell it.

And Daechon spoke, without a single thought running through his mind: "The dead have forgiven us. And now, we must live for them, offering our lives as reparation for their deaths." And joyful tears filled all their eyes.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:30 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLVIII: Glimmering Dreams

It was finally time for sleep. Isenadin yawned. He crawled into the cavern formed by Daechon's cloak, resting himself in fiery silver silk. He cuddled warmly in the cloak, and fell asleep.

He dreamed the eastern skies were dark, save for the moonlight that defied the shadows. He beheld a cloaked figure walking before him, beckoning him to follow. They reached a tall, high rampart. Neither of them uttered a single word.

Daechon turned, the interior of his cloak shifting iridescently between colors, glowing brighter and brighter, ruby, orange, gold, azure, emerald, until it turned into a bright silver, as the cloak appeared to spread wider and vaster, flowing ever smoother. The scent of roses filled Isenadin's lungs. They embraced as Isenadin vanished into the cloak, experiencing each color. Then it turned into a deep, molten gold. Isenadin kissed into it ecstatically. And then he was forced to retreat.

Daechon was blindingly bright as his raised arms spread his cloak, as it grew ever vast, as he was transfigured and transformed. The golden eagle flew around the ramparts, until it landed once more, transforming back into Daechon. Isenadin ran to him, disappearing inside the cloak. He felt himself flying.

Then his feet were on the street before the rampart. Daechon grinned, spreading his cloak, and it grew longer and wider, as it flowed through the street before him, as he turned and suddenly leaped from the rampart. Isenadin ran and leaped after him, landing on a golden-feathered eagle, as wide and vast as the Great Eagles of northern legend. He clutched its neck-feathers as they flew in the direction of the stars.

He awoke with a startle. Barely an hour had passed, and the fire had burned low. Isenadin slowly fell back asleep. He slept peacefully and soundly for the first time in months.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:31 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLIX: Recruitment

And in Tumladen, Arhbaineth and Sainion had reached the place they sought, and there were no snows in the Vale, for Mordor loomed ever nearer. And they had spoken as far as they were allowed to speak, with Circhon's father. And then they spoke with Circhon, intelligent and strong.

Circhon was eager to march into Ithilien on his Lord-Father's behalf. He wore robes of olive green and pale brown. Their manor was similar to many Gondorian manors, in white marble architecture, and in its banners of the White Tree and other Sigils of the Kingdom.

And now it was the night of the 20th.
Edited by Ivordir, Dec 6 2015, 12:45 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLIX: Miraculous Dawn

On the northern road, before the dawn of sunlight, Isenadin awoke with blessed eyes, staring into Daechon's blessed, warm, gentle eyes. He was wrapped in the cloak as if safe within the nest of a mother hen. Daechon stared at him warmly, into his warm eyes. "Come and rest," he spoke gently. Isenadin reclined on Daechon's chest, staring at the pale red ceiling of the tent. Daechon gently stroked Isenadin's silky hair, streaming down and beside him. Daechon's caress grew stronger, firmer, and ever more tender, as he spoke:

"Many a brave man visited me in my dreams...."

Isenadin had had other dreams that followed the eagle's flight, "So have I....."

They had both dreamed that they had been reconciled with the victims of sacrifice, the people they had feigned to befriend, only to lead unto an endless abyss.

When Duvaissel and Saelbainor awoke, and Himelon and Rostiel, they all confessed to similar dreams. They sang an old Gondorian lament that they had learned from their youth, watering the floor with penitent tears. And suddenly, as they felt moved to depart the tent and view the sunrise, the rays of flaming colors spreading across the sky as if a vast cloak, they felt renewed, their spirits raised, as they sang a hymn of praise, of gratitude, to greet the sunrise. And as they sang, they all found they could look straight into the light of the sun, their eyes were not blinded, as a spectrum of colors flowed around the sun as if a majestic river, a stream of rainbows. Then the sun began to hurt their eyes as they swiftly turned away. They returned into the tent with the awe of sublimity still striking their eyes. They did not speak, for the power they had witnessed had rendered them speechless.

And swiftly did they return beneath the folds of each others' cloaks, as they gently rested with each other, the glorious and mysterious scent of roses filling their lungs again.

Isenadin gazed upward at Daechon, turning around, and tendering kissing him on the cheek. Daechon responded in kind, as they embraced each other ever tighter.
Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:31 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLX: Pelargir of Castamir

"Do you know where they fled?" Malnoron slapped the silk-trader across the face. "I raised you from nothing.... I made you great. I would be most lucrative for our arrangement, if you would just cooperate!"

"I will never betray my son......... not all the silk and money in the world is worth it."

Malnoron laughed, as the Sorcerer appeared alongside him, "Then your assets shall be seized. Your trading partners shall be ours. And you, my dear friend, shall behold what became of thy commodities!"

They hauled him before the statue of Morgoth, the Sorcerer recited the words, and the others watched as Isenadin's father's blood flowed down the altar-steps.
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Ivordir

Chapter CCLXI: Brothers of the Silver Swan

Lord Ballithor strode into his manse in Dol Amroth. He had taken his time in his return ride from Ost Anglebed. He greeted his younger sons. Celegon awaited his father, Brastor. Morfinnor and Bainor bowed before their Lord-Father. Ballithor turned to Morfinnor, "I name thee as my Heir, my son, should your brother not return."

"What has become of him?"

"Baralinor has yet to prove his manhood, or die trying. But you shall not fail me, my son."

Bainor blinked, "How speak you so?"

"Watch your tongue," Ballithor barked. "Baralinor has greatly failed us...."

"He has ever tried his best," Morfinnor retorted.

"NOT ENOUGH!" Ballithor stammered. "You shall not protest thy new position, lest I force it upon thy brother. Now leave us!"

It was a pleasant reunion. The heirs of the Silver Swan parted to their chambers.

Brastor scowled, "And now, yer will pay me back, for all them terrible leagues!"

"Patience, my brother. Patience," Ballithor retorted, ruffling papers on his table in his tower. "You shall be well compensated. First, we must contend with the likes of Sainon and his ilk. We have his son as our captive, and therefore, Sainon must bow unto our whims."

Brastor curtly nodded.

Ballithor continued, "We must prepare our counter-influence in the Court of the Prince."
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 6 2015, 09:28 PM.
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