Xaris slowly opened his eyes to see Aelistae walking away, the life that he was surely going to leave now coming back to him slowly but surely. He sat up, and looked around. The moment before he remembered Bolikar about to kill him, now he layed in a heap on the ground. He sat up to see aelistae now sitting over a horse, healing it, while the dead all around lay motionless, the only survivors the ones from his party. But he hears voices, one of Linnix, which made him smile and another female. The conversation he heard made his hart start racing, as anger built up again. Who is this woman to claim these kills, acting so with such arragonce. He looked back to aelistae only to see her collapse over, and quickly with a worried rush Xaris got up, not retrieving his sword goes to Aelistae's side.

He collapsed over her, his body barely even covering half of hers, and worried as she lay unconcious. He did not know what was happening to her, maybe she was dieying infront of him or just passed out, but Xaris could not lose one of his friends after so much fighting.

" Aelistae, get up!" He shook her frame, and tapped her cheeks trying to ge her up, her roughed up look not making the situation better. "Aelistae, come on you need to get up!" He shook her some more, each time getting more fustrated until it happened. He tried to shake her some more and then grabbed her by the head, holding her still, talking. He was about to give up when his hands started to glow and tears welted up inside him, and an immense pain growing deep in his chest. Slowly the wave of blueish white spread from his palms, to his fingertips, and into Aelistae herself, bathing her for a few moments. After it was over, he sat back quickly, looking at his hands. What had happened, and how did he do it? He felt an overwelming sense of emotion and then pain, and then he noticed it. Aelistaes eyes fluttered, and she started to move again. He just sat there in amazement and watched her regroup.


(using 1 of my HP to have aelistae gain 2 and also regain conciousness[we've talked over msn and all of our stuff jives ;D])

"Just shut up." Linnix says sharply, cutting the woman's rant short, "So, let me get this straight. You are that stupid sniper from earlier that shot at my sister, moseying about like some thief, and you expect us to just stand aside and let you take everything for yourself when you're not one of the people who nearly died in this conflict? Who do you think you are? You have a lot of nerve, and no sense. It's disgraceful; my sister, what you'd call a drow, is capable of more courteousness and politeness than any elf I've met so far in my life."

Linnix snorts, "You remind me of this stuck-up woman who believed herself to be some sort of angel. Don't kid yourself as being some sort of hero; if you were so heroic, you'd be in the front line, paying for the reward with blood. Don't worry, you'll get your proper share, but nothing more. You do not gain without loss. One would think, having lived so long, an elf would know this. Apparently not."

"Just shut up." Linnix says sharply, cutting the woman's rant short, "So, let me get this straight. You are that stupid sniper from earlier that shot at my sister...
Elendil turns back on the young woman, "I will forgive your hasty words, for you are injured. First, I was shooting at the enemy trying to shut the gates, Second I shot only at Goblins, Orcs Gnolls, Bolikar, and Drow. If your sister got in the way I am sorry.”

“moseying about like some thief, and you expect us to just stand aside and let you take everything for yourself when you're not one of the people who nearly died in this conflict?
"If I wanted to steal anything I would have snuck in and out of here without you even noticing. As it was I walked in openly and was making sure all were dead." She disliled being called a thief, it rankled.

"You are worried about Loot? All you care about is the monetary value things, but for me it is evidence. Evidence that could help piece together why the Drow was working with Bolikar."

"Who do you think you are? You have a lot of nerve, and no sense.
"Seems to me I gave you my name and why I am here. You, as yet, have not done the same."

It's disgraceful; my sister, what you'd call a Drow, is capable of more courteousness and politeness than any elf I've met so far in my life."

Linnix snorts, "You remind me of this stuck-up woman who believed herself to be some sort of angel. Don't kid yourself as being some sort of hero; if you were so heroic, you'd be in the front line, paying for the reward with blood. Don't worry, you'll get your proper share, but nothing more. You do not gain without loss. One would think, having lived so long, an elf would know this. Apparently not."
Now it is Elendil’s turn to look astonished. She points back to the Drow she had dropped. “That witch is your sister?!” Elendil ignors the rest of Linnix’s ranting staring at the girl in disbelief. She and Bronwyn had been fighting, hiding, rescuing, and running from the Goblins and Gnolls for some time, Elendil had emptied her heal belt to stay on her feet. She did not understand the bit about angel and hero , but as for a paying by blood, she had.

She gave Linnix a final look, “There were many front lines in this battle.” It was a simple flat statement beyond which she would say not more, the girl was irrational, anyone who claimed the Drow witch as a sister, had to be. She then turned to locate Bronwyn.

"No. That spider-kisser isn't my sister." Linnix says simply, and she looks over toward the form of Aelistae, "She is, and you'll find that she follows a different path than the other."

Concern returns to Linnix's eyes. What happened? She seemed alright a moment ago.
"On another note, I wouldn't bother with much in the way of 'material evidence'; items are items, and can come from many places. Messages of intent, perhaps you might be after such things, but I doubt she'd be foolish enough to carry those with her. It just sounds like an excuse." Linnix adds before rushing to Aelistae's side.

Bronwyn was focused on Fate as she discharged her three charges in her belt one by one. From not too far off she hears, "You! I can see you. Dismiss your illusion and let the rest see you! Like we asked of your colleague, who are you and what are you doing?"

Bronwyn turned her head only to regard the man who seemed to be looking directly at her, though she was still invisible, she frowned a bit but continued healing Fate.

However, not wanting to draw any mistaken attack on herself or Fate. Bronwyn spoke briefly, “Names can wait, sir, Fate cannot. Now let me work to save him..”

"She laid a comforting hand on Fate’s head gently smoothing back sweaty and blood soaked lock of hair that fell over his face. “Be at ease. I am here to for you.”

Bronwyn’s grandmother had taught her the simple healing arts of the farm used on people and animals. She always said a kind word and just being their was a great boost to the ill and injured as good as salves and potions, be it the farm cat having kittens, a cow struggling to birth a calf, or her sister-in-law giving birth to her nephew. She had helped to treat them all. At one time she thought she might have taken up the healing arts and served the Goddess as a cleric, but then the magic awoke in her when she just begin puberty.

Then she heard, Elendil speak to the man as she made her way over to where Bronwyn crouched beside Fate.

"Elendil comes and will help me get you to a place of safety." Bronwyn tells Fate, though she is not sure how much he can hear or understand.

"You there, Sir," Bronwyn calls out to the man standing nearby who had demanded her name, "if you have nothing better to do, why don't you come over here and help us."

The cacophony of battle fell away after the climatic note of Skull Crusher’s blade ringing against the stone worked floor of the keep. As the dust settled, Dylan timidly raised his head. Slowly he got up from his violin, which he had been shielding with his body. His eyes locked onto Bolikar’s body, and a swelling feeling of jubilation rose in his chest. Just behind the victorious joy followed his consciousness. JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? however loud it would shout, it was no match for the giddy sensation of being alive against reasonable odds.

CHARGING UP TO A THING LIKE THAT WITH NOTHING BUT A RAPIE- Dylan glanced down into his right hand with some confusion. That was, of course, the same hand he used to drag Aelistae and himself to their deaths, so where was the rapier? Dylan glanced over his shoulder, Somewhere back there. He picked up his violin bow and sheathed it, but when attempting to do the same to the instrument’s body he came across some difficulty. Was there anything he hadn’t thrown yet?

Motion to his right turned his attention to the now fainting drow and the little gnome who had regained consciousness. Xaris leapt onto Aelistae, despite his crippling injuries, and tried to get her up, not knowing whether she was dead or not. The bard tried to speak, but found his voice a little hoarse from his shouting. He coughed to clear his throat and began again, “It’s okay, she’s just-” But the panicked gnome wouldn’t have any reassurances. After some persuading, the drow came back to the world of the conscious, but remained unable to see.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to fix your eyes, Aelistae, but I can finish off your work here with Xaris. Hold still, o mighty champion of the gnomes.” Dylan knelt behind Xaris and sung a spell of healing, drawing positive energy into his hands with the notes. He then poured the gathered energy into the warrior’s body, which spread quickly to re-knit muscle, bones, tissue, and flesh back together. For the damage that his body sustained, there was no where near enough energy to put it all back together again, but it was a start. (Cure Moderate Wounds, my last of 2 second level spells)

Dylan set his hand into his belt pouch and found the wand exactly where it should be. There was at least one thing that had been properly put away, it seemed. He aimed at Xaris and spoke, “Coia.”

Then he moved onto Aelistae, right next to him the gnome. He paused for a second. She would know if the command word was elven. “Coia,” and moved on.

He found Linnix arguing with a strange elven woman. “Do you see this Drow,” with a quick stabbing motion she uses her sword to point at the Drow crumpled on the ground, “That is my arrow that pierced her dark heart and now she had improved her lot, for I'quelin Mori'Quessier naa ba Mori'Quessir. ” She cocks her head to see if the girl understands elven. Dylan guessed that there was an elven proverb in there about their dark-skinned cousins, but didn’t know enough of the language to understand.

“Do you see that burned giant Orc, its was my companion’s fireball that took him off the battlements.”

“I have every right to be here and loot the one I have taken down. I was sent for information and I will get it.”
Dylan pondered this information for a moment, eventually coming to a definitive conclusion. I don’t know if that’s an Orc… In that moment, his cause returned to his mind, and he aimed at Linnix with his wand. “Coia.”

He let himself get stuck for a minute in the argument, but soon enough placed his wand hand on his head in mock alarm at the discourse. The matted blood and dirt in his hair drew his attention. “I am a disaster,” he said to no one, then turned to leave. Before he did so, though, he raised his wand into the air, looked to it, and addressed it most formally with some bit of wit that struck him, as a draconic proverb. He held the pose for a moment, but upon realizing that no one would be paying attention to him, dropped it.

He strode toward Artanis, “This should ease some of the burning.” He pointed the wand at her and repeated the command word. This time there was no warm glow of energy flooding from the tip. In his experimentation with the supposedly elven command word, he had found an inflection so foreign that it didn’t register. Dylan returned to the blunt and direct phonetic pattern he had used to begin with, abandoning his attempts to flourish his healing with an elvish accent.

The slipcase for his violin lay discarded and relatively unsoiled. Dylan quickly descended upon it and returned his instrument to its proper travel position. Tracing his path with his eyes to the gnoll that had died to cushion Aelistae’s fall, then to where he dropped the rapier. His eyes lit up when he finally found the last of his possessions, and waded over to retrieve it.

With a sense of satisfaction, the virtuoso violinist looked over the field again. Man, that was worthy of an epic. He habitually ran his hand through his hair, then stopped short. “I am a tragedy.”

“…Get up!”

A voice echoed from somewhere in the distance. It sounded urgent, important even, but she could not find its source. The world was bathed in shadow and Aelistae was like a snuffed candle within it – any memory of ever being lit fading rapidly away.

“I’m tired, I need to rest, just…just for a minute…” she stammered in answer, her voice sounding strangely hollow to her ears.

“…Get up! …Life…life…” the voice murmured once more, its tones descending into a musical dirge.

“I…I can’t!” she shouted back, but if the voice heard, there was no sign. She shouted once more, feeling a sense of loss without that voice to guide her. But all she could hear was a faint whisper, the feel of something being pressed to her lips, and then…
Then the world exploded into light.

It was beautiful. A kaleidoscope of simmering blues, deep purples and twinkling silvers that seemed to dance before her eyes. And when their dance ended and the colours finally lost their brilliant lustre, the perfect stillness of the waning moon in the night sky remained.

“Bel’la lil’Quar’Valsharess,” Aelistae murmured in thanks. Her voice was no longer drunk with the disease that had burdened her. But, more than that, she could see.

Xaris was bent over her, a concerned look upon his face as his tiny arms cradled her head. Dylan stood nearby, his head cocked questioningly. And she could see Linnix in the distance glance worriedly in her direction.

“It’s alright…I’m alright now…” Aelistae managed to say as she climbed carefully to her feet. Underneath those simple words, however, she was genuinely touched by the care shown towards her by her companions. There few surface creatures who would dare to trust, let alone befriend, a drow. Yet without Dylan, Xaris and all the others she knew she would have died.

“I…thank you, all of you. I owe you my life…” the Eilistraeyn started to say, only for her words to be drowned out by a sudden shout in Elvish. “L'quelin Mori'Quessier naa ba Mori'Quessir” – “The best drow is a dead drow.”

Aelistae brushed errant strands of hair from out of her violet eyes, and tucked them behind her right ear as she turned towards the source of the shout. It was a woman – an elf – whom she had never seen before, brutally ripping every item and every piece of clothing from the body of the dead Lolthite. Linnix was arguing with her, and the elf was sniping back, every word laced, it seemed, with arrogance and venom. But it was that first statement she had heard that had caught Aelistae’s attention, and which sent a cold fury running through her.

“L'alurl Ilythiiri zhah natha elghinyrr Ilythiiri,” she repeated in Drow, shaking her head as each syllable rolled off her tongue. Aelistae tried to turn away, tried to calm herself by picking up her sword and seeing if her friends were all well. But the words burned in her mind until they were all she could hear. Soon she found herself stalking towards the elf. There were some slights that could not be forgotten.

“You sound like a Matron Mother,” Aelistae commented in the Common trade tongue of the Surface, as she neared the elf. “‘The best Drow is a dead Drow’ or ‘The best Fairy is lying upon an altar to Lolth’? Is there any difference? Both are rooted in hatreds that feed off one another: Aryvaandar against Miyeritar; Illythiiri against Aryvaandari; traitors against surfacers; the exiled against those who cast them down. Can you really be my judge? Is your blood so pure that you can condemn all of mine? Do you claim to know what lies in my heart or in my soul?”

It was all Aelistae could do to keep herself from striking the elf. Her slight frame trembled with rage, and her hand was clenched to tightly upon her blade that her knuckles strained through her flesh. “Or should I be your judge? An elf swooping down after a battle to pillage what she can from the fallen; a vulture stripping the dead of all belongings like an animal; an individual so crude that she dares to label my friends N’Tel’Quess – ‘not people’. Should I strike you down? Should I take vengeance for all my kinsmen that your kind have slain?”

“No,” Aelistae continued after a moment’s pause, and after she had sheathed her sword, “because I am not those people. I am not what you think me to be. I have never harmed one of my surface cousins in anger, and I will not break that holy oath for you.”

“Lay down those items you stole. You have no authority here. That man is now Lord here, and you are in his home, stealing his property,” the drow priestess added, with a quick gesture at Bart who was standing nearby. “But more than that, that woman whose naked corpse you slobber over was my kinsman as well as my enemy, my sister as well as my greatest foe. Even in death she deserves some dignity.”

“Lay those items down, and we can discuss what happened here. We all have stories to tell I think. And after they have been told, and you have the information that you seek, we can go our separate ways in peace. Or we can fight, and I can kill you. What would you rather do?”

The reason the Drow that came stalking towards her was not dead was that Elendil's constant alertness caught sight of the symbol of Elistraee on a brooch that the Drow woman wore.

“You sound like a Matron Mother,” Aelistae commented in the Common trade tongue of the Surface, as she neared the elf. “‘The best Drow is a dead Drow’ or ‘The best Fairy is lying upon an altar to Lolth’? Is there any difference? Both are rooted in hatreds that feed off one another: Aryvaandar against Miyeritar; Illythiiri against Aryvaandari; traitors against surfacers; the exiled against those who cast them down. Can you really be my judge? Is your blood so pure that you can condemn all of mine? Do you claim to know what lies in my heart or in my soul?”
Elendil could say yes as to pure bloodlines, but it would not matter to this angry young woman. As Corellon was her god, and Corellon was the Father of Elistraee, having sent her with her mother Lolth to insure that Drow would have a choice of a good deity, she could respect the followers of Elistraee. This young woman had made up her mind that Elendil could not make the distinction, the Drow was blaming her for doing the same thing the Drow was now doing to Elendil, assuming.

It was all Aelistae could do to keep herself from striking the elf. Her slight frame trembled with rage, her hand was clenched to tightly upon her blade that her knuckles strained through her flesh as she spoke, “Or should I be your judge? An elf swooping down after a battle to pillage what she can from the fallen; a vulture stripping the dead of all belongings like an animal; an individual so crude that she dares to label my friends N’Tel’Quess – ‘not people’. Should I strike you down? Should I take vengeance for all my kinsmen that your kind have slain?”
Elendil held back a retort that the same could be said for her side, but that would not help the problem. The Drow was overwrought talk to her would be worthless, but one correction she did make, “N’Tel’Quess means “Not Elf.”

“No,” Aelistae continued after a moment’s pause, and after she had sheathed her sword, “because I am not those people. I am not what you think me to be. I have never harmed one of my surface cousins in anger, and I will not break that holy oath for you.”
Why did the Elistraeen assume that Elendil, who had already stayed her hand, even with her sword ready, would mean to do further violence to the Drow follower of the Dark Maiden, she had to wonder.

“Lay down those items you stole. You have no authority here. That man is now Lord here, and you are in his home, stealing his property,” the Drow priestess added, with a quick gesture at Bart who was standing nearby amid the dead. “But more than that, that woman whose naked corpse you slobber over was my kinsman as well as my enemy, my sister as well as my greatest foe. Even in death she deserves some dignity.”

“Lay those items down, and we can discuss what happened here. We all have stories to tell I think. And after they have been told, and you have the information that you seek, we can go our separate ways in peace. Or we can fight, and I can kill you. What would you rather do?”
She listened to the woman and added it to what the other female had said. Elendil was seething, her body became more rigid, her pupils contracted, her face was set in a mask of cold indifference. Her mother and father would have recognized it in an instant, knowing when their daughter had come to a position where there was great pique, indignation at the accusations of thievery, of slobbering of all things, and desecrating a dead Drow follower of Lolth, by the admission of this Drow Elistraeen. And what did Drow do when they had Light Elves’ bodies she thought angrily to herself? Her eyes flashied on the words, Even in death she deserves some dignity.

Elendil had not burned or carved holy symbols on the body of the victim, she did not spit or splash them with other bodily fluids. Elendil had not dismembered the Lotlite or fed her to a raving mad deity, yet all those things had been done to Light Elves in the hands of the Drow.

If this Drow had heard the saying; The best Drow is a dead Drow, then did she not hear what Elendil had told the other female about evidence. It seemed not or the Drow had ignored that part hearing only what she wanted to.

In silence, Elendil drops everything she had carefully gathered from the dead Drow one by one it in front of the Elistraeen facing her.

This young woman clearly, like the other, was overwrought and not listening to reason. Words would do nothing to change her manner. Elendil remain silent and stared at her for a moment more. They had both prejudged her in a far more derogatory light than she had of them, even as the Drow spoke of Elendil’s misjudgments the Elistraeen was misjudging her

She turns away when she hears Bronwyn call out, a sudden flash of pain at her too rapid twisting of unhealed wounds causes her to wince, as she looks for Bronwyn and does not see her.

“Bronwyn, reveal yourself!” When Elendil can see the young mage she heads towards her. “As soon as he is able, we will leave. We were not in the forefront of the fighting. We have no claim to anything here. I am a thief and a desecrater of the dead Drow.” She clips the words out in a voice meant only for Bronwyn.

For now, Eledil focuses her anger on the bodies of the goblins as she begins to throw off the dead to free Fate, ignoring any further pain. If the either of the young women had really looked at her, instead of ranting angrily at her they might have noticed a number of bloody gashes in her clothes and armor, the type a fighter gets when they are attacked.

Pain allowed her to use her anger and put it to good use, it was something she had had to learn to deal with. For an elf, she had a fiery temper. Learning to control it had been a major obstacle in her life, it was one of the reasons she ended up choosing to be a Ranger. In a sense was running away, but it also gave her time alone to work controlling her vexations. Oh, many of them were of her own making, as she was a perfectionist. As a child, she had wanted to impress her impressive parents by being an Elf among Elves. She was her own worse critic. Many of her tempers were aimed at herself. In time, with the aid and counsel of a friend she learned to accept herself and control her temper. As Arylon, a sage friend to a young elf in need, had wisely explained to her, “Identify what is causing the anger and endeavor to fix it, it you can not fix it, then turn from it. Anger must not rule you, but you must rule your anger. Well there was no way to change the misjudgments of the young women, so she had done what Arylon advised.

She reaches for another body to heave aside until Fate is clear.

Atharam felt like his brain had been knocked loose from the impact against the giant, having been flung head-over-heels as Raykel slammed into him. His helmet flew from his head to clatter across the bloodstained courtyard, his sword slipped from his fingers to land near his prone body. He felt numb all over, and hoped dearly that nothing was broken as he pushed himself to his knees.

A shake of his head tossed his hair out of his eyes, which were still seeing stars, and he groped about in the gore for his sword hilt. He felt it before he could see it, and the paladin closed his fingers about it, pushing himself to his feet. Miraculously, his left arm hadn’t been mangled by the awkward angle created by his shield, which still remained fastened to his arm. Rising tall, he stumbled momentarily, shaking the cotton out of his head, and trying to focus on what was going on.

The next events were a blur, seeing the cloudy figure of Bolikar rising to his feet once again. But his back was turned, and even for a creature so vile, Atharam’s code of honour applied. Honour or death. He would not hit from behind. Rather, he picked his way through the broken bodies as fast as he could, his eyes on the monstrous figure of the warlord, looking for an opening.

His chance for glory in the name of Helm was robbed from him, however, as a great blast of stunning energy felled the creature, slamming it in the chest and taking it to the ground where it would fail to rise up again. Atharam clenched his jaw, cursing himself for taking too long to act after his fall. But the objective was cleared nonetheless. Bolikar had been slain.

Now, the concern was his companions. It was very likely that injuries abounded among them, and even Atharam himself was hurting. The damage inflicted upon his body faded to nothingness, and he very nearly dropped his sword at what he saw.

Charger had been lain low by the giant that was Bolikar, and the horse was bleeding to death on the ground. But…the blood was slowing, the wound stitching shut as some sort of magic closed the monstrous wound. The magic supplied by a Drow.

What could she hope to gain from this? His thoughts were flustered and confused. Does she hope to steal Charger from Hawkrill? I don’t think so…
The knight tightened his grip on his sword and took a step forwards, just in time to see the dark-skinned elf collapse to the ground, seemingly unconscious. Had she just given up her energy to heal a mount that belonged to them? Those who would assault the keep without regards to their own well-being to liberate it from darkness? Impossible…

His eyes closed slowly, and Atharam drew upon his Helm-given gift. “Show me the true way…” He whispered, opening his eyes to view the scene from a new perspective. His sight never failed when he searched for a heart of darkness…and this Drow did not possess one. Had…his teachings in the temple been wrong? He had learned since his days as a squire that all dark elves were bitter creatures of evil, bent only on the mindless slaughter of all those who would embrace the light of the world. This elf…she had not only acted differently, but she did not reveal the darkness said to be resident within all of their race…

Taking a slow step forward, Atharam looked down at her body, drawing soft, staggered breaths. Had she shown him the legendary evil…he could end it all right now. One quick slash could lop the head from her helpless body. One thrust of his blade could sever her heart from the arteries…

He rotated the blade in his grip.

One swing…

Atharam sighed, and shoved the sword into its scabbard. This would require some thought, and he hoped that his reluctance to execute her where she lay would not become a curse upon him.

Striding past, he sought out Hawkrill and Seleyon, calling the two to his side with a raised fist and a beckoning call. He turned his back on the other survivors, who were picking their way throughout the dead and among each other, and met with his allies. They’d stood by him despite the calamity that ensued this day. While he would later seek council with those others, his companions were the first and foremost concern to the knight.

“A victory has been secured this day.” Atharam declared to the duo, who stood battered and beaten, side by side. But yet…an overwhelming feeling of pride radiated from the trio. From the knight, in admiration for his followers. From the squire, for standing strong amidst the danger. From the scout, for holding her ground throughout overwhelming odds. “The keep is in the hands of freedom now. I am proud of you both, for not falling, for heeding my words, despite the chaos. For standing strong, even when we were split apart. The strength of heroes flows in your blood, and I could not ask for better companions to take to battle by my side. Helm has truly blessed us this day!” He slammed a clenched fist against his bloody breastplate, as did his allies.

“For the glory of Helm!” The shouted in unison.

The sound of a heated dispute from across the yard turned Atharam’s head, and he spotted an elf arguing with those who had fought this same siege as did the knight. Though the basis of it was unknown to him, it was clear that tempers were flaring, and the last thing needed here was for the survivors to draw arms against once-another. Much to his surprise, he spotted the Drow who had healed Charger standing among them. How she got back up so quickly was not clear to him, but that was irrelevant at the moment.

“Tend to the horses. Check them for injuries. Hawkrill,” Atharam looked his squire in the eyes. “If you can, treat their wounds. Us three are not the only ones to be wounded in this turmoil.”

“Yes sir!” Hawkrill said with enthusiasm, as best as could be mustered from the injured lad, and set off with Seleyon at his side, eager to please his lord once more.

Alone, Atharam strode across the yard, slinging his shield onto his back to pin his dirtied cape against his body. The servant of Justice, he would do what was needed to silence this conflict. Unity must be found before blood be shed once more.

“Enough!” He bellowed with his approach to the cluster of arguing personalities. From what he picked up of the debate upon his nearing, it seemed to involve something of belongings of the dead, and their new ownership. “We have won a great victory here! That much cannot be disputed, no matter the perspective. We should embrace this hard-fought battle in which we all shed our sweat and blood.”

He stopped, standing a few feet apart from the Drow who had so quickly gotten back up from her blackout. His steel-grey eyes surveyed everybody as he stood tall, back-straight and shoulders squared. “Should petty ownership of material things shatter this? I know not why any of you came to this place, this day. Nor will I pretend to. But it is quite clear that if greed is the reason for your arrival, it was not for the good and well-being of those who require liberation from this tyrant and his army of evil.”

Atharam’s eyes dropped to the dead Drow on the ground, and assumed that it was largely the subject of the arguments going on here. He gestured at it, a struggle going on in his mind. But…despite stereotypes, the Drow beside him had healed his companion’s horse, and the favour must be returned. “While she may be dead, she still deserves proper funerary rites by her kindred, if she should so wish to bestow them. The decision is hers, and hers alone. I am certain that were an elf felled in a like situation,” Atharam looked straight at Elendil. “That you would seek the same honour for her. As would any of us to our own kind. If she,” He now nodded at Aelistae, though did not make eye contact. “Wishes any such rites and rituals completed, then she will be entitled to them. By Helm’s hand of the just, I shall ensure it.” He lay a hand upon his hilt, severally hoping that it need not leave its sheath again, save to be cleaned.

“If greed is your motivator, to any of you, take what you wish and be gone from these defiled walls. The keep requires cleansing and a blessing, which my party shall tend to, and then, as we were dispatched to do, a garrison shall be established to prevent any further occupations by the minions of evil.” Atharam’s eyes scanned the crowd. “If any here wish to challenge this, I suggest you present your case, or hold silent. Helm has guided us through this battle, and Helm shall ensure that it never again falls.”

A hand at his sword, the other at his belt, the knight stood a proud, regal figure, even coated in blood and grime from the fighting. “My name is Atharam Marquel. I would ask your names in kind so that we may be civil about any further debates. But I give warning, I am a keeper of justice, and the moment anybody draws arms to settle what words can resolve, I will match your act and respond in kind.”

Enough!” cried a fully armored warrior. “We have won a great victory here! That much cannot be disputed, no matter the perspective. We should embrace this hard-fought battle in which we all shed our sweat and blood.”

He stopped, standing a few feet apart from the Drow who had so quickly gotten back up from her blackout. His steel-grey eyes surveyed everybody as he stood tall, back-straight and shoulders squared. “Should petty ownership of material things shatter this? I know not why any of you came to this place, this day. Nor will I pretend to. But it is quite clear that if greed is the reason for your arrival, it was not for the good and well-being of those who require liberation from this tyrant and his army of evil.”
Oh, Corellon, not another. One more who speaks without knowing and from the tone of his words a Temple Knight or a Paladin. Elendil rolled her eyes upwards and paused to look to Bronwyn.

Was there no end to these people?

One by one the items taken from the Lolthite fell to the earth. They fell in an undignified heap, except for one delicate blouse that was taken up for a moment by a gust of wind. Aelistae watched entranced as the beautiful, dancing, gossamer strands of the garment were lit for a moment by shafts of moonlight, until suddenly the wind died, the moon disappeared behind a cloud, and the blouse faded to the earth.

‘We’re capable of such beauty,’ she ruminated thoughtfully as she bent to pick up the piece of clothing. ‘And such cruelty,’ she added as her fingers found the brutal tear made in it by the Elendil’s knife.

“Enough!” a new voice bellowed in a deep bass, even as the elf who had dropped the items turned and walked away. “We have won a great victory here! That much cannot be disputed, no matter the perspective. We should embrace this hard-fought battle in which we all shed our sweat and blood.”

Aelistae had thought when she had first heard the voice speak that it would be the source of another confrontation. But she couldn’t argue with the sentiment it expressed. She turned and found herself staring into a breastplate of steel that had been burnished so brightly she could see her own reflection. Her wide, nocturnal eyes, the angular beauty of her face, the dark, red lips – all were there reflected back to her, even if their looks was marred somewhat by the cuts and scrapes she had collected in the battle.

Her eye drifted upwards further to meet the stare of a man who stood a full head taller than she, and who wore the same signs of fatigue and battle as Aelistae.

‘The man upon the horse,’ the drow priestess realized, as the figure talked nobly of the unimportance of greed and of allowing Aelistae the chance to perform ‘proper funery rites’. If that resulted in an appreciative nod from Aelistae, however, what he continued to say about establishing a garrison at the keep caused her to cock her head questioningly.

“Forgive me, I am Aelistae D’Vrann, Blade Sister of Eilistraee and Darksong Knight,” she responded with a nod at the large male after he had introduced himself as Atharam. “I had thought you were one of the rival groups…but you are not are you? I don’t see any of the other sponsors with you, and you don’t seem to know who we are….”

Aelistae pursed her lips thoughtfully. “We,” she continued, with a gesture at Bart and her friends, “were sent by your Matron – Queen – Zaranda Star Rhindaun to claim this keep back for the Humans. And…because one of us needed a home for his family and for all those looking for a fresh start in the world.”

“We were attacking the camps to the west, hoping to hit each small enclave of orc and goblin before they could gather in strength, but when we heard and saw you charging in here we…we couldn’t leave you to die alone. Even goblins have courage when they are allowed to mass on a few individuals.”

“We were lucky to survive I think. Luckier still to have help from the The Watcher*,” Aelistae added with another nod, that caused a stray strand of hair to waft before her face. “But…well we can’t leave.”


[OOC: * I figure Aelistae would know enough about Helm to know one of his titles. He is a greater deity after all, and she does have several ranks of knowledge: religion.]

“The Watcher you say?” Dylan glanced at both Aelistae and Atharam as he approached. Finished his preliminary rounds of healing he came back to join in the conversation.

“I’ll be sure to leave a little something on Helm’s altar, as well as for Tymora, next time I’m in town. Without your help I’m sure some of us would have perished here. Xaris, at least, survives because of your actions. Though some hate to admit it, the elf here deserves some mention, Miss- eh, -Grey Elf maiden.

“I am Dylan, by the way, Dylan Geiling, a musician of little consequence.” (he says modestly – actually fairly well known in a few small portions of Cormyr and the Realms)

“I don’t think we really need to worry about greed here, I’m sure most of us have learned the true value of gold by now, that is, nil, but some lords and ladies high above our ken seem to like it for its shininess and so rule the world on it. Thus we practically need it to live.” There is an undertone of irony and sarcasm in his voice, but the bard doesn’t seem overly bitter about his speech.

“I assure you I don’t believe anyone here would throw their life away to fight over something so intangible as gold.” This time he displayed a big, ironic grin at his jest. Had he been in Darromar all that time ago and indeed been interested in participating in such a venture, it is clear now exactly what sponsors he wouldn’t have chosen. As fate granted it, he landed on the appropriate path uncannily.

That the woman had completely disregarded his order to dismiss her invisibility made Talus nervous. Her companion still had her sword drawn and the argument between the elf and Linnix was even more heated now that Aelistae was up and adding her voice to the commotion. The warlock feared another fight wasn't too far away.

“Bronwyn, reveal yourself!”

Afraid that an ambush was forthcoming, Talus readied an Eldritch Blast to throw at the invisible mage should she begin canting a spell.

“As soon as he is able, we will leave. We were not in the forefront of the fighting....”

Breathing a sigh of relief the warlock dismissed the arcane energy he had summoned and circled back toward Artanis. The elf and her magic-wielding friend were making him too jumpy and now one of the knights had joined the argument group with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Checking on Artanis and Xaris seemed the only safe place to be right now.

The mage who had called out to her still stood their looking about him making no move to help or move away. Bronwyn certainly could use some help and she was not backwards about asking for some from a stranger even one who had challenge her. However revealing herself since she could see him was low on her list of things that needed doing first.

"Fellow, since you can see me and you are just standing there, why don't you help me. Then I may have some time to disspell my invisibility."

Bronwyn didn't think she was that threatening that the man might fear her especially since he could see everything she was doing. Of course he might misinterpret it, she thought thinking about his point of view. They had just been all involved in this fight and the fellow might be quite jumpy. He certainly was undecided about what to do next, it appeared from the way his eyes and heads kept swinging back and forth to various groups of others standing about the bailey of this goblin keep.

"You have nothing to fear from me," she adds, if that might persuade him that she is no threat to him. "A man is hurt over here. I could use the help."

Truly the young woman, still invisible to the others, was not physically threatening. She was a diminutive figure in sturdy long vest over woolen pants, soft boots, and woolen shirt with a thick furzed wool cloak lined in fur but unadorned with any embroidery or fancy trim. The sturdy heavy woolen clothes ere a contrast to the delicate build of the young woman. She was shorter than some elven woman and her fine features though definitely human did not fit the her plain clothes. She carried no visible weapons except a simple belt knife on her belt.

Bronwyn heard Elendil's call out, she understood what she said but not why she did. Of course they were not in the forefront of the battle. How stupid would that be; a mage, in the forefront of a battle. She knew Elendil had been eager to join in the fight against the goblins and when she saw the drow had taken her on too. But why did Elendil sound so, well, almost angry. Bronwyn turned away and continued her ministrations. "One thing at a time and then all will be finished eventually." Her Grandmother told her many times when she was young. Fate was first. His needs helped her to keep herself focused on the here and now and not on her recent fears and sadness.

"I wasn't the one trying to take everything for herself." Linnix says in response to Atharam, showing her hands, which hold nothing but her bow, "Just so you know."

Linnix winces; one would think that the crude increments of the goblins wouldn't be an issue because they're so pathetic, but they do certainly add up. She looks over toward Aelistae, seemingly more frail than Linnix had seen her before, but then again, even Xaris had been pushed to his limit, so what else could be expected?

"Thank goodness..." Linnix murmurs, letting the bow in her hands drop to the ground, before rushing forward to embrace Aelistae. Linnix's embrace is gentle, perhaps slightly hesitant, for she knows how sore her own body is.

"I... I was worried, Sister." Linnix says softly.