Aestan (mentioned)

I don't remember one moment, I tried to forget,

I lost myself, is it better not said?

Now i'm closer to the edge.

It was a thousand to one and a million to two,

Time to go down in flames and i'm taking you,

Closer to the edge.

He would never understand the way time worked. When it needed to move quickly, it slowed down. When you needed the time to fix a mistake, it raced along, unable to be caught. It was as if it actively worked to frustrate him. Too late tonight to train, so they had sat on the pier and watched the day fade to night. The wind had whipped and the ocean churned. Boiling, passionate, angry.

(( semi-useful recap of yesterday's events, from Rhosy's perspective and knowledge. Brief! Very brief! Since I couldn't find the logs from all these conversations. Intended as a personal reference more than anything, since my attempts at narrating are woefully inadequate. -.- ))

She keeps offering me tea.

I keep telling her it’s poisoned.

Jim’s trying so hard to keep me calm, in between moments where his head is buried in a bucket, emptying the contents of his stomach. I think he knows it’s not working, and I think he knows that he can’t help in his state. I think he knows, but Light bless him, he keeps trying.

Aramalia stood over her desk, a pile of partially-filled official papers to her left and an open notebook on her right.  Glancing from right to left, she copied the contents word-for-word onto the fresh parchment with a cautious hand.  Despite the late hour, her actions had energy, her eyes a focus that defied the lack of sleep that threatened to close her eyes.  She had hoped that there had been some underlying factor that could explain his actions, but no.  There could be no reason for these actions. Aramalia rolled her shoulders, not relieving any tension, but succeeding in making a number of cracks and pops.  Soon, she thought, soon…Checking for any missed details, she bound the pages together and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with red wax.  He had considered the Virtue of Compassion a weakness.  To those who would refuse compassion to others, there would be none.

General Aestan Firatril,

As requested, I have investigated the reports made by a number of citizens both within the city and within the Horde.  Based on their testimony, I regrettably inform you that I find it necessary to continue with a formal trial against Hamlen Prideux.  The list of charges includes, but is not limited to: assault, threats of violence, harassment, and attempted unlawful arrest.  Included are the testimonies I have collected detailing the events.  Be sure that these remain private and only seen by you.

Now, I have heard that the voting for the replacement Convocate of Regulation is to happen soon.  With Prideux as one of the candidates, this may cause a bit of trouble.  I trust that you within the Convocation will find a suitable solution.

Dutifully submitted,

Aramalia Solisbane, Lieutenant-Colonel

Jakobus :: Success has come to me after my latest experiment with my mentor. His need and his drive to be correct in all of aspects of his work has been challenged and will likely result in my demise, or a humorous hypothetical thereof. He is a man that likes control, and to be in control. There is no fairness between a student and their mentor, as he has told me all too often.

He had set limits and I pushed against them, so much that I could feel his frustration and angry gaze even with a door between us. It feels so wonderful to challenge authority like this. I see why Nikolai was so thrilled to be a devious man for so long.

Damage Control has been placed at a hold, to see how my dear teacher will retaliate. It's worrisome and exciting and makes my heart race. I do hope this becomes a moment that we may both learn and grow closer from. It will open up much possibility for new adventures of the mind.

 A shadow crosses the moon.

Circling, the raven colored hawk angles her wings, silhouetting against the moon once again. Dropping in the sky, not unlike a missile, she lights upon a rooftop, clattering her beak and puffing out her feathers. It was cold here, in Northrend. She dreamed of a temperate forest, a return to her people, but the silver band fastened to one of her legs pulses slightly uncomfortable warmth and reminds her of her place. She flaps her wings several times, picks around with her taloned feet, and settles, hunched like some sort of gargoyle over the city of Dalaran.

His enemies lay still, cold and silent. He'd arranged them in row upon row, after their conflict, and victory had never felt so sweet. They'd resisted, and their struggle had been a valiant one. But, one by one, he'd rooted them out of their hiding places and soon placed them alongside their fellows. And, if he was right, it would be the last battle he would fight this day. The tinker had won his war. He settled back into the chair surveying his combatants, and a relaxed, victorious sigh floated away from him.

"Spare some copper, mister?"

A filthy hand awaited outstretched to the tracker. Kuvaphiri, so loyal, raised only her nose to the fingers, sniffing at them curiously. With no offerings of food or toys, her interest vanished like a bat in the night. Her master, Eylnos 'Black Jack' Davey, was not so easy to discourage, but for other reasons.

"It's about time you made it," the hunter muttered, taking up a space on one of the finely crafted benches within Silvermoon. "How's your leg?"

Aljax, curbing his rude behavior, sighed and let his eyes fall elsewhere. "Healin'."

"Take a seat." At the very mention, both street-rat and loyal hyena planted themselves. "Here."

At no surprise was the homeless man when he was offered a flask of the hunter's poison of choice. It took no effort at all to unscrew the cap and begin nursing at the flask.

Oneska watched through the fish-eye lens of the peephole as the distortion of her fiance diminished in size, then disappeared up the winding staircase to the street. To pass the time until she could be sure he was wrapped in his cocoon of gunpowder and grease, down at the workshop, she filled a basin with water and worked on a few of the dishes that had piled up over a few busy days. So much had happened... Ranncor had proposed, at a time when the city was in a state of unrest. Lady Aramalia Solisbane had been arrested, and was in a cell awaiting trial. There was more trouble than usual from the headstrong nobles of Silvermoon, more disagreement among the convocates. Oneska herself had gotten involved, taking less of a passenger position than she had intended. All of this on top of the elaborate mystery surrounding her oldest friend's near-assassination... She felt as if she'd been tied in knots. And here she was, betrothed, and only recently finding out about her beloved's past.

The first thing she noticed as she pulled the note from the envelope, before the text, was the red smear on the surface of the page.  Aramalia shuddered, though not due to the cutting winds of Northrend that seemed more painful than any Scourge strikes.  There was something foreboding about this page, something familiar…She read on:

75, 39

Where do they come from?

Where we all must go

It’s the first rung

Time is running out

Can you feel it?

Where is your guide now?

Bring a torch

((Background theme, Silence by Delerium - please watch video at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncGSwQ3sQ9c, then listen while reading this for full effect! ))

            Silence.  Zaraek couldn’t hear her singing in his mind anymore.  He stayed by her, he didn’t know how long.  He couldn’t let go.