Chapter 1: It Always Starts in a Tavern....

[Lythania So Mephgour]

The Laughing Gnome tavern was nearly empty, it's numerous tables clean, in anticipation for the people that would be entering come nightfall. Behind the bar stood a kind faced gnome, casually sitting on a large stool, so as to be able to see over the counter. He seemed to be virtually surrounded by multicolored bottles, all within easy reach of his small arms. He seemed the epitome of patience, sitting there with his hands linked in his lap, with a slight smile on his face as he waited for customers. Customers which, by the looks of the near empty tavern, were not coming anytime in the immediate future.

In the main room, there was but one occupied table. This was occupied by a large man, dressed as an officer of the Milkengradian Guard. The man's postured exuded confidence, although his heavy brow was furrowed and his eyes seemed intent on his table, as he absentmindedly played with his dagger on the table. His sword is easily noticed from his belt, and the way it moves with him shows that he is used to wearing such a weapon. As soon as someone walks in the room, his sharp gaze quickly falls on them, as if sizing them up for something, but then his eyes once again fall back to his dagger.

Nobody is beyond redemption.

- Lythánia

[Monty Leadfist]

The sun beat down upon the dwarf's helm and heavy-set shoulders as he storms down the dusty road, tromping boots kicking up dust in a ploom behind him. His lips move in irritation, muttering in Thergerim curse after curse into the warm spring afternoon. Suddenly, the dwarf's ears pick up the comforting sound of creaking hinges and looking up, his bristled face breaks into a smile at the sight of the hanging tavern sign, creaking in the breeze.

"Y-a-ha!" he shouts, pushing in through the heavy wooden doors into the near empty tavern. The silent return does not phase him, Montgomery swaggering straight through the center of the room and clapping his massive gloves together, clouds of dust errupting with every metallic jingle of the gauntlets. Hopping up onto a stool with practiced ease, Monty fumbles in a large sack about his waist and throws a few san on the bar. "Wee'n lad I'mma'n needferra pint'ere o-ale!"

[Synder Nytefall]

She wobbles into the tavern somewhat exhausted and a bit hung-over from the celebrations of the night before. The broad brim of her hat lowered to shadow her slight elven face from the harsh rays of Injerin. Synder’s eyes shine like burgundy fire; half shut and glazed over from within the shadows, yet a spriteful beam still radiating from the elfess’s supple lips.

Sauntering across the bar her slender form making its way through the tavern to a seat but a few Peds distant from the dwarf. Her only thoughts are focused upon another drink and some work, possibly, since the festivities with her fellow shipmates has left her purse a bit light. “Barkeep!” She exclaims in a slurred pitch the reverberation of her own sweet voice causing the elfess to cringe vaguely. Setting her rucksack next to the barstool, her silken shirt tied in a knot at the front revealing the tattoo of a detailed black butterfly with a silhouette of flames covering her lower back. The pirate then seated herself with arms folded upon the oaken surface of the bar, calmly waiting as the bartender tended the dwarven patron.

Seeing the barkeep tapping a keg for the dwarf, Synder hastily spoke. “I’d b’ lik’n a flag’n uh ale if ya wou’d?” Her words heavily garbled from the nausea caused by the throbbing headache overcoming the elf. Her burgundy eyes finally focusing upon the haggard dwarf as a genuinely temperate smile spread across her delicate elven visage. The classic features of elven beauty chiseled on her face almost enthralling given the soft lighting of the inn. Barely even capable to chat she just nodded nonchalantly at him.  

(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD

Edited by: Synder Nytefall  at: 2/19/06 1:13

[Kain Cristar]

A bead of sweat rolls across Kain's thin brow. With an infident slowness, it slips across his pale, high cheek, and drops onto the cobble street under his light, black boots. The stifling warmth of the day annoys him, as he is a kindered spirit to cold and stormy weather. There is not a cloud to block the groping rays of the sun, and he can feel the pure light wash over him. He gives a glance to the noon day sun and glares. He feels weak all over, weak and defenceless. He can feel all of his energy draining from his soul. A feeling that is oppressive in the worst way. The mage yearns to escape the sunlight, and find a cool tavern to hide within.

Without waiting annother second, he shoves at a thick oaken door, who's hinges creak in unision with his scrawny shoulders. He is greeted by a wash of shade and safety. Though still weary, yet the protection of the roof above him and walls around him kept him out of direct sunlight. Quickly he notes two things; the first of these was that the far left corner, in relation to himself, recieves almost no sunlight from the windows.

The second, and most important, is that there is an elf of astounding beauty standing not five peds from himself. So striking are her features, in fact, that he forgets about the door he is holding, and allows it's wieght to slowly slip from his fingers. He surveys her not as a human would stare at a whore, no, his eyes wash across her soft skin as an artist surveys the falling of night, as a conessuire of beauty. He feels her sensuality as the wind from a summer storm. A loud crash of iron and oak, as the door resumes it's closed position, shocks the elf out of his reviery of adultation. He gives the woman one more quick scan, smiles, and begins to walk toward the dark corner. As he nears his destination, he notes that she is fairly drunk, going by the "slight" slur in her speech. As he passes her by, he decides she would need somebody to watch out for her. Beautiful women, even elves, had a tendency to be taken advantage of when full of drink. Kain would not allow any man to defile her. Beauty is the thing that brightens two centuries of pain. He tries to ignore the vile whispers that churn in the back of his mind. Thoughts and images wrought by Moh'epher's dark influence, blood and flesh, the absolute destruction of innocence at his hands. He keeps the yearnings of the artifact at bay with a forcefull application of his will. A testiment to his soul.

You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect

[Ciosina]

Lost, she is so lost.  

Once, she had been a fine lady destined for marriage to a Baron, for a life of comfort where her myriad skills were put to their intended use, running an estate for the man to whom she was to be wed.  Now, she is alone, prey for any thief or scoundrel who sees her.  Out here, in the wilderness, her skills mean nothing.  She is lost, and even the warmest northen sun cannot warm the skin of a woman used to Bardavosian summers.  She is cold, and so lost.

Frightened eyes scan the wilderness - graceful buildings now rather than trees, but it is still a wilderness to her, vulnerable as she is - merely another type.  She had come here from Vardynn only because it had meant that the rising sun was to her back; she could not bear for Foiros to see her tears.  Now, days later, her tears have dried, and there is only the cold, and the fear, and the deep, hungry sense of loss.  Milkengrad is beautiful, but she does not see it.   She rides almost blindly through the streets, aiming nowhere.

Looking up, she sees a tavern sign.  It has a cheery little creature pictured on it, which turns her mind to warmth and happier times.  Pulling the huge, dark-grey  drafthorse called Eghana to a halt, she slides down from the side-saddle, her long-sleeved, woollen, mid-blue riding gown puffing out slightly as she lands heavily.  Regaining her proper, ladylike posture she automatically looks around for a stableboy.  Tears almost return as the realisation hits her that there is not, and will likely never again be, any stableboy.  Shaking back her dusty hair, she hitches the grey to a post, and walks inside.  Such is her exhaustion from her unaccustomed excercise that she completely forgets to take care of Eghana, or even to remove the saddlebags from the mare's back, taking inside only the money in the pouch tied to her belt.

The sharp gaze of the guard as she enters makes Ciosina jump, clutching her hands to her troat protectively.  Her experience at the gates had not been a particularly pleasant one, so she hesitates wide-eyed, standing just inside and to the right of the door, even after the guard looks away.  

[Lythania So Mephgour]

Likep The Bartender

Smiling as the dwarf walked up to him, Likep understood little of what the dwarf said other than the word "ale". That was enough for Likep, who knew his business, and said As you please sir, and swung his small body around his stool, now facing his bottles. He quickly picks one out and poors it into a remarkably clean mug. Before handing it to the dwarf, scooping up the coins and depositing them somewhere unseen.

A young elven woman soon walks in after the dwarf, stepping about brazenly. She was quite pretty, until she spoke. Again, one of the few words that Likep could understand was "ale", and again, that was all he needed. He again swung around and poured another mug, before expertly sliding the mud down a few peds, it easing to a stop in front of the woman. Likep patiently waits to be paid, too polite to ask for it outright, and knowing that with the captain of the guard sitting in the middle of the room, no thieving would occur.

Another elf walked to a dark corner of the room, asking for nothing. Likep did not like the looks of this one, but was confident that no trouble would occur, again due to the captain of the guard's close proximity.

The door opens once more, and Likep turns to see a frightened young girl who was obviously on the verge of tears. Pity taking his heart, Likep Smiles warmly, and waves the girl to sit in front of him. Come in young lady, there is nothing to fear in Likep's inn.

Nobody is beyond redemption.

- Lythánia

[Elysia]

A light breeze whirls her black cloak as Elysia strides down the cobbled streets. Pale azure eyes glare out from beneath the cowl of her hood as crimson bangs escape, obscuring her vision. The light of Foiros scorches the world as noon approaches, threatening to burn the fair complexion of the half elf. One pale hand grasps the cloak, holding it closed, as she balefully stares at the native Helcrani as they pass her on the street. Fools, they worship Ava and forget to whom they plead as ailments consume their lives. None are spared as the scythe of her mistress descends unseen to harvest the souls of mortals.

The stares of women concern her not as they scowl at the flesh revealed with each stride, her long legs stepping forth from the cloak, revealing silky thighs clothed only in the skirt of her dress, only to be concealed once more in the next moment. Mortal beauty is ever fleeting and not worthy of such attention. Even so, the corporeal form must be cared for to gain the strength needed to properly serve the Goddess, and this heat is enough to make her movements lethargic, as she was accustomed to living indoors. Shade would be a welcome relief.

A sign creaking in the breeze above her head attracts her gaze, the image upon it now faded and barely recognizable as a gnome. Elysia scowls to see such mirth depicted upon the sign, the gnome leaning forward as his frame seems to shake with guffaws of laughter. Nevertheless, she pushes against the heavy oak door, succeeding in only opening it wide enough for her to slip through. Once inside the tavern, she notices the apparent stare of the guard, not realizing the motive behind his gaze, and ignores him as she casts back the hood of her cloak. Crimson locks cascade seemingly without end as they disappear beneath her cloak, and large expressive eyes gaze out from above high cheekbones. Her rosy lips, a slash of color against her otherwise pale face, curl into a cruel smile at the evident fear of the girl standing next to her. Having derived as much amusement as possible from the girl’s distress, she dismisses her as another mortal destined to be welcomed within her mistress’s cold embrace and proceeds toward the bar.

The cloak flows behind her as she gracefully weaves among the empty tables, her hand having released its grasp upon it once she stood within the tavern. Revealing more than it concealed, her skirt whirled about her hips with each stride, the slit in one side offering a glimpse at her curvaceous hips. Not caring for the company of others, she avoids sitting near the dwarf or elf and instead chooses a stool against the far wall, obscured by shadows as the light from the windows does not reach this corner. As she sits, her skirt rides higher on her hips, revealing more of her thighs, yet the half elf does not seem to notice. Her voice is soft and lilting as she calls to the barkeep.

“Have you something cool and refreshing to ease this day’s heat?”

Elysia the Blessed

Edited by: Elysia the Blessed at: 2/20/06 8:16

[Synder Nytefall]

The elfess was hung-over but took suitable note of the bartender’s glance of inquiry at her non-payment. Slipping an agile hand into her pouch she pulled forth only air, her purse completely empty. Burgundy eyes turning upon the barkeep as a mischievous gleam danced across them, only accentuated further by a radiant smile. The feat causing her to narrow her eyes a bit as an agonizing headache beseeched her once more. The best course of action would be to fill my belly before the bartender figures out that I am a bit broke, minus my secreted reserves that is.

“I’d b’ wanton som’ vittles, du ya b’ havin any mutton I coul’ b’ gettn from yee?” The pirate inquired as she raised the flagon of ale to her ginger lips. Tilting her head back a good ways as she drained near half the contents, before placing it for a second time upon the countertop. One gloved hand rising to clean the foam mustache from her upper lip before scanning the room for newcomers. Synder beamed vibrantly as she noticed the boost of patrons to the establishment. The intake of alcohol began to cause her headache to fade once more as she slipped from hung-over to slightly inebriated, yet again.

Synder removed her buccaneer’s hat in a fluid motion twirling it on her nimble finger before brushing the grime of the road from its surface and placing it upon the bar. One gloved hand rising to position a few fiery locks to respite yet again behind her elven ears. Her attentions turned back upon the barkeep as she grinned tenderly at him before inquiring. “Wou yee b’ seekin sum help with tendn’ yer customers, matey?” She knew the ins and outs of more than one tavern and hoped that she could at least bring in enough to feed herself for the evening.

(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD

Edited by: Synder Nytefall  at: 2/21/06 23:55

[Ciosina]

"Come in young lady, there is nothing to fear in Likep's inn", says a kind voice from behind the bar.  She turns away from the guard, where her gaze had been fixed, to see a gnome gesturing to a seat at the bar.  She is briefly surprised, but then remembers where she is:  Milkengrad.  Ciosina's training included full histories of all the major cities of Santharia, and many of the smaller places too, so she knows - now that her fear has receded somewhat - what to expect here.

The door opens a fore and a very tall, very thin woman clad all in black insinuates herself into the tavern.  She is very graceful and, despite the lady's intimidating height - a full fore-and a half greater than her own - Ciosina immediately feels a kinship with this woman.  Ah, she thinks in the moments she takes to evaluate the lady, here is a woman of some social standing.  Taking in the dark clothes and near-skeletal appearance, Ciosina assumes that the red-haired lady is in mourning.  She has just enough time to wonder what a widow would be doing in a tavern before the rosy lips of the lady quirk into a cruel smile, and then she is dismissed.

A hot, pink blush spreads over Cio's cheeks and nose, caused by embarrassment over her own situation, and the ungentlewomaly behaviour of one whom she had assumed was like herself - a lady.  This mix of shame and anger is all the impetus Ciosina needs to regain her sense of self-possesion.  Tossing her hair in defiance, she pushes herself away from the wall and crosses the room, seating herself before the patiently smiling gnome.  Her back is straight as she gracefully arranges her somewhat dusty skirts, and addresses the gnome.

"Thankyou for your welcome, kind sir.  You must be Likep?"

[Kain Cristar]

As Kain begins to recover from the wracking torment of the sun's rays, more patrons stride with their own respective confidences through the tavern door. He does not notice these newcommers, their entrances are lost to his wind swept eyes. Instead he finds himself leaning over a heavy wooden table, with his long elbows supporting his wieght against the table top. His shoulders are hunched, and his thin, spiderlike fingers are carefully entwined. His sharp chin and thin lips are hidden by his clasped hands, so that his eyes stare over his knuckles. In this position he studies and thinks. He is solemn and intence in his own way, and his will can be seen in his eyes, which focus only on one thing.

They focus on the beauty. He drinks her in from afar, and carefully calculates her every move. Because of this, he is able to notice things that might pass unseen. The mage watches her reach into her coin purse, and observes, both from her reaction and the form of the bag, that it is indeed empty. He also is attentive to the subtle movements of her wrists and fingers, which are graceful despite her drunken state, as she removes her large hat. This impresses the elf, and he allows some portion of his mind to cerebrate. How beautiful her grace must be when she is sober. She is blessed with more than the appearance of beauty, his is it's very incarnation. To be tainted by the sins of the weak and despoiled, to be a wretched insect with such blessings, is a testimate to the sins of our gods. For a moment, his eyes leave the woman, and glance down into his cloak. He finds an ample amout of coin there, in one of his more hidden pockets. With a grace of a differant nature, a grace which holds no beauty, he retrieves a few san for the girl. He then points to the cheery gnome bartender, and curls his index finger toward himself, a gesture that states, come here. He places the san on the table and asks, in a quiet and discreet fashion. What is the price that you ask for yonder woman's drink?

You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect

Edited by: Kain Cristar  at: 2/22/06 4:28

[Elysia]

While waiting for the barkeep to answer, Elysia notices an apparition out of the corner of her eye. Restless spirits are common enough in a city this size, yet she had not expected to find one in this seemingly peaceful tavern. Nor is it the ghost of the typical patron. Luxuriant auburn tresses descend slightly beyond her shoulders and flow to and fro as the child gaily dances about the main room. A mischievous glint sparkles within bloodshot eyes. Once fair in life, the child is now a sickly grey, her skin mottled as if from a wasting sickness. Blood flows freely from several wounds upon her body, the blood pooling at her feet whenever she remains still and otherwise leaving bloody footprints along the tavern floor. One could almost believe the child to be alive and joyous despite her obvious malady, if it were not for the fact that the other patrons are visible through her ethereal form.

Upon realizing that the cleric is able to perceive her, the girl gracefully dances to the bar, a broad grin upon her face as she introduces herself. “Hello, living one. I am Emmy. How is it that you are able to see me? For almost a year, I’ve followed my father as he performs his daily duties, yet never before has one of flesh and blood seen me.”

Elysia turns to face the spirit, turning her back to the bar, and nods in acknowledgment of her ability to perceive the child. A genuine smile crosses her face upon hearing the girl’s introduction, and her voice is soft and compassionate as she replies. “Hail, Emmy. My talents are many, among them is the ability to perceive spirits such as yourself, doomed to roam this world until the circumstances of your death are resolved. Your father must be the guard sitting at the nearby table, as he is the only man within the tavern at this moment.”

Tears flow down the girl’s cheeks as confirms that the man is indeed her father. “He blames himself for my death, for not being able to cure me. He is a man trained for combat and lacks the skills for a healer yet still he berates himself for failing to protect me. If only he could hear me, I would tell him how wrong he is, yet I’ve attempted to speak to him before without success.”

Upon hearing of the girl’s plight, Elysia reaches toward her and speaks in a soft whisper. “Come to me, child. Together we will speak with him.”

As the child steps forward and takes the hand of the cleric, her ethereal form merges with the body of the priestess, slowly stepping into the woman’s body as she would a dress. A childish grin spreads across the face of the now possessed priestess as she stands and gazes about in wonder, the child being unaccustomed to possessing such height. As her gaze lowers to inspect her own body, the grin broadens upon the sight of her small yet firm breasts. With both hands she squeezes them, giggling at the thought of being a grown woman. Leaving her breasts, her hands venture downward to her skirt which she lifts as she stretches forth first one leg and then the other, cooing in delight at the sight of such shapely limbs.

Remembering the reason for which she now borrowed this woman’s body, she stops admiring her new form and gazes toward her father. Even with such a serious duty to perform, the child cannot resist dancing lithely as she gracefully approaches her father, her skirt flowing about her hips to reveal silky thighs. Upon reaching his table, she collapses in the chair next to him, laughing in delight at being able to dance once more as she did in life. Her laughter ceases as her expression becomes serious and one of concern for her father. Reaching toward him, she gently strokes his cheek as she gazes into his eyes.

“Da, it wasn’t your fault. None other than Nehtor himself or one dedicated to serving him could have healed me. Please, forgive yourself and move on with your life. You will always have the memories of your sweet Emmy to cherish.”

Once her message was spoken, Emmy departs from the body of the priestess, rising up beyond the ceiling of the tavern as an ethereal light seems to fill the room. Elysia quickly snatches her hand back, glaring at the guard as if he had been touching her instead of the reverse being true. All compassion seems to have left her voice as it is once again filled with contempt.

“I know not how I came to be here at this table with you, yet I remember the spirit of a young girl, seeking the help of one such as myself. Did she speak to you?”

Elysia the Blessed

[Synder Nytefall]

A spriteful grin stretched over Synder’s ginger colored lips as the barkeep nodded vaguely to her inquiry of work. The lightness of her purse still bothered her for when she had come to port the elfess had brought a reasonable amount of wealth along. An inquisitive look could be noted upon her delicate features as she endeavored to remember the hazy images of the night past.

Only visions of a half-filled bottle of Mil’no Fire, the spirit of Synder’s choice, the sounds of laughter and pieces of eight exchanging hands are what she recalls from the night previous. Her gloved hand coming to rest upon her sore bum, this being the first time she had noticed that it hurt, rubbing it briskly in an attempt to soothe the pain. The odds are she had run out of money and been booted from the tavern she had been gambling in, thus why she had awoken in the street this morning. Merely shaking her head lightly in self disgust as the firelight danced over the elf's scarlet tresses.

Turning her head slightly to the side as Ciosina approached the bar, her fiery eyes gleaming with mischief. Synder took great note of the fine clothing the woman wore and her elegant grace, noting the woman as very wealthy. Her tiny hands came to rest at the small of her back as she stretched in a great arc making an attempt to stretch aching muscles. Then once again the elfess focused her eyes upon Ciosina greeting the lady with a melodic voice. “Aarg ho’ ar’ ye t’day, landlubber?” Her left diminutive hand rose to brush a few fiery locks from her eyes, placing them behind her elven ears. The buccaneer quickly taking note that this lady would be carrying at least some wealth.  

Completely missing Kain’s summoning of Likep, as the pirate’s awareness was drawn to the strange events surrounding Elysia. One dexterous hand slipping behind Synder’s tiny back as she grasped the flagon of ale and brought it to her lips, sipping the contents slowly. The elfess was highly disturbed by the strange actions of the priestess as she danced across the bar before seating herself next to the guardsman. Her elven ears perked a bit as she made an attempt to make out a little of what transpired between them. If one were observant they could easily tell that the pirate was lost in thought for this time she left the foamy mustache from her drink.

(¯`•."If there's a man among ye, ye'll come out and fight like the men ye are.".•´¯)-Synder's CD

Edited by: Synder Nytefall  at: 2/23/06 0:16

[Monty Leadfist]

The dwarf's eyes twinkle as the frothy drink comes to rest between heavily gloved hands. With a fluid motion, he takes up the mug and swings it up in an arc towards the little gnome in a cheery salute. Near no liquid cascades from the rim, the warrior having long perfected the angle of a true cheer, and Monty brings it swiftly back to his lips. The mug empties steadily and the dwarf spins about on his stool, eyes peering over the rim at the other patrons as they slowly entered, one after another. Three pretty lasses, one an earpoint having had one too many drinks the night prior and not seeking signs of stopping. The other two are nothing nice to look at, too thin about the hips especially. Spotting the other men, Monty lets his eyes fall on them a little longer. One is a guard, a sombre type of fellow who needed a pint and a swift kick in the ass to bring up his mood. The other is the creepy sort, thin and shifty. The dwarf growls a little past his beard into his drink, which remains nothing but a film of foam resting stationary against his whiskers.

The dwarf slams the mug back onto the counter and nearly slaps himself across the face as he brushes the foam away with his knuckles. "'Notter if'er pleasin!" he barks, though not especially unkindly, to the little gnome, Monty's eyes not lifting from Kain.

[Lythania So Mephgour]

Likep The Bartender

I’d b’ wanton som’ vittles, du ya b’ havin any mutton I coul’ b’ gettn from yee? Wou yee b’ seekin sum help with tendn’ yer customers, matey?

Likep saw the lack of monetary goods from the young lady, and wasn't too surprised. Sailors who came in hungover often are lacking in coins. Likep was not disheartened though, for if the young woman agreed to hisproposal, then his friend, the captain, might find away out of his plight, and Likep would very much like to help his friend. Smiling warmly at the girl, he said.

I will make sure you get your meal young lady. As for work, you might go over to that man, Likep points to the man who is with the tall gaunt lady. Ask him about work, for I know he is in need of some help.


Likep begins to write down the young woman's order to send back to the kitchen, when out of the corner he spots the timid woman sit down at the bar, before saying "Thankyou for your welcome, kind sir. You must be Likep?" His warm smile returning, Likep turns to face the woman. he can tell that she is somewhat frightened and his tone is as compassionate and reassuring as possible.

Yes, I am Likep. Is there anything that i can get for you? Do not be afraid to ask.

At this time, the pirate woman addresses the timid girl, and Likep leaves them to talk as the tall elf speaks.

What is the price that you ask for yonder woman's drink?

Thinking quickly, Likep ginds yet another person to help his with his friends plight.

Her meal and drink are free, should you go to that man there, once again Likep points to the captain of the guard in the middle of the room. and offer your services to him, for he is much in need of those who can fight, and assuming by your weapons, you can. Now if you don't mind, I have to go to the kitchen right quick. I shall be back soon.

Hopping from his stool, and grabbing the piece of paper with The pirate woman's order, Likep walks away into the kitchen to get her food ready.

Nobody is beyond redemption.

- Lythánia

[Kain Cristar]

Her meal and drink are free, should you go to that man there Kain slowly follows the gnome's finger with his cold blue-grey eyes. As they fall upon the gaurd for the first time, the gnome speaks again, and offer your services to him, for he is much in need of those who can fight, and assuming by your weapons, you can. Now if you don't mind, I have to go to the kitchen right quick. I shall be back soon. He exhales sharply, which is the closest the elf had ever gotten to a laugh, his shoulders rising with the strangeness of the situation.

Only in a tavern are the circumstances for purchusing a woman's drink so convoluted. With a slow grace, his long fingers caress Moh'epher's long, fine hilt. He had overheard the gnome, and his previous attempt to volunteer the very elfess whom Kain himself had just queried of. What game does this little man play? What circles does he drive us forth into? The mage is slightly intrigued, and, returning his coins to their properplace, he shifts his slow gaze back onto the beautiful elfess, once again allowing everything to wash over him, except for her beauty. That wonderful drunken grace he drinks as a dying man from the holy grail. A man dead to all goodness, seeing the purest for of the graces of the holy. Synapses flash across his mind as connections are drawn, and assumptions bravely made. As he drinks forth the goodlyness of the pirate, he ponders the purpose that the gnome is putting forth. The mage decides, after a moments thought, that he would allow the girl to speak with the gaurd, prepared to intervene if such aid was found neccesary, and allow the human to divulge what information he would to all ears open. With that in mind, Kain brings a few choice words into his cunning mind.  Words with meaning beyond thier utterance, with a divine purpose beyond the simple letters which contain them. Let thine winds ceassate.

You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect

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