The first night out on sea was far from pleasant and the nights following up until the trio (Verial, Deanna and Sahar) reached Arthuran were no better. Verial had no expectations that this journey would be a walk in the park. If he tried to convince himself that he was Deanna's savior for breaking her out of Grand City's prison, that would have been delusional. He was very much aware of the fact that Deanna hated him for what he had done - for allowing her to live rather than die - and after some time, he did not blame her for it. Sahar had told him he had made the right choice - the only choice - regarding Deanna and at first he took her words to heart, but now like so many others, he was of the mindset that he hadn't done anything right in quite some time.

After the first evening, Verial had suggested Deanna go stay with Sahar and out she went to share a room with the healer. Staying in such close quarters with Verial was not an option. Verial had believed Deanna, but when he asked Sahar in the morning, Sahar had no clue about any of it. His patience was at an all-time low, but he managed to wait and see where Deanna went at night instead of staying in the comforts of Sahar's cabin. Outside on one of the deck's cabins, nestled on top of some crates like a stray cat, was Deanna. This was where she had chosen her sleeping arrangements. Night after night, Verial would wait until she was asleep, although those moments were few and far between, and then he would carry Deanna back down into Sahar's room or even his own depending on the hour.

His actions, however noble they might have appeared, did little to soothe Deanna's anger and her resentment towards him. The remainder of their trip to Arthuran was spent avoiding each other and if the situation did managed to put them in each other's company, the evening often ended in a shouting match. This was strange for the rest of the crew on board. After all, why was Verial arguing with the mysterious healer that he had brought on board? Word had gotten around that the soon to be Lord of Arthuran was quick to lose his temper and this left rumors questioning if he was even fit to run a town as small as Chaliceton. Verial agreed with their sentiments. Lately (and Verial doubted it was going to get better) he was having a difficult time feeling any other emotion besides anger, hate and guilt.

In Verial there was also a longing to fly - to shift into his dragon form and get away even if for a little while. This need, much like hunger, could not be quenched no matter how much he wished. Being as how his back was still healing, transforming was not an option. Truthfully, Verial even wondered if he would be able to fly again. Perhaps the loss of his angelic wings had in turn crippled his dragon wings. The thought frightened him to a certain degree. Until he could shift, Verial would need to live with the anxiety he felt.

The mist of a rain that had followed the ship the entire journey to Arthuran turned into snow. Often, Verial stood out on the ship's deck, letting that snow from the dark gray sky fall onto his raven hair. He looked out into the ocean's nearly black depths letting himself get lost in the endless waves. One his face he wore the same appearance Deanna had when she looked out into the ocean often with thoughts of jumping overboard. For Verial, he never once contemplated the idea of suicide; he had no real reason to end his life. Instead, he looked upon the waves thinking somehow they might be connected to Oneiro. He thought of his past – his memories - anything happy that would bring him some ounce of love or life inside of his heart. But any of those memories seemed to be either blurred or were subsequently rejected.

At what felt like the longest week of his life, the ship had finally docked on Arthuran's port. The small docks were about an hour away from Chaliceton and to get to Arthuran's capital city, one had to travel via dog sled. While supplies were being loaded, Verial walked over to Sahar who was busy rubbing her gloved hands together trying to keep warm from the ever present and non-relenting snowy winds. Deanna was off a good distance, staring into the fields of endless and barren white that covered Arthuran, so she was not close enough to hear Verial and Sahar speaking.

"Sahar?" The desert magae looked up at him, snow falling on her dark lashes. "I wanted apologize to you for this past week. I understand should you wish to go back to Eiler or anywhere else that isn't in close proximity to, well... me." All things considered, it was a silly thing to suggest since they were already on Arthuran and so close to Chaliceton. "Maybe I have not been attentive enough and once we arrive at Chaliceton, I intend to do whatever I can to make her feel alive again. That being said, don't worry about caring for her well-being. I should have never given up and passed that off onto you; it's my responsibility. You've done so much for me already."

In the time that Verial and Sahar would speak to one another, the sled was finished being loaded with the supplies that were being taken to Chaliceton. One by one, the passengers on board the ship and crew got onto the sleds for the short trip to Arthuran's only town. The ride to Chaliceton was quiet, broken only by the sound of the sleds moving through the snow and the dogs occasionally barking at each other. It was an hour through the snow and winds of Arthuran and while the journey was cold, time passed quick enough and at long last they were at the gates of Chaliceton. After Verial got off of the sled, he absently made a motion to help Deanna up, to put a hand behind her back. She looked up at him from under the hood she wore, her face in disbelief, and then realizing what he was doing, Verial turned away and headed through the gates with the rest of the ship's company.

Chaliceton was a small town. The city had about four or five main roads and those roads were constantly covered in snow. Houses in Chaliceton, mostly made of brick, wore rooftops dusted with white though inside people appeared to be warm and cozy enough. On the south eastern part of town, some houses were in the process of being rebuilt due to the Val`nothe attack not so long ago. This was something Verial would have to see to getting fixed quicker before the actual season of winter set in over Chaliceton. The cold over the town now was nothing in comparison to winter.

The hospital, one of Chaliceton's proudest achievements, was still in working order alongside the southwestern road. The stone walls and four watch towers that surrounded Chaliceton had been rebuilt and a few sentries were on active patrol along them. Verial took his eyes away from Chaliceton's walls and he began to notice that as the ship's crew headed through the town, some of them parting along the way, people were staring, particularly at him. Some bowed in response, having heard of the new leadership in Arthuran, but others seemed reluctant.

The walk through Chaliceton brought Verial, Deanna and Sahar to the north end of town where there was a fairly large sized Villa. A soldier stepped before them and opened the double doors in front of the building, inviting them inside the dwelling. As they stepped inside, the trio would be presented with a rather large hall furnished with plush looking couches and chairs situated in a semi-circle alongside a crackling fire. A few servants stopped in their work, pausing to go greet their new Lord. In comparison to the townsfolk outside, the people inside the Villa appeared to be humbled and welcoming to Verial.

This meeting did not last long, however. Taking over for the soldier was the butler of the Villa, a man named Edgar. He suggested a tour, but Verial let Edgar know later would be a better option as they were all exhausted from the long journey. The trio followed Edgar up the stairs into one of the hallways where they stopped in front of a door. This room, as Edgar presented it, was to be Sahar's. After leaving Sahar to unpack, Edgar turned and began to open another door across from Sahar's room that was meant for Deanna or Verial's "personal healer" as she was known.

Instead of completely opening the door, Edgar paused and looked at Deanna whose head was slightly bowed. Verial watched the man who had curiosity written on his face.

"If you don't mind me saying, My Lady, you have very pretty eyes. They remind me of my own daughter. Such a unique hazel color."

Verial froze for a moment at Edgar's words. Instantly, thoughts that Edgar may have read some sort of wanted poster or description of Deanna flickered through Verial's head. What if this was some sort of subtle hint that Edgar was about to signal for a horde of Chaliceton soldiers? No such thing happened though and Edgar only continued on by opening the door to Deanna's room, gesturing for her to go inside and offering her an inviting smile as Deanna passed through the doorway.

Once the door to Deanna's room was closed, Edgar led Verial past about five more rooms to the end of the hall. Edgar waved Verial inside after turning the knob to the chamber's door and letting the new Lord of Arthuran inside. In the southwestern corner of the room, there was a couch, desk and chair and opposite of that on the other side of the wall was a walk-in closet. Against the middle of the northern wall there was a king sized bed with enough blankets to keep the cold of Chaliceton out at night should any fires go out. The room also had a fireplace built into the wall that was already alive and glowing with flames. The northeast section of Verial's new chambers held a small adjoining room that led to a washroom, complete with a bath with hot running water, clearly a luxury in Chaliceton.

As Verial was taking in all of his new surroundings, Edgar who was inside the room coughed behind Verial to draw his attention. Verial turned and looked back at the butler of the Villa.

"Apologies, my Lord," Edgar said. "I just wanted to say on behalf of the rest of the staff in Chaliceton's Villa, it is nice to finally have some stable leadership. Though others may not right away, we welcome you to our quaint little town."

"Thank you, Edgar," Verial said. He did not offer the man any smile in return but both of them bowed to each other and then Edgar exited from Verial's chambers.

Verial was barely alone in his room and starting to unpack his few things when there was another knock upon his door. Answering it, Verial was presented with a soldier of the Chaliceton guard who handed him a folded piece of parchment stamped with a royal seal. The red colored seal bore the symbol of Aleris' four gods nestled inside a single circle.

"A letter from King Elias. It was received while you were on your journey, Lord Verial," the soldier said.

Verial took the letter from the man and broke the seal, opening the parchment to read the contents of the letter. The soldier waited in the doorway as if expecting something after Verial finished reading. Once Verial was done with the letter, he let out a slight laugh and shrugged, afterwards shaking his head which made the soldier lift a brow in question. Crumbling up the parchment in his fist, Verial threw the letter into the fireplace where it was consumed to ash and then turned around to the soldier, offering the man a single nod of his head.

"Alright, let's get this done and over with."

Together, Verial left the Villa with the soldier as quick as he had come in without a word to anyone as to where he was going off to.

Layla Victoire be damned indeed.

Arthuran was a far cry from Heruin, its polar opposite in fact. There would be no desert oasis here, and the ocean was unsuitable for swimming in with its icy temperatures. Still, there was a beauty to this land at the edge of the world. Winter had not quite set in yet, but the dropping temperatures already called for breaking out woolen sweaters and coats, thick fur lined mantles and cloaks. The desert beauty lamented that she would now have to adjust herself to the different clothing, for her silks were unsuitable here. The prospect of acquiring a new warmer wardrobe actually appealed to her.

On their journey here, she admired the tall, dark green evergreens with their long needles that dotted the landscape. Though light snow flurries fell now, Sahar was fully aware of the thick blankets of snow that would cover the ground. Arthuran’s weather could be fierce she had been told, the very concept of a blizzard was rather fascinating to her. This foreign ice land belonged to the winter goddess, Elysia, and held a certain fey beauty of its own. Sahar believed that change was good for the soul, and this certainly was one for the child of the sun.

Deanna and Lord Verial said very little upon arriving at port where much to the healer’s delight, she was informed they would travel the remainder of the way using transportation called a dog sled. At first dubious, as the healer wondered at the treatment of such animals for such laborious work, she had been delighted to find that the dogs (if they could be called such…they looked more like wolf hybrids) were treated with the utmost love and respect, something that pleased Sahar greatly as she was rather fond of animals. As their supplies (what little there were) were being loaded and the desert beauty dressed in her rough spun borrowed clothing (who would have imagined breeches were actually comfortable?) blew on gloved hands to warm them, Lord Verial had found his way over to her and apologized for the past week’s sea voyage, his behavior and whatever little care she had offered toward Deanna, whom Verial assured was not the desert magae’s responsibility.

Sahar wrinkled her chilled nose, but her smile was warm and genuine when offered to the Lord. “I’ll admit the temperature will require getting used to, and perhaps some other ways of life, but recall that it was I who asked to follow you, my Lord. I knew where you were headed prior to my request. You will find that this desert woman is a lot heartier than you think.” She reached out and offered a light squeeze upon Verial’s shoulder in reassurance. Both glanced toward Deanna who was as still as stone a good ways away, just staring off aimlessly. The magae bit down on her full lower lip, frowning. “What if she is beyond saving, my Lord? What if, in your quest to spark life into her once more, you lose yourself as well?” That was a great concern for Sahar as she could already see certain changing aspects of Verial’s personality come to surface. She smiled faintly to her serious, tired Lord. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep a close eye on both of you to ensure that when you both start to sink into that frozen abyss, you at least know someone is here to pull you back into the warm light of the sun, my Lord.” There was nothing more to be said as they settled upon the dog sleds. Sahar made her position very clear concerning her loyalty to the drow Lord, and there was no way she was retreating now.

Sahar was rather impressed by the small, but charming town of Chaliceton. It was nowhere near as vast as Bariston, or the huge metropolis that was the Grand City, but it held its own up here in the frozen desert wasteland. People managed to survive and thrive, but they were a sturdy lot who looked after one another with ties that need not be built by blood alone. Peering through the slit of her head covering (one made of wool), she noted that several citizens stopped to stare at the parade of newcomers. She imagined not only did the people of Chaliceton receive many visitors, but it was also to get a better look at their new Lord and the southern ‘healer’ women that followed him. Unlike the industrial city of Bariston, buildings and residents here were made of sturdy brick, insulated to keep the cold out, and Sahar noted smoke pluming from chimneys at every one. Finally they arrived at the Lord’s manse, which resembled other homes in the area only on a larger scale, and after a brief but kind meet and greet, each were shown to their rooms to settle.

Sahar had finished packing what little items she had brought with her from Eiler in the elaborate wardrobe that filled one corner of her room. The room itself wasn’t nearly as large or grand as the one Lord Verial had been assigned, but it was far more than Sahar had expected. The bed was soft and warm, with its down filled mattress and pillows, several handmade quilts were lovingly placed at the foot of the bed for added warmth. There was a small table and two chairs that occupied the opposite side of the room as well as a narrow dresser for added storage. Two large windows that were currently shuttered took up most of the eastern wall to allow morning light in. Not far from the dresser was the fireplace, and a warm crackling fire already burned in the hearth. It was perfect for Sahar.

With her tasks complete, Sahar considered what to do next. She thought about locating Lord Verial to sit down for a long chat about recent and future events, but the healer assumed the newly appointed Lord to be busy with the daily tasks that would involve a man in his position. Besides, Sahar had a strong need for a bath. The week long ship travel did not accommodate such luxuries and unlike most, Sahar bathed daily, and enjoyed it immensely. She kept herself sweet of breath and of body and refused to deviate on her daily grooming routines. Earlier one of the young maids that worked in the villa had informed Sahar of two large bathing rooms in the lower chambers of the Villa. At first the healer was nervous of bathing in cold water, but the girl was happy to announce that the baths were heated by some complicated underground system, much to Sahar’s joy. All bathing necessities were already provided and refreshed on a regular basis, so all Sahar would need would be a robe and her slippers. Humming happily to herself, the magae snatched up a plush robe that hung on the back of her door and prepared to trek downstairs.

She paused at the door that led to Deanna’s room from what she was told, and rapped softly on the heavy wood. Sahar figured the woman could use a nice hot bath just as much as she and wanted to invite her along. When she received no answer, Sahar opened the door slightly and frowned upon seeing Deanna standing in the midst of a room quite similar to her own, doing absolutely nothing. Just staring at seemingly nothing. The healer entered and made her way over to the woman who, like she, was garbed in rough garments that were several sizes too large, and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Deanna, what are you doing, dear?” The woman with the startling amber hued eyes lifted her gaze to stare at the magae, but gave no response. Shaking her head, Sahar grabbed her firmly by the arm. “Come now. Time for a nice hot bath, you’ll feel better afterward, I think.” There was no denying that both women could use one.

Silence ensued as they found themselves in a rather spacious and well lit bathing chamber, steam rising from the large bathing pool. An assortment of jars and bottles that Sahar knew held homemade soaps and hair washes were set upon several trays surrounding the stone pool. Two tables contained bath sheets that Sahar just knew felt as fuzzy and comfortable as they looked. There was a certain peaceful serenity to this secluded area, but it went unnoticed by Deanna who continued to offer that blank gaze. Without hesitating, Sahar stripped her soiled garments as well as Deanna’s, who surprisingly did not balk, and tossed them in a corner before leading Deanna into the deliciously steaming bath. Sahar let out a sigh of sheer bliss as she dunked herself in water that was hot to the touch, but bearable. Within seconds she felt the chill ease her bones and knew that this would soon become her favorite retreat.

Sahar filled a washrag with some lovely rose scented soap, the fragrance reminding her to inquire about the blue winter roses that she heard bloomed rampantly in this area and were breathtaking to behold, and instructed Deanna to wash herself, as she proceeded to do the same. One that was over, Sahar began the task of washing the dirt from Deanna’s hair since the woman didn’t express any desire to do so herself. Seizing this opportunity for quality ‘girl time’, Sahar began speaking in that soft, slightly accented voice of hers. “You know, he is trying Deanna, but it is very frustrating for him. He would not do all that he has done if he did not care for you, but surely you must know this already.” Nimble fingers worked through the eerily quiet woman’s hair with the sudsy brew, and after deciding it was clean, she carefully dunked Deanna under water for a rinse. As Sahar followed suit, she waited for some sort of response from Deanna, but with a heavy sigh, realized none would be forthcoming.

“You are aware, that your silence is just as cruel and biting as the harsh words you both have flung at each other?” Sahar stated flatly, attempting to appeal to her sensibility. Deanna finally turned to regard the healer curiously. “I would think,” she began quietly. “that you of all people could comprehend why I feel the way I do.” Deanna allowed one hand to trail along the water in small circles. “I can’t escape what I personally have done, Sahar. There is no way to dispute this fact. I cannot promise you I will heal from it, for I truly do not know if that is possible.” Sahar listened as the woman finally spoke more than a word or two to her since having met. “As for Verial, I will never forgive myself for taking the life of his son,” she stumbled over that last word, grief clouding her features for a moment before continuing. “and though I understand you admire Verial for ‘rescuing’ me from certain death, I do not. I expressed many times that I wished for death, that I deserved it.” Deanna frowned heavily. “I cannot fathom, and have tried to understand, why he is doing this? Why he feels it is his mission in life to ‘save’ me from myself?”

Sahar stared at her in disbelief. “Are you blind as well as deaf, Deanna? Have I not expressed that he cares for you? Can you not see it yourself?”

Deanna blinked long and slow. “He has no reason to. I barely know him as a person, and frankly, it’s disturbing that I know him as a man better than I should seeing as I have no right to, just as he did not have any right to my body without my permission, or in this particular case, my conscious state.” The words were stated matter-of-factly, and without any emotion.

Sahar’s mouth dropped slightly and she closed it quickly, confused. “I…don’t understand?”

Deanna stared at her flatly, her voice cold. “No? Allow me to clarify. I am here only out of guilt for Kyrian. That is all. I am fully aware of what happened to Verial’s angelic wings, but as far as I am concerned, it was his punishment for choosing to lay with Sharay who used my body as a vessel. He had no right. None. I have been trying to comprehend why he would have done such a thing, and frankly, I am at a loss. I am nothing to him. Never have been. We fought together for a similar cause once. That is all. That is all there has ever been between us, so spare me Verial’s great concern, Sahar. Spare me his great need to care for me, for it isn’t true. I am not the only one suffering with issues right now. He is confused, delusional and self-loathing, most likely due to grief and his own personal failures. You might want to consider his mental and emotional state before you judge mine. I know I am damned, Verial has yet to find that out about himself, but he will. I promise you that, and when he does, he will know what it is like to exist in a hellish nightmare that you have little chance of waking from.” With that, Deanna rose from the bathing pool and exited, leaving a stunned Sahar behind. She wrapped a bath sheet around her torso and one about her wet hair, and without another word left the healer by herself to contemplate her words.

Sahar’s head was swimming with this startling revelation brought about by Deanna. The magae was not an idiot. She had known that prior to Deanna’s death, she had been involved with Quinn Redmont, and it was assumed she had also been linked somehow to Maxim Redmont, but the details were vague. She had assumed, foolishly she now realized, that upon seeing Verial’s reaction to Deanna’s death, the handling of her body afterward, and his quest to keep her alive and safe from Sharay, Layla Victoire, and all else who would do her harm, that the two had some bond, perhaps romantic, that they shared in the past. She had also assumed foolishly, that the rumors she had heard from strangers as well as Layla, the accusations that Verial had indeed chose to bed the Dark Goddess Sharay while his people suffered and died, was a lie, and if not, then Sharay had purposely bewitched the former Protector Regent into performing an act against his will. It was not so.

Sahar left the bathing chamber, wrapped in her robe, her heart heavy. As she dressed in the warm dress that had been so thoughtfully left for her on her bed, a rich shade of red that complimented her dark hair and bronze skin tone, Sahar wondered if she should confront Lord Verial, and perhaps counsel him. She knew he had his moments, good and bad, lately, but the healer was afraid that he was taking a turn for the worse, and if he did not face his demons soon, Verial would travel down the downward spiral path that Deanna had foretold, unable to recover from. Sahar slipped her feet in her boots and donned a heavy cloak, her hair hidden under a fresh head covering. She slid gloves upon her hands, and after acknowledging she was dressed warmly enough, decided to take a walk outside the manse, perhaps into town. Sahar oftentimes found herself requiring some fresh air and solace when troubled, or needing to tackle a particularly difficult problem at hand.

She only hoped she could find a solution.

When Verial left his new home, the Villa at the northern end of Chaliceton, the sun shrouded behind gray skies was beginning to set. Night would fall soon and while most did not want to be out after dark, the quiet evening would be some comfort for Verial after this was all over. Following the Chaliceton soldier through the snow-covered main street, Verial and the man found their way to the town's prison. The building was small (as criminals did not frequent Chaliceton often) and mostly made of concrete. It had two floors; the first holding just two or three cells and a desk in a waiting room and a basement holding about seven cells and one room that was completely sealed off with stone walls so people could not view inside.

Heading inside the prison with the soldier, Verial was led downstairs into the basement area. Along his way, he was greeted by those who worked in the prison with respect, but Verial found the whole acknowledgement towards him being Lord of Arthuran strange considering the situation and what was about to happen. After descending the prison's single set of stairs, the soldier led Verial to the room that was surrounded by stone walls. Waiting for them was the warden of the prison. With a rolled piece of parchment in one hand, the warden opened the door with his other hand and waved Verial and the Chaliceton soldier inside.

As the door closed behind them, Verial realized the room was bigger than he thought. Inside it there were about ten people other than the prison warden and the soldier that had led Verial here. Six torches flickered high above on the left and right sides of the walls. For the most part the room was bare save for a strong, rectangular wooden frame that was mounted to the floor. On the top of this structure were metal cuffs fit to snap around a person's wrists and hold them in place. Verial looked from the ten nameless people he didn't know and over to the warden.

"In front of all these people, huh?"

"Sorry, My Lord. King Elias said there needs to be some witnesses present. So, if you'd like to begin..."

"Okay," was all Verial said.

Verial took off his jacket, then his shirt and the bandages that Sahar had carefully wrapped about his torso to help heal the wounds on his back where he had lost his wings. Upon seeing the slash-like marks on Verial's back, the warden lifted a brow in question wondering if they had missed something.

"Those marks. Has your punishment already been laid out?" the warden asked.

"No," Verial said.

Moving forward, Verial lifted his arms above his head towards the wooden beams. The soldier moved over to where Verial was standing and latched the metal cuffs around Verial's wrists. As Verial stood his back facing majority of the people in the room, he heard the door being opened. Verial couldn't see, but he was sure he knew who it was. A man wearing a black hood completely concealing his face and carrying a lethal looking whip. After this man entered, the warden unraveled the parchment he had been holding the entire time and held it out reading the words of the brief message.

"By decree of myself - King Elias - and the realm of Aleris, I hereby sentence Verial Akilara, present Lord of Arthuran, to the punishment of ten lashes by the whip for public humiliation and abusive mistreatment of Layla Victoire, Lady of Elved. The punishment shall be carried out in Chaliceton's prison once Verial Akilara arrives. At least ten bodies must bear witness to the punishment."

One done reading, the warden cleared his throat and nodded to the solider. The man brought Verial something to bite down on, a small piece of wood wrapped in leather binding. For a few seconds, Verial thought he would have liked to bite down on Layla's throat instead, but wasn't that particular and clamped his teeth down on the bar he was brought.

In light of it all, he did not blame Elias. The new king was just doing what he needed to do to appease Layla, to have some sort of extra punishment for Verial so she would not start a war. Nevertheless, these thoughts didn't soothe Verial's resentment as the first lash of the whip was delivered across his back followed by a second and third. Each blow was given with such precision that after the fourth, Verial felt his knees growing weak, the metal cuffs the only thing keeping him standing at the moment. The whip dug across his skin, opening the wounds he already had, the ones that Sahar had tried so desperately to close. Verial managed to keep the leather-wrapped wood in his mouth until about the seventh lash when he could not hold it in any longer. The bar fell to the floor and the remainder of Verial's punishment was spent with him yelling from the pain behind those stone walls of the prison.

Three more lashes - three more very long seconds. At the end of it, Verial was practically hanging suspended by the cuffs around his wrists. Pain flowed unrelentingly throughout his entire body and particularly his back. Since his wings had been ripped and burned from him, this punishment that any other person would have been able to recover from, was harder on Verial. As the cuffs were unlocked, Verial dropped to his knees and then onto his side on the floor. Blood flowed freely across his back and onto the ground as one by one people filtered out of the room since the punishment was finished.

Their footsteps were but a smothered buzzing sound in Verial's ears who usually had sensitive hearing. Verial tried to catch his breath, tried not to holler or curse out in pain too much. But as he lay overwhelmed by the entire event, unable to hold back, Verial let darkness wash over him and shut his odd colored eyes off to the world.

When he awoke, however many hours later, the solider who had brought Verial to the prison was there and trying to help rouse him. Gently, Verial's eyelids fluttered open, confusion washing over him followed by the pain in his back that would not seem to cease any time soon. The soldier held out Verial's clothes and tried to help the Lord of Arthuran up who only pushed him away in a dazed manor. Verial took his clothes - his shirt and jacket - pulling them over his head trying not to wince too much in the process. He left the bandages in the corner of the room and using the wall for support, Verial began to stand up.

It took more effort and more unpleasant breaths than Verial expected. There was no getting around it; Verial leaned against the wall for some time until he felt he could walk. Verial wasn't sure, but he thought he saw out of the corner of his eye the soldier staring at him with an open mouth. Verial made it out of the room, but currently there was no way for him to get up the stairs on his own. Using the aid of the soldier who was following closely behind Verial, the two climbed the stairs and once in the entry room of the prison, Verial pushed himself away from the soldier and headed out into the cold of Arthuran.

Though he had gotten this walking obstacle down, Verial's legs were threatening to collapse beneath him and frequently he had to lean against the wall of a house to support himself. Luckily by the time he had left the prison, the city was shrouded in complete darkness from the night. Verial appeared to be just another drunken man stumbling home from a rowdy evening at the tavern. If he had to be honest with himself, Verial was not sure how he made it back to the Villa, let alone climbing the manse's stairwell to reach his room.

Behind him, the door slammed shut with a kick off his booted foot which was almost enough to make him lose his balance. Verial managed to wrench free from his jacket, tossing it to the side, but could not find the effort to remove his shirt. Instead, he fell onto his bed on his stomach burying his head into his pillows, briefly growling into them. By this point, Verial could finally feel the blood from his wounds wet and sticky against his back and shirt. He realized just how much the journey back to the Villa had affected him; he was exhausted, the pain consistently flooding over him. And so, with not many other choices left, Verial let the comforting blackness envelope his subconscious and lull him into a deep sleep.

Deanna had just finished tightening the last of the laces on her leather waist cincher when she felt the prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She frowned as she straightened, wondering what had triggered such an unsettling effect. After a moment or two, she shrugged it off and while using the mirror upon her wall as a guide, began plaiting her hair. Normally she left her auburn tresses down to flow freely, but since her hair was still a bit damp she felt it necessary to pull her hair back. The soft wool of the dress that was dyed a deep shade of hunter green was pretty enough, and warm as well, but was slightly too large for her frame. She made do by belting the dress as tightly as possible to keep it from hanging in that odd way it had. Once her hair was complete, she donned the boots that were laid out for her (similar to Sahar’s) and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Shortly after she arrived in the room designated to her after leaving Sahar in the bath chamber, a maid had knocked upon her door. Deanna answered it and was presented with a few articles of clothing to wear until she was able to purchase some items for herself. Deanna had nodded her thanks and refused the offer to assist her in dressing before politely closing the door on the maid. As she began dressing, she thought of the conversation she had with Sahar, and though she felt absolutely no guilt in her words, she knew that the revelation had startled the desert healer who obviously was left out of the loop concerning some areas. The truth was oftentimes a hard pill to swallow, but better than living a beautiful lie as far as Deanna was concerned.

Her stomach began making gurgling sounds and she felt perhaps it was time to fill her empty belly with something other than water. Her refusal to eat, much to the dismay of Verial and Sahar, had nothing to do with lack of courteous politeness, but the sheer fact that she did not feel the hunger that had obviously been gnawing at her. Today was different for some reason, so she decided to leave her room and find her way to the kitchen. She grabbed at the ermine lined cloak that had been left for her and donned it, making a mental note to draw the hood over her head. She knew Verial was worried someone would recognize her, though Deanna could not see how, and even if so, she did not particularly care. For Verial’s sake though, she complied.

As she was closing the door to her room, noting the difference in temperature in the hallway, she caught sight of Verial returning from down the hallway. Something was odd about the way he carried himself, the way he walked in almost a stumbling fashion before managing to open the door that led to his room and disappearing inside. Deanna arched a brow, wondering at such a peculiar sight, but figured it was none of her concern and continued walking. As she passed Verial’s room though, she froze as the scent of blood, fresh blood in fact, drifted toward sensitive nostrils. Once more Deanna felt that odd sensation she had experienced earlier in her room and without bothering to knock, she opened the door to Verial’s room, knowing something was amiss. She found him lying face down upon his bed, his booted feet dangling off the edge. That did not concern her.

What she found disturbing was the streaks of bright scarlet that soaked into the shirt he wore, the heady scent of blood growing stronger as she approached. Though reluctant to touch him, Deanna placed a hand upon his shoulder and shook him, finding him unresponsive. Her mouth set in a hard line, Deanna tried once more until she gave up, realizing that Verial was out cold, most likely due to the pain and severity of his injuries, whatever they were. After placing her fingers against the pulse point on the side of his neck, she breathed a small sigh of relief to find a heartbeat, steady but not as strong as she liked. Without hesitating, Deanna grabbed two handfuls of the bloodied shirt he wore and pulled, tearing the material like paper. The sight that greeted her forced her to turn her head to the side, her eyes squeezed tightly as she hissed in breath.

He had been whipped, repeatedly from what she could tell, the crisscross lash marks tore at his skin, flaying the flesh open until blood and fluid seeped from the wounds. The reason for abuse was unknown to Deanna, but surely there had been some mistake. One did not simply have the new Lord of Arthuran whipped for no particular reason. Perhaps it was due to his part, or rather lack of, against Sharay? Deanna would find out later. At this moment, she knew she had to clean and tend to his wounds before infection set in. As it was, the lash had opened up the once healing flesh where his wings had been burnt, and now they too bled as freely as the fresh ones newly made.

Without another word, Deanna turned and left his room until she came upon the room that belonged to Sahar’s. The healer would most definitely have fresh linens and balms she could use. Again she did not waste time knocking, simply barged into the room as if she had every right to be there. Sahar was not within, but that did not stop Deanna from rummaging through the healer’s medicinal belongings and taking what she felt she needed to tend to Verial. Upon her way out she literally ran into the desert woman as she was entering her room, a confused look upon Sahar’s face as Deanna muttered an apology and shoved past her. “Deanna? What…are you doing? Where are you going?” Sahar did an about face and hurried after the cloaked woman carrying supplies.

“Verial.” Was all that Deanna offered as she moved down the hallway without breaking pace and entered Verial’s room once more.

As Deanna was unloading, she could hear the sob that came from Sahar’s mouth and the healer rushed immediately to her Lord’s side. “Who did this? Why?” The questions shot from the healer as she ran to the bathing room that was connected to the bedroom and began filling a basin full of water to wash the blood from Verial’s back. Sahar began cleansing whatever she could until the water in the basin turned a deep rose pink, her touch as gentle as possible. “Why would someone lash the Lord of Arthuran? We just arrived! He has done nothing to offend anyone!”

Deanna leveled those amber eyes at Sahar. “Fix him. That is your job. Answers are mine.” Before Sahar said another word, Deanna was already out of the room and down the stairs. In the main sitting area was where she found Edgar who was quietly delegating duties to several women and men. All activity ceased when they took note of the strange hooded woman intently staring at them with those fey amber hued orbs. Edgar offered Deanna a warm smile. “Greetings to you, my Lady. We have not been properly introduced. My name is Edgar and I-“

“Your Lord is upstairs presently unconscious. His back has been flayed since someone took it upon themselves to have him lashed. Where would I find such a person?” Deanna’s words were softly spoken, but there was no denying the icy menace that they invoked.

The servants made a hasty retreat, leaving only Edgar and Deanna behind in the main greeting room. “My Lady, forgive me…I…don’t understand?” The butler seemed flustered and rather upset upon hearing such news. “I…saw the Lord Verial leave earlier…but…my Lady…I know nothing of…,”

“Where, Edgar?” Deanna asked once more, her voice softer than before. Deanna lowered her hood and bore the full weight of her gaze upon the man who shook his head, unable to understand what was happening and why.

“The warden, my Lady. He might have the answers you seek at the prison.” Edgar gave her the simple directions there, and as Deanna drew the hood once more, he spoke again, sadness edged in his words. “My Lady, I am so sorry for…,” Edgar shrugged helplessly, unsure of what to say.

Deanna nodded once and left the manse. The air had a biting chill to it, the promise of a heavy snow not far off. The sky had taken on a purple and deep indigo hue to signal night would soon arrive. It was not a particularly long walk to the prison, and once Deanna entered the building, she found an armed sentry and requested to see the warden. No introductions were made on her behalf, and the sentry arched a brow upon seeing the strange and unfamiliar woman, but he gestured for Deanna to follow him downstairs where the warden’s office was.

They passed the basement area where Deanna was greeted by surprised stares seeing the woman, but all murmured a polite greeting as she passed. Deanna did not reply to any of them, instead she followed the sentry down another single set of stairs where they stopped at opened door of a single chamber room. The warden was there, conversing with another man who was busy scrubbing blood of the floor. Her nostrils flared and Deanna’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she recognized the signature scent of Verial’s blood. The sentry cleared his throat and announced Deanna’s intent to speak to the warden. A brief flicker of her gaze toward the handcuffs that were obviously used to contain Verial as he was being lashed. The warden, a hearty man born in the north, waved the sentry away and offered Deanna a genuine smile. “My Lady, it isn’t often we received guests here at the prison, especially one such as yourself.” When Deanna said nothing, he continued on. “I have never seen you in Chaliceton before, as I born and raised here and therefore know all who reside here. I assume you are one of the healers that have come with Lord Verial from Eiler?”

Deanna stared at him for a beat or two before nodding. The warden looked at her as if waiting for an introduction, but when Deanna continued to remain silent, he sighed and beckoned her to follow him upstairs into his office. Deanna gave the chamber torture room one last glance before keeping step with the warden. Once they entered his office, the man closed his door and offered Deanna a chair to sit, which was politely declined. Grunting to himself, he sat down behind his desk and plucked from a basket in the corner, a scroll. The seal had been broken, but Deanna recognized it easily enough.

“We both know why you are here, so I’ll save you the time and trouble by just handing this proclamation to you. Perhaps it will explain why I was forced to do what I did. Believe me, my Lady,” the warden sighed heavily, “it was not my wish to ‘punish’, Lord Verial. I merely did as the King requested.” He waited until Deanna had unrolled the scroll and read, her features expressionless as she handed back the scroll. “What was the offense?”

The warden shrugged, shaking his head. “That I do not know, my Lady. All I know is that it must have been something highly offensive for the King to dole out such a punishment.”

Deanna considered his words for a moment, thanked the man and turned to leave. As she stepped out into the hallway, she looked back at the warden. “I am unfamiliar with Lady Victoire. Exactly where in Elved does she reside?” The warden hesitated to reply, hoping that trouble wouldn’t brew as a result of the King’s decree. “Bariston, my Lady. Why?”

Deanna offered a light shrug of shoulder. “Curiosity. I’ve never heard of Bariston either,” Deanna lied as she climbed the stairs into the main area of the prison, and with a bow of her head to the sentry, returned to the Lord’s manse.

Sahar had finished cleaning Verial’s ruined back and was in the process of preparing linen strips with a strange mixture she slathered on them when Deanna arrived. She removed her cloak and tossed it on the floor before grabbing a chair and brought it over near Verial’s beside to sit. “Who is Lady Victoire?” Deanna asked Sahar as the desert magae began applying the medicinal linens.

Sahar lifted her head abruptly to stare at Deanna with wide honeyed eyes. She is the woman who would move heaven and earth to see you dead, Deanna, she thought to herself. Sahar did not voice these words but offered an explanation she felt suitable. “She is the Lady of Bariston, Deanna. It was she who took over duties when King Alerion died during battle with Terra Vale.” Sahar noted Deanna’s reaction to Terra Vale’s name, as it was she who fought Terra and ultimately died as a result. “Lady Victoire appointed Lord Verial as Protector Regent of Aleris in her stead, and…well, their relationship is quite strained now. She blames Lord Verial for failing to do his duties when it came to dealing with the evil Goddess Sharay, or rather, you.” Sahar bit her lip. “I served her until I realized we did not agree on the same moral issues when it came to preservation of life. Now I serve Lord Verial.”

Deanna stared at Verial for a moment before allowing her gaze to travel once more to meet Sahar’s eyes. “What did Verial do to slight this Lady Victoire so much that King Elias ordered such a severe punishment?” Sahar did not hide her gasp of surprise. “The King is responsible for this?”

Deanna nodded. “Retribution for this...Lady.”

Sahar sighed. “While you were still imprisoned, Lord Verial and Layla got into an…altercation. There were words and in the end, Lord Verial, um…attacked her. He didn’t hurt her, not really, but still...,” Sahar finished applying the last of the healing strips on Verial’s back, then moved to the foot of the bed where she tugged off his boots before drawing a blanket up to his waist. “Layla must have put the King on the spot. That is the only reasonable explanation for the King to take action as he did.“

Deanna considered Sahar’s words as she settled back against her chair. “I see.”

The desert beauty began gathering her belongings. “Deanna, you do not have to stay with him. Most likely he will not awaken soon. I will check on him periodically.”

Deanna did not budge. “I will stay with him.”

Sahar arched a brow, surprised at Deanna’s claim. The woman could barely stand in the same room with Veiral and now she was willing to play nursemaid? The healer didn’t argue, and before leaving said, “If he does awaken, please let me know.” Sahar did not receive a reaction from Deanna, but she knew the woman heard her clear enough. The door closed softly behind her.
Deanna rose from her chair to tend to the fire, adding more wood so the flames burned brighter and higher before retaking her seat once more. She no longer felt the hunger that pained her earlier. Her gaze remained upon Verial as she waited for him to wake, but her mind was on a certain Lady that resided on the continent of Elved. Silent rage began filling her as she stared at Verial lying helpless and battered on the bed.

Deanna began planning a surprise trip to Bariston to pay her respects to Lady Victoire…soon.

(Verial Akilara)
Soundlessly, Verial began to awaken, eyelids lifting over odd colored eyes. He had slept without very much movement, save for the occasional nod or moving of his head against his pillow in his sleep. It was as if his body had subconsciously told him not to be so restless unless he wanted to be in further pain. Despite these messages, that did not stop him from still being in pain and being sore when he woke up. Parts of his back were throbbing and distinctly he became aware that something was sticking to his skin. Looking over his shoulder, it was not the material of his shirt he had fallen asleep with but fresh medicinal balm and strips of bandages. Sahar. She'd been in his room at some point and had taken care to make sure he didn't bleed all over his bed. Verial turned his head into his pillow and smothered out a groan wondering how he would go about explaining this to the desert magae if she hadn't already found out somehow. In the middle of these thoughts, Verial heard the sound of someone else in his room - of someone breathing. Turning his head, Verial caught sight of Deanna who was in a chair by his bedside. Verial had no idea how long she had been there but it had been long enough that eventually she had fallen asleep. He watched her, ever curious, wondering why she had decided to stay by and keep an eye on him. Considering the strains on their "relationship" (if one could call it that), the fact that she was here puzzled him. Verial also found himself realizing that in her current state, Deanna almost looked peaceful for once.

(Deanna DiCorvino)
The nightmares had begun again as they did every time she closed her eyes. Deanna had managed to go for prolonged periods without sleeping, but eventually the body gave out and she slipped into the word of dreams. This one was different though. She had been running through the wasteland of Chaos while demonic children chased after her. Running blindly through a heavy downpour of blood and ash until she found herself falling...falling...into a hole in the ground. The opened space in the earth was pehaps eight feet in length and six feet deep, and instinctively Deanna knew it was not an ordinary hole, but a grave. Her own. She attempted a feeble climb to the top, but the blood soaked mud made it impossible to climb, for she kept sliding down for every step she took. Finally she saw a figure that stood by the edge of the grave, a figure shrouded in mists save for his wings that burned as brightly as the sun. "Help me," she called out to him, holding her arm out, but the figure simply ignored her and turned away. The grave began flooding with blood and gore until Deanna found herself sinking under, her lungs burning as she gasped for breath.' She woke with a start, her lungs aching as she groaned and rubbed a hand over her face, trying desperately to shake the threads of the nightmare that clung away. A small sob tore at the back of her throat, and she took several deep cleansing breaths to steady herself. How long had she slept? Deanna no longer took note of time these days, as each moment seemed to blur into the next. After a few moments, she lifted her head, thinking it was about time for Sahar to make an appearance. Hazel orbs rimmed with amber, bloodshot and tired found themselves locked on Verial's face who obviously had woken from his healing slumber. She stared at him a beat or two, wondering how long he had been awake, and finding herself angry of the possiblity that he caught her in a weak moment. She said nothing to him as she stood, her legs and back muscles protesting from the sudden movement as she walked stiffly toward the bathing area. A few seconds later, she returned with a metal cup half filled with tepid water. She crouched beside Verial and gritting her teeth, gently lifted his head so that he might drink. After a few long swallows, she took the cup away and resumed her place in her chair, her face expressionless as she asked. "Tell me, what sort of enmity is there between you and Layla Victoire that would cause the boy King to call for a lashing as your punishment, Verial?" There was no 'hello, or how are you feeling?' Deanna didn't waste time getting down to business, even with the man who lay helpless upon his bed.

(Verial Akilara)
As peaceful as Deanna looked while she was sleeping, this rare glimpse of her was shaken once she started to awaken. Likely roused by some nightmare, Deanna woke up to sucking in her breath and swallowing a sob in the back of her throat that threatened to surface. After Deanna's hand dropped away from her face, she realized that he had been watching her and instantly her character changed. She seemed to square her shoulders and shrugged off whatever nightmare was previously haunting her, gathering enough strength to lift herself from her chair and head to the bathroom. When she came back, Deanna had a cup in her hand and she helped him to swallow some water, even going so far as to touch his face. When that was done, she drew away just as quickly, her now blank and emotionless face demanding answers to questions she must have been thinking about for hours before she fell asleep. Verial managed to turn slowly on his side so that he was facing her and nodded slightly. "The night after the war, she unexpectedly came to my tent when Sahar was there. Layla Victoire proceeded to insult Sahar's loyalties and my own. I retaliated - lashed out against her. I grabbed her hard enough where I was pretty sure I could have broken her jaw. Instead, I threw her into the mud and left her there." If Verial could have, he would have shrugged as if helplessly. "Perhaps not my noblest of moments, but I do not regret it. I'm sure King Elias did what he had to do in order to give Layla some sense of revenge. I wouldn't have put it past her to start some sort of crusade over this had Elias not acted."

(Deanna DiCorvino)
Deanna arched a brow as she listened to Verial's explanation, vague at best. Her lips twitched though upon hearing how Verial reacted Layla and her outburst, almost smiling as she could imagine the sight they both must have made. "I see," she said quietly. She lifted her hand to her hair and began unraveling the braid in her hair. "Sahar informed she used to be quite close to Layla, so I am surprised at this woman being so hateful to her. Considering how kind Sahar it, it's rather shocking to be truthful." Deanna finished running her fingers through her locks, feeling some of the tension ease on her scalp before continuing. "I'm not fully understanding this 'relationship' you have, or rather had, with this woman Verial. Frankly I've never heard of her before today," she paused, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe I have. I don't remember. In any case, I'm guessing she wasn't too happy with the way you handled your, what...leadership position?" Those fey orbs of hers bore into his, and hopefully Verial would get the hint that Deanna knew he wasn't exactly forthcoming in his response. She offered him more water to drink, and when he was finished, settled back in her chair once more. "A woman scorned is a deadly thing, Verial. Perhaps I should speak with her personally on your behalf?"

(Verial Akilara)
He ran a hand over his temples for a moment, rubbing them as Deanna spoke. There was so much more to tell her about the whole situation, but there were questions even he himself had. Mainly why did she seem to care? As much as he wanted to ask Deanna the reason for her prying into Layla and his relationship or lack thereof, he didn't. "I suspect that she made Sahar stay behind in Grand City to make sure I was capable of killing you. But this was not something Sahar herself was able to do. It is against her very nature and Layla knew this, yet she asked her friend to do the one thing she could not. I believe Sahar then realized that Layla is willing to sacrifice anyone or anything if it essentially means getting what she wants." Verial watched as Deanna unbraided her hair, running her fingers through her scalp. For a moment, as those auburn locks tumbled over Deanna's shoulders, Verial felt as if it was actually once more Deanna and not the confused and emotionless mess she had turned into recently. "Any relationship I had with Layla was forged when I suspected you were still dead. She spent some time in Grand City while I was Protector Regent. We spent many evenings together, one of them leading to us ending up in bed together." He was being blatantly truthful, but with Deanna there was no beating around the bush. If anything was going to get a reaction out of her, it was perhaps honesty. "I suppose that's another reason why she's rather angry at me. When we heard Sharay was headed to Bariston and Grand City and that she was in your body, Layla wanted me to kill you. I did not when I needed to the most, so she feels I've betrayed her. In some ways, I do not blame her." Verial took a sip of the water Deanna offered him, fully expecting her to throw it in his face soon enough. At Deanna's suggesting she go seek out Layla, Verial shook his head quickly. "Perhaps you should not do that. I was trying to keep you alive, however bad of an attempt I'm making at it. She would have you shot and beheaded before you could even get out a word."

(Deanna DiCorvino)
Deanna remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, the only reaction she gave to Verial was standing once more to head over to the fire. She added more logs to the smoldering embers, blowing gently so that a brighter flame might spark. Deanna stared into the flames that began burning brighter and higher with each breath, as she processed the information Verial so forthcomingly gave to her. So there had been some romantic aspect to their relationship? Deanna supposed she could understand why, as she had never seen Verial with a woman before and actually always assumed he wasn't a fan of the opposite sex. That bit of news was quite the surprise to her, yet at the same time she was annoyed and irate with him. He had a good thing going with his role as leader, a potential future relationship with a woman, and peace in the lands for a short time being, and he gave it all up...for what? This woman wanted her dead, for that Deanna couldn't blame her. She recalled Bariston now, recalled the destruction by her own hand, the murders of several thousand at her command. Layla had every right to want Deanna's head on a spike, and Verial's as well for aiding her. Deanna walked back to where Verial lay reclined on his side and stared down at him, that cold amber fire that bled into her eyes. "You are quite the fool, Verial Akilara. You gambled everything, including your own son and skin, and lost. Lost is even too weak a word. You realize this woman must realize by now that I am not dead, and she will come after me, which I could care less about, but more importantly she will come after you. I would say you made extremely bad decisions, but let us be honest here, in order to do that you would have to have some semblence of a fucking brain and YOU OBVIOUSLY DO NOT!" Perhaps it wasn't the right time to scream at an invalid, but Deanna couldn't for the life of her, understand his idiotic choices. "YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HER KILL ME! YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE IT YOURSELF!" Deanna kicked the chair she had been sitting in across the room, not particularly caring if it broke in half or not. Frustrated, she began pacing furiously back and forth. "You think this is worth it?" She gestured to herself in a slicing motion with her hand. "You think I needed you to champion me, Verial Akilara? Who the fuck do you think you are, Maxim? If I needed someone in my corner, someone to take my side, it should have been Maxim...not you. Never you! As if you could fill his shoes!" She sneered, knowing she had probably gone too far, but at this point, she was beyond caring. "You tried to be my hero, Verial? Tried to save my life." She shook her head and laughed bitterly. "You thought you were Maxim? No, Verial. You are just some jackass who had the fucking world in the palm of his hand and pissed it away, pissed his son away, pissed on himself too while he was at it." She ceased her tirade for one moment to spare him a withering look. "I might deserve my hellish fate, Verial, but gods know so do you. So do you."

(Verial Akilara)
Deanna was not one to let sleeping beasts rest. As Verial had been so gracious to give her every ounce of truth he was capable in the moment, Deanna lashed back with hatred that was once mellowed out inside of her. This anger - this resentment of Verial - came back out in full force that Verial suspected Deanna was not even aware of the words she was flinging from her lips. Verial knew he was foolish; there was no question about it. But clearly Deanna might have been just as idiotic not to realize what nonsense she was spewing at him while he laid on his side. Did Deanna really expect him to have some fairy tale romance with Layla? If there was one thing Verial had learned over this whole event it was that he was not going to - and did not want to - have a romantic relationship with Layla. Verial would have been able to brush this all aside, to tell Deanna to get out of his room were it not for her next round of attack which included belittling him by comparing him to Maxim Redmont. Deanna was still under the impression that Maxim was waiting around the corner to rescue her and whisk her away. In comparison to Maxim Redmont's great, amazing and heroic image Deanna had in her head of him, Verial was nothing but the dirt under her shoes. In fact, she had made it blatantly clear that Verial was a jackass for even trying to attempt put himself on the grand pedestal that Maxim stood on for Deanna. But there was something she was unaware of and for this, Verial managed to sit up, every bone and muscle aching as he did so, and then eventually stood so he could face her. Verial took a step close to Deanna so they were but an inch away and looked down at her, a feral look in his normally patient odd colored his. His brows were dangerously narrowed and he titled his as if in curiosity. Verial lifted his hands and gestured to himself. "You have audacity to believe I want to fill Maxim Redmont's shoes? Hardly. Let me tell you something that you might be unaware of," Verial said his voice laced with a slight growl. "When your beloved Maxim found out that Sharay had destroyed Bariston, that it was her in your body, he didn't give a damn. When it came to it and Layla gave the order, Maxim didn't hesitate. In fact, he was the one who suggested your immediate death. It didn't matter that he knew no one from Bariston, that he had no connection to those people. Your life was NOTHING in comparison to those. Maxim would have slit your throat and bathed in your blood if he had a chance. You know what you were to him? An occasional fling on the side when he had no one else to pass his fucking miserable time in life. Just as you believe that I’m dirt in comparison to Maxim that is what you are when he sees you and then looks at Meredia. He is mourning over the loss of her now, NOT YOU. That is the real difference between us that you do not know about."

(Deanna DiCorvino)
She was not sure which sparked a flicker of surprise more, the fact Verial actually managed to drag his ass out of that bed, for gods knew that had to hurt like hell, or the vicious words that spewed from his lips, slashing at her just as she had slashed at him. She inched her head upward to lock her gaze with his, barely breathing as Verial mentioned Maxim. Maxim, whom she loved with all her heart, or at least believed she had, viewed her as nothing as far as Verial was concerned. Each word twisted the dagger that was already plunged in her heart. It would have been kinder if he had taken a whip to her himself, for those wounds would heal eventually. The truth, the realization of Verial's words tore at her, shredded whatever small amount of hope that lay hidden in her soul. His words were utter truth though. She need not question him to realize that. She held not one ounce of doubt, for she could see the truth in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Meredia. She knew no one of that name, but apparently it was this woman who held the key to Maxim's heart, this woman who obviously died recently that he shed tears over, or could if it were possible. Not her. Never her. She wasted several years chasing a dream, and the illusion was now shattered by the revelation in Verial's words. Deanna believed in truth, no matter how harsh or brutal, but this...this was cruel. Verial knew of her love for Maxim. To find out it was all a lie, was the worst kind of pain coupled with the horrendous guilt she already felt for each and every sin commited. There was nothing left now. Nothing for her to cling to. Nothing for her to hope on. Verial could no doubt see this as the light died in her eyes within that moment. If she had anything left to give, she would have struck him in anger, in violent denial. There was nothing to deny now. It was all laid out on the table, naked and visible for all to see. Maxim cared nothing for her. Never had. Never would. He would have gut her like a pig for Layla, for Bariston, for his own honor. Deanna had to remind herself to breath, for she was so very still for so very long. One quick shuddering of breath was heard, another to exhale. That was it. There was nothing else to be said. Verial had removed the blinders in the most painful way possible. She simply nodded, a jerking motion of her head and walked away from him, numb. Nothing else could touch her now. Nothing else could cause her pain. She bent and began righting the chair she had knocked over, amazingly still in one piece. Not sure of what to do now, she reached for the tin cup she had used to hold Verial's water and clutching it in her hand, said quietly to him, "Sahar will be upset to see you standing." Her slow steps took her once more toward the bathing room, and she refilled the cup with water, her hands shaking and the water sloshed over the rim several times. It took her four or five tries before she could hold the cup in hand without spilling a drop, and when she had composed herself enough, found her way back to where Verial was and set the cup by his bed on the small stand. Deanna glanced around the room, avoiding direct gaze with Verial, unsure of what to do now.

(Verial Akilara)
The selfish, boyish part of Verial wanted to see Deanna cry. He wanted to taunt her and see her shed some sort of emotion over the news that Maxim Redmont never loved her. Instead, Deanna was deathly still for quite some time absorbing this newfound news until at last her body quaked suddenly and she let out a shaky, unrestrained breath. Verial watched as any resemblance of life - of that previous fury - faded from those amber colored orbs of hers and was drowned out. His gaze followed Deanna as she managed to pull herself away from him, setting the chair she had knocked over the right way and then retreating to the wash room for a moment to refill his tin cup with water. She set the cup to the side on the night stand by his bed and directed her gaze anywhere else but at him. Verial had thoroughly - and in every sense of the word - defeated Deanna by telling her that Maxim didn't care about her in the slightest. Nevertheless, Verial had never intended to cause Deanna any further pain, but by lashing out in the same manner that she had towards him - unrestrained and full of hatred - he had done such a thing. Essentially, he might have done better by telling Deanna that he cared more for her than Maxim, but he would have never believed her unless he hurt her in the process. "That's all you're going to say? That you're worried about Sahar catching me standing?" Verial said. For a brief second, he managed to dip his head down slightly and catch the wounded look in her eyes until she turned away from him again. He straightened himself and then gave her a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders. Verial wasn't trying to gloat. The last thing he wanted was to give her a thought that he wanted her to admit he was right. He hated that Deanna had been so infatuated with Maxim that the devastating blow of Maxim wanting to kill her was now the only thing on her mind. Verial - no matter how much he tried or cared - was still but a grain of salt in comparison to the former Kinslayer. "Actually, nevermind. Just don't say anything." Verial moved past Deanna and into the wash room. The sound of running water could be heard as Verial used his palms to wash his face.

(Deanna DiCorvino)
What more did he want from her? Did he wish for her to go down to the kitchen and retrieve salt so that he could pour it in her wounds? Would that make him feel better? Perhaps it was payment, retribution for his son. Whatever the reason, something in Deanna snapped. Something cold and brutal. She actually felt the change inside of her happening, the violence that flooded her entire being until it took shape and form. Without thinking, Deanna followed Verial into the wash room where he was splashing water onto this face from the basin. Above that was a mirror, not particularly large, but wide enough so once could see their face, situated in a heavy frame. No doubt Verial would have heard her approach, if he had not seen her first. With a quickness that later in retrospect Deanna would consider in bewildered wonder, she lashed out and grabbed a fistful of raven black hair in her hand, and without a moment's pause, yanked his head back just enough to smash it forcefully forward into that mirror. Glass shattered upon impact, and she heard the startled, pain inducing sound that Verial made as she released him. The scent of the blood caught her attention before she noticed it dripping into the wash basin. Bright crimson drops fell steadily one by one as she stepped away from him. When he finally did turn to face her, he sported a two inch long gash on his forehead just above his right eye. Her amber eyes were as cold as before, and just as empty, even as she reached for a small towel that hung and tossed it at him. "Does it hurt?" She asked in that quiet deadly voice. "Actually, nevermind. Don't say anything, for I truly do not care if it does." With that, she spun on her heel and left the washroom. She decided she had enough of being a nursmaid for Verial. Let Sahar deal with him. She crossed the room in several long strides and reached for the doorknob. Just as she stepped outside in the hall, she turned and called out to the drow who had taken his fair share of abuse from all ends. "I owe you a thanks for opening my eyes regarding Maxim. Consider the fact that I have chosen not to kill you, my payment." With that, she left Verial to his own devices, figuring if he was strong enough to get out of bed, to bleed her dry with his words, then he was more than capable of handling a minor head wound.

(Verial Akilara)
He was unprepared for Deanna following him into the bathroom. He was unprepared for her suddenly grabbing a fistful of his raven hair and yanking his head back only to smash his forehead into the mirror in front of him. The glass cracked, his forehead was cut open with a two inch large gash and he was left momentarily breathless, stunned really. Deanna's words were bitter with resentment as blood and water dripped back down into the basin from his face. When Verial was finally able to breathe again, his breaths were rigid. He was struggling to contain every ounce of anger that was bubbling over the surface. Unfortunately some of this seeped out of his being and after Deanna stalked out of his room to stand in the doorway, Verial managed to push himself away from the basin and to stand before her as she lurked about his doorway. There were suddenly black scales that dotted across Verial's forearms, this only ever happening unless he had been pushed to his limits. Before she could get away, Verial cursed at her in Draconic, something he rarely did and was unusually unaware of. Unless Deanna knew the ancient language, she would have no idea what he was saying, though the words roughly translated to, "How blind are you? I've cared about you more than Maxim and you never even gave me a chance. Yes, it does fucking hurt." The only word she might have been able to make out was 'Maxim'. In any case, it didn't matter what Verial had said. He followed up his slew of Draconic by picking up the chair she had righted earlier and throwing it against the door frame where Deanna stood. She took a step back and fortunately the chair missed her since he was clearly not thinking at the time and acted on impulse. Visibly, Verial was shaking from the effort it had taken to stand, to keep himself standing after she had bashed his forehead against the mirror and then to throw the chair. Still, he managed to make one additional movement which led him over to the door so he could slam it in her face, the sound echoing down the hallway. Verial moved back to his bed to lay on his stomach, obsidian colored scales still dotting his arms and now parts of his back.

(Deanna DiCorvino)
And there it was...just as Deanna had something beastily lurking inside of her, Verial decided now was the time to call forth his dragon. She turned and glanced at him, seemingly impassive to his ranting and raving in whatever language he was hissing and spitting at her at first, until Verial continued on in that strange dragon tongue (at least she assumed it was), the only discernable word she could translate was Maxim, and that drew her brows together in fury. So he was back at it, was he? Wanted to shove that dagger in all the way to the hilt, since obviously the blade wasn't enough. Deanna stood there, her arms akimbo and hands balled into fists. "You curse me now, you overgrown lizard?" True Verial was mostly in his human form, but there was no mistaking those black scales that shone on his forearms to reveal his true hidden nature. She was about to retort with something witty, sarcastic and rather insulting when he threw the chair at the door frame. Spluttering her own curses in the common tongue, she managed to back out of the way just in time, her eyes narrowed into mean slits as they bled amber fire. She never had the chance to retaliate as Verial, however he managed, made it to the door and slammed it in her face. Deanna sucked in a breath at the insult. He obviously thought he had won this battle. Idiot. He hadn't bothered locking it, which just proved he was a moron after all, and she threw the door open, kicking it closed behind her with a booted foot. The skirt of her dress made a swishing sound as she stalked over to the bed where Verial lay, pissed off and most likely sulking, his scales far more prominent now. "Get up!" She snapped at him, grabbing one of his arms and with a strength that belittled her form, yanked him to his feet even as he shoved her away from him. "I have something for you," Deanna began as she placed both hands upon his chest and flung him against the wall. The way his back hit against the rough brick, she had to wince slightly knowing how that had to have hurt, but damn it all the man...dragon...had it coming. Without waiting for his response, which was most likely violent, Deanna reached a hand toward her neck, fingers finding what she was looking for as she ripped the black cord that held one shiny obsidian scale attached...a gift from Verial. She threw it at him as she visibly shook with anger, her eyes glassy. "I don't want it...or you." There. Now they were even. Still, there was something that passed for hurt that flashed across her face, but it faded away so quickly it was difficult to discern if it had been there at all, and without another word to Verial, she left his room, slamming the door behind her. She was shaking, though from powerful rage, or incredible sadness, she couldn't be sure. Nothing made sense to her. Everything was just one huge lump of confusion and she seemed to be drowning in it. Furiously, she swiped at her eyes which betrayed her by leaking that warm fluid on their own and without thinking, ran to her room and bolted the door. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, and though she seemed to have no trouble doing it earlier, couldn't seem to feel.

Verial wanted to hear nothing. He wanted to tune out the rest of the world and fall back asleep. By moving around too much when he should not have been, he had worn himself out. Unfortunately, Deanna would have none of that. The Draconic he shouted at her was not him getting the last word; neither was the door being slammed in her face. It was his subtle way of telling her to leave because the situation had already made a turn for the worse and was getting no better by the minute. This didn't translate well. All Deanna heard was him saying something about Maxim Redmont which made her stalk back in the room after he had shut her out.

As soon as Verial heard the door open, he went rigid and tried to hide a groan by silencing it with his pillow that wanted to surface. Deanna strode over to his bed side and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him to stand on his feet. Perhaps her anger had overwhelmed her by this point, but had Verial wanted to, he could have stopped her and stayed right where he was lying. Half of his moving to his feet was his own willingness and the other half was Deanna's unrestrained strength that she seemed to be hiding under that usual sullen appearance of hers. Deanna took this same might and with her hands upon his chest, she turned Verial and pushed him up against the wall, slamming his back into it.

The impact sent waves of pain throughout his body and instinctively he looked up at the ceiling for a moment, biting his lower lip hard, though that did little to stifle any wounded cry that came from his mouth. Verial closed his odd colored eyes; if Deanna had winced realizing what she had done, he missed it. In her assault, Deanna looked at him with feral eyes and when Verial finally was able to dip his head away from the ceiling to look back at her, she was shoving something towards him. A necklace. She threw it at him and the jewelry fell to the floor. Only when Deanna was gone leaving him alone was Verial able to comprehend what it was.

Attached on a thin black cord was the obsidian colored dragon scale Verial had left on Deanna's grave. He managed to make his body move to pick it up off the floor and when he did, he sat back down on his bed. Deanna had been wearing it? That fact alone puzzled Verial. He didn't know what he was going to do with it. Taking a dragon scale was not the most pleasant experience and he would have a small scar (even in his human-like form) above his heart close to his shoulder forever because of it. Deanna had thrown it back at him with such ferocity and stated that she never wanted him. For quite some time, Verial sat in the silence of his own room, staring down at the dragon scale in the palm of his hand.

He had no will to get up and go after Deanna. Verial didn't blame her for her anger or hatred of him right now. Perhaps he should have thought better to tell her the truth and instead lied about Maxim Redmont. He had effectively broken her heart. Even if his intentions had been to tell her that he cared about her - more so than Maxim who used her basically as a side dish - everything came out terribly wrong. More than he could have ever imagined.

The only thing that roused him was the sound of his door opening. When he heard the light gasp, Verial knew it was Sahar but he did not look up. He was not sure how much time had passed since Deanna left as his thoughts seemed to be connected to the obsidian colored disc in his hand. Verial fingers wrapped around the scale, tucking it away from the view of Sahar's eyes. He was visibly a mess. There was a two inch gash on his forehead and blood slowly trickling over his brow. Most of the bandages Sahar had carefully placed had either been torn off or had fallen off. His raven hair was a mess in the back where Deanna had yanked it to get a good grip before hitting his forehead into the mirror. Black scales dotted across parts of his form. Despite all these injuries, Verial was barely moving and didn't make a sound.

When Sahar went to him and opened her mouth to say something, Verial only lifted his hand and shook his head as if to stop her. The last thing he wanted to do at this point was talk to anyone. Unintentionally, Verial's actions, absent and cold as they were, fell onto Sahar's shoulders once more. Still, she was the ever devoted healer even though he was but a statue as she cleaned the wounds on his back and now his forehead. When she was done washing the blood away, applying new balm and fresh bandages, Sahar placed her hands upon Verial's head and smoothed out his raven colored hair the best she could, afterwards placing a small kiss upon his forehead.

As she moved to gather her stuff and leave Verial to himself once more, he finally felt the urge to speak to her.

"Sahar." His voice was almost foreign even to himself and sounded noticeably different. There was no audile shaking in his words, but there was something weakened in the sound of his voice. "Is it wrong to go through this much pain if you love some one... even if they clearly hate you with every ounce of their being?"

Whether Sahar would have responded or not, Verial did not hear. Suddenly his eyelids felt heavy and as they closed, he was drug into a deep sleep. Managing to lay on his stomach, Verial pulled up his legs and placed the side of his face on his pillow. Despite everything that had happened, he slept soundly. Even his drow hearing - usually so sensitive and alert - seemed to turn itself off. For three days, Verial slept and he dreamt and above all else, he subconsciously wished that he had changed things for better, not for worse.


White flowers as far as the eyes could see dotted the landscape before Verial. The flora reached a little bit above his knees swaying with the gentle breeze. When the wind rushed over the mountains that surrounded the valley and through the flowers, Verial thought it sounded similar to the ocean. It was a pleasing sound for him and one that was interrupted only by some one gently tugging on his hand from below.

When Verial looked down, turning his head away from the blue sky and field of flowers, he saw much to his surprise that it was Necia. She was lying down amongst the flowers, her red colored hair spread out like flames across the ground. It was quite the surprise, but when she smiled gently at him and patted the ground next to her, Verial sat, the flowers now coming nearly over his head.

"Where have you been?" Verial said.

Necia, Verial's first wife, offered only a shrug but did not speak.

"Good answer," Verial said wrapping his arms about his knees. "Actually, I don't care where you've been. What are you doing here?"

A few silent minutes passed by and then quite suddenly Necia sat up and reached into her pockets. Verial watched with some anxiousness as she dug around wondering what she was fetching. After longer than Verial expected, Necia held out her hands which were cupped together and motioned with a nod of her head for him to hold out his own. Verial held out both of his palms in front of him and as she opened her hands slowly, nothing fell from them. Not a single thing.

Verial lifted a brow questioningly, his patience obviously wearing thin. "Come on. What is -"

She leaned forward and whispered into one of his pointed ears with that voice he had nearly forgotten. "It is hope. Do not give up."

Necia stood and ran from him through the flowers. As Verial got to his feet, shouting at her in an attempt to demand more answers, a sudden wind ripped through the flowers pulling thousands of white petals into the air and creating a wave-like sound louder than before. They fluttered towards the sky, obscuring Verial's vision and Necia as she dashed through the meadow becoming nothing more than a blur, just as she usually was.


Sleeping for three days had its advantages. One of them being that the wounds on his back and forehead had a chance to finally start to close. No one questioned his absence for those three days. Those who knew assumed the Lord of Arthuran was recuperating from the lashes he had received. Another was that he had successfully managed to avoid arguing with Deanna for three days which was sadly a record.

The disadvantage was that he was sore as hell, but not in any tremendous amount of pain as he was before. As Verial lifted himself up, pushing away from his bed, he knew a bath was in order. Suffice to say, he was not in his best physical condition from having slept so long and he would be the first to admit he did not smell wonderful either.

Verial also realized that in his hand he was still clutching onto the obsidian scale that Deanna threw at him, the cord of the necklace wrapped partially around his wrist. Verial unwound the necklace and placed the jewelry onto the nightstand by his bed. As Verial looked at and then rubbed away the half crescent shape it left behind from being pressed into his palm, Verial wondered if he would even dare to give it back to Deanna. Then he thought what would be the point of it?

As water filled the tub in his wash room, Verial undressed and unwrapped the bandages on him. He noticed they were fresh so he assumed that Sahar had been checking in on him. With his first descent into the bath, Verial let out a hiss as the hot water soaked into the partially scabbed wounds on his back. After some time though, the water became a much needed comfort. Verial was even able to lean back, though briefly, and submerged his entire head into the water for a few brief seconds.

"Do not give up."

Verial lifted himself away from the water and looked around the room. There was no one there. Those words from his dream came back to haunt him. Still he questioned what he was not supposed to give up on when there was barely anything left for him to believe in or stay devoted to.

Shaking his head, Verial finally left the bath and dried himself off, gathering clothes to dress in. Verial had not gotten the chance to shop for appropriate winter clothes, but he had a few things that would be warm enough for the time being. After pulling on black colored breeches, Verial looked to the side. On his night stand there was a collection of bandages, herbs and balms likely left behind by Sahar. Verial went to these and managed to apply the medicinal balms. However awkward and messy it was, Verial did not see, but he got the job done and was soon enough wrapping bandages about his torso. He knew he could have called on Sahar, but Verial was sure she was actually trying to rest after so frequently healing and picking up the pieces from her so-called Lord.

Verial dressed in a dark blue, long sleeved shirt after the bandages were set in place and then his boots. He grabbed his jacket and a pair of thick leather gloves feeling at last he was ready to head out. After having rested for so long, what Verial desired was first some food and then some fresh air. Besides the people of Chaliceton apparently needed him to provide some direction on things as he was their Lord, however absent he might have been the last few days.

Quietly, Verial shut his bedroom door behind him. As he walked by, he paused a beat to look curiously at Deanna's close door. Part of him wondered if she was there or if their arguments had finally driven her away. He did not find and answer to his questions and he did not pry either. Instead, he continued down into the kitchens were he ate and then eventually left out one of the back doors of the Villa.

Outside, a snowy wind had picked up and settled onto Verial's black hair which was thankfully dry by now. Part of him wished he had his wings for this. Usually they were a comforting shield from the cold, but now he felt the wind more than ever. It was, much to his dismay, just something he would have to grow used to.

As Verial trudged through the streets of Chaliceton, he made his way to the town's wall that surrounded it and climbed up a set of stairs that led to the top. For some time, Verial gazed out into the barren white landscape seeing every now and then clutch of evergreen trees huddling bravely together. There was something eerily beautiful about it even though to some if might have appeared desolate. His thoughts were soon interrupted though by the sound of a voice.

"Lord Verial," a man said reaching out to shake one of Verial's gloved hand. Verial extended his hand, somewhat grateful that the man had not bowed. Afterwards, the man nodded towards the landscape Verial was scanning earlier. "My name is Sedric, a Captain and healer in Chaliceton's guard. I would like to welcome you to Chaliceton."

"Thank you, Sedric," Verial said and together the two men stood on top of Chaliceton's wall surveying the surrounding land. "Tell me. I'm not familiar with Chaliceton too much. What's the town's current condition? Is it ready for winter? I hear that Elysia doesn't hold back, even in the land that she favors."

"Well..."

Sahar had spent most of her morning downstairs in the kitchen making a poultice of comfrey and marjoram for Verial’s back. During that time she had made an effort to get to know the ladies who worked hard in the kitchen, and they in turn found themselves at ease with the desert woman, even going so far as to ask her questions about her homeland. Never before had they seen a woman from Heruin with her golden skin and softly accented voice, not to mention her height. The tallest woman in there only reached Sahar’s shoulders, something the healer found quietly amusing.

It mystified the women at first when the magae entered the kitchen with only her eyes and part of her nose bare to see, but once Sahar explained that she did not have any diseases that required the head covering, such as leprosy, merely it was a personal preference. A few of the younger ones whose duty it was to scrub and clean, actually took an interest in her healing abilities and asked questions regarding the poultice she was making. One brazen young one even dared question Sahar about the elusive ‘other healer’ that arrived with them. The desert beauty smiled and offered the excuse, “She is not used to the weather change, or travelling. She will adjust in time.”

She bid the women farewell and headed upstairs to her room, fetching clean linens and other supplies she might need to tend to Verial’s wounds. Her arms full, she shifted the materials so she could open the door, figuring he was asleep. She had not expected the Lord to be in sitting position, much less with a newly acquired freshly bleeding gash upon his forehead. He looked, in fact, like he had recently been in a brawl. A small gasp tore at her lips and she hurried over to where he sat upon the bed, frowning heavily as she took note of the strangely absent Deanna.

The healer opened her mouth to question what had happened, when Verial cut her off, seemingly far too defeated to discuss matters. Her lips pressed in a thin line, she grudgingly agreed to keep silent as she set about cleaning his head injury first before applying a small amount of the poultice followed by a gauzy strip to keep it in place. She then tended to his back, grunting softly to herself as she did so. The wounds did not appear infected, neither by touch nor scent, and Sahar assessed they would heal beautifully on their own. As with the gash upon his forehead, Verial would be left with scars, but they were a small price to pay for his life.With a sigh, she finished and as she smoothed back his hair from his forehead, Sahar placed the gentlest of kisses upon his brow.

Her heart went out to him, for he suffered so much, and the healer had to wonder if it was worth it. She began to gather her belongings and was near the door when the Lord finally spoke. Sahar turned and arched a finely shaped dark brow, a faint smile on her lips. She almost decided to tease him, prepared to inform him that while flattered, she did not feel the same toward him, but the raw honesty of the question, coupled with the ravaged look in those odd colored eyes compelled Sahar to steer toward seriousness. There was no need to consider an answer, for Sahar had one readily at her disposal.

“Verial,” she began softly, dropping all formalities for this one moment. “The ability to love someone and receive love back is a great gift, a wondrous gift, but this particular gift does not come free or cheaply. The cost of love is almost certainly pain, for if heartache did not exist, how else would you come to realize there had been love in the first place?” She would let him ponder her answer for a moment before continuing. Quite frankly, Sahar was rather caught off guard at the question, especially since the Lord wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his emotions. “You believe she hates you with every fiber of her being?” Sahar shook her head, the scarf she wore to cover her hair slipping some. “I disagree, though one would think me crazy for doing so, since Deanna’s actions would declare otherwise,” she gestured with her chin toward Verial’s forehead. “However, I would think that a woman who simply did not give a damn at all, would simply have left you to bleed to death, nor cared about the reason why you were lashed.” She shrugged. “I could be wrong though. Deanna is a strange woman, indeed.”

Sahar paused then, biting on her lower lip as she wondered on her next choice of words, staring at the floor as she spoke. “Verial, when I agreed that you had made the right choice when it came to saving Deanna, I meant it was right for you. It was what you needed to rid yourself of guilt in your conscience and in your heart. I did not say it was right for her. It was something you needed to do, but did you ask yourself at all if it was something you should do? Did you stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, and how it would affect Deanna…and ultimately you?” If Verial had heard any of her words, Sahar would not know, for when she glanced at her silent Lord, he had drawn himself into fetal position and was asleep. The healer shook her head once more with a smile and left him to rest.

Sahar had noticed Edgar approaching from the opposite end of the hall, his arms heavy with the tray he carried. Sahar noted with great joy there was a pot of tea in the center, steam wafting from the spout. “Hello Edgar,” she smiled warmly. “If that tray is for me, I shall kiss you, you dear man.” A sparkle gleamed in Sahar’s honey colored eyes as the elder man blushed. “My apologies Lady Sahar, Marta was on her way up with your tray. This is for…um…your….cousin, I presume?” Edgar raised a bushy graying brow, and Sahar tried to keep her smile firmly in place. Deanna’s identity had not been something either she or Verial had broadcasted, and honestly after a week or so in the villa, not a single servant had known her name or who she was to the Lord.

“Mmm…yes, my…cousin.” Sahar pushed the door of her room open and deposited her medicinal supplies on a small table near the door before stepping once more out into the hallway to relieve Edgar of the tray. “She is not used to strange places, so it might take her some time to adjust.” Edgar offered Sahar a smile, hardly about to question the Lady’s word.

“Of course. I will leave you then to see that she eats. Oh, and my Lady? Would you let her know that I will send someone up later on with some clothing for her?” Edgar’s smile widened. “I noted that she is about the same size as my daughter was, and since there is a chest filled with garments and whatnots that she will no longer need, I figured the uh…your…cousin….would benefit from them.” He grinned sheepishly at Sahar. “Forgive me, Lady Sahar, I fear nothing of my child’s would be suitable for you.” He was referencing Sahar’s height, and the magae had to chuckle. “No offense taken. I actually spoke to Marta and we are having some garments made that will suit. You are most kind Edgar to think of us.” The butler once again reddened and bowed, leaving Sahar the task to take the tray of food to Deanna.

Sahar knocked lightly upon the wood, and when there was no response, she tried the handle. Finding it locked she heaved a sigh as she carefully set the tray down, muttering under her breath as she reached under her headdress until she found one of the many pins she used to hold her hair up. Sahar had to smile to herself as she picked the lock with ease, glancing up and down the hallways from time to time to make sure no one had noticed. A woman of many, many talents that she kept to herself until the time required her to make use of them, Sahar replaced her hair pin and opened the now unlocked door before bending and reaching for the tray. The room was dim as she entered with only the light from the barely opened shutters gave any visibility for Sahar to see. She set the lunch tray down upon the small table in the corner, and slid a glance toward Deanna who was sitting as still as a statue in the oversize chair near her bed. The woman did not acknowledge Sahar’s presence or make a sound indicating annoyance for the intrusion.

This did not deter the healer as she began lighting the wall sconces and set to starting the fire that had longed died in the hearth. “You know Deanna,” she began as she piled on the wood, and deciding to cheat a bit, murmured a few whispered words in her people’s ancient language, her hands outstretched. Within seconds, fire blazed, burning bright enough to chase away the shadows and warm the rather frigid room. Standing, she walked to where the woman sat and stood before her, arms folded over her breasts. "I do believe deliberately freezing to death is considered suicide. Just a thought." Sahar leveled her honeyed gaze at Deanna who finally lifted her head and glared at her hatefully.

“Bitch.”

A flicker of a smile graced the healer’s lips. “Nice to see something can get a reaction out of you dear. Now stand up and come to eat. Edgar was kind enough to think of you as you waste away to nothing. The least you can do is eat the food that man provided.” Sahar waited patiently until finally Deanna gave into the healer and stood, pointedly ignoring her as she stalked past her to where the tray resided upon the table. Wood scraped against wood as the chair was dragged out for Deanna to sit, and Sahar followed her. There was a lovely assortment of fruit and cheeses, hard bread and cold salted meat, but it was the fragrant tea and hot barley soup that brought tears to Sahar’s eyes. She hadn’t eaten since early this morning, and it was nothing more than a biscuit, so she found herself famished. Judging from Deanna’s reaction, while subtle, the woman was starving. Sahar tentatively reached for a piece of cheese. “Don’t want you biting my fingers off you know,” she teased. Naturally she received nothing in response from Deanna, though she could have sworn there was a slight quirk of the other woman’s lips. “By the way, the staff is wondering what to call you. They assume you are my cousin, and though I did not dispute that, you will require a name other than your own as to not draw suspicion.” Sahar said between bites. “Shall I chose one for you, or do you have something in mind?”

Deanna nibbled on a strip of jerky, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “Amelia will do.”

Sahar nearly choked on her food. “Amelia? What an archaic name, and frankly dear, does not suit you at all. Why Amelia?” Sahar’s nose wrinkled prettily.

Deanna regarded her for a beat or two, a rare glimpse of amusement in her amber orbs. “Because it is the name I was given the day I was born, and will respond to it if used.”

Sahar had the grace to blush furiously. “Deanna, forgive me. I did not mean to insult you. I simply assumed…,”

The other woman shrugged, hardly bothered by it all. “My grandmother’s name. I personally cannot stomach it, hence why I use my middle name, but it will serve its purpose now, I think.”

The two women ate in silence for some time, and Sahar poured tea, happily drinking the hot brew. It wasn’t until the entire tray of food had been eaten, and the pot of tea was empty that Sahar chose to speak. “Deanna, I want you to know that I do understand why you react the way you do to Verial. I understand the contempt, the loathing and the violence that occurs as a result.” Sahar noticed the woman actually lifted her gaze to peer at Sahar, seemingly interested in what the healer had to say. “I understand that it is your hatred for yourself, and what you were forced to do, that spawns your hatred for Verial, for what he failed to do. I cannot empathize with you, but I can sympathize.” Sahar dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “You are a broken thing that may or may not be able to be fixed. I cannot answer that. I can say that the Lord Verial is a broken thing as well that may or may not be fixed. Perhaps not to your extent, but at the rate he is going, and you my dear do not help the situation, he will soon follow you into your own ‘hell’, as you so kindly informed me the other day.”

Deanna stared at her unblinking for some time before asking, “Why are you telling me this, Sahar?”

The magae did not waste time seizing the opportunity. “I want you to go. I want you to leave Chaliceton, and more importantly, leave Verial. The two of you in each other's proximity is a recipe of utter disaster, for both you and Lord Verial. You make no effort to heal each other rather you both destroy each other, sinking deeper each passing moment. If you remain in the state that you are in, you will not only drive yourself further into the abyss, but Verial will follow you as well. I cannot allow that, so I ask you do the honorable thing and leave him. Leave here.”

“No.” Was Deanna’s only reply, the word so softly spoken, Sahar barely heard it.

The magae blinked several times, a look of incredulousness on her face. “Wh…what? No?” Sahar stood then, her palms slapping down upon the table. “That is your answer? No?” Sahar did her best to remain calm. “Why in the name of the gods would you stay here? All you do is hurt each other, Deanna. That is cruel! If it is about your identity…if you are afraid that you will be found then I can-“

“That is not why I say no,” Deanna offered quietly, rising from her seat as well.

Sahar frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You do not have to understand. He does. That is all that matters.” With that she turned her back on Sahar, leaving the magae flustered and confused as she watched Deanna walk over to her window, opening the shutters so that she may peer out. Silence ticked by and then…

“He is all I have Sahar. I am all he has.”

Those words perplexed the healer as she gazed at Deanna, searching within the woman. What shocked her were two things. One, Deanna believed the truth of her words. Wholeheartedly. The second was the small blink of light hidden deep inside the darkness that shrouded Deanna’s soul. It flickered briefly for a few moments, but after a while burned steadily. It was so tiny, Sahar almost missed it, but it was there and it did burn. Hope, Sahar thought. Despite all there is hope. The healer turned and without bidding Deanna goodbye, left.

In the few days that passed, Sahar busied herself drying herbs, and tending to Verial who was deep in his healing sleep. She changed his bandages, checked for fever and would dip linen in water to pour drops into his parted lips. In those days she did not see Deanna at all, figuring the woman needed time for herself. It was best this way, Sahar thought. She did not understand Deanna’s reasoning for staying, just as she did not understand Verial’s desire to endure the woman’s troubled soul. The magae sighed as she repacked her medicinal bag, knowing that things would get much worse before they got better…if they did at all.

She was busy dressing warmly for a stroll outside when there was a knock on her door. When she opened it, she smiled as Edgar, his nose and cheeks red from the chilled winds outside, grinned broadly. “My Lady, the blue winter roses are starting to bloom. There are a few bushes near the south eastern wall if you would like to see them.” Sahar grabbed Edgar’s cheeks and gave him a hearty smack on the forehead. “I would indeed, Edgar thank you!” Sahar fastened her cloak quickly and began following Edgar outside the villa. Sahar had never before heard of anything flowering during the winter season, but according to Edgar, these roses were special and sacred to Elysia. Winter was the only time of the year they did bloom. Roses hued indigo, cerulean and even a shade of turquoise in color would decorate the landscape in Arthuran. A rare sight indeed for newcomers. Their paces quickened as they found themselves outside the villa’s wall, stopping short in surprise when they reached the south eastern corner.

Kneeling before the rose bush, naked fingers lightly tracing over the radiant petals in various shades of blue, was Deanna. She wore a lovely gown of deep plum which was already dusted with snow, but was without a cloak or gloves to keep her warm. At first Sahar did not think the woman noticed the presence of the pair, but she turned her head to regard them with those startling amber orbs. She nodded once to both Edgar and Sahar before rising to her feet and brushing snow off her gown. Without another word, Deanna turned and wandered off in the direction of town.

Sahar and Edgar stared at the retreating figure for a few moments until it was Edgar who broke the spell of silence. “She is quite the unusual creature, if you do not mind me saying.”

Sahar linked her arm through Edgar’s and laughed a little. “More than you know, Edgar. Now, show me those roses.”

She had successfully managed to avoid dealing with Verial, and even Sahar for the past few days. Of course it had been easy to do so when she confined herself to her room. When the maids or even Edgar had knocked on her door, attempting to offer her food, she had remained silent and refused to answer. She could hear their sighs as they set the trays down near her door, but even after they retreated, Deanna had not ventured outside, not at all enticed by the scent of food. She had not built a fire for warmth, but the cold had not bothered her. Hunger had not bothered her.

Dark circles formed under her eyes from lack of sleep, and when she had found herself slipping away, she was plagued by nightmares so fierce, so real, that when she had finally managed to wake herself she had been covered in sweat and shook uncontrollably for hours, her hands clamped over her mouth to keep from screaming. She would see their faces, her victims…Sharay’s victims, hiding in the dark corners of her room, their ghostly faces torn, their mouths opened in silent screams of agony. She would shut her eyes, and bury her head in her hands even as she felt them approach her, felt their hands upon her tearing at her clothes, her skin as they tugged at her. She had whispered how sorry she was, how she could not fight against the great evil that had taken their lives.

She had seen the apparition that was Kyrian on many occasions, the young dragon child who had been her friend. He would stand before her, shaking his head as blood ran in rivulets down his chest from the tears in his throat made by Elijah. Each time he would open his hand, and lying in the palm were his turquoise eyes, eyes that he offered to her. She would shake her head and shove him away with a sob, and the ghostly shade would whisper her name before departing, leaving Deanna alone in her room once more.

She was slowly going insane and she knew it.

On the third day she rose before the sun peered over the horizon, having only slept for a few hours and while the Villa was still silent, Deanna had slipped out of her room to head downstairs to the bathing area. She wasn’t sure how long she had stayed in the steaming water, sitting upon the stone bench, but at least she felt much cleaner and slightly more refreshed when she had finished. Once back in her room, she wrapped her robe tightly around her form and went over to the dead, cold hearth. Several long minutes later, the room was considerably warmer as the fire blazed, and Deanna began to dress for the day, the clothes compliments of Edgar…or rather his daughter. After donning her undergarments, she chose a dress colored a deep plum that was as soft and warm as it appeared. As she tightened the laces, Deanna skimmed her hands against her rather prominent ribcage and frowned. Though hardly emaciated, Deanna had lost considerable weight since her resurrection, and her lack of appetite did nothing to help matters. Shrugging, she brushed her hair and tucked it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck before slipping on her boots. Whether she wanted to or not, she would force herself to eat today, and perhaps leave the Villa for a while to explore the town.

The Villa was abuzz by the time Deanna found her way down to the kitchen area, where the women who were busy chattering and working, suddenly fell into a dead silent upon seeing the ‘healer’ woman who kept mostly to herself. Deanna felt their heavy gazes, and almost considered turning to leave, but one of the women, a rather plump matronly lady who introduced herself as Lucy, invited Deanna to sit at the enormous square wooden table that served for their preparations. Hot tea and freshly baked biscuits were placed before her as well as a small pot of honey. Deanna murmured her thanks and tried to ignore the others who stared at her as she ate and drank. A child suddenly raced into the kitchen, a sweet looking girl of perhaps four with dimples and blonde curls. She ran to Lucy who scooped her up with a smile, and after a few words with the child, sent her on her way with a few tarts. The little girl glanced at Deanna before leaving and grinned, revealing a gap toothed smile. “Morning Lady Amelia,” she giggled before dashing off with the sweets. Deanna blinked for moment, cringing inwardly as she realized Sahar had obviously given her face a name. Lovely.

Her appetite sated, she bid the women a good day before departing for outdoors. The air was crisp and clean, a faint smell of pine and winter weather was in the air. Light drifts of snowflakes began to fall, and her breath was a warm steam as she exhaled. She hadn’t bothered to retrieve her cloak, though the weather certainly warranted the extra warmth. A few greetings were offered to the groundskeepers as she encircled the Villa grounds. She saw the rose bushes against the wall and found herself walking toward them. Sahar had gone on and on about these particular breed of roses, and even Deanna had to admit they were pretty spectacular, in their various shades of blue. It was when she heard the voices of Sahar and Edgar, did she rise from her knees and brushed the snow away, nodding to them before leaving without conversation.

Deanna found herself being led toward town. As she walked, she heard the sound of male voices from a bit of a distance, and as she closed in, she saw that it was Verial speaking to a man in uniform atop the wall. Something drew Verial’s eye in Deanna’s direction and for a moment, the two made eye contact, though it was Deanna’s angry and hostile gaze that broke first. Her jaw squared, she quickened her pace, never slowing her gait until she reached the heart of the town. Wondering where she should go first, the decision was made for her when she saw the small brick building that bore a banner that read library. Deanna was rather fond of books, and she quickly climbed the stairs to enter the building.

It was warm and musty inside, the smell of old leather and dust filling her nostrils. The library was nowhere near as vast and complete as the one in the Grand City, but this was Chaliceton, and frankly Deanna was surprised they even had a library. Her wet boots left her tracks upon the stone flooring, and as she gazed at the shelves that housed the various reads, her fingers skimming over the leather that bound the pages, she heard someone clear their throat.
Startled, she turned to face a young man with freckles. “Can I help you, my Lady?”

Deanna eyed him for a moment. “Books on dragons?”

The young librarian frowned some, finding the request unusual. “Eh, I don’t have much, mostly books concerning wars with dragons. If you want something more specific…hmm…” He peered around the bookshelves a bit before returning with a rather large volume. “This is the best I can do. It’s a compilation of other types of erm, for lack of better word, mythical beings. Dragons, gryphons, angels and demons, etc,” He handed the book to Deanna, who took it in hand and sat down at a nearby table. “Sorry my Lady, but it is the best I can do.” He said abashedly.

Deanna flipped through the pages, quickly skimming over the worn parchment as carefully as possible. “Fascinating stuff really, but it does not speak of their language.”

The freckled man scratched his head. “Draconian? Quite the language to understand or learn, really. You’re better off learning to speak elvish, my Lady. Draconian is quite complex from what I’m to understand.” He paused then, chuckling. “If you can find a dragon, might want to ask it to try to teach you."He laughed at his own joke, the laughter dying as he caught Deanna staring at him. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

Deanna returned to reading, frowning once more as she failed to find something else she was searching for. “Tell me something about dragon scales. How often are they given away, like as gifts or something in that fashion?”

The librarian blinked rapidly. “My Lady? Dragons do not give their scales away. Perhaps they might lose a scale, but to physically remove one from their body to give away? Unheard of, at least to my knowledge. That would be like removing part of your body and giving it away to someone. You would be without. Lacking.”

Deanna bit down on her lip. She understood that feeling all too well, but it still did not explain why Verial did what he did by leaving his scale upon her gravestone. Sighing, she flipped through the book until she came upon the section regarding angelic beings. Amber orbs scanned the pages, her frown deepening as she read something that troubled her. “If an angelic being loses their wings…,”

“…they lose themselves, my Lady. Part of their soul. An angel is born of love, meant to love. They are divine creatures in that matter. To lose their wings, well, you take away their capability to love, and replace it.” The librarian finished helpfully, proudly displaying his inner nerd. Obviously he had read this book many times over, and then some.

Deanna lifted to gaze to regard him. “Replace it with what?”

He shrugged. “They would be most susceptible to sin, my Lady. Easily corrupted. Anger, hate, lust….all of these sins would become more apparent and obvious in their behavior. Their original nature would be to resist these sins, but with their wings removed, well…it’s like taking away their goodness. It would change them, and not for the better. It would be like losing your humanity to something else, something bestial.”

Deanna considered his words for a moment then finally stood and handed him back the book. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” The young man nodded, wondering about this strange woman and her odd questions. “You, uh, like reading about this sort of stuff, my Lady? A hobby of yours?” His eyes were bright as he hoped this lovely lady would share her love of all things geek with him.

Deanna almost smiled at him. “Something like that.” She bid him good day and left, returning to the Villa. When she finally entered the manse, her clothing and hair was damp from the falling snow, and she actually longed for a hot bath, perhaps the warmth of a fire, but first…

She did not bother knocking on Verial’s door, merely barged in as if she had every right to be there. The drow hybrid raised his head from where he sat, several maps spread out before him, a dark brow arched at her sudden appearance.

Deanna slammed the door behind her and slid the bolt into place. She gave away nothing in her features as she found herself standing near the table where he sat, looking down at him with those startling amber eyes of hers.

“Your library lacks. You might want to see that is remedied as soon as possible,” she started, drawing a curious look from Verial as he settled against his chair, wondering why she was here.

Deanna was silent for a moment, staring out the window as the snow fell harder. “I know there is something wrong with me. There was the moment I was brought back from the dead. I know that I shouldn’t be here. I am…lacking, so to speak.” She walked across the room, her hands clasped behind her back. “I think of all those that died by my hand, by Sharay’s, and thought I have this incredible sense of guilt weighing me down, I cannot feel it. I try to feel this remorse, but I cannot. I know it is there, that it exists, but I cannot feel it. Remorse, empathy, sympathy. None of it is there. Only anger, hate, and bitterness.” She turned to face him. “Mostly at me, but there is some for you. You know this already though.”

Deanna returned her gaze toward the window again. “Because of you, I have to ‘live’ like this, and I hate you for it. Whatever I did have to cling to, whatever hope I had, you killed that when you informed me that whatever I felt for Maxim was unreturned. That he never truly cared for me.” Her hands clenched into fists. “I know it was the truth, and perhaps your motives were pure, I feel that you said what you did purely to hurt me. I took what you loved most in this world, so you took mine away. It seems a fair trade.”

Deanna turned on her heel to face him. “But why, Verial? I would not deny you vengeance against Kyrian. I would gladly and freely allow you to spill my blood as payment for your son, but you do not. In fact, you do everything possible to keep me here, keep me alive. Why? To torture me? To make me suffer?” Her words, once soft grew harder. “I suffer enough without you adding to it. There is nothing you could do to hurt me anymore than I already hurt, but you refuse to tell me the truth behind your actions. You give me these evasive answers that result in me physically or verbally assaulting you. “ She gestured to his head. “The only time you bothered to say something profound was in that guttural Draconian, and it was only to curse at me. Too cowardly to tell me to go fuck myself in the Common Tongue?” She shook her head bitterly. “I don’t understand you, Verial. I understand nothing that you do, and frankly, I don’t think you do either, but I’m past caring about that anymore.”

She slammed both hands down upon the table, locking her gaze with his. “I took your wings, I took your son, and now I’m taking your humanity as a result. You, instead of doing the rational sane thing by killing me, keep me alive. Why? You left your scale upon my gravestone. Why? You break what’s left of my heart by telling me the man I’ve loved for ages, never truly loved me at all. Why? Why, Verial? Why are you doing all of this to me? Just kill me and be done with it, but before you do, give me the answers I seek so that I might die with some sort of understanding of this madness that has overcome you.” She straightened then.

“I want the truth. You will give it to me or so help me Verial, by the time I am finished with you, your wings won't be the only parts removed from your body."

Despite the light snow falling over Chaliceton, the city was busy with its small amount of inhabitants walking back and forth. Verial noticed while standing on the wall and speaking to Sedric that most of the people were headed in one direction towards the side wall of the Villa. After several minutes, they would return and head back home or go about whatever business they had to finish for the rest of the day. Before Verial could even ask about this, something Sedric had said caught his attention.

"We are as prepared as we usually are come this time of the year. So far we have plenty of food stores and lumber to go around to heat houses. However, some of our soldiers stationed in the watch towers have caught sight of orc and goblin raiders trying to cross the ocean southwest of Chaliceton."

"There's orc and goblins around here?"

"Yes, there's a small clan of them hiding out in the northeastern part of The Oblivion Mountains." Sedric paused and handed Verial a small pocket telescope which Verial used to look across the ocean and at the mountains. Though the snow was light, there was not much for Verial to see and he assumed those beasts lurking in the stone of the mountains did not come out during the day.

"I suppose they're trying to reach Chaliceton for food?"

"That's out assumption, but you know... they're not picky eaters. They'll take what they can get - whether it's our food or our people."

Verial lifted a brow in question at Sedric and turned away to glance around the city. As far as Verial could tell, the only recent damage that had been done was by the Val`nothe and Chaliceton had made good head-way trying to refortify their city's defenses, mostly the wall that protected the town from intruders. Being as how Madrin Kir was from Chaliceton, Verial had a feeling the rest of militia in Chaliceton had been trained just as properly.

"You must be giving them hell as they're trying to cross that stretch of ocean. Have they tried to go around by foot at all?"

"We've been knocking them out of their boats as they get close - shooting them with bows and arrows, even using our catapults if they are armed and ready. There's part of the mountain that is protected by Elysia's temple that separates us from the vile creatures that inhabit the mountains. Either they are fearful of the Goddess of Winter or they are just too stupid to have figured they can walk around." Sedric paused here and smiled a little. The seasoned captain and healer of Chaliceton's militia even let out a laugh. "Let's just hope it's Elysia's wrath that they are afraid of."

"Elysia's wrath or not, eventually they may become desperate for food, supplies, and whatever else they are trying to gather from Chaliceton," Verial said. "I'd like to see these walls and houses finished and our defenses strengthened before winter. Is that possible?"

"Absolutely, my Lord," Sedric said.

"I see there's a watch tower to the east and west. Can you make insure that from those towers our men are also looking into the other directions? What do they have up there to alert the town in case of invasions?"

"We have alarms in each tower - loud bells. They can wake the whole city. You'll be sure to hear them."

"Good," Verial said with a nod. "I want to make sure that-"

Here Verial paused. As his odd colored gaze was scanning the city, he caught sight of Deanna not far off who paused and locked eye contact with him. She was donning a plum colored dress (likely from Edgar) and a pair of boots. There was no cloak or jacket covering her shoulders and Verial guessed that by now Deanna was probably somewhat numb to the freezing cold. Verial was aware that Deanna could be more than frigid at times. For a few brief moments, Deanna stared up at him with hostility and anger and he returned it with a blank look of his own, to which she eventually turned from, trudging quickly through the snow with what could have been disappointment.

"My Lord?" Sedric said following Verial's line of vision to see he was watching Deanna. Sedric did not pry as to who the mysterious lady was though. "You were saying?"

"Yes, my apologies," Verial said. "I want to make sure that Chaliceton is keeping a close eye on its resources. I'm aware this town has always been in good standards with Grand City as far as trade goes, but with the war, trade may be dwindling for some time. I believe we should stock up more if possible."

"I agree, Lord Verial," Sedric said as the two finally walked down the wall's stair case. "I'll make sure our men are gathering a little extra food and firewood to go around this winter."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Verial pointed in the direction of the Villa. "By the way, what are those people doing over there?"

"Ah, there is a garden there. Even in the cold, blue colored roses will bloom against the side of the Villa. It is said these flowers are scared to the Goddess of Winter," Sedric explained. "Would you look to see them?"

"No, Sedric, that won't be necessary. I have some things I need to attend to for now. I'll catch up with you later. Please let me know if you need any preparations for Chaliceton," Verial said.

The two men bowed to each other and afterwards Verial headed in the direction of the Villa, climbing up the few stairs in front of the main door and entering into the hall. By the time he had gotten back home, night was starting to fall and upon stepping into the Villa, he was offered dinner which he objected to. There were things he needed to handle first, one of them being to send a certain package back home, to his mother Sorvynia's Villa.

After the door to his room was shut behind him, Verial took out a piece of parchment and began to write a note. The letter was short, but Verial sealed it carefully folding the paper around the down of a gray colored feather. A small pool of light blue wax held the letter together adorned by Arthuran's emblem, a snowflake. Inside, the contents of the letter read:

"Itarilde,

Kyrian would have wanted you to have this. Keep it safe and it will do the same to you.

Verial"

It was the last of Kyrian's feathers, a single gray colored memory of Verial's deceased and only son. Verial moved to the window of his bedroom and opening it, he whistled loudly into the cold air. After just a few minutes, a carrier bird - a raven - perched on the window sill to Verial's bedroom as Verial attached the letter.

"Be careful with it," Verial said. "It goes to Itarilde, a fairy who resides at Sorvynia Dreamer's Villa."

The bird only offered a caw in response and then after fluffing its feathers, as if preparing for the flight from Chaliceton, it departed from Verial's window. Once the bird was but a small, black speck in the distance, Verial closed the window tightly and turned from it. Moving to his desk in the room, Verial pulled from the drawers several maps of Chaliceton and Arthuran, spreading them out across the oak of his desk.

Verial sat down and began to look over the area he had asked Sedric about, the mountain passage that was apparently protected by Elysia. He had been about an hour into studying the regions of Aleris' snowy lands when the door suddenly opened and was slammed shut just as quickly. Any concentration Verial had poured into focusing on the map was ripped away.

It was Deanna (after all, who else would have opened his door like that?). She had bolted the door shut and stalked over to his desk, looming over it. As per usual, there was fire in her amber colored eyes and she was filled with questions, each one raining down on him before he could get out an answer to any of them. Her hovering turned to pacing until her she was eventually before him again, slamming her hands down onto the desk. Questions were followed up with threats and by the time Deanna had finished, part of Verial was not sure where to begin.

A good start... Verial took in a breath.