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Dust, shadow and grit; the gosamer curtain of spider construction. The staff still clutched in a withered talon. The ghosts of locks trailing lazily across the floor to all corners of the compartment that was his tomb...and bedchamber and cell...and home. The gentle rattle of the fang necklace that no eye including his own had gazed upon in any measurable lifespan. The creak of his eternal bones against one another, the un-sensation of stale air against coarse leather hide. These were his and the only things that had not left him...those and thought. Here upon a crumbling altar sat the king of all dead. In a cage that would decay to nothing before it's occupant had, was the lord of un-living. Feared by the mortal, respected and reviled by the immortal....loved by one who was already gone. The ancient corpse sat in the pose he assumed when the fearful holy ones concealed him. He could not be destroyed, there was neither death nor ending of his un-life. There were only stone walls, only spells as ancient as he was to lock him away. He cared not, he had no remnant of a soul, no desire or will or even a wish to have one. He had in a way perfection as vices could never reach his pedestal of numbness.

"There is no greater peace than to be dead..." He did not say to himself. The words of his old master spoke to him, philosophy from a long passed phantom along with his forgone human soul. Both were ghosts now, his master destroyed by the dead he seeked to rule,while a young, proud, arrogant, hateful and enlightened human-being was sacrificed long ago for the assurance of ever after and cold perfection. These wraiths played out their act before him now  with the exact same words, the exact same ideas, the emotions although alien were likewise. "This is an idea presented by some as theory of a guess as to why we challenge the rules of life." The two men sat across from one another in a tiny study. It was the kind of room only learned men could converse in without the sudden onset of claustraphobia. Books covered in arcane runes were scattered everywhere, smoke rose from a nearby skull and filled the ceiling with a rippling sea of blue fog. It was a room diversified but indescirnable as everything in it was cluttered together in a wreckage of notes, tools, no less than twelve dissection kits and a few reticent vermin shyly spying from underneath said heap. "But what 'do' we believe?" This was the voice of a younger self, perhaps more pure but still the same. The dark brown pits beneath his unfamiliar eyebrows shone with the same desire, the same obsession for continuation. "That lesson is for another day my dear pupil." With a toothless grin of monstrous proportions he laid a weathered old hand on a past self and stroked back the long vanished auburn hair. "The realization of truth must be polished with illusions and misconceptions." "But why!? Why can you not simply reveal to me our ways up front? Why should we have to concern ourselves with the way the fearful and hateful see us?" The masters milky wisdom shone behind his half-blind eyes as he leaned against the back of his favorite chair. "In time you will understand but for now you will have to be satisfied with a simple and profound....because." The grizzled necromancer cackled and shook like a dying animal with an arrow lodged in it's gizzard. He coughed and weezed so much through his joviliation the pupil began to think his master would not live to explain his teachings. "You say that about many things grand-master." Another familiar light shone through the young mans face. Even the eternal observing husk could recall the sting of hurtful knowledge. Despite the countless eons he had spent without it's sour bitterness he could reach back into this familiar scene and almost 'feel' his fear of the sinking sands. His reviling hatred for the cruel lack of time to learn and grow and envelop and grasp. "I don't want to sit and wait and let all the understanding in the world be spoon-fed to me." In youthful aggravation he rose from his humble stool and loomed over the withering man across from him. "I need to take it! I have to take everything to know; all truth. I need it! I cannot go without knowing and functioning without it! I have to control as much of it as I can before....." This was where the master seemed to grow grave. His millions of wrinkles that spelled his joy melted away to a face as smooth and unforgiving as the thoughts behind it. "Before what?....dear child?...." Despite the obvious physical leverage he held over the master, the dark curling smoke writhing at his ankles warned against the bold tone he had just employed. The warped frame seated across the room was a few thousand years his senior, kept alive by the old ways. This age obviously had been passed by the objective and reflective lich-king observing the scene through the fog of memory but it still held him for a moment. The situation was easily akin to some leviathan of the deep passing by a frantic school of sharks. Long ago they spelt certain death without great care but this was past when fins were small and skin was soft, when eyes were whole and insides not textured as dust. Any fear had gone but witnessing the former predation upon his human self kept an aura of respect around his bygone master and caused the eternal corpse to watch on with note as the forsaken man he called self strode out of the room with his boyish pride hanging by a thread.

"Cruel...disgusting...hateful..." The indignant youth once said to himself. The carefully sewn metal tipped shoes tapped in time with his ancient mood, one of many that had once plagued him. The canyon winds pushed against him in a kind attempt to cool down his temper but were rewarded with a loud curse and tightened black cloak. He wondered sometimes how the other people managed to live in the necropolis with the ghastly conditions about it. He paused for a moment and took a slower tempo to the obsidian rail on his right. Often he had stared downward into the chasm to collect himself, even some of the other students called him grim for taking peace out of the endless abyss below the wall-clinging city. "..But it's not endless at all...." He'd reply with the closest thing to a smile he could muster. "We all know the old wargrounds lie down there, waiting to give us their wisdom...." He'd take a longing look at the construction boundary a few stories below. Even with the help of magic and genius design the mages in Alysarh were not engineers or builders. Any professional eye could observe the shoddy craft of the buildings and see the entire city was built out of it's occupants common need for escape. As everyone in the grand city was there under the banner of the skull and that order itself was in desperate need when they arrived at the pit while the Palidan army raged near directly behind them. It could be understandable that the quality of one's living quarters would be forgone for the sake of resting upon anything other than a leviatory spell. Had the boy been an acknowledger of the gods he would have called building the beginings a now legendary city out of summoned timber and basic alchemy a miracle but of course he was not and did not. This was and continued to be a blight on him even in eternity; that being impressed was the highest tier of admiration in reach. Nostalgia was violated by some intrusive passerbys that took to remarking on his identity with hoarse whispers and aghast comments. Exasperation swelled into his lungs and escaped as steam into the sheer wind, mimicking the harshly angled smoke from the city's industry. Not being one to take what others gave even in the snidest of tones, he pushed off from the railguard and continued his march along the bustling ridge. As he passed over the stone walkway jutting from the cliff he distanced his mind from the often staring passerbys with the moving vista of his home. If one were to put practicality aside, a metropolis constructed by Dark Wizards and inhabited by all the worlds shadows and rejected Necromancers would seem quite romantic but thoughts like these were reserved for those who imagined themselves to be 'writing' dark wizards.

Finally he reached the long anticipated berth of his front door. It was a door he shared with fourteen other tenants in the small apartments but he still felt was his. The cramped building had been erected between two much more imposing structures, a towering staircase leading up to one of the infamous watcher spires and crowding in opposite, the massive Necropolis library. That building in particular was almost the destination of his anger-fueled stroll but in light of the fact he already had several hundred tomes on extended member-loan, he would refrain. When entering the main hallway of his building the smell of parchment and ink began to overpower his nostrils. The scent set him alight with his addiction, his craving for unending study and quickened his pace up the winding steel staircase to his room on the top floor. However this vice was not to be sought just yet for as he rounded the end of his ascention and pulled out the rotting entryway he found her......

The Eternal watcher raised one of his gaunt and angular claws toward his phantoms. He knew much about what he saw but could not truly remember. To remember required he recall experience, sensation and  the cursed emotion all were extraneous now and were cast aside. So it was there in the tiny apartment of a growing god that the most powerful being in existence found himself....bewildered. It was not so complicated, if it were not his own place to examine it could be painted in a few words but it simply was not and could not be objective. The on high and frustrated one strained and pulled against his own parameters. Every bit of calculating will turned onto the dusty and cruel mechanisms of his god mind. His goal was to make them turn sideways and flow, to have them soar and swoop and melt and freeze as did the fog in his once human psyche. The dried muscle beneath leather hide strained and knotted as his talons gripped into the sides of the obsidian throne. He desperatley reached backwards to the bottom of his summit. He strived for the unknowing, the doubt the fear the lust the love the passion and everything that swarmed through the brown haired phantom he had tossed to the wastes. Alas this was futile, and as the dissapointed casket settled back down in his throne the task at hand returned. He went back to biding in the chair, back to existing and outlasting...everything. For a few moments there was no multitasking; there was just the job and journey. However, as most things in any active perception this became stale and he was pitched back onto the fires of eternal boredom.

This of course forced him to push himself back upon the lower burning flame of eternal reflection and to conjure his ghosts yet again. However, he chose to not frustrate himself in repetition with her visage. A few days proceeding his last recollection would suffice, it was important in it's own right. As the apparitions manifested before him the regal shell attempted to sigh but caught himself; remembering the damage his voice inflicted upon the already burdened universe. A crimson sun spied upon the patch of brown hair snoozing under wolfskin bed sheets. The day had begun and was impatiently nudging him into awareness. Finally the sleeper stirred and forced himself upward through the fog of drowziness and upright into the waking world. A soft voice greeted his movement, "Abel...", it cooed. The ensuing sweetness was quickly shook away. To dwell in that tender moment would frustrate yet again. However, the name remained rooted to the memories following, and was pivotal to the recollection. "Abel." The old master chided in a room several hours away. "Abel!" The half concious young man convulsed back to awareness from the comforting warmth of his desk. "Y- yes! hello! Oh...." The sudden sensation of forty pairs of eyes on the back of his head made Abel remember the curse of being the so-called 'top' student. Along with the whispers and dirty looks from everyone in the lower tiers there lay a sense of universal disturbance when he fell asleep in class. "I know Ive been giving alot of assignments lately but that's no excuse for you making up for your lost sleep in class. Abel felt through the restless space of his mind for a justification but fell short as the reason for his nodding off was a woman and not his work. "I'm sorry Grandmaster." Despite feeling ashamed he felt the need to wipe one thin finger across his left eyebrow, drawing out the cold sweat of exaughstion that had been collecting in his slumber. "I guess Ive been at it too hard latley." Grandmaster Owen squinted down at Abel, holding a withdrawn understanding. To say that Abel was not favored would be an absolute falsehood. "It's alright my boy but please..." The shrunken teacher leaned his neck down to level with Abel as bowing would have slammed his chin into the desk. "But at least 'try' to look like learning is as hard for you as it is for the others." Abel made an attempt to smile and ended up looking even more tired than before. "Now my students I believe our session has come to an end."

The mass of young spellcasters had already begun to shuffle thier things togethor before the Grandmaster was finished. Abel was abit slower to respond to his new freedom, choosing to celebrate by dropping his skull back onto the oaken desk. "Oh come now..." With a flurry of black robe and dust Owen's hand came crashing down upon Abel's wooden pillow and snapped him back to attention. He forced himself up from his chair and began to numbly push his notes into his pack. "I'll see you tomorrow master.." He muttered from under the sweaty brown veil of his bangs. "Abel you can't keep doing this." Words from Owen were like those of a father, something Abel admired but not much else. "I dunno...I don't see her every night." The boy's defense was abit shoddy and gleaned a raised eyebrow from his teacher. It didn't take long for this look to sink into Abel's ego and pull an outburst out of him. "I can handle it alright! I can handle being with her!" Owen didn't respond, he simply raised one of his withered fingers to hush down Abel's ruckus. "My boy, you're more than too old to be getting lectures from and old man, but a lesson in self-control is always applicable." Owen's near infanitley simple wisdoms gave Abel a sort of peace. The matter of fact tone seemed to push down the fires of his frustration like closing the lid of an ashes jar, stifling the swirling gray clouds. "I own my actions." Abel felt his footing shift beneath him, causing an unneeded adjustment in balance. "And I know my limits!!"

This could have been their encounter but the unyielding fate decided to the contrary. Just as Owen prepared to destroy his student's misconceptions about the poisionous union he held, the doors flew open. Light from the terrace pierced the dim gray inside the study hall. A howling wind, brother of the seasons in the canyon came rushing in and knocked Abel forward with such force that his light frame left the earth and soared for no less than five feet."Abel!" His flight would have been astounding had the factors of malnourishment and sleep depravity been involved with his anatomy. "My boy! Come up now, gently did you hit your head?" Abel found himself cradled in the skeletal arms of his master. His sentimentality suprised him. "fine...I'm....I am fine." Grandmaster Owen surveyed his pupil with a discerning stare, he took in the damage with the alacrity of a surgeon. "A few cuts, some bruising I see." With a sigh of relief he relaxed his arms and allowed the still panting youngster to lay on the cold stones beneath them. "I'm sorry Grandmaster..." He gasped through raking breaths. "...it's just...I have to...I can't be without her gifts I.." His words were clamped off at the end by a very painful looking swallow followed by a fat bead of sweat rolling across his brow. "I read thirty-four books last night Owen..." This came out sounding like a boast but the exaughstion behind his tone somewhat removed the pride inside his eyes. "She's a tool to you then!" The older man both stated the truth and probed for it. "You can't use her the way you are! You're lucky I haven't simply had her locked away from you already." Suddenly a much more threatened demeanor wrapped itself about Abel's visage. It spoke of frustration but hinted at rage and expressed itself further in a broad-knuckled grip vised onto the edge of Owen's collar. "Dont...you even think...don't you dare to concieve it Owen." Threats weren't much to the grizzled Necromancer but when coming from the floundering and sweat soaked wretch they seemed almost entertaining. His venomous response was a sanguine fog that began to coil around them both. It silenced all and smothered life around it. Even the stone seemed to die under the dripping and more recently shivering Abel. "No!" He attempted to roar at the cruel ancient holding him above certain doom. "NO!" A cornered animal had replaced the intelligent student, the prodigy and hopeful ascendant. "YOU CAN'T!" Pulling up from the floor was more akin to climbing a mountain. "I need her!" He grunted under the burden of his starving body. "If you ever try to keep her from me I'll....." Now the young man's gaunt face was inches from the angry silver stubbs adorning his master's crag covered grin. "You'll what?" A rain of sweat sprinkled the mass of blackness curling underneath them both as Abel made one last heave to reach past the hateful smile and allign with the judgemental ear of his teacher.

"I 'will' find a way to end you...you can't have her, ever.."

With that foreboding rasp Abel succumbed to unconciousness and fell limp into Owen's horrid arms. That moment could have ended the boy but his master had plans beyond smothering his star pupil in shadow. His void fading, Owen allowed Abel to sink onto the now safe floor and sent for a sentinel to carry him back home, giving it explicit instructions to inspect the room before leaving and to guard it's entrance until relieved.

Abel awoke to a splitting headache and the smell of wolf-skin. The creak of wooden planks reminded him of the previous incident causing him to flip over as if he desperatley needed to look at the ceiling. The very next idea to enter him was a golden haired woman that almost spelled his doom, someone who might be in danger. With the jerky hurredness of a drunk he hoisted out of bed and made for the door. His weight slammed against the coarse wood with relief but it didn't take long to realise the timber would not give. Abel pulled back and glared at the door as if it had offended him. Behind the door a moan beyond cross-beams and wooden bolts. The offended look masked itself underneath suprise. "That's very unsporting Owen."  Abel's instinctual rebellion urged him to plead and argue witht the sentinel outside for his freedom but common sense brought up the fact Sentinels were uncommonly...dense. After turning about and sliding down the door to his neglected carpet Abel began to a task he would know quite well in the future, he sat and waited.

Chap2

Enveloping itself in a sigh marking the end of a near endless dream the imperial corpse shifted on his throne. His position had not been altered in so long that his ropeish tendons protested against him. The two sightless pits that perched like buzzards above his grizzly maw turned their non-existant gaze towards the door not far from his throne. The last image he held of it was playing itself before him from time without cobwebs and stagnant grit. There was light and sound and more than he in that conjuration. There was a miniscule shaft of evening sun tenaciously prying it's way into his almost tomb. There were the booming sounds of mammoth hammers debating with the heavyset stubborness of the door...and there was a voice. The pitch of course was familiar, there were hardly any new voices that passed through the cavernous brain of him that waited. "Come now, hurry before he changes his bloody mind!", it stammered. The anger in it was alien. For anger in itself is unknown to those who find themselves terrified beyond all reason. He considered this a moment...and then moved on. A few beats in the rhythm of hammer-blows were skipped. They had been replaced by the non-rhythmic sound of shuffling plate boots. There was a gong-crash from a much larger blunt weapon, what he had surmized to be a Palidan's hammer which finalized his captor's symphony and ended thier debate with the door. The next command wormed from behind that wielder of light and pretentiousness. The king had been around long enough to recognize the sound of relief bouncing around linked plate armour. "We've done it gentlemen....Valmorus your contribution in this endeavor shall be greatly rewarded by the order." Amongst the many scuttleing slippers Palidan boots made small explosions. Even the sound of underbrush being blasted into the air by his warding enchants seemed to push back the weak reverbrance of priest footies. That was the last set of expierences he had before this waiting he had both chose and been placed into.

A similar situation was already sliding along his granite floor. The magics woven to create his images had been used and reused so many times that the ghosts were reflex to him. His mind nestled back into the forgotten comfort of his former room and perched itself upon a pile of haphazardly piled notes stained by miles of frantic, scurrying monolouge. These were a living self's sad attempt at prose which made the current incarnation pull breath into gosamer lungs and shudder with embarassment that was not there. Abel had been held captive in his own apartment for days now. The sentinel outside his door had actually ran low on it's runic power and slumped bakwards against his thin door, nearly snapping it off the hinges. Abel considered 'helping' the process along but unfortunatley the hunk of enchanted stone was just livley enough to shrug away from him and stoke the neon blue flames surrounding it. Even a novice in the arts knew that although runefire couldn't destroy natural objects it's effects on living tissue and metal were...less than enjoyable. His meals were courteousley brought in through his landlady who constantly fussed over having the other tenants up all night one way or the other either from the sounds of Abel's 'study' or the moans of the grandmaster's magical lapdogs. One morning before his usual time for breakfast Abel was started by the kind of knocking one pulls from his nightmares. The sound was quick and paniced, furious in speed and harsh in tone. After the first volley of taps had subsided Abel tried to shove away the idea of outside world and continue nursing the tail-end of his crash but of course when one is the lowest of points everything requires one's attention. "Hello?" He mourned out wailfully. "Abel." The grating whisper of his landlady replied. "There's a summons from master Owen waiting downstairs for you." The youth pulled his wolf-skins off from the bed and tossed them aside towards the window. Leaning outwards to the floor he asked tenativley."Is there a gaurd waiting out there with you?" His was the tone of someone not daring to hope, he had the voice of a trapped animal not wanting to leave his cage in the fear his release would be his slaughter.

Of course the option of letting his captors take him or not left in a startlingly fast and rather noisy fashion. Abel's door, which was already hanging upon the shattered remains of hinges, foud it's last legs ripped from it and used to bludgeon the pathetic excuse of an existence it had from the face of the earth. A sentinel of unusal size had decimated the flimy entrance and strode boldly to the center of Abel's cramped apartment. The very width of his shoulders caused him to scrape residuous bark from the walls and topple a very unfortunate lamp covered in soldified wax. For a moment the expression on Abel's recently filled out face was nothing comporable to composed. He held a mask of pure and unabashed astonishment. His latter self was less impressed but made note upon the event and how elastic his face had once been. The sentinel crowding Abel's room heaved in it's artificial breathing. Flames of azure licked out of the cracks in his obsidian body and billowed from the maw of crooked ridges that served as audio output for the hulking summon. "Empowered civillian.", it heaved, "Your presence is required in the private sector of his lordship Owen. Do you comply to this summons?" Abel despite his volumous vocabulary stared back into the luminescant eyes of his uninvited guest with the air of dumbfounded paralysis. "You do not comply?" Once again the mass of stone was answered with a stare. "My charge is of high enough priority to complete your retrieval regardless of response." Although Abel knew that Sentinels had no logic or reason beyond that which was granted them, his pride reared upwards and away from the grasping stone hands that made for his barley swaddled frame. "Keep your sedimentary claws to yourself! I command you by the nether of your making to dessist!" The boy's words were paniced and fearful, his brow beaded with the sweat of fear and lit his eyes with a fire of dissatisfaction over what they saw.This drama lead to a horror as Abel was literally yanked from his seat upon the bed and thrown across the left shoulder of the Sentinel. The following scene was therefore, a comedy.

Outside the weather was in rare form. The routine winds of the canyon had ceased, the gray sky had been replaced by an alien blue and the sun was traversing the new territory with shining glee. Abel did not feel the collective sigh of contentment which floated about the heads of the other citizens. His head was being jostled in a violent heaving motion with the awkward gate of his bulky travelling companion. "I don't suppose you could have let me gather up some proper clothes?" He huffed backwards to the Sentinel's stump of a head. "Negative." It responded predictably, "your presence is required in.." Unable to fully turn and see what had caused his unwanted vehicle's halt, Abel glanced back and forth before wheezing a faltered "What is it?" His own weight had begun to press the pointed edge of the Sentinel's shoulder into his gut and without the constant up and down giving him temporary relief it was even more painful than being carried. "Hello?" The passerbys had similar questions coming to mind as they stared shameless at the scene. It was odd to see a black Sentinel out in the daylight, even more so to witness one staring down a twosome matching his size and color of flame. "Greetings retrieval unit." The one closest to him said. "Your summons was answered with compliance?" "No." was the curt retort from Abel's carrier. "..but my priority is high enough to make the target accostable." The furthest behemoth strode across the gap between them to confide something clandestine to his triplet, "We have not located the second target." Abel's Sentinel whispered something back to his counterpart which was so low in decible that even to a fly seated between them hearing his message was doubtful.

Chap3

In exactly two hours and thirty-five minutes I will hear the moan of a door and feel the heat from the setting sun press against my closed eyelids. I shall reveal my azure irises to behold the shining visage of the Holy Father Gregory, there will be a smile upon his ancient face as he steps aside to reveal his Lordship Jarvis. "Valmorous." He will boom from inside his golden helm of eagles. "Your time of reflection has ended, rise now and take your place among the Paladins of the Holy Right." I will unfold my legs from underneath me, a position I have held dutifully for three days and nights surviving on the sustenance of my faith and quenching my thirst with the cool waters of meditation. Gregory shall continue to beam at me, his pride quite visible but not made audible as he is reverant of the event. Jarvis' blessed armor will nearly blind me as I take my first steps out into the main chamber of our Father Oversoul. "Kneel good knight," Jarvis shall thunder to me. His voice shall be commanding but welcoming as he has known of my rising through the ranks for some time. Once upon my knee, head bowed to his Lordship I shall feel the resonation of his famed sword, The Lionheart as it descends upon my unworthy shoulder. "Do you sir Valmorus, holy knight of the order. Hereby swear to take up the burdeon of our most prestigious of ranks. Do you take the title of Paladin to serve in goodness and purity, with honor and piety to bask in our Father's Glory with the greatest of humility...Shall you serve?" The dubbing complete I shall inhale my first shuddered breath as the holyest of warriors. My eyes shall turn upwards to meet with the luminescant orbs of Lord Jarvis and I shall say with pride. "By the blood that runs through my veins and the spark of divine stocking the very furnace of my being." My legs will straighten and raise me to my full stature, just beneath my new captains plated chest, my reflection in it's own unyielding faith will mimic me as I mouth out my doubtless pledge. "I shall serve."

These were the exact thoughts and images which floated behind my eyes before the door to my meditation chamber actually swung open. The light from outside pierced into my lids and seemed to stab at my eyes. "Come now stop cringing. Some Paladin your going to be." I wrestled with the pinpricks of light trying to reach the deep recesses of my throat to make out the hunched outline of Father Micheal. His buzzard face sagged low past his curled gnarl of a back and as usual he was scowling at me. "Get up you lazy scrout!" I was still lost in the daze of my imaginings as my lack of company for the past few days had not pulled me from them in some time. "Am I to meet Lord Jarvis now?" I rasped from a parched throat. The caustic moan of a laugh I was answered with began to sober my imagination. "Still as arrogant as the day I saw you drag your skinny arse into this monastarey. Lord Jarvis has no time to come and see scum like you, he's in the Atrium briefing 'real' Paladins about the coming assault." Although Micheals words offended they also confused my addled brain. "...what?..what assault?" "Oh that's right." Micheal attempted to hiss and make an insincere coo at the same time. "Youve been in here napping like a princess while the rest of us have been dealing with what has to be done! You know if I had my say and his holyness hadn't picked that fool Gregory to mentor you I'd see your worthless hide hurled out of..." "FATHER MICHEAL!" I was not certain as to who had jerked his head upwards with more violence but we both found ourselves onset with neck pangs as we tried to meet the shout as it phased through the cieling at us. "HAS SIR VALMORUS NOT BEEN HAILED YET!? HURRY AND BRING HIM TO THE ATRIUM SO HE MAY BE DUBBED! TIME IS SHORT!"

Father Alex had once been Lord Alex the thunderer and although his age had deprived him of almost all physical prowess, his shouts and holy words were still more potent than any others'. Somehow the soft whispering of wool padded slippers flapping against the immaculate marble floors nudged through my ringing ears. "Well you heard the man Micheal we mu...Oh there he is." Father Gregory shuffled in his wobbly way past the much taller form of Father Micheal."Father Gregory what is going on?" My voice barley made it through my still resonating ears. Father Gregory who was my greatest of friends placed one of his tiny hands upon my knee. "Come Valmorous, your day shall be rushed but I am still more proud of you than Ive been of any student Ive ever had." Gregory's kindness made the discomfort of dehydration come close to vanishing. On our way out though it seemed Father Micheal had another few copper to throw at the back of our heads. "He says that to all of them you know."

Twelve years ago I entered this monastary on my knees. The dirt was cached upon my bloody palms and legs in such thickness that I lay at it's doors for three whole days being mistaken for a lump in the cobbling. Gregory says that back then the only traffic in or out was monks on call for exorcisims or travelling adventurers. Father Micheal says I smelled so terrible that I kept the traffic away. Regardless I was finally noticed by one of the rampart gaurds on a rainy day when the dust on the stone entryway had been washed off and my prone figure of bronze and bruisepurple stood starkly agaisnt the marble.

"Father Gregory..." I muttered in a dry whisper. "I need some clothes." The tiny priest stopped dead in his tracks, realizing that he had almost brought me to the Atrium in nothing but a holy garment wrapped around my waist. "Oh my so you do. Well then I suppose his holyness will have to be kept waiting just a moment longer." As we turned away from the looming vaulted doors to the ascencion room I asked myself the obvious of question, "Is Lord Jarvis really just a few hundred yards from me? Can it be possible that the man I have modelled my actions and heart after for so long be standing amongst his fellows conversing of plans...or even fathomable that within a few minutes I shall stand among those fellows..." Gregory's hand jutted out to warn my knee of it's impending collision with the door to my humble chambers. "Right then just head inside and collect some modest clothing. I shall inform the Lords of your coming and Valmorous." "Yes father?" Gregory snapped two of his miniscule fingers with a flick and then handed me the silverey conjured water in one of his famous sheep skin flasks. "I believe the folksome human term is 'whet your whistle'? " Gregory's masterful use of common forced a dusty laugh from me as I took the flask. My throat almost screamed as it was whetted for the first time in days. The water felt so cold that it burned  and my eyes watered from the now very unfamiliar sensation of taste. Once I had drained the skin Gregory's padded footsteps echoed far down the hallway from me and I was almost certain that Father Micheal was up in the Atrium trying the learn how to pickpocket in an attempt to stall my knighting as long as possible.

Once the arduous process of connecting the twenty-two leather straps of my plate boots pulling eighteen leather straps on my gauntlets and fourteen Silverlake ringlets on the back of my cuirass and I had finally washed the cached on layer of dirt oil and dandruff which had accumulated upon my scalp over the past three days...I felt like I was completely unprepared to step foot into the atrium. Despite the thirteen years I have spent training learning studying and testing myself in preparation for this moment I felt as if I was a fool walking into a room of scholars which in essence was true as most of the men there were men of knowledge and repose.

The notion off such oceans of wisdom seated around the grand vestibule turning thier most noble of attentions away from whatever plan they labored upon to my obtrusive entrance through the ascention chamber placed ice in my soul. Whilst I knew Gregory's warm eyes would beam upon me through the rouge strands of gnomish mustouche crowding his vision and that the pastel green and blue sneer of Father Micheal's gaze would scream out every ounce of wizard fury he had against me...the reactions of the other twelve fathers remained petrifying mysterys. I had never even laid eyes upon any of the other sacred scholars. They each spread the influence of the light in thier own monastaries and when visiting this one were so well gaurded and private about all thier matters the only indication of thier presence was the whispering of arrival amongst those training here.

Alright, I know of Father Alex most high amongst the fathers in way of authority. He sits upon the most elevated pedestal, a saint among prophets. While I have never met him his concern about my arrival indicates that I am atleast somewhat high among his priorities...although being a high priority for an octogenarian who speaks in mumbles and nonsense most of the time can't truly grant me any assurance. Upon either of Father Alex's side sit the other dozen prophets of light. The closest to him are the legendary twins of the nether. Seated on the right is Father Cedric of the blinding righteousness. His deeds of selflessness and words of the light number in the millions and could stretch across the sea if all were to be writ upon a singular scroll. On the left most likley with a bone pipe clenched in his broad grin would be Andrew who's corpulence, decadence and downright overindulgence deny him access to the order...making his seat amongst the council quite unusual but as the seers tell he has been a valuable asset on many a noble endeavor...as the seers tell us.

Description
Dust, shadow and grit; the gosamer curtain of spider construction. The staff still clutched in a withered talon. The ghosts of locks trailing lazily across the floor to all corners of the compartment that was his tomb...and bedchamber and cell...and home. The gentle rattle of the fang necklace that no eye including his own had gazed upon in any measurable lifespan. The creak of his eternal bones against one another, the un-sensation of stale air against coarse leather hide. These were his and the only things that had not left him...those and thought. Here upon a crumbling altar sat the king of all dead. In a cage that would decay to nothing before it's occupant had, was the lord of un-living. Feared by the mortal, respected and reviled by the immortal....loved by one who was already gone. The ancient corpse sat in the pose he assumed when the fearful holy ones concealed him. He could not be destroyed, there was neither death nor ending of his un-life. There were only stone walls, only spells as ancient as he was to lock him away. He cared not, he had no remnant of a soul, no desire or will or even a wish to have one. He had in a way perfection as vices could never reach his pedestal of numbness.

"There is no greater peace than to be dead..." He did not say to himself. The words of his old master spoke to him, philosophy from a long passed phantom along with his forgone human soul. Both were ghosts now, his master destroyed by the dead he seeked to rule,while a young, proud, arrogant, hateful and enlightened human-being was sacrificed long ago for the assurance of ever after and cold perfection. These wraiths played out their act before him now  with the exact same words, the exact same ideas, the emotions although alien were likewise. "This is an idea presented by some as theory of a guess as to why we challenge the rules of life." The two men sat across from one another in a tiny study. It was the kind of room only learned men could converse in without the sudden onset of claustraphobia. Books covered in arcane runes were scattered everywhere, smoke rose from a nearby skull and filled the ceiling with a rippling sea of blue fog. It was a room diversified but indescirnable as everything in it was cluttered together in a wreckage of notes, tools, no less than twelve dissection kits and a few reticent vermin shyly spying from underneath said heap. "But what 'do' we believe?" This was the voice of a younger self, perhaps more pure but still the same. The dark brown pits beneath his unfamiliar eyebrows shone with the same desire, the same obsession for continuation. "That lesson is for another day my dear pupil." With a toothless grin of monstrous proportions he laid a weathered old hand on a past self and stroked back the long vanished auburn hair. "The realization of truth must be polished with illusions and misconceptions." "But why!? Why can you not simply reveal to me our ways up front? Why should we have to concern ourselves with the way the fearful and hateful see us?" The masters milky wisdom shone behind his half-blind eyes as he leaned against the back of his favorite chair. "In time you will understand but for now you will have to be satisfied with a simple and profound....because." The grizzled necromancer cackled and shook like a dying animal with an arrow lodged in it's gizzard. He coughed and weezed so much through his joviliation the pupil began to think his master would not live to explain his teachings. "You say that about many things grand-master." Another familiar light shone through the young mans face. Even the eternal observing husk could recall the sting of hurtful knowledge. Despite the countless eons he had spent without it's sour bitterness he could reach back into this familiar scene and almost 'feel' his fear of the sinking sands. His reviling hatred for the cruel lack of time to learn and grow and envelop and grasp. "I don't want to sit and wait and let all the understanding in the world be spoon-fed to me." In youthful aggravation he rose from his humble stool and loomed over the withering man across from him. "I need to take it! I have to take everything to know; all truth. I need it! I cannot go without knowing and functioning without it! I have to control as much of it as I can before....." This was where the master seemed to grow grave. His millions of wrinkles that spelled his joy melted away to a face as smooth and unforgiving as the thoughts behind it. "Before what?....dear child?...." Despite the obvious physical leverage he held over the master, the dark curling smoke writhing at his ankles warned against the bold tone he had just employed. The warped frame seated across the room was a few thousand years his senior, kept alive by the old ways. This age obviously had been passed by the objective and reflective lich-king observing the scene through the fog of memory but it still held him for a moment. The situation was easily akin to some leviathan of the deep passing by a frantic school of sharks. Long ago they spelt certain death without great care but this was past when fins were small and skin was soft, when eyes were whole and insides not textured as dust. Any fear had gone but witnessing the former predation upon his human self kept an aura of respect around his bygone master and caused the eternal corpse to watch on with note as the forsaken man he called self strode out of the room with his boyish pride hanging by a thread.

"Cruel...disgusting...hateful..." The indignant youth once said to himself. The carefully sewn metal tipped shoes tapped in time with his ancient mood, one of many that had once plagued him. The canyon winds pushed against him in a kind attempt to cool down his temper but were rewarded with a loud curse and tightened black cloak. He wondered sometimes how the other people managed to live in the necropolis with the ghastly conditions about it. He paused for a moment and took a slower tempo to the obsidian rail on his right. Often he had stared downward into the chasm to collect himself, even some of the other students called him grim for taking peace out of the endless abyss below the wall-clinging city. "..But it's not endless at all...." He'd reply with the closest thing to a smile he could muster. "We all know the old wargrounds lie down there, waiting to give us their wisdom...." He'd take a longing look at the construction boundary a few stories below. Even with the help of magic and genius design the mages in Alysarh were not engineers or builders. Any professional eye could observe the shoddy craft of the buildings and see the entire city was built out of it's occupants common need for escape. As everyone in the grand city was there under the banner of the skull and that order itself was in desperate need when they arrived at the pit while the Palidan army raged near directly behind them. It could be understandable that the quality of one's living quarters would be forgone for the sake of resting upon anything other than a leviatory spell. Had the boy been an acknowledger of the gods he would have called building the beginings a now legendary city out of summoned timber and basic alchemy a miracle but of course he was not and did not. This was and continued to be a blight on him even in eternity; that being impressed was the highest tier of admiration in reach. Nostalgia was violated by some intrusive passerbys that took to remarking on his identity with hoarse whispers and aghast comments. Exasperation swelled into his lungs and escaped as steam into the sheer wind, mimicking the harshly angled smoke from the city's industry. Not being one to take what others gave even in the snidest of tones, he pushed off from the railguard and continued his march along the bustling ridge. As he passed over the stone walkway jutting from the cliff he distanced his mind from the often staring passerbys with the moving vista of his home. If one were to put practicality aside, a metropolis constructed by Dark Wizards and inhabited by all the worlds shadows and rejected Necromancers would seem quite romantic but thoughts like these were reserved for those who imagined themselves to be 'writing' dark wizards.

Finally he reached the long anticipated berth of his front door. It was a door he shared with fourteen other tenants in the small apartments but he still felt was his. The cramped building had been erected between two much more imposing structures, a towering staircase leading up to one of the infamous watcher spires and crowding in opposite, the massive Necropolis library. That building in particular was almost the destination of his anger-fueled stroll but in light of the fact he already had several hundred tomes on extended member-loan, he would refrain. When entering the main hallway of his building the smell of parchment and ink began to overpower his nostrils. The scent set him alight with his addiction, his craving for unending study and quickened his pace up the winding steel staircase to his room on the top floor. However this vice was not to be sought just yet for as he rounded the end of his ascention and pulled out the rotting entryway he found her......

The Eternal watcher raised one of his gaunt and angular claws toward his phantoms. He knew much about what he saw but could not truly remember. To remember required he recall experience, sensation and  the cursed emotion all were extraneous now and were cast aside. So it was there in the tiny apartment of a growing god that the most powerful being in existence found himself....bewildered. It was not so complicated, if it were not his own place to examine it could be painted in a few words but it simply was not and could not be objective. The on high and frustrated one strained and pulled against his own parameters. Every bit of calculating will turned onto the dusty and cruel mechanisms of his god mind. His goal was to make them turn sideways and flow, to have them soar and swoop and melt and freeze as did the fog in his once human psyche. The dried muscle beneath leather hide strained and knotted as his talons gripped into the sides of the obsidian throne. He desperatley reached backwards to the bottom of his summit. He strived for the unknowing, the doubt the fear the lust the love the passion and everything that swarmed through the brown haired phantom he had tossed to the wastes. Alas this was futile, and as the dissapointed casket settled back down in his throne the task at hand returned. He went back to biding in the chair, back to existing and outlasting...everything. For a few moments there was no multitasking; there was just the job and journey. However, as most things in any active perception this became stale and he was pitched back onto the fires of eternal boredom.

This of course forced him to push himself back upon the lower burning flame of eternal reflection and to conjure his ghosts yet again. However, he chose to not frustrate himself in repetition with her visage. A few days proceeding his last recollection would suffice, it was important in it's own right. As the apparitions manifested before him the regal shell attempted to sigh but caught himself; remembering the damage his voice inflicted upon the already burdened universe. A crimson sun spied upon the patch of brown hair snoozing under wolfskin bed sheets. The day had begun and was impatiently nudging him into awareness. Finally the sleeper stirred and forced himself upward through the fog of drowziness and upright into the waking world. A soft voice greeted his movement, "Abel...", it cooed. The ensuing sweetness was quickly shook away. To dwell in that tender moment would frustrate yet again. However, the name remained rooted to the memories following, and was pivotal to the recollection. "Abel." The old master chided in a room several hours away. "Abel!" The half concious young man convulsed back to awareness from the comforting warmth of his desk. "Y- yes! hello! Oh...." The sudden sensation of forty pairs of eyes on the back of his head made Abel remember the curse of being the so-called 'top' student. Along with the whispers and dirty looks from everyone in the lower tiers there lay a sense of universal disturbance when he fell asleep in class. "I know Ive been giving alot of assignments lately but that's no excuse for you making up for your lost sleep in class. Abel felt through the restless space of his mind for a justification but fell short as the reason for his nodding off was a woman and not his work. "I'm sorry Grandmaster." Despite feeling ashamed he felt the need to wipe one thin finger across his left eyebrow, drawing out the cold sweat of exaughstion that had been collecting in his slumber. "I guess Ive been at it too hard latley." Grandmaster Owen squinted down at Abel, holding a withdrawn understanding. To say that Abel was not favored would be an absolute falsehood. "It's alright my boy but please..." The shrunken teacher leaned his neck down to level with Abel as bowing would have slammed his chin into the desk. "But at least 'try' to look like learning is as hard for you as it is for the others." Abel made an attempt to smile and ended up looking even more tired than before. "Now my students I believe our session has come to an end."

The mass of young spellcasters had already begun to shuffle thier things togethor before the Grandmaster was finished. Abel was abit slower to respond to his new freedom, choosing to celebrate by dropping his skull back onto the oaken desk. "Oh come now..." With a flurry of black robe and dust Owen's hand came crashing down upon Abel's wooden pillow and snapped him back to attention. He forced himself up from his chair and began to numbly push his notes into his pack. "I'll see you tomorrow master.." He muttered from under the sweaty brown veil of his bangs. "Abel you can't keep doing this." Words from Owen were like those of a father, something Abel admired but not much else. "I dunno...I don't see her every night." The boy's defense was abit shoddy and gleaned a raised eyebrow from his teacher. It didn't take long for this look to sink into Abel's ego and pull an outburst out of him. "I can handle it alright! I can handle being with her!" Owen didn't respond, he simply raised one of his withered fingers to hush down Abel's ruckus. "My boy, you're more than too old to be getting lectures from and old man, but a lesson in self-control is always applicable." Owen's near infanitley simple wisdoms gave Abel a sort of peace. The matter of fact tone seemed to push down the fires of his frustration like closing the lid of an ashes jar, stifling the swirling gray clouds. "I own my actions." Abel felt his footing shift beneath him, causing an unneeded adjustment in balance. "And I know my limits!!"

This could have been their encounter but the unyielding fate decided to the contrary. Just as Owen prepared to destroy his student's misconceptions about the poisionous union he held, the doors flew open. Light from the terrace pierced the dim gray inside the study hall. A howling wind, brother of the seasons in the canyon came rushing in and knocked Abel forward with such force that his light frame left the earth and soared for no less than five feet."Abel!" His flight would have been astounding had the factors of malnourishment and sleep depravity been involved with his anatomy. "My boy! Come up now, gently did you hit your head?" Abel found himself cradled in the skeletal arms of his master. His sentimentality suprised him. "fine...I'm....I am fine." Grandmaster Owen surveyed his pupil with a discerning stare, he took in the damage with the alacrity of a surgeon. "A few cuts, some bruising I see." With a sigh of relief he relaxed his arms and allowed the still panting youngster to lay on the cold stones beneath them. "I'm sorry Grandmaster..." He gasped through raking breaths. "...it's just...I have to...I can't be without her gifts I.." His words were clamped off at the end by a very painful looking swallow followed by a fat bead of sweat rolling across his brow. "I read thirty-four books last night Owen..." This came out sounding like a boast but the exaughstion behind his tone somewhat removed the pride inside his eyes. "She's a tool to you then!" The older man both stated the truth and probed for it. "You can't use her the way you are! You're lucky I haven't simply had her locked away from you already." Suddenly a much more threatened demeanor wrapped itself about Abel's visage. It spoke of frustration but hinted at rage and expressed itself further in a broad-knuckled grip vised onto the edge of Owen's collar. "Dont...you even think...don't you dare to concieve it Owen." Threats weren't much to the grizzled Necromancer but when coming from the floundering and sweat soaked wretch they seemed almost entertaining. His venomous response was a sanguine fog that began to coil around them both. It silenced all and smothered life around it. Even the stone seemed to die under the dripping and more recently shivering Abel. "No!" He attempted to roar at the cruel ancient holding him above certain doom. "NO!" A cornered animal had replaced the intelligent student, the prodigy and hopeful ascendant. "YOU CAN'T!" Pulling up from the floor was more akin to climbing a mountain. "I need her!" He grunted under the burden of his starving body. "If you ever try to keep her from me I'll....." Now the young man's gaunt face was inches from the angry silver stubbs adorning his master's crag covered grin. "You'll what?" A rain of sweat sprinkled the mass of blackness curling underneath them both as Abel made one last heave to reach past the hateful smile and allign with the judgemental ear of his teacher.

"I 'will' find a way to end you...you can't have her, ever.."

With that foreboding rasp Abel succumbed to unconciousness and fell limp into Owen's horrid arms. That moment could have ended the boy but his master had plans beyond smothering his star pupil in shadow. His void fading, Owen allowed Abel to sink onto the now safe floor and sent for a sentinel to carry him back home, giving it explicit instructions to inspect the room before leaving and to guard it's entrance until relieved.

Abel awoke to a splitting headache and the smell of wolf-skin. The creak of wooden planks reminded him of the previous incident causing him to flip over as if he desperatley needed to look at the ceiling. The very next idea to enter him was a golden haired woman that almost spelled his doom, someone who might be in danger. With the jerky hurredness of a drunk he hoisted out of bed and made for the door. His weight slammed against the coarse wood with relief but it didn't take long to realise the timber would not give. Abel pulled back and glared at the door as if it had offended him. Behind the door a moan beyond cross-beams and wooden bolts. The offended look masked itself underneath suprise. "That's very unsporting Owen."  Abel's instinctual rebellion urged him to plead and argue witht the sentinel outside for his freedom but common sense brought up the fact Sentinels were uncommonly...dense. After turning about and sliding down the door to his neglected carpet Abel began to a task he would know quite well in the future, he sat and waited.

Chap2

Enveloping itself in a sigh marking the end of a near endless dream the imperial corpse shifted on his throne. His position had not been altered in so long that his ropeish tendons protested against him. The two sightless pits that perched like buzzards above his grizzly maw turned their non-existant gaze towards the door not far from his throne. The last image he held of it was playing itself before him from time without cobwebs and stagnant grit. There was light and sound and more than he in that conjuration. There was a miniscule shaft of evening sun tenaciously prying it's way into his almost tomb. There were the booming sounds of mammoth hammers debating with the heavyset stubborness of the door...and there was a voice. The pitch of course was familiar, there were hardly any new voices that passed through the cavernous brain of him that waited. "Come now, hurry before he changes his bloody mind!", it stammered. The anger in it was alien. For anger in itself is unknown to those who find themselves terrified beyond all reason. He considered this a moment...and then moved on. A few beats in the rhythm of hammer-blows were skipped. They had been replaced by the non-rhythmic sound of shuffling plate boots. There was a gong-crash from a much larger blunt weapon, what he had surmized to be a Palidan's hammer which finalized his captor's symphony and ended thier debate with the door. The next command wormed from behind that wielder of light and pretentiousness. The king had been around long enough to recognize the sound of relief bouncing around linked plate armour. "We've done it gentlemen....Valmorus your contribution in this endeavor shall be greatly rewarded by the order." Amongst the many scuttleing slippers Palidan boots made small explosions. Even the sound of underbrush being blasted into the air by his warding enchants seemed to push back the weak reverbrance of priest footies. That was the last set of expierences he had before this waiting he had both chose and been placed into.

A similar situation was already sliding along his granite floor. The magics woven to create his images had been used and reused so many times that the ghosts were reflex to him. His mind nestled back into the forgotten comfort of his former room and perched itself upon a pile of haphazardly piled notes stained by miles of frantic, scurrying monolouge. These were a living self's sad attempt at prose which made the current incarnation pull breath into gosamer lungs and shudder with embarassment that was not there. Abel had been held captive in his own apartment for days now. The sentinel outside his door had actually ran low on it's runic power and slumped bakwards against his thin door, nearly snapping it off the hinges. Abel considered 'helping' the process along but unfortunatley the hunk of enchanted stone was just livley enough to shrug away from him and stoke the neon blue flames surrounding it. Even a novice in the arts knew that although runefire couldn't destroy natural objects it's effects on living tissue and metal were...less than enjoyable. His meals were courteousley brought in through his landlady who constantly fussed over having the other tenants up all night one way or the other either from the sounds of Abel's 'study' or the moans of the grandmaster's magical lapdogs. One morning before his usual time for breakfast Abel was started by the kind of knocking one pulls from his nightmares. The sound was quick and paniced, furious in speed and harsh in tone. After the first volley of taps had subsided Abel tried to shove away the idea of outside world and continue nursing the tail-end of his crash but of course when one is the lowest of points everything requires one's attention. "Hello?" He mourned out wailfully. "Abel." The grating whisper of his landlady replied. "There's a summons from master Owen waiting downstairs for you." The youth pulled his wolf-skins off from the bed and tossed them aside towards the window. Leaning outwards to the floor he asked tenativley."Is there a gaurd waiting out there with you?" His was the tone of someone not daring to hope, he had the voice of a trapped animal not wanting to leave his cage in the fear his release would be his slaughter.

Of course the option of letting his captors take him or not left in a startlingly fast and rather noisy fashion. Abel's door, which was already hanging upon the shattered remains of hinges, foud it's last legs ripped from it and used to bludgeon the pathetic excuse of an existence it had from the face of the earth. A sentinel of unusal size had decimated the flimy entrance and strode boldly to the center of Abel's cramped apartment. The very width of his shoulders caused him to scrape residuous bark from the walls and topple a very unfortunate lamp covered in soldified wax. For a moment the expression on Abel's recently filled out face was nothing comporable to composed. He held a mask of pure and unabashed astonishment. His latter self was less impressed but made note upon the event and how elastic his face had once been. The sentinel crowding Abel's room heaved in it's artificial breathing. Flames of azure licked out of the cracks in his obsidian body and billowed from the maw of crooked ridges that served as audio output for the hulking summon. "Empowered civillian.", it heaved, "Your presence is required in the private sector of his lordship Owen. Do you comply to this summons?" Abel despite his volumous vocabulary stared back into the luminescant eyes of his uninvited guest with the air of dumbfounded paralysis. "You do not comply?" Once again the mass of stone was answered with a stare. "My charge is of high enough priority to complete your retrieval regardless of response." Although Abel knew that Sentinels had no logic or reason beyond that which was granted them, his pride reared upwards and away from the grasping stone hands that made for his barley swaddled frame. "Keep your sedimentary claws to yourself! I command you by the nether of your making to dessist!" The boy's words were paniced and fearful, his brow beaded with the sweat of fear and lit his eyes with a fire of dissatisfaction over what they saw.This drama lead to a horror as Abel was literally yanked from his seat upon the bed and thrown across the left shoulder of the Sentinel. The following scene was therefore, a comedy.

Outside the weather was in rare form. The routine winds of the canyon had ceased, the gray sky had been replaced by an alien blue and the sun was traversing the new territory with shining glee. Abel did not feel the collective sigh of contentment which floated about the heads of the other citizens. His head was being jostled in a violent heaving motion with the awkward gate of his bulky travelling companion. "I don't suppose you could have let me gather up some proper clothes?" He huffed backwards to the Sentinel's stump of a head. "Negative." It responded predictably, "your presence is required in.." Unable to fully turn and see what had caused his unwanted vehicle's halt, Abel glanced back and forth before wheezing a faltered "What is it?" His own weight had begun to press the pointed edge of the Sentinel's shoulder into his gut and without the constant up and down giving him temporary relief it was even more painful than being carried. "Hello?" The passerbys had similar questions coming to mind as they stared shameless at the scene. It was odd to see a black Sentinel out in the daylight, even more so to witness one staring down a twosome matching his size and color of flame. "Greetings retrieval unit." The one closest to him said. "Your summons was answered with compliance?" "No." was the curt retort from Abel's carrier. "..but my priority is high enough to make the target accostable." The furthest behemoth strode across the gap between them to confide something clandestine to his triplet, "We have not located the second target." Abel's Sentinel whispered something back to his counterpart which was so low in decible that even to a fly seated between them hearing his message was doubtful.

Chap3

In exactly two hours and thirty-five minutes I will hear the moan of a door and feel the heat from the setting sun press against my closed eyelids. I shall reveal my azure irises to behold the shining visage of the Holy Father Gregory, there will be a smile upon his ancient face as he steps aside to reveal his Lordship Jarvis. "Valmorous." He will boom from inside his golden helm of eagles. "Your time of reflection has ended, rise now and take your place among the Paladins of the Holy Right." I will unfold my legs from underneath me, a position I have held dutifully for three days and nights surviving on the sustenance of my faith and quenching my thirst with the cool waters of meditation. Gregory shall continue to beam at me, his pride quite visible but not made audible as he is reverant of the event. Jarvis' blessed armor will nearly blind me as I take my first steps out into the main chamber of our Father Oversoul. "Kneel good knight," Jarvis shall thunder to me. His voice shall be commanding but welcoming as he has known of my rising through the ranks for some time. Once upon my knee, head bowed to his Lordship I shall feel the resonation of his famed sword, The Lionheart as it descends upon my unworthy shoulder. "Do you sir Valmorus, holy knight of the order. Hereby swear to take up the burdeon of our most prestigious of ranks. Do you take the title of Paladin to serve in goodness and purity, with honor and piety to bask in our Father's Glory with the greatest of humility...Shall you serve?" The dubbing complete I shall inhale my first shuddered breath as the holyest of warriors. My eyes shall turn upwards to meet with the luminescant orbs of Lord Jarvis and I shall say with pride. "By the blood that runs through my veins and the spark of divine stocking the very furnace of my being." My legs will straighten and raise me to my full stature, just beneath my new captains plated chest, my reflection in it's own unyielding faith will mimic me as I mouth out my doubtless pledge. "I shall serve."

These were the exact thoughts and images which floated behind my eyes before the door to my meditation chamber actually swung open. The light from outside pierced into my lids and seemed to stab at my eyes. "Come now stop cringing. Some Paladin your going to be." I wrestled with the pinpricks of light trying to reach the deep recesses of my throat to make out the hunched outline of Father Micheal. His buzzard face sagged low past his curled gnarl of a back and as usual he was scowling at me. "Get up you lazy scrout!" I was still lost in the daze of my imaginings as my lack of company for the past few days had not pulled me from them in some time. "Am I to meet Lord Jarvis now?" I rasped from a parched throat. The caustic moan of a laugh I was answered with began to sober my imagination. "Still as arrogant as the day I saw you drag your skinny arse into this monastarey. Lord Jarvis has no time to come and see scum like you, he's in the Atrium briefing 'real' Paladins about the coming assault." Although Micheals words offended they also confused my addled brain. "...what?..what assault?" "Oh that's right." Micheal attempted to hiss and make an insincere coo at the same time. "Youve been in here napping like a princess while the rest of us have been dealing with what has to be done! You know if I had my say and his holyness hadn't picked that fool Gregory to mentor you I'd see your worthless hide hurled out of..." "FATHER MICHEAL!" I was not certain as to who had jerked his head upwards with more violence but we both found ourselves onset with neck pangs as we tried to meet the shout as it phased through the cieling at us. "HAS SIR VALMORUS NOT BEEN HAILED YET!? HURRY AND BRING HIM TO THE ATRIUM SO HE MAY BE DUBBED! TIME IS SHORT!"

Father Alex had once been Lord Alex the thunderer and although his age had deprived him of almost all physical prowess, his shouts and holy words were still more potent than any others'. Somehow the soft whispering of wool padded slippers flapping against the immaculate marble floors nudged through my ringing ears. "Well you heard the man Micheal we mu...Oh there he is." Father Gregory shuffled in his wobbly way past the much taller form of Father Micheal."Father Gregory what is going on?" My voice barley made it through my still resonating ears. Father Gregory who was my greatest of friends placed one of his tiny hands upon my knee. "Come Valmorous, your day shall be rushed but I am still more proud of you than Ive been of any student Ive ever had." Gregory's kindness made the discomfort of dehydration come close to vanishing. On our way out though it seemed Father Micheal had another few copper to throw at the back of our heads. "He says that to all of them you know."

Twelve years ago I entered this monastary on my knees. The dirt was cached upon my bloody palms and legs in such thickness that I lay at it's doors for three whole days being mistaken for a lump in the cobbling. Gregory says that back then the only traffic in or out was monks on call for exorcisims or travelling adventurers. Father Micheal says I smelled so terrible that I kept the traffic away. Regardless I was finally noticed by one of the rampart gaurds on a rainy day when the dust on the stone entryway had been washed off and my prone figure of bronze and bruisepurple stood starkly agaisnt the marble.

"Father Gregory..." I muttered in a dry whisper. "I need some clothes." The tiny priest stopped dead in his tracks, realizing that he had almost brought me to the Atrium in nothing but a holy garment wrapped around my waist. "Oh my so you do. Well then I suppose his holyness will have to be kept waiting just a moment longer." As we turned away from the looming vaulted doors to the ascencion room I asked myself the obvious of question, "Is Lord Jarvis really just a few hundred yards from me? Can it be possible that the man I have modelled my actions and heart after for so long be standing amongst his fellows conversing of plans...or even fathomable that within a few minutes I shall stand among those fellows..." Gregory's hand jutted out to warn my knee of it's impending collision with the door to my humble chambers. "Right then just head inside and collect some modest clothing. I shall inform the Lords of your coming and Valmorous." "Yes father?" Gregory snapped two of his miniscule fingers with a flick and then handed me the silverey conjured water in one of his famous sheep skin flasks. "I believe the folksome human term is 'whet your whistle'? " Gregory's masterful use of common forced a dusty laugh from me as I took the flask. My throat almost screamed as it was whetted for the first time in days. The water felt so cold that it burned  and my eyes watered from the now very unfamiliar sensation of taste. Once I had drained the skin Gregory's padded footsteps echoed far down the hallway from me and I was almost certain that Father Micheal was up in the Atrium trying the learn how to pickpocket in an attempt to stall my knighting as long as possible.

Once the arduous process of connecting the twenty-two leather straps of my plate boots pulling eighteen leather straps on my gauntlets and fourteen Silverlake ringlets on the back of my cuirass and I had finally washed the cached on layer of dirt oil and dandruff which had accumulated upon my scalp over the past three days...I felt like I was completely unprepared to step foot into the atrium. Despite the thirteen years I have spent training learning studying and testing myself in preparation for this moment I felt as if I was a fool walking into a room of scholars which in essence was true as most of the men there were men of knowledge and repose.

The notion off such oceans of wisdom seated around the grand vestibule turning thier most noble of attentions away from whatever plan they labored upon to my obtrusive entrance through the ascention chamber placed ice in my soul. Whilst I knew Gregory's warm eyes would beam upon me through the rouge strands of gnomish mustouche crowding his vision and that the pastel green and blue sneer of Father Micheal's gaze would scream out every ounce of wizard fury he had against me...the reactions of the other twelve fathers remained petrifying mysterys. I had never even laid eyes upon any of the other sacred scholars. They each spread the influence of the light in thier own monastaries and when visiting this one were so well gaurded and private about all thier matters the only indication of thier presence was the whispering of arrival amongst those training here.

Alright, I know of Father Alex most high amongst the fathers in way of authority. He sits upon the most elevated pedestal, a saint among prophets. While I have never met him his concern about my arrival indicates that I am atleast somewhat high among his priorities...although being a high priority for an octogenarian who speaks in mumbles and nonsense most of the time can't truly grant me any assurance. Upon either of Father Alex's side sit the other dozen prophets of light. The closest to him are the legendary twins of the nether. Seated on the right is Father Cedric of the blinding righteousness. His deeds of selflessness and words of the light number in the millions and could stretch across the sea if all were to be writ upon a singular scroll. On the left most likley with a bone pipe clenched in his broad grin would be Andrew who's corpulence, decadence and downright overindulgence deny him access to the order...making his seat amongst the council quite unusual but as the seers tell he has been a valuable asset on many a noble endeavor...as the seers tell us.