Across the vast infinities of reality, between the maelstrom of pure chaos and order, in the swirling energies of possibility, lies an unassuming world of sword and sorcery, named Ihn Gallad by its inhabitants. Perhaps not as blessed with the grandeur of magic as other realms within the Blind Eternities, Galladria is still full of life, full of gods, and most of all, full of stories.

The races of Ihn Gallad have nearly a thousand years of history to call their own, to entertain the young and to learn from their mistakes. Tomes and scrolls on Galladria's history more numerous than the years over which they've been written collect dust across all of the libraries and old coffers of the flat land. Some may think that the past is more poetic, more adventurous than the current times, but let those that do search for their epics in the pages of history, and not in what follows. The present of Ihn Gallad is rife with adventure, if one merely knows where to look.

In current times, it is the vedalken outcast Lyssia Crutoriae that has captured the attention of the masses, though few know her true story. The circumstances that caused the blue-skinned scientists and bureaucrats to banish one of their own are a mystery, and little is known on how or why the woman Crutoriae came to be a warrior among such a passive race, more interested in their own machinations than the ways of the outside. Her message of madness is well known across Ihn Gallad, and none seem to pay it any heed. Her path takes her all across the flat world, finding friends, fighting enemies, spreading her words of warning, and trying to save her world from a threat that only she has seen.

The night is closing around Galladria, now. It falls silently on a small town in the foothills of the Aven Mountains, within the human kingdom of Valhertia. The sun was giving its last hurrah through a westward window, in a room of a small inn. Kneeling beside her bed and framed by the failing sunlight, fingers interlocked in a gesture of prayer, a fair- and blue-skinned lady whispered words of devotion to the aven god Raejhi, the Traveler. Upon the bed before her lay her weapons - four short swords - reverently removed from their scabbards and carefully placed upon the mattress. Her softly spoken words asked for the safety of her friends and supporters, in return for her devotion to the ways of the Traveler.

The room in which she stayed this night was modest, to say the least. To be truthful about it, it wasn't even worth the copper pieces they paid for the night. Most anyone on Galladria that knew of her tended to avoid her as if she had blacklung. Some were rather vocal about it, and she rarely was given the goodwill to stay in a town, much less give her bedding to sleep on. She is the only exile of vedalken civilization, and with that status comes a certain infamy. Lyssia Crutoriae, the only known vedalken warrior as well, added to that infamy herself, spreading her message to all she could about a threat that lay beyond Galladria's horizons. Beyond worry, most would believe.

But still she continued, though her years of exile have only brought her as far as the Aven Mountains. Even though tonight was the first time within the past month that she hadn't spent sleeping out in the weather. Even though pulling the strings to allow them to stay put her newest companion, an aven whose plumage had been dulled and roughed by the assault of time, in more trouble than he was probably aware of.

As she replaced her weapons on her belt, prayers finished and sunlight nearly gone, she thought of him, and of his people. He had given her his chosen name, Rhee; quite a gesture for ones such as he, a life-nomad, as they are referred to these days. In ages gone by, the bird-people were a nomadic race; solitary, spiritual wanderers. Those days have long since past, and it's been close to a century since their 'traditional' life died off. Today, those that spent their lives journeying the length and breadth of the great land beneath their wings were a curiosity, a rarity that few really encountered. Their ways - the ancient ways of the aven - are a way of close companionship, of trusting another. To give her the name which he chose (one which, in his fading native language, meant "friend") was a very important thing to life-nomads, even if she did not have the physical capabilities to say it properly. The bird-people were vocal in a uniquely avian way, something which they used throughout the ages to both separate themselves, and to show their closeness to those they trust.

Lyssia had met many aven in her life, and had been treated so well that she had even adopted their major god. Raejhi was a god of Aria - the aven realm of souls - and the protector of all travelers, be they aven or human or any race at all. When the warrior woman found herself exiled from her homeland, the god of travelers was welcoming, as she could no longer call upon the gods of her race, few though they may be.

The door opened softly behind her, bringing the vedalken out of her reverie and instantly alerting her warrior-sharpened instincts. She hadn't even noticed before now that the sun had finally given out to the night and darkness flooded the room. Her eyes and ears strained as all four hands hovered above the blades that hung from her waist. A bird-like head poked around the old wooden door, trying to blink the darkness away. When the figure spoke to the blinding twilight, his voice instantly calmed the warrior Crutoriae.

"Lyssia?" the aven asked in the darkness.

She rose at ease now, looking for a candle to light. "Yes, Rhee. I am here," she said. After a few moments of blind groping, she added, "and I'm trying to find a blasted light!"

The door creaked as the aven opened it fully, allowing the wan light from the candles in the hallway to seep into the small room. Lyssia immediately grabbed the candle that had hidden in the darkness and gave her gratitude to her aven companion. As she looked upon him, she noticed he was carrying what appeared to be several bowls in one arm. She waited for him to explain as she lit the candle.

Rhee stepped inside and carefully placed three bowls on the little wooden table between the two small beds that defined the tiny room. As he did so, he spoke softly to the vedalken woman. "The innkeeper doesn't wish us to feast in his tavern. He allowed us this soup to eat here, provided we don't stir up trouble." He gave Lyssia a tired look, one that always comes from age averse to dealing with youth's problems. At sixty-six winters, Rhee was an old aven; and young people, humans especially, typically didn't respect that.

Lyssia could understand, having given her elders much trouble in her time, and decided to spare him any additional stress. "I will remain in here, then," she said as she began to fill her bowl with the soup her friend had brought. "I'm sure your presence isn't as disparaging as mine."

The aven produced a couple of spoons and tried to look into her eyes. He almost wished he hadn't. Her cool green eyes held a depth of war that belied her age, for she was much too young to have been in any major confrontation in this age of peace. It was as if she had witnessed all of the world's harshness since becoming an exile.

A small part of the old bird wondered if this were true.

But he relented. He agreed with her and they ate in silence. Lyssia begun sharpening her blades after their meal was finished, and it was a while yet before he decided to get both of them a much-needed stiff drink. The vedalken watched him go without comment, letting her mind drift as she continued diligently. One of her four hands inevitably drifted upwards, rubbing a charm on the necklace she constantly wore, one with the arcane symbol for family.

Rhee returned after she had worked to her satisfaction, handing her a small mug of sweet plum wine. She accepted it gratefully and began drinking almost immediately. He sipped at his rather thoughtfully, looking a little worried. Finally, he spoke up. "I heard talk that troubles me, Lyssia." The vedalken gave him her full attention, eyes full of a serious curiosity that commanded him to continue.

He obeyed them.

"There are young people out there speaking of a bounty. From what I understand, it is you they are after, not any fell beast or raiding party." The vedalken warrior's eyes hardened at this, but she said nothing, and only took a small sip from her wine. "The innkeeper also told me," he continued when she didn't respond, "that frall poachers on this side of the mountains have been more active as of late. The Kingdom thinks they own this side of the mountains and punishes those who harvest apart from my people. Too many have been discovered and now they are attacking anyone who witnesses." Again he looked up to his friend, who still said nothing as she sipped at her wine. "It troubles me, my friend," he said, trying to get a response. "I fear that if we are attacked, it will be too easy to lay the blame with the poach-"

Lyssia interrupted him mid-sentence. "We will deal with them," she finally stated. Her words carried the finality of tone that said that they were the last of the conversation.

But the old aven did not wish to dismiss it out of hand. "The slopes will be more dangerous than you realize," he said, trying to use his knowledge of the world to his advantage.

She replied simply, "For them, as well." She said no more, which aggravated Rhee enough that his collar feathers began to ruffle.

"I thought you wished to save this world?" he asked her. "Or have I misunderstood something?"

She met his gaze evenly, and he saw a silent fury behind those steeled eyes. "I will not suffer fools that invite death so much sooner than it would come. Those that would work against the good of Galladria deserve a death much sooner than that which comes for them, even if I will grant them mercy that it will not."

Her grim words and lethal tone were followed by a long swig of wine and a resign to the bed, arguing no rebuttal. With a sigh, the old aven blew out the lone candle, casting the room in complete shadow once more, and sat in his own bed to sleep. Human beds were unsuited to aven anatomy, and his kind of life-nomads were used to sleeping out in the wilderness, so he could not comfortably lay down; but Rhee found sleep nonetheless as the night wore on, thinking about his new friend and about the dangers that lay ahead of them.

The warrior Lyssia Crutoriae found herself at the edge of the underworld. Before her sat the earth's open maw -- an enormous ravine, distance obscuring the opposite ledge, darkness hiding what lay in its depths. Behind and beyond lay nothing. This land was barren, scoured clean of anything other than dirt and bedrock long ago. Even the sky above held no life; no sunlight, no moonlight, no starlight able to pierce the inky blackness that could have been foreboding clouds as easily as an unnerving void.

Rocks tumbled free beneath her feet and fell pitifully down the seemingly bottomless canyon as she peered curiously into its depths. She could feel the loose soil shift under her weight, trying to throw her into the abyss, as well. This cavernous gorge was just waiting swallow her up, should she so much as lose a second of focus or a break in her confidence, locking her forever in the land of the dead below.

The proud warrior refused the ominous influence its feast of flesh and soul, standing proudly as she pitted her will against the invisible force. Still, its darkened depths called to her, commanding loudly in sweet whispers at the edge of words to seek the unseen bottom.

As her vision searched the darkness far below in the wound on this barren plain, the shroud of darkness seemed to squirm. Slow distortions edged themselves around in the shadows far below. The more she focused on the slow, writhing mass, the clearer it became; until Lyssia could finally make out the details previously hidden from her. A million flailing arms and contorted faces revealed themselves as the true form of the underworld. Even as she watched, her will being worn away by fear, their wailing and moaning was carried up from the abyss by an unholy wind.

The suggestive power of the world beyond almost completely wore away at her focus as Lyssia felt her will slipping away. A sense of falling filled her, and she found herself kneeling before the open abyss, the sharp precipice cutting into the flesh of her hands as fear burrowed its way deeper into her mind. She started to tremble as recognition dawned upon her. Familiarity reached out from the river of grimy faces staring ever upwards, pleading at her and any being that could see them.

With a great difficulty, that didn't have to do entirely with the otherworldly fear invading her mind, Lyssia Crutoriae tore herself away. She tried to bury her face in her hands, all thoughts of warrior pride fleeing her -- but hesitated. They were covered in blood that was more than just her own. It lay pooled around her, spattered all about her body. The blood of her friends, whom she herself had sent down into the underworld.

Lyssia awoke in a cold sweat, though it was no brighter here. The night still pressed down heavily outside -- the moon had long since vanished behind the horizon without waiting for the sun to replace it on cloudless sky. Glittering starlight was the only illumination as she ruminated over the dream. Spectres of her past still chose to haunt her in these painfully early hours of the morning.

Several minutes she spent chasing the remnants of the nightmare from her body and mind. She was a warrior. Her will was iron; sharp as a blade and harder than earth. Losing her control was a slight akin to any wound of the flesh. It tore at her soul that she lost control as often as she did; almost as much as what caused it -- reliving in abstract the most hated day of her life.

As she finally began to rise - paranoia and experience seeing her fully clothed and ready to fight or flee, her weapons less than an arm's length away - she heard Rhee shift in his bed. Human bedding was rarely kind to aven, and it surprised her none at all to hear him awake. Then comprehension truly dawned as she allowed other sensations into her conscious mind. A muffled and very rhythmic caterwauling filled the otherwise silent night from a pair of exuberant (and probably more than slightly inebriated) tenants in the adjoining room, with a chorus of creaking wood accompanying them. The vedalken part of Lyssia considered the absurdity of the situation, and she actually chuckled, albeit softly, mindful in the way night makes all creatures of the dangers of that lay hidden in the darkness.

She heard more movement from Rhee, an undeniable rustle of feathers, and she could almost feel his question in that sound. 'You plan to leave now?' she fully expected him to say, even as she rose to her feet. Using all four nimble hands in place of her eyes to secure her weapons and other gear, she whispered to her companion, "We leave now, and leave them to their devices."

Without any further words between them, the two gathered their things and set off down the road. No warm goodbyes greeted them, and it was several hours before even the yellow disc of Ihn Gallad's sun would welcome them to the morning.

The summer sun had risen to its throne directly overhead, reigning oppressively down upon them, before the silence was broken between the two. They stood at the base of the mountains, having left the gentle trail through the rolling foothills behind for the much more treacherous one ahead. The Aven Mountains were the tallest and most vertical range of Galladria, thrust out of the earth by the gods almost as an afterthought. The young and soft rocks were constantly crumbling, ever endangering those who dared climb its peaks. In the shadow of the mountain, the pair of travellers stopped for a grateful reprieve.

Lyssia Crutoriae spoke first. "Let us eat and rest before we continue. What say you?"

Rhee actually managed a chuckle. " 'What say you' ?" he repeated, shaking his head sadly. "Oh, my friend, you have much to learn." He sighed gratefully as he sat with the vedalken in the shade. "But I agree. The trail ahead is much easier for me, as should only be right, but will test us both." A thoughtful pause. "Perhaps in more ways than one."

The warrior woman smiled fondly as she dug out small portions of bread, cheese, and dried meat from her pack. "I'm not quite that new to the outside world, Rhee. But there are, of course, some ideals I've always been fond of."

Conversation died once again as they filled their stomachs with their midday meal, each content enough with their food to not bother the other. The time passed pleasantly, hidden from the heat of the day and uncaring of what few dangers may have been lurking. Or so Lyssia almost allowed herself to believe. Almost inevitably, Rhee voiced his worries.

"May I ask what disturbed your sleep this morning?" he asked tentatively. If he had truly been awake, there was no hiding that the couple next door had no effect on her, and Lyssia discarded that line of thought before allowing it to blossom. She let out a resigned sigh, making a decision. Trying to buy for time - and a little hopeful that perhaps she could get him to forget his question - she asked, "If I may ask the same of you."

A curious expression crossed Rhee's features, as he metaphorically groped for the words to say to such a comment. "I am..." he ventured, "unused to such circumstances. I never fell to sleep. What I heard last night disturbed me, from those young people. Though, I rarely stay in a human bed, and never do I stay where anyone might act out against me." He paused a moment, eyes distant. "We bird-people are still not so well liked. The young people of today have been taught by their parents, who were taught by their parents, who still remember the peddlers and swindlers of their age. Many still do not trust me because I come with feathers and a beak."

A long breath, not quite a sigh from the old bird, eyes refocusing on the now and searching Lyssia's measuringly. "Now you tell your story," he said to her.

She let a sigh of her own escape, one of weary recollection, like being reminded of a loved one's passing. Leaning back against the rock face that provided them shade, she looked to the sky and lay one arm across her eyes solemnly before responding. "You should know by now a bit of why I was cast out," she said heavily. "I learned first hand why some things are considered taboo, even though experience teaches that war seems to excuse all things." A mirthless smile. "Or at least delays the punishment for them."

She peeked out at her escort, whom was giving her the strange, not-quite-full attention that only his kind was able to pull off; full of seriousness and yet seemingly distracted, as if embarrassed he asked the question. He even averted his eyes from her own, constantly shifting his head in slight motions, and she wondered briefly how much of that was a cultural gap before continuing. "It was not my choice. I was given no other options. Looking back, I believe I never had the choice." Lyssia paused again, obviously troubled by the memories. "But even so," she pushed on, "what happened out there, in the wastes beyond the Great Wall visits me again and again in my dreams." With a tone of finality, as full of darkness as one about to hang at the gallows, she added, "It seems I cannot escape what I have done, neither in light, nor in darkness."

As she roused herself from her indulgent reverie, Rhee began apologizing. "I-I'm sorry if I troubled you," he stammered.

"Don't be," Lyssia answered motherly, tone warm but that suffered no dissension. "It is my burden to bear. Not yours. Not anyone else's. I spoke so because the more you know about me, the better you might understand what I'm trying to do now."

At that comment, the old bird became curious once again. "Which is...?" he trailed off, waiting for her to finish the thought.

Slyly, the vedalken woman replied, "You can find out at Ava, if you can make it to the courts. Now, let's go," she said as she rose. "We've already stopped for too long. The Traveller's shadow has already followed him down the road."

Rhee's beak clicked in good humor as he finished the Aven saying, "Then let us be on our way, to be in his company once again."

Much of the day passed without without incident, though it was a draining climb. The heat of the day had now passed, and the two travellers had managed the worst of the mountainous leg of the journey, having reached far enough into the range to be hiking instead of climbing. At least, for most of the way. No one who had ever traversed the Aven mountains could say that there was an easy trail through them. There are no trade routes or regular convoys to Ava like most large cities across Galladria. It is simply not possible with the common beasts of burden, to make the climb up its steep slopes.

Yet the marvelous vertical city of the bird-people, nestled not just on - but in - the Aven mountains, is still a thriving tourist destination.

This is the fact that, in and of itself, is the true reason that Ava managed to become the big city that it is.

Aven, being a sky-faring people, are not naturally inclined towards burrowing, mining, or other such activities that would result in a city being carved out of a mountainside. What they are known for is their long history of spiritual wanderings and a general camaraderie with anyone of any race. What is important to remember, is that the aven were originally a nomadic race; that Ava was not founded until 792 of the Galladrian calendar -- not even 80 years ago.

Despite their image of swindlers and thieves, and the general racism against them, the bird-people's connections have always been extensive. The settlement in the mountains was never constructed on the backs of aven alone. But when the small settlement became the center of aven life, it needed the resources to support it -- and the mountains themselves are a harsh and rather unforgiving home.

The solution found was magic. Perhaps not in an "Academy of Magic" sense, but large amounts of magic was incorporated into Ava's foundations, as it were. The raw energies of the infinite world pour slowly, in carefully guided patterns, to provide the city and its people a working base to survive on. Fountains spew forth drinkable water that, by all rights, should be locked far below in the heart of the mountain. Large and carefully guarded unnatural caves support miniature fields of a variety of crops and other edibles. The council itself is kept together and summoned through enchantments weaved into the very stone of The Atrium, where the would-be government of Ava discuss at length issues that would involve their city, or their people. Across all of Ihn Gallad, perhaps Ava alone is as full of these magical energies.

The warrior Crutoriae and her aven escort continued on their trek toward this "City in the Clouds." Although nestled high among the inner peaks, the great city still had not been seen among the towers of earth silhouetted against the blazing sun. Though the shadows cast long in the crags and deep valleys of the mountainside, the sun was still far from giving up its throne in the azure sky, and the two travellers were long from stopping for the night. One continued steadfastly, confident in every step; but one was becoming increasingly nervous, looking back over every ridge.

Rhee stepped up close to his charge and spoke softly. "I fear we may be being followed," said the tall old aven. Shadows danced on the edge of his vision, sending chills of primal fear down his spine.

Without turning to face him, the warrior Crutoriae responded likewise. "'Followed'? More like being led." She made no motion that betrayed her heightened senses, that said she knew anyone was out there. "There is only one behind us, but I'd be willing to bet a thousand gold coins that more are waiting ahead."

The old bird looked about wildly, as if expecting an ambush at her words alone. He swallowed hard, then asked, "What are we to do, then?"

A ghost of a smile graced Lyssia's petite lips. "We put on a show," she whispered slyly.

Concern and confusion etched Rhee's bird-like features. He nearly jumped out of his feathers when she raised her voice. "The trail has eased quite a bit," she said as she gestured exaggeratedly before them. Her words were loud enough to echo once across the myriad of surfaces in the deep mountains here (which was not that difficult to do given their current location). "Why don't you," she continued as she pushed him ahead of her with a pair of hands, "continue on ahead of me to find somewhere to camp?"

Her eyes dances with laughter as she looked into his. Rhee took that as his cue to speak -- but for what, he wasn't entirely sure. "You know an escort is useless if he is not there when you need him," he said uncertainly, not raising his voice as she had.

"Come now, surely this is safe enough for a few hours alone?" Lyssia responded, gesturing once again to the trail ahead of them. "Would you rather I promise to stop when it becomes too difficult for a mere land-crawler?" A wide smirk now plastered itself on her face.

Rhee hung his head in defeat. Perhaps he understood what she wanted, now. "I didn't mean any offense," he said in a small voice. "I'd just rather not-"

"And face them yourself?" Lyssia cut him off with a harsh whisper. Then she continued again in that over-the-top tone, "Don't sadden yourself, my friend. The gods have time enough for the both of us. I'm sure we will find our ways." As the old bird looked into her eyes again, he found a pleading stare in them.

Now the vedalken woman's true intent became clear to him. He nodded, staring straight into her eyes to show his understanding, and replied in kind. "Very well. I shall see you before the day's end. In return, I hope you to keep your wits about you.

Lyssia's smile took on a slightly warmer feel as she gave him an approving look. She just nodded and stepped back to give him room. A few heavy beats of his wings took the aven to the sky, floating between the towering walls of rock and onwards toward the falling sun. The blue-skinned warrior waited until he was out of site before continuing the rough hike onwards.

And smiled again when she noticed the shadow hurrying around and ahead of her.

It was little further, merely in a seeming alcove against the sun, the darkness in the shadows nearly palpable, when Lyssia Crutoriae stopped once more. She stood stone still, closed her eyes and just listened to the darkness. Her naturally gifted vedalken mind, uncluttered by the typical rules and regulations, theories and formulas filling normal vedalken's thoughts, honed her warrior's senses to a razor's edge that could be nearly unmatched while she concentrated like this. After just a moment or two, she opened her eyes once again, and spoke aloud to the seemingly empty rock.

"I am Lyssia Crutoriae, the Heretic," she announced. "The Rogue Vedalken. The Warrior who survived the Badlands of the West and returned. Did you really think you could take me by surprise?" Her eyes blazed fury and her hands hovered over her weapons as the echoes of her words died down.

"Well, well," came a voice from out of the darkness. Lyssia's hands twitched expectantly, but otherwise she made no movement to face the sound which came from behind her. "Just how long did you know we were following you?" it asked.

This question elicited a confident smirk from the warrior vedalken. "Since we had arrived in that little village," she replied calmly. There was no overt gloating or arrogance in her tone, just simple statement of facts. Her breathing and heartbeat were under a tight reign, now -- even a warrior, she was still a vedalken and losing control was not something she would allow. "Although," she continued almost conversationally, "there was a moment after we had stopped to fast that I thought you might attack. Perhaps it was just that the darkness had you blundering about so." Despite herself, her smirk grew.

An angry sputtering - such as it was, being several sharp retorts running into one another while being stifled for fear of losing the fight out of hand - was the response from behind, but another voice came out from in front, ready to add its input.

"This is no time for talk," it said in a much deeper tone that spoke as much of barbarian ancestry as it did the size and masculinity of its owner. "Let's be done with it before that overgrown bird gets back," it called, seemingly talking around Lyssia.

"Fine," spat the first voice, the anger redirected as it gave out an order. "Deneve!"

All at once Lyssia's world lurched. She found herself over the edge the trail before she could even react. The shadows had abated in the valley below, revealing the sheer drop in its entirety. A fall from a height such as this would kill any normal mortal.

But Lyssia Crutoriae was no normal mortal.

Her reflexes were sharper than any average warrior or hunter, precisely because of moments like this. Her mind was free, clear, and directed all the lithe muscles in her body perfectly. She worked her entire body quickly and powerfully, and with a snap like a snake's strike, she redirected her entire momentum to work to her ends. Weapons out with a flash of reflected sunlight, all four arms blurring into motion, her short swords dug into the loose rock making the mountainside and brought her to a stop less than arm's length from the flat trail.

She had no time to climb back up before a huge shadow fell upon her, a giant of a man; surely as tall as any elf, with the huge torso of a leonin, muscles bulging out between openings of his makeshift armor made specifically for his size; thick plates of worked metal simply lashed together with strips of leather. The beast of a human brought a heavy iron mace down to bear - hardly more than an unworked hunk of iron at the end of a rod - aiming for one pair of arms. The mace found no flesh to pound, no bones to break, but drove the warrior vedalken's weapons deep into the stone and destroyed the hilts, along with any hope of reusing them for the battle. Lyssia herself hand grabbed fast to the man's wrist and weapon, using the strength of his retraction to bring herself up and over the edge, swinging around the bulwark of flesh and out of immediate danger from his heavy weapon.

Within moments she was retreating, trying to get out of range of that cruel implement; but not before her scorpion strikes opened up the wildman's bulging arms and painting them red. The loose rock amplified the footsteps coming from behind her, allowing her enough warning to avoid a rapier strike aimed between her shoulder blades. The slender blade whirred as it cut through the air, shining brilliantly as it caught the fading sunlight. Lyssia had only an instant to admire the craftsmanship, the bejeweled guard and polished blade balanced perfectly in deft hands, as its wielder reversed his momentum, slashing out sidelong at her.

Metal rang on metal and echoed loudly in the darkened alcove. The swordsman backed off quickly from her desperate block, catching her off guard. The mountain of muscles was already charging forward, but shopped short as the much smaller man held out his free hand.

Lyssia took the moment to center herself, preparing for their next attack. She could just make out the angry frown on the rapier-wielder's face as she shifted her swords to an easier grip. "What's the matter?" she goaded, hoping for a mistake on their part.

Not surprising her, the little man growled his frustration.

"Deneve!" he screamed, "Step it up!"

Lyssia was not a skilled psychiatrist, but neither was this thin swordsman an expert in combat. His eyes had drifted straight up the rock wall beside them when he called out. A quick glance and the flit of a shadow told Lyssia that these two she was facing were not the only ones come to claim her as their prize. Only half-hidden behind a cleft in the dark bedrock, a cloak rustled with the rhythmic movements of the hands beneath. Even from that momentary glance, the mark of a magic-user was unmistakable to any that had encountered their kind before; and Lyssia had seen more than most on Galladria.

Choosing her precarious footing in the instants between heartbeats, the vedalken warrior launched up the sheer wall towards the hidden wizard. The razor's edge upon which she ran slipped, as another combatant came out from the same break in the bedrock that hid the spellcaster. This one was clad fully in armor, carrying the pounded and scratched remains of the Valhertian army's insignia.

The endless fields of the Frozen Expanse spread out before her. This was the perfect time, the awe-inspiring moments that made living this close to such an inhospitable wasteland bearable. She was alone. The silent land stretched out seemingly to infinity, a flat whiteness that disappeared beyond the horizon. Far in distance and time from the sun, the dim light of the far-off spires of Nre behind her gave her sight in the inky blackness.

Even with her heavy cloak and furs, the cold began to steal into her bones. It was very cold, but it had to be for the sight she was waiting for. In just a few more moments the temperature would drop to just the right point. It was one of the few wonders she could sneak away to see in a place as dull and bureaucratic as Nre. As far as she was concerned, Nre was just a prison built to house her and her comrades.

The sight she had snuck out of the city for began before her eyes, bringing her out of her contemptuous thoughts. The air around her began to glitter before her eyes. Thousands of tiny crystals formed from the air itself, shimmering in the light of Nre like so many points of starlight. Those little stars slowly descended, making room for more as the air practically exploded in the glimmer of this awesome spectacle of nature.

Diamond dust, it was called. And it was virtually the only unspoiled experience that she could thoroughly enjoy. They had dubbed her Lyssia Crutoriae; but out here, alone with the greatness of nature, she could lose herself and find herself all at once.

Even behind her mask and goggles, the sight stole her breath away. It was in every sense an awesome sight. She wished she could become one with this moment; though as much as she wanted to, she could not remove her protective clothing and equipment. The cold could be enough to cause permanent damage, or worse, kill.

And that diametric fascinated her.

The twin sides of this - that such an indescribably beautiful sight could just as easily kill - is what she always strove to mimic in battle. Or at least in the endless repetition of sparring and training that they went through within the walls of Nre.

Slowly the last of the crystals fell to the ground, and with it the last of the water left the air to settle quietly on the ground. Suddenly it felt so much colder. Even as hard as it would be on her body going back, and as difficult as it would be to sneak back into the city, her heart was lightened. This could be the last time for a long time that she would have this chance - the last time she could really connect with her birth home.

A cacophony of sensations slowly roused Lyssia Crutoriae from what might have been her most peaceful sleep in years. That changed quickly enough as she awoke. Pain she had never known before assaulted her entire body. "Son of a cinder!" she managed to get out through clenched teeth. Even as she gasped for breath, the effort sent waves of pain from what must have been a dozen broken ribs through her. Almost immediately she felt a rough and clawed hand press ever so lightly against her chest.

"Please, calm yourself," a familiar, almost musical voice said to her. Almost musical, except for a hoarseness denoting exertion. She still held her eyes shut, now more eager than ever to return to one of the few unmarred memories she still had. "Try not to move. You are lucky to be alive, but you must rest to heal."

"Rhee?" she asked as recognition dawned on her. When she finally split her eyelids apart, the glare of a midmorning sun blinded her.

Rhee replied back, "Yes, now please rest. You are safe now."

Safe, she repeated in her mind. She gasped anew as the memories of her fight returned, sending another wave of pain through her body. "Rhee," she said in between pained breaths, "what happened to-"

"Rest," he repeated again, cutting her question off short.

"Here," sounded a sharp, female voice. A slender hand that was not Rhee's pressed none-too-gently on her chest. Lyssia would have gasped, but a strange sensation kept her from doing so. The alien sensation spread warmth as it swept through her body, feeling like liquid was replacing her flesh. It dulled her pain, pushing her back towards unconsciousness. Before she had taken her next (much easier) breath, she had returned to the world in her dreams.

"There," she said as the spell finished. "Now she's asleep."

Rhee watched lazily as she removed her hand from the vedalken's chest. The morning sun did nothing to hide either of their weariness. Neither Rhee nor the elf woman he now found accompanying him had gotten a wink of sleep over the night. It was simply too dangerous. Pumas prowled the Aven Mountains at night, and they didn't have the luxury of moving the wounded. The steep cliffs still surrounded them on all sides, not a comfortable position but one they had to deal with.

Rhee had come across the scene alone, the sun at his back nearly beyond the horizon and light fading fast. Where he had expected to find Lyssia waiting for him, there was only blood and dirt. The trail had been blasted and fought on, and somehow Lyssia had been thrown over the edge.

Two more bodies accompanied her at the bottom of the valley. One had been the elf woman whom Rhee now found himself talking to; while the other, she had explained, was her husband, a knight that now lay stripped of his armor. The elf woman introduced herself as Deneve Valonder between one of her many healing sessions. She was a skilled witch, and was able to escape any serious injury; but she had been working on her husband with her healing magic throughout the long night.

Partially due to circumstances, but mostly, it seemed, because of Rhee's gracious treatment of both her and her husband with his limited medical supplies, Deneve had opened up to him. She still seemed to harbor some ill feelings toward his charge, however.

"Please," he pleaded, "Can't you help her?"

"I'm sorry, but no." The elf woman was rough and direct with her answers. "It's taken me a lot just to keep my husband alive," she said. She continued in a low, solemn tone, refusing to look Rhee in the eye. "You already know what I came for."

Rhee lowered his gaze, as well, back to the woman whom he was supposed to guide safely to Ava. She looked so much more tranquil than he had ever seen her, a small smile even gracing her lips. But he knew that would only last as long as she was asleep. Exhaustion may have dulled his reasoning, but his heart still ached at seeing his friend like this. By the time Rhee looked back up to plead again for her help, Deneve had buried her face in her knees, weeping quietly next to her husband.

Rhee sighed. She had already done this several times during the night. Surely it must not be easy for an elf and a human to be accepted as a couple; then there was whatever led her and her husband both off the side of the cliff. Rhee sighed again. The pain of losing - and nearly losing - a loved one was something he knew more than he wished. He was getting far too old for this. At 66 years, he was already pushing the boundaries of aven body just in age alone. His plumage wasn't as bright as it used to be; he ached more often; he couldn't travel for as long or as hard as he used to. But most of all, he was getting too old for this. Lying next to a broken friend, hoping in near futility that they would awaken at tomorrow's dawn.

Maybe he should settle down when they get to Ava, he thought. If we get to Ava, he corrected himself. It was looking increasingly dubious that Lyssia Crutoriae, the vedalken woman whom he had come to befriend and whom he was supposed to escort safely through the mountains, was even going to survive the coming days.

Deneve's husband - whom she'd introduced as Gaelsir Valonder, general of Valhertia - fared a little better, what with Deneve's near-constant attention with her healing magic; but even his situation was precarious. The soldier had as many bruises and broken bones as Lyssia had, but also suffered from internal trauma which his wife refused to elaborate on. The telltale burn radiating from his chest spoke volumes to Rhee, though. He was 66 years old, after all; he could tell a magical wound when he saw one.

Whatever had hit the poor man had to be serious, and now it was just added stress along with his newest injuries. Gaelsir may have been fit, but he was still a human, and an aging human at that. Specks of gray graced his well-kept hair; his beard stubble showed the thinness of age; and a multitude of scars could be seen across his body. Rhee guessed the man had to be around 40 years old. It was going to be an uphill battle for him.

But unless Lyssia received some real medical attention soon, she would definitely perish. If that happened, the old aven wouldn't be able face the world any more. He would definitely hang up his pack, and settle down somewhere nice.

Rhee gently stroked Lyssia's cheek, fighting back not tears, but the same biological urge to mourn. Some of the most beautiful singing in all of Galladria was said to come from the grief-song of the old aven nomads.

He hoped with all his heart that it didn't come to that.