---

Jennifer leaned against the railing in the Blazer room, panting gently. The liquid carbon had to be heavily compressed in order to solidify into diamond, and this was difficult when it was in the bone to apply the pressure and heat necessary without breaking the bone itself. Granted, they were made of sturdy stuff, dragon bones, but they were matter like anything else was. The liquid stone within the chamber sent arcs of light dancing on the walls of the cave and on Jennifer's face, setting a glow on the woman's armorclad figure. This was perhaps her favorite part, waiting for the diamond to form. It meant she got to do absolutely nothing involving the forge for days. This also meant she could take her armor off, which, while being comfortable enough to work in, were unweildy to live in.

It had been a mere week since Dove had left and they had already run out of supplies. She wasn't surprised in the least. Instead of getting the tools, stones, and food she had needed, she had rescued an elf, and that was 500 years and three inches of ear away from a human. She had to remind herself the entire duration of Dove's stay that the girl had done nothing against her, and that it wasn't her that forged her hate against her race. She could have disposed of her anyway, and killed both her and her horse, leaving the bodies a few miles north for the vultures to pick at, and they would very quickly be forgotten. She wouldn't even feel remorse about it; the only thing that kept her from murdering her was the fact that it would make her more and more like her parents.

And that was an insult she was not going to allow in any form.

Still, Dove had been hovering in the back of her mind since she left. Jennifer had no idea why, but it was infinitely irritating and got in the way of her concentration--and in her line of work, losing one's concentration can too often be fatal. The girl had headed for the nearest city. What's her business there? A lot of people go to cities. They're convenient places. There must have been a reason. She didn't seem a very sociable person. That's because you gave her no chance to be. That's not what I mean. I meant she seems more the nomad than a citygirl. Maybe she's a trader, then. There were no wares on her mount. I checked. Well then, maybe she was on her way to pick her merchandise up. Maybe someone was holding it for her. Traders don't work like that. Maybe she was going to meet someone. A perfectly good explanation. But who?

She let out a guttural cry of frustration. It was going to plague her until she found out exactly what piqued her interest about this stranger. The traders had already left the area, seeing as how the one customer in the region hadn't gone to meet them. She would have to go to the city anyway, whether she wanted to or not.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. This was not how she had planned to use her vacation.

---

In fact, Jennifer had been shockingly correct in her last explanation of Dove's visit to the city. The girl was going to meet someone. 

Just... not in the way most people went to meet someone.

That meeting had come about at night, shortly after her arrival in the city. She had found him in a quiet tavern on the dodgy end of town, away from the bustle of the city's day-life. It was one of those disreputable bars that no one went into unless they were 'serious;' meaning everyone who went into it was there purely out of curiosity. 

Except Dove. She had someone to meet. An old friend of her father's had arranged it, and she had every intention of carrying it out. And there he was, or at least someone who fit his description perfectly. Small, weasel-eyed, greasy... exactly the kind of person who would be found in an alley at night, claiming to be the brains of some less-than-legal operation simply because he happened to have an intellect slightly higher than that of his cohorts. Dove seated herself at the bar, not an invitingly shadowy table in the corner, because that would only draw suspicion. She ordered herself a pint of ale and began to nurse it unobtrusively, taking in the scene as quickly as she could so that she could concern herself with less immediate matters.

There, and there. Two men who were watching the little rat-man a bit too intently. Perhaps his flunkies? No, more likely they had other interests in him. No matter. She would get to him first. He was just a touch too intelligent to let the likes of them follow him home, but she doubted he would have an easy time throwing her off. She didn't know what he had done to deserve her on his trail. She didn't particularly want to know; too much involvement spelled trouble later. It was a job. Plenty of people were jobs. She didn't do this very often, usually only as favors for friends of her father. High-paying favors, but favors nonetheless.... There. Her mark got up, leaving some coin on his table, and left. And there went the two watchers. She waited for about twenty minutes before she left. His trail wouldn't be difficult to find, not with the two lummoxes following him, and this way no one could say they thought she was following him. She tipped the barkeep generously; she could afford it for now. 

The little man had gone up the street away from the dirty end of town, surprisingly enough. Dove had half-expected him to live in some abandoned old building somewhere. And perhaps he still did, she reminded herself. He could just be throwing off the thugs, going that way. She went around to the side of the tavern, where there were no windows or doors, and slipped on her toespikes. She scaled the building silently and removed her equipment, then started off over the close-set rooftops after her target. She passed one of the thugs on the way, looking confused, and then the other, cursing quietly to himself, and continued on, at last spotting the little rat ducked into an alley way, just waiting until it was safe to move again. She was somewhat surprised he hadn't turned around and gone back to the dodgy end of town yet, but only somewhat surprised. Perhaps he worked for a minor noble or some such thing. She crouched on the roof above him like a gargoyle until he finally got up and left the alley again. She followed silently for a long time, until he stopped again in another alley and turned around. She sighed inwardly. He was a paranoid little beast, wasn't he? He'd gone at least five miles more than necessary to throw off the thugs. Roundaboutly, he made his way back past the tavern and continued on toward an old, dilapidated warehouse. Dove decided she wouldn't be entering his filthy home and instead drew a small, compact crossbow from the depths of her cloak, loading it with a poisoned bolt and taking careful aim--

He was dead long before he hit the ground.

---

One of the three new swordsman stepped up behind Karen and knocked her out with the hilt of his sword. She crumpled to the ground in a heap. He turned towards Arin, the light showing a grizzled chin and the edge of a leer under the hood. "Now don't make any trouble, girlie, or you'll end up like your friend here. She whom we serve would be well pleased if we brought back you as an incentive for the merchant girl, but we'll be nice and leave you here if you don't make any trouble." One of the archers stepped forward and tossed Karen's limp body over his shoulder.

Arin glared at the man. Suddenly she grinned evilly and slowly stood up. "Listen mister, I don't make trouble." She paused, preparing herself, before continuing. "I find it." With that said, the theif charged forward and whammed herself into the hooded man's back. He stumbled and whirled around while Arin grabbed Karen's legs trying to get her back. "Let go of her already!" Arin hissed at the man. Before he could hurt her, she moved away. Unfortunatly she almost forgot about the other fighters surrounding her.
"Come on, you don't want to all gang up on one little girl right?" Arin tried to hopelessly reason with them. "Fine, you stupid soldiers. Feel my wrath!" She shouted before letting a broken piece of a tree's branch, moved by magic, crash onto a soldiers head. 

The swordsman she had tackled was no longer smiling. He growled. "Why you little..." The original swordsman, who had been watching this with glee, burst out laughing. The tackled one scowled, but didn't say anything, indicating that the other was the leader of the group.

"What a little spitfire! Yes, I think the Mistress would like us to bring you along, as well." He pushed back his hood, revealing a handsome face, despite the scar running from his left eye along his cheekbone. His hair was dark, almost black, and his pointed ears had dozens of piercings - Probably a shock tactic, since elven ears were so sensitive. He was a dark elf. "However, we can't risk you managing to escape, or damaging any more of the Mistress's servants." He gestured, and two of the archers stepped forward and seized Arin's arms. "And don't tryany more of those pitiful tricks you consider magic - once I was aware you had the ability, I set up a shield against it." He smiled condescendingly.

Arin growled and could do little more than shout, curse, and insult them. Maybe Eleni heard her, hopefully.

---

"Why the hell didn't I help them?" Eleni yelled at herself. She had been not more than a few feet from the group of soldiers, but the voice of the leader swordsman chilled her to the bone. She had known him from a long time back. When he pulled the hood back, Eleni knew the man with the scar. Thinking more about it, Eleni realized she had given him the scar. A battle nearly fifty years before.

Standing, Eleni looked around. She could do no magic because of the sheild the dark elf had put up, but she knew how to follow tracks.
"I must stay out of sight, follow them. It's the only way to help."

---

"It's a long way to Felshire from here, especially on foot.
"They say it's twice as far at night."
"You'll never make it in these conditions."
"That may be, but I've got a friend along the way."
"Friends? You? A giant like you couldn't dream of having friends. You'd crush them all."
"I think I've said enough."
You have. Come in, Brother Q'ardell." The slit in the heavy steel door was closed, the eyes that peered from within relenting from their prior scrutiny as a disconnected few seconds passed by. The door opened slightly, just enough for an eight-foot giant of a man draped in a black cloak the size of a king's blanket to slip through the portal into a single, cramped chamber adorned with a scant few candles and a thatched cot of straw; the keeper's sackcloth robes rustled as the door settled shut, exposing a talon on his right ankle, and that was the last the two had to fear the outside world.
"Have you any news on the girl?" Brother Q'ardell, despite affiliations, hung his head and refused to make eye contact with his inhuman consort.
"Which one?"
Q'ardell's ears visibly picked up, his interest sparked. "You seem to imply there are more than one."
"Indeed, Brother. Two more have been captured, a thief and some little rich girl. Both were searching for her."
"You should have expected she'd have friends."
"We did. Hence their capture."
"Ah, yes. Indeed. What does she think about all of this, then?"
"That is why I summoned you, Brother Q'ardell."
His ears dropped, and his head sunk a bit. An infuriated aura seethed and roiled within him, and was altogether dispersed at once. "We haven't even begun yet. This is inane."
"But it is Her will. And it shall be done."
"Yes... Yes it shall."
"Then sleep, and in dreams you will receive your command."
The giant looked down at the cot, whose dimensions were barely fit for an average human; despite matters, he attempted to curl himself comfortably, and shut his eyes. "You may begin whenever you are ready."

One by one, the candles fell from their fixed spaces on the wall to the cold stone floor, rolling up and down the poorly-leveled chamber to worm their way next to the makeshift bed. The talon-footed man waved his hand, and one by one they stood upright, arranged in seventeen points around him; each candle melted at the bottom, the wax making its own base on which its respective candle stood.
"Enough tricks, Dajier-logn. It is Her I pay homage to, not you."
Dajier indignantly began the rites, lacing every syllable his tongue formed with malicious venom.
"Tkel'saltrath trnt'vi'se attun;
Ieros'Lostari-griel, ieros'Feazol;
Nosfal, hexkat seq'lithl'wyn--" 
The candles began to smoke, wicks trembling in anticipation. A lone rat emerged from a hole in the wall, scurrying toward the candles at full speed; just as suddenly as he had begun, however, the vermin collapsed to the ground, gasping in vain for any breath that might grace its tiny lungs.
"Dre'lastim Ninequalm, Deyas Mirala." The first candle ignited, its wick burning with an ebon flame, and blood began to seep from the rodent's glossy eyes. 
"Laql'rhea Dies-sar, nix lifli'anesch kil;
Almorav or'yx!" The leader delighted in the power of these few simple words, as the syllables themselves wove between the ribs of Brother Q'ardell and began to pull. The bones cracked and twisted, and before long, he could no longer stifle the agonized screams that had yet to erupt from his throat--Instead, a crushing sensation around his neck did it for him.
"DRE'LASTIM NINEQUALM--" He frantically choked the words out, his memory unfaltering despite the blinding, searing pain that tore through his entire body and mind. The ribs began to warp within him, cutting away organs and flesh alike in their escape; his skull tried to flee, but would not fit below his neck. Needless to say, he never uttered those last two words: Instead, he watched in horror as his skeleton began to make its escape from his body, bones first protruding from flesh and worming out or disconnecting from other bones to make autonomous abandonment. Everything but his skull.
"You cannot begin to imagine how much I love seeing you like this right now." Brother Q'ardell's tormentor beckoned, and the bones of his victim assembled in a perverse manner, forming something altogether inhuman out of the most fundamental structure of humanity.
"Take the skull to her."
The giant attempted to thrash in panic, but only served to writhe and bring into greater view the futility of his efforts; every bone but his skull and its components had left him for this blasphemous construct, which quickly grabbed the base of his spinal column and tore his skull cleanly from his head. A bloody, mutilated blanket of flesh clothed in a tattered cloak was all that remained in the chamber.
"--Deyas Mirala." Dajier-logn smiled to himself, and pulled the cloak over Q'ardell's face.

---