Reflecting in the dark

[Aelcar]

He almost felt like laughing, but he had discovered a while ago he could not anymore, in his current state. Every kind of inflection or emotion was gone from his voice, leaving only a blank tone. He could not feel pain, of course. Pain had been gone for more than a century now, but this was the very first time in his whole existence, with the exception of the accident with the Netherese Scroll in the Anauroch, that he actually worried about his immortality. It should have been a quiet mission, quick and clean...the plan had been discussed and adjusted to fit the situation like a glove, and it unfolded perfectly: victory was swift and easy. Except...

He had grown confident. Way too confident. With his powers returned to him after a long absence, his position in Sshamath and the mastery in the way of the shadows, he thought himself invincible. But there is a big difference between being immortal, and being indestructible. Even gods may die (and did, occasionally...), and he was definitely not that far along... He had let them surprise him. He had believed the Cowled Wizard to be the danger, and after utterly destroying him in few moments, he let go of his concentration, only to turn around and find a horde of soldiers attacking him. These Amnians had good discipline, that must be said: their leader and only mean to return home incinerated like that, and they did not even flinch. Surrounded and unable to vanish in the shadows, he had the time to quicken a displacing mantle and cast one of the most powerful spells in his arsenal, a blood magic spell meant to rip apart all life around the caster (he knew it as "Drain Life", but he heard the modern name for it is Vampiric Feast)...and it worked, but not before several blows could connect with his body. The few survivors were more than enough to finish the job, wrecking everything they could. He used his supernatural arm to protect his head, and incidentally, those were practically the only two parts of him that escaped extensive damage. Fortunately, the Zhent agent participating to the mission demonstrated incredible aptitude, otherwise he would probably have had to contend also with being burned and thrown down a well...definitely not a satisfying outcome. He had to remember to send Niyenne his deepest thanks for sending her...once he could write again. Actually, it was already a miracle he had managed to teleport the whole team back to the safety of Sshamath, in his current state (the zhent, the only one able to, had to carry his crippled self around...quite amusing, really)...a testament to his true power. But this experience taught him that even eternity can end: all that is needed is a little slip...a small miscalculation...

Now, the Cowled Wizard was dead (and not captured, like he wanted...), the closest thing to a friend he ever had, Ilphryssin, had also been slain, and he himself could do little more than perpetrate his existence while his servants were proceeding to speed up the healing of what could heal, and substitute what could not. One thing for sure: soon he would return...

In the comfortable darkness of his rooms, what remained of the creature that was once an Illythir reborn as Valshar more than 400 years ago after the fall of his house in Undrek'Thoz stirred with impatience. There was much to do, much to plan...much to avenge. Soon, everyone would truly know what the cold anger of the Phantom Wizard really entails.

[Aelcar]

The servant returned, and he could see in her blood-red eyes and in the calm expression painted on her pale face that she had no trouble dealing with the...visitors. They had multiplied exponentially in the last days, as he had foreseen. He turned them all away, of course. The death of Ilphryssin (hopefully, something that could be remedied...) and his own unavailability, combined with the traitor's disappearance, had thrown the City into the very total chaos which they had been miraculously managing to avert so far, despite...despite everything. Everything was against the Circle, perhaps the only ones really on Sshamath's side. This mildly amused him, as he sipped his once beloved mushroom wine. He had always had doubts about this ... cause ... being worth the risk, and the more the events developed, the more secrets unfolded, the more he convinced himself that it was not. Most certainly not. He should probably just kill everyone he deemed unsuitable (therefore, almost EVERYONE) and be done with it. Or walk away, until he could still do it unhurried, as his disgust for haste was centuries old...But he could not. He smiled, his lips a thin, joyless line on his blank face. Pride. The Phantom Wizard does not flee. He leaves when he wishes to, and that is invariably AFTER everyone opposing him is dead or worse. He had several matters to settle, things to avenge...and yes, a legend to live up to. He was called Valshar The Vain for a reason, after all. A minor weakness, completely attuned to the size of the power at his command. Nine Hells, he could very well afford it...most of the times...
He kept studying his maps of Sshamath and the Underdark, caressing his chin with a gloved hand while slowly circling his tactical table. He could feel the temptation to go after the witch right away, edging his tranquillity. He wanted her dead. He NEEDED her dead. If she was really responsible for Lai'roch's escape (and he had no doubt about it), she had crossed him for the last time. She would die suffering, and serve him forever in undeath...But not now. Not yet. There it was, one of the biggest advantages of the form of immortality he had chosen: it dulled his feelings. Oh, he would kill her...but only at his own conditions.

Cackling in the dark, a terrifying noise for most mortal ears, Valshar The Black reached out with his skeletal hand to move a piece on the lanceboard. It was an odd move in an endgame, a move no one but a true master would ever consider. A tranquil move, a defensive move that surprisingly left the opponent with no good answer, no counterplay. He castled kingside, and smiled as he slowly walked away, vanishing through a secret door.

[Aelcar]

"...so, as you can see, Fade, being a faern is not only strictly related to what you are ABLE to weave, but also to wh-..." as he turned around, he interrupted himself. Right behind his apprentice, the shadows coalesced in a strange way, much in contrast to what should have happened given the angle of reflection of the faint red light coming from the magic globes employed by the School of Necromancy. He very much doubted anyone else could have noticed it, but he was not "anyone else". There was no one like him. Slowly he moved towards the corner beside the stairs, right behind his apprentice. She flinched as he closed in, then relaxed when he stepped past her, puzzlement giving way to fear. "I can see you, shadow dweller. It is interesting you try to sneak up on me in my own realm...very bold. I like courage. I like competence. However, I will regrettably have to disintegrate you if you dont come out..."
Slowly, a dark clad jalil materialised where the shadows had been, her surprised expression somewhat conflicting with the terrible curses she was muttering. He nodded, smiling pleasantly "Good. Now...those blades...they are of little use against me. Put them away...Also, take off your mask. I like to see a pretty jalil's face when I discuss with her..."
After some (understandable) resistance, she finally complied. When he saw she was a Darthiir, he couldnt help a smile, shaking his head slowly.
As his servants were leading her to his rooms, away from prying eyes (sadly, he couldnt avoid restraining her...she proved way too...lively...), the hardly mortal creature that had called himself Valshar for more than 400 years poured some of his once-beloved mushroom wine into a silver goblet and grinned: "Ahh, Fade...this is the prelude to a very interesting cycle..."


/// Many thanks to Rai and Fade for the RP, looking forward to continue it

[Aelcar]

He distractedly removed a lock of his long, silver hair from the side of his face as his blood-red stare remained fixed on her. She said she understood, and he believed her. No one can enter the City of Dark Weavings unnoticed, which made her undertaking all the more bold...all the more foolish. The roads outside his quarters were bustling with Charnag agents, looking for her...probably, his very rooms were one of the few places they did not have the authority (or the courage...) to search....yet.

She had been struggling a lot against her bonds, and this worried him...of course he could subdue her, he had done it before, but this was a competent, dangerous opponent: he could not afford the noise, he could not take the chance with so much at stake. If anyone outside were to hear something, enter the room and find that a wanted Darthiir jalil had been tied up in front of him the whole time, he would have had a lot to explain...to Archmage Arkentlar, to Charnag officers...perhaps to Conclave representants as well. That is why he was staring at her so intensely, almost if trying to drill holes in her soul...Finally, after long moments, he nodded slowly, as if satisfied of what he saw. Muttering a single word of power in the arcane language of magic, he traced a small glyph in the air right in front of his captive, and the ropes dissolved under the conjured acid's action. A few drops touched her flesh, drawing blood. Good, he smiled. It would soon be needed...

The beauty of blood magic, and in particular of contracts signed in blood, lies in how compelling and difficult to break they are. The Circle itself had put them to good use since the very beginning, guaranteeing its members' loyalty almost unfailingly, and an arcanist of his level could surely see the benefits of such an approach. Of course the jalil was unwilling to sign at first, but she also was unwilling to die, and he was her only realistic chance to get out of the city in one piece. An amused smile crossed his cruel lips as she finally signed, at the thought of what the torturers would do to her in the Charnag's Dungeons...their brutal, mindlessly efficient methods could give a clear idea of how limited they were. He himself never believed in torture, way too primitive for his aristocratic taste...He was shaken out of his reflections by her thrusting the signed contract back at him, muttering curses. He glanced at it quickly, then tucked it safely into one of his cloak's inner pockets. The blood could tell much about someone...with her blood, he could bind her to himself, scry her position...learn her name. Her real name. Rai Kuu Kyntilla. Grinning, he adjusted his deep, dark hood back in place and cast an inverted invisibility weave (he often inverted the weaves for secrecy...it takes a much more powerful arcanist to detect them at all) on her, and motioned her to follow.

He walked off the room, unhurried, observing the guards already raking the building for clues. He nodded at them, unconcerned: in his current state, feelings were faint echoes of what they used to be when he was just a living being...this surely had its advantages. On his way out, he picked up his apprentice, her bodyguard and the newest Circle addition, an infernal jalil which was proving more and more interesting every cycle, and headed towards Varalla's Passage, to "train the recruits". All the while, he could sense the faint trace of his inverted weave, meaning Rai was right behind them, lurking in the shadows.

Three Charnag patrols, two pathfinders and two Illithid groups after, he finally managed to escort Rai to the entrance of the Netherese Ruins, and the complex of caves leading to the surface. They managed to avoid every trace or conflict, apart from the wandering Mind Flayers that had to (regrettably, as they were all in all allies...) be destroyed. Disintegrated, to be precise. "How long will this contract bind me?" she asked, on the edge of the cave's entrance. He smiled pleasantly "A bit late for this kind of question, dont you think?". She snorted "Tsk...would it have made any difference had I asked before?" "No", he replied curtly. "Bah...I have been tangled in worse than this..." were her last words, as she disappeared into the shadows. Laughing mirthlessly, Valshar The Black, The Necromancer, The One Who Lived, The Phantom Wizard muttered under his breath "Oh, it all depends on the point of view...Rai" right before stepping into the hidden Teleportation Circle he used when he allowed Leonia to reunite with Jero. "You may never know".

[Aelcar]

"You lack perspective, mortal. Your time is fleeting...how could you understand?" He chuckled, in that sound of broken glasses dragged on a stone floor, as she replied coldly " Bah...EXISTING is nothing like LIVING, wizard...and a few hundred years is not a bad life expectation at all...".
The dark cloak floated as if moved by a gentle breeze despite the stillness in the air of the underground chamber...almost like a shroud of living shadow "A candlemark...a cycle...a year...a thousand years...it's all the same. Time will pass, and you will be dust, forgotten. And about living...what is life, if not perpetration of existence? Or perhaps you want to talk to me about feelings?" He chuckled softly as he uttered the words, and was surprised when he heard her joining him with her own laughter. A cold, merciless laughter...it reminded him of Vashtrae, the Vampire Keeper of the School of Necromancy: it could not have been much warmer. The thought brought the hint of a lingering, mirthless smile at the sides of his mouth.

However, as she voiced in no unclear terms, it was time to go back to business..."As I told you, the assassination was nothing like the work of a professional. The Gate's assassin would have done a much better job of it, and to suspect MY agents is just preposterous. That was the work of a butcher, surely you realise you must look elsewhere...and please, let me know if you have any news on the matter: when it happens, we shall once more enjoy the pleasure of each other's company" he uttered in an emotionless tone. As he gracefully turned around towards the secret door leading outside, to the streets of Sshamath, he could already hear her say "Ohh..lucky me...If I could just kill the vermin...". Amused by her displeasure, the mysterious creature known as The Phantom Wizard vanished into the tenebrous corridor, almost disappointed at the lack of at least one of Rai's blades poking at the (many) warding weaves he was maintaning. Now, it was time to find out how Vala's endeavor was proceeding...His gloved hand's grip tightening on the amulet, twin to the one he gave her, he quickened his pace towards the School's scrying room...

[Aelcar]

He watched her go, her sinuous body disappearing in a side corridor north of Varalla's Passage after few, graceful steps. He did not know if he believed her yet...but he knew she believed in what she told him. Since the first time he met her, in the School of Mages, well before the Alhoon became anything more than a distant rumor, he had never seen her so clear headed, so focused. Her addictions were behind her, surely she was not under the effect of drugs. Yet, what she said was tugging at the cold, barren emptiness inside him...the closest to worry he would ever be able to feel in his state...but closer to the feeling than he thought possible.

After her speech in front of the entire Circle, she had vanished once again, letting her message sink...Vanished to everyone's eyes, but not his own...probably, because she didnt know he was there in the first place, a shadow among shadows. Whatever the truth was, the Witch had learned new tricks during her absence...very interesting tricks. Some force was indeed at work, and what if the Spider Queen herself decided to make a move? She would be very welcome...queen sacrifices were his favored maneuvers on the lanceboard, he though chuckling...

What was certain, was she knew many useful things. About the Phylactery...about the war...about the Alhoon himself. This could not be disregarded, whatever the fonts. He was going to help her into the City of Dark Weavings unseen, to the meeting he arranged with Archmage Arkentlar, and then...Then it would begin.

The dark clad figure of the Phantom Wizard whirled around as the living shadows around him twitched and flowed, ultimately swallowing it in their embrace.

[Aelcar]

"Guilty". He spoke with a blank tone, devoid of any emotion. He had become colder and colder after the unfortunate meeting with Amnian troops which ultimately resulted in the Cowled Wizard's demise. He used to be the vengeful kind of jaluk...he used to taste it, to savor it...now, it was just a matter of principle. A sort of distant recall, an old painting with much of its color lost. His piercing blood-red stare shifted from face to face, from the elegant, self-assured Chapter Master, to Ardulafae, whose legendary beauty would probably have touched him when he was mortal still, still able to feel...His eyes rested on the stout figure of Mili for a moment, as he took in her reluctance in judging her old friend. But the longest pause was for the empty chair reserved to the Magister at Arms. Master Guilhelm, holing up in his tower, and sending his dim-witted bitch around to do his job for him. He distractedly toyed with the idea of disposing of the treacherous fool and his idiotic creature, but why would he do such a thing? The man was capable, and so was the fool under his command. A charismatic fool, willing to plunge in as a first liner in an almost hopeless battle...let them and the witch die pursuing what they believed in. He would watch the life draining from them with an emotionless stare, at a safe distance from the battlefield. Every pawn was important, after all..."pawns are the soul of the game", said a famous Master a long time ago...

Archmage Arkentlar commanded him to get Kar'Myr so that the sentence could be passed. He had to commend his friend for his cleverness: placing a Quest Spell on the Witch was an excellent idea...Now, both his objectives would be achieved. It was inevitable.
He moved towards her warded cell with a slow pace, a creeping shadow vaguely humanoid-shaped. "It is time, Witch. Follow me, please" he uttered again emotionlessly, as his gloved skeletal hand gripped one of her shoulders.

At first, she was in disbelief as Ilphryssin informed her of the verdict. Then enraged. She cursed and screamed, to no avail. The wheel was now turning, he thought,the hint of a cruel smile on his bloodless lips. It would spin faster and faster, out of control, crushing everyone in its path. Everyone he carefully placed there, that is...

[Aelcar]

He found her exactly where his eyes-and-ears told him she would be. She was kneeling down, her sword in hand, still as a black marble statue. Hundreds of cuts all over her naked body, and piles of duergar corpses around her...blood everywhere...he felt a distant tingle of amazement scraping through his hollow empty self. It was quite a feat to make it this far without armor, nor equipment of any kind...if he had not known better, he would have thought she were a devout of the Dark Maiden after a whole night of bladedancing under the Moon...but he did. Also, the rather telling clue of the piles of dead enemies could help the more inexperienced eye...

He slowly walked towards her. His speed was not the same, after the confrontation with the Cowled Wizard and his army, but his graceful pace, like a cloud of black smoke in a gentle breeze, was unchanged. As he advanced, he unlaced his dark mantle, and put it on her shoulders. It was obviously too big for her, he thought distractly, but attracting much less attention than a nude jalil with a bleeding blade...It would have to do. "We have to go, Zilv'eari. We have lots to do, and little time to do it. Besides, I think better in the comfort of my rooms..."

He gripped her arm with his gloved hand, and she let herself be pulled up. Not a word, not a sign of awareness. Just passive compliance. He knew this state was the confirmation he had been right about her (what a surprise...he was always right...), and about the source of her power. The signs were hard to miss, at least for him.
As he traced the glyphs in the air and murmured few words in the arcane language of magic, he looked one last time to the slaughter. Yes, she had been a good choice as his closest associate. Remarkably good.

Once the inverted invisibility weave was set in place, the centuries old being who was known as Valshar The Black, The Necromancer, The One Who Lived, The Phantom Wizard (and yet, ironically, none of these was his real name) and his companion began their silent travel, which would have brought them back into the heart of the City of Dark Weavings, unseen.

[Aelcar]

"If...if I d-do what you want...will you leave her be?". He arched an eyebrow at the unexpected question. It was a natural gesture, yet out of place and looking almost wrong coming from a creature with very little naturalness left in him. Like all other emotions, surprise was a faint, hardly perceptible tingle deep in the void within himself. "Do what I want, Vala?" he fingered the pure white pearl imbued with a trace of her life essence with his gloved hand, as to add weight to his words "This has nothing to do with what I want...this concerns what I have foreseen, what I have told you the very day I let you leave". She flinched, unable to hold his stare any longer. A submissive gesture, from an apparently calm, submissive jalil. A slave all her life long, she was used to be collared, chained, controlled. Apparently...but he knew better. Already he could see the signs of her change...her aura...even her fangs, longer than before. Surely, that was something to investigate further...

The tiefling strained against her bonds, but after a quick look around, she desisted: Zilv'eari, Naravien, Chalithra and Krumarth were surrounding her, albeit conveying very different feelings: while Zilv seemed perfectly at ease and enjoying herself, uttering witty remarks about Vala and her restraints (which she applied as the jalil tried to flee...sadly, there were fools thinking they could escape him...), Naravien was barely holding an unsteady grip on her bloodlust, most of all after the kivvil who called herself Mia was spotted stalking on them, definitely set on killing someone soon...he, for one, certainly did not want to get in her way...
Very differently, Chalithra's body language conveyed a supportive and caring attitude, without much effort to conceal it...he considered a miracle Zilv and Naravien did not kill her already during the trip from the Underdark, most of all now that Alienor was gone (the Legionnaire was taking direct care of her, limiting her interaction with the other two).
And then, there was Krumarth. This...expedition... all happened because of him.The orc had a secret agenda, and he would discover what the beast was trying to hide soon enough...And Kaltyra...somehow, Kaltyra must be involved as well...She was way smarter than everyone realised, but not enough to outsmart the Eye, he thought with an inner grin.

"Will you leave Israe'anna in peace? I will do what you ask..please..." The pleads shook him out of his reflections. He regarded her for a moment, then he conjured a minor frost weave, and froze her bonds which shattered in glittering ice dust. The jalil was startled and hissed at him...It was evident he knew of her natural resistance to cold, and he used a perfectly controlled charge not powerful enough to harm her, and yet...He sighed at the pains of confronting inferior intellects as he turned towards the bridge leading out of the Woods of Sharp Teeth "Come, friends. We are done here".

The Phantom Wizard started to walk at a slow, controlled pace, his figure blacker than the night itself. His exceptional hearing told him his companions were following him...and among their soft boots, he could hear the faint sound of Vala's bare feet on the grass. He nodded slightly as he walked on, planning his next move.

[Aelcar]

He watched them approach hiding in the shadow of the rebuilt lighthouse. He had picked this place to meet her, of all places...the place where he had been closest to his demise. The damage he reported that cycle, battling the fallen Cowled Wizard's men, were not getting in his way anymore, but were in no way forgotten. Surely, not forgotten. Nothing ever was. As nothing ever was forgiven, for him. He watched them as they closed in towards his location...well, towards his companion, in truth. He whispered in her hear as they moved into earshot: "Looks like we have company, my dear..."friends" of yours I take it, xas?" he chuckled at her panicked expression in seeing them coming, like a cornered fawn. Amused, he thought for a moment how would it feel to be the prey, like she had been all her life. Nothing of his concern, to be sure... "I will leave you to their cares...Aluve, Vala" he grinned, as he carefully moved away, like black, almost liquid smoke, towards a safe distance from which to observe the interaction. While dancing from shadow to shadow, he could distinctly hear the younger human (the others were an older rivvil in courtesan clothes which looked oddly familiar, and a Darthiir jalil that could certainly wield the faerl, probably a Candlekeep agent) say "Vala, are you waiting for this ... Valshar?" and then, to his companions: "Shall I analyse the weave in the area for teleportation signs?"

Ohh ... a trap? For him? How amusing ... and flattering, he supposed ... Yet, poorly executed at that, and it would have not mattered in the end. Trying to trap him was like trying to seduce him: just not going to work. He watched them as they closed in towards Vala, trying to seize her perhaps...until, when they were almost within arm's reach, she suddenly teleported away...not very far, and southwards, if he read correctly...yet, an incredible feat for such an inexperienced arcanist. This was one among many interesting conversations they would have, once safely back in Sshamath (albeit, with the way the war ended, "safe" was a relative concept...) ...

Looking pleasantly relieved as he watched The Curse's last rays of light dying below the seemingly endless speck of blue water which was a surface sea, The dark, hardly mortal creature who had called himself Valshar for more than 400 years started his journey south, ghosting through the lands of men unseen like a grim reaper inexorably moving towards his next victim, ignoring all else. He would find Vala again, and bring her back to Sshamath, like she asked him to. And then, she would pay the agreed price...
The Phantom Wizard smiled malevolently in the depths of his cowl.

[Aelcar]

She was talking, but her words floated, bordering his awareness, as his focus was inward. The dim light of the blue flame reflected on his crimson eyes. His gaze rested on the flickering tongue of spectral light for a moment, and even more on the shadows dancing around it, before going back to the demonkin sitting across the table. He could hear Zilv'eari shifting on her seat beside him, as if she knew what was on his mind. He was surprised he did not see the pattern before, he should have realised this sooner...but it all was clear now.

The loss of his powers after the netherese scroll "accident"... his progressively embracing the shadow path, that seemed so much just a practical necessity at the time, a mean of survival to make up for his failing powers ... the encounter with Durldraeton, the Ice Mage who wanted to forget in exchange for his alliance, and how that first brought him into contact with the Mistress of the Night and her faithful servant, Cydonie Draggor ... the void inside of him, that left nothing of tastes, smells, pleasure or any kind of feeling but a distant recall, pushed farther and farther away towards the edge of memory ...
And most of all, there was Zilv herself and their encounter. The signs he witnessed that cycle were now impossible to overlook or dismiss ...

The truth was, he was never going to succeed in his plan, if he did not choose the right allies and the most ... suitable ... support. The path to ascension required resources no being lesser than a god could muster, and his relationship with the Vengeful Banshee had grown stale and hardly meaningful at best, given how he was drifting farther and farther away from her creed of Retribution (ohh, she would not be pleased with this, to be sure...). The Nightsinger expressely forbade to strive for embetterment, but he had done his own research on the matter, of course ... he knew what to offer her, to make her forget about that little shade of a detail. Shar was an extremely old power, there were no books he could find describing the birth of her cult (and that was impressive) ... ancient, as her rivalries with other deities were. He could find many enemies, the most notable of which were indeed Selune and Mystra, but next to no ally (excluding perhaps Talona ... hardly reliable). The goddess could view favorably his aspirations if he proved loyal and useful in her eternal struggle, and he had a couple of ideas on how to improve his status in her eyes. He would give something to her, something she coveted: he would actively eradicate Selune's followers, and even more importantly, he would sever his contact with the Goddess of Magic. He would give up the Weave itself, and embrace the Shadow completely ... Surely, Zilv could guide him in the process, benefiting from the Lady of Loss' favor already.

He was brought back from his elucubrations by the lasting silence in the room. He shifted his attention on the words the planetouched had said, recovering them from the edge of his conscious mind. "Since I own you now, as per our agreement" he stated hollowly "I might as well increase your effectiveness. There is a not so subtle difference between property and valuable property, Vala" he could hear Zilv laughing softly as the Infernal bowed her head, submissively. "I will offer you a place as my apprentice, since I am left with none after the unfortunate demise of my last two. Your first lesson is tomorrow, I will summon you via Sending Weave. Do not keep me waiting..."
"I-I ... will n-not" she replied, taken aback but still compliant.
"Very well. You may go now"
She hesitated right before the door "M-may I ask w-why?"
"Because I can" he replied slowly
"Why here? Why now? And why me?" she pressed on
"Here, because there is no better place. Now, because yesterday is not an option, and you ... because so I have chosen."

The hardly mortal being known as Valshar The Black, The Necromancer, The One Who Lived, The Phantom Wizard, Revered Eye of the 7th Circle, watched as his new property and apprentice (how odd...) successfully teleported away (her skills were improvable, but of course the potential was there), feeling something stir within his hollow self. Was it ... satisfaction? It was getting harder and harder to say, as the feelings were lost and their memory fading. He turned towards Zilv, a cloak of living mists and shadows whirling around him. "It is time, Zilv. We should begin". She gave him one of her rare open smiles, as she nodded. She was probably one of the most beautiful jalilen that he had ever seen. He did not feel anything. Nothing at all.