Errors in the Night

Old Monastic Structures -  Northeast of the refurbished main monastery building, sandgrass patches sprout from yellow dust among the ramshackled ruins of structures that have yet to undergo the tender ministrations of restoration by the inhabitants of Night's Edge. The outbuildings are of sun clay and timber, and seem in particularly desperate states of disrepair - clearly incapable of occupation, and just this side of making someone throw up their hands in surrender before tearing them down to rubble. ''It is the Eighth hour by the Shadow on Riverstretch. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. The skies are perfectly clear. The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Herald (blue/waxing),Torch I (gray/waxing), Torch II (gray/waxing).''

Two days of clear skies has allowed the air to reabsorb much of what the heavens poured over the land since the attack, and so the ground isn't /quite/ so mucky as in nights before. Still, the ground /is/ soft enough to betray the heavy, winding marks of a serpentine creature as it moved from the Monastery proper to these crumbling ruins. It makes no effort to hide itself, really, and is currently reclined across a wall of stone, whispering things to herself. Or someone. Or, considering the individual, some/thing/. Indeed, she does have a companion there, perched comfortably on her arched belly. A round ball of yellow fluff sits peeping softly and pecking around the fleshy union of skin and scale.

Soft bootsteps announce an interloper: Thayndor Zahir, curiously following the sidewinding snake tracks from the monastery, nose lifted to take in the fresh smell of the world after a long rain.

Two days of clear skies does not mean Naoi is sunny today, but really, she rarely is. The slight girl-priest enters the monastery ground, wearing a shockingly white gambeson. A tongue slips out, licking at dry lips, boots squelching as it hits a hidden puddle.

"Guesssts, have we..." Purrrs the crooning voice of she who drapes, and the tip of a tail is lifted in greeting. Gently, she strokes one finger over the back of the little chick and whispers another secret to it before the two-legged visitors arrive in full. Placidly, the chick blinks its beady, black eyes, and responds by squirting a little stream of processed seed over the edge. "You are getting better at doing that," Tshepsi compliments the creature with a smile of pride and pats its head cautiously. The chick gets momentarily squashed into her belly by the gesture and so pecks once in retaliation, no longer full of its arsenal.

Thayndor Zahir returns the wave with a bow. "Archmage," he says, guardedly. "I am surprised to see you so far from your home. I hope Fastheld has so far been --" he glances over his shoulder at the second traveller, who gets a wry look, before he returns his attention to Tshepsi. "-- kind." From afar, Leviathan (Levi) ohhels, and comes quietly to see. :)

Naoi moves to join the two, tension displayed mostly around the eyes. "Count, Arch-Mage." There is an awkward shift in her posture, loosening her right shoulder with a roll of the muscle.

"Arch-Mage." Ah, focus there, Thayndor all but forgotten at the moment. "There has been rumours that you conjured a storm here, the rain that ripped through southern Fastheld. Is that true?" From afar (to Leviathan and Tshepsi), Naoi grins and cools.

"Tssshepsi hasss come only to sssee her friend Celessste and the Regent, Deep Feear," replies the Syladris with a pointed look to Thayndor, head tilting to hang over the edge of the low wall and look nearly eye-level, upside-down at the man. "Fassstheld isss ssscary. Wicked horssse boxesss and fire. When Grandmassster sssays it isss sssafe, I will go." Tshepsi pauses there, taking the leisure of yawning while she plucks the wandering chick up and sets it higher on her stomach. "Tssshepsi sssaw the fire man come. Ssshe ssstopped the bad light from dessstroying what wasss not theirsss to take. But I could only help a little. I wasss very tired."

Thayndor Zahir glances from Tshepsi to Naoi and back, meeting her upside-down gaze unflinchingly. He allows silence to prevail for a moment. Then, with a warm smile: "I'm unhappy you've found us to be poor hosts, Archmage. And I hope that Fastheld will soon show you that we can accommodate you with just as much understanding as you held for me."

"So you were," There is a palpable tightening of Naoi's frame, frowning thoughtfully. "What... bad light?"

"The kind that whissspered to my eyesss," Tshepsi answers a bit cryptically, and slithers downward some to meet the priest's face this time. "Men of fire and pacing teeethsss...they came to ssshatter the wingsss...much pain they have causssed. Much sssorrow did I sssee. They sssought to dessstroy /Her/. Ssshe who cannot be dessstroyed in essssence. And thisss made Tassshep very angry." Looking a touch more brightly at Thayndor, she lifts the chick high into the air for all to see. "It wasss not the land'sss fault, ssso I will give your home a sssecond try. Becaussse I mussst sssee the Regent, the boy king. Look! I brought him a presssent."

Thayndor Zahir glances sidelong at Naoi, a meaningful glance, then to Tshepsi. "I thought She had left this place," he murmurs, his eyebrows slowly rising. "Unless I am thinking of the wrong one." An apologetic smile. "The people who live here, Archmage, as I'm sure you've seen, by and large mean well -- but those like me, anyway, are slow on the uptake. I am sure that if you have an audience with the Prince, he will come to enjoy your gift far more quickly than I will come to understand what happened two days ago and why."

Naoi's right hand clenches tight at the response. "You don't even know, or you don't even care. People are without homes. Without fathers.... Families broken." She bites down on her bottom lip, staring hard at Tshepsi. "Your storm has caused much grief elsewhere, Arch-Mage. For what? To save a 'chapel'?" The meaningful glance means little to her though.

"To ssstop thossse who ssseek to dessstroy the Ssspirit." Tshepsi tsks softly, wagging a finger at the both of them before righting her hanging posture. Her coils fold and drape over the wall's top, enabling her to 'sit' atop the pile and regard them at a greater distance. Her expression sobers, becoming as stonelike as her depicted visage on the Chapel's shattered glass. "The ssstorm wasss an accident. It wasss not sssupposssed to be ssso big. Only rain to ssstop the fire asss it flew through the sssky." Arcing her right arm, she cradles the chick in her left and gestures an arrow sailing from the ruins to the Monastery. "The ssstorm wasss made becaussse othersss tried to help at the sssame time. I did not know ssshe wasss there, too. Tssshepsi isss sssorry ssshe had to be mean." Ducking her chin inwardly a bit, the Syladris averts her eyes nervously and gnaws at her lower lip with a fang. It draws blood. The indigo fluid dribbles one singly drop which shatters against the clay brick below. "Grandmassster sssaid ssshe wasss forgiven. Ssshe tried to help. Ssshe isss sssorry ssshe could not sssee more quickly what the bad light would do. They hurt her home, too."

"Some people will not be able to understand what you did and why," Thayndor observes, after a long moment. "You can try to help them. But not everybody can be convinced not to hold a grudge." He leaves the questions to Naoi.

The Ordinator closes her eyes, and mutters something under her breath.

Then the gray orbs open once more. "Of course he would. You are just an innocent little half-woman that happens to hold power enough to change the world with ease. This has been proven. The number of children who cry alone tonight are unknown to me, but even one is too much for this, a simple building."

The blood splatters on the brick wall, but goes unnoticed. Thayndor offering comfort to the Syladris does as well.

There is a sudden motion from Naoi, the strange double-ended weapon slipping off her back and her shoulder and she strikes, an attempt to drive the wicked edge deep into the poorly armored torso of the Arch-Mage.

Naoi equips The Brothers Grimm.

The appearance of drawn steel makes Thayndor's head turn, then his eyes widen -- but he hardly has time to do anything else, save reach for Naoi in an attempt to shove her off course. "Naoi, you fool! You don't un --"

"Underssstanding ssstems from faith," Tshepsi murmurs, stroking the chick some more and nuzzling it once with her nose. Its little eyes begin to drift closed. "But not all are made to underssstand. That isss okay. They can be angry if they want to. Tssspepssss..." The Archmage's words trail off as Naoi's eyes open to focus intently upon her and the woman's muscles tense. A faint nod can be seen to take shape in the Syladris' movements - of which there are none, save for her head, her eyes locked on Naoi's. As the weapon is thrust forward, she twists diagonally aside, one hand reaching to deposit the chick out of harm's way on the wall, the other sweeping in Thayndor's direction.

Many things happen at once when that gleaming, odd blade sweeps out - Thayndor leaps forward, as he does, trying to foul the blow; he's fast enough to do that, indeed. But .. the sudden strike is an unexpected thing, and he is, frankly, not entirely ready for it.

The blade strikes home - not in its /intended/ target, but in the man that stepped up to defend her - a nasty cut, a slash that opens him, the blade flicking blood on a nearby wall.

And then? Then he is abruptly moved aside; it is a jerk at first, but then he is set down with remarkable gentleness /out of the way/ by unseen hands, a good dozen feet from the brewing fight.

Naoi swears, a colorful expression, momentum carrying the blade and her form into a spin. Vertigo sets in, target uninjured, a streak of blood across her cheek that needs explanation. Confusion settles in, gray eyes storming over for a moment, and then she looks to where Thayndor is. Things come to together, a second. A second that may be too much, if Tshepsi wishes to push the fight.

The squish of Thayndor's boots -- very gently -- finding the ground is accompanied by another sound: "Stop." It's Thayndor's voice, pained. "Please! Both of you." Gaining authority now; but he's still in a crouch, gloved hand clutching the epicenter of a stain that slowly seeps through the armor along one side. "Archmage -- she doesn't understand -- don't hurt her." His shoulders rise and fall a couple of times as he fights the familiar sting of a blade long enough to stand.

"You ssshould not put yourssself into trouble," Tshepsi warns softly, her gaze failing to indicate which person she speaks to - her assailant or her defender. "Peace ssshould reign here, not blood. Do not fear me, priessst," She adds, eyes welling with a fine mist. "Tssshepsi came becaussse ssshe wasss invited. Not becaussse ssshe wissshed to hurt anyone. Her purpossse here isss not to kill. That isss not why ssshe wasss risssen." Hardly having moved from her resting place, the Syladris pats the air with her hands, gesturing to place the weapon down.


 * Peep*

Naoi's weapon swings in between the two, one edge aimed at the Syladris Mage. There is a long quiet pause, blinking a stray raindrop away. The weapon's sharp tip wavers, a tremor going through the Ordinator's right arm, a second glance tossed to Thayndor. "I'm so sorry...." The weapon lowers, an compulsive gulp taken, and then...?

Then the would-be assassin flees into the night.

"Naoi, wait, you are forgiven." Thayndor steps after her, gesturing with fingers splayed. "Stay and learn. I've," he winces as he steps, but doesn't seem to be lying, "had far worse, believe me." Some blood hits the ground, but not much. Time of Day: Night. It is the Tenth hour by the Shadow on Riverstretch. The slightest breeze stirs over the land infrequently. The skies are perfectly clear. The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Herald (blue/waxing), Torch I (gray/waxing), Torch II (gray/waxing).

A softly hissed sigh of relief splits the held breath from between Tshepsi's lips. Tenderly, she scoops eggmaker into one hand and tucks it safely into her vest. Her eyes burn more fiercely as they watch Naoi flee and for a moment, the colors of the sky and grass fade into gray. Paws over earth, muscles tensed for the kill, the prey springing to shelter... A solid blink cures the envisioned impulse and Tshepsi commands her senses into this dimension. Silently, she oozes her length over the edge, musculature held tautly to support her hanging weight, and slithers through the air onto the softened ground below. This night of vigilance had officially been put to an end.

Naoi slips out into the night, like a white rabbit with a really sharp bloodstained tooth.

Thayndor Zahir exhales, exasperated, as Naoi leaves. Clutching at his side, he lowers his head. "She probably thinks I need killing, now, too," he says. "I hope you'll forgive me for intervening, but I did so on the premise that you did what you did not for this chapel, but for a greater power." He looks sidelong at Tshepsi. "Like the one that raised Crown's Refuge, or Light's Reach, from the ground." He inclines his head to the crashing-through-undergrowth that heralds Naoi's departure. "She believes you called the storm to defend this building itself."

+ In less than a blink of an eye, and with the sound of buzzing hornets, Kael flickers into existence with a look of intense concentration.

"A tessst, thisss time." Tshepsi slithers closer to her victim of fate, eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "What wasss never born can never die," She states calmly. "But you can. Let me sssee..." Extending an arm, she points to his side, tracing the tiny blood trail with her eyes. "It hurtsss, doesss it not? Thisss blood."

Thayndor Zahir meets Tshepsi's narrowed eyes. "It is a familiar pain," Thayndor replies. When she gets close, he looks away, then back again. Just because he meets her eyes isn't to say it isn't hard to /do/. He licks his lips, thinking, and either the pain or the concentration draws beads of sweat. "You said it was spirit that cannot be killed in essence," he muses. "Mages. Fire elementals. After the physical manifestation of something greater, the way the Ravager was, or She Who Protects. They still /exist/, right? Just ... not exactly."

The sound of a magus teleporting is a distinctive one - a nest of hornets speaking their displeasure as space distorts..

And leaves behind the greying young freelander-mage, there by the den in the midst of the ruins. For a moment, disoriented - and some distance from the pair, the young man shakes his head once, frowning, looking quickly around the nearby space.

"Yesss," Tshepsi nods, lips pulling back with a smile that doesn't say 'I'm-going-to-eat-you'. "They ssshattered her dragonsss. But they cannot touch her. The Light. The bad light ssseeks to harm thossse who do not bend to itsss command. But only ONE Light may bend the Ssshadow to itsss will. It isss that will that sssome Ssshadows ssseek to ssserve. Like Tshepsssi." Lowering her eyes, she reaches out to touch the wound, one ear cocked aside to acknowledge the arrival of the den owner.

Thayndor Zahir watches Tshepsi, slowly -- reluctantly -- pulling his hand back from the wound so the Archmage can see. "I won't meet my end," he says, wincing as Tshepsi's fingers -- claws? -- touch the slick gash along his side. Two or three fragments of obsidian ringmail have lodged themselves there, like obscene piercings. "As to the Light and the Bad Light ... you're saying you've a master that bends your malevolent means to a benevolent end. Or what you believe is benevolent. What were its opponents attempting to destroy?"

The sound of buzzing draws Thayndor's eyes back, over his shoulder. His face is vacant for a moment, then, as if in last resort, flashes a winning smile. "Kael." .-.     / \        _

Voices? Kael heads that way - "Y' lot a'right?" He hasn't /quite/ gotten to where he can see the pair, squinting a bit nearsightedly. "I saw a bit o' blood - hae m' worried." The faint blue flickering flames around his fingers? Simple wariness. Honest.

"Enemiesss of old... Tssshepsi doesss not really know why they have come, but ssshe hasss ssseen what they will do. What they have done." Nudging the embedded metal with her talon tips, Tshepsi glances aside to Kael. "He isss all right. A ssshort ssstumble into unfamiliar thingsss. They hurt, sssometimes." Locking eyes with Thayndor again, she flicks her tongue over her lip where her own blood had been shed, briefly. "Be ssstill, deep fear." She whispers and then pinches at the little rings with her nail tips, pulling them free, should the man allow it.

Thayndor Zahir sucks in air at Tshepsi's ministrations, but remains still enough that the Archmage can do what she intends to do. "I will explain, Kael." YANK - an inhalation of air as the Archmage tugs shattered pieces of ringmail from a could-be-worse slash in his side - a moment to collect himself. "Will they seek out me and mine?" He asks. "Should we," he gestures, presumably to Fastheld in general, "be worried?"

"M' thinkin' y' donnae much hae to." Kael gives the pair a thoughtful look - the group is near the low wall on the west side of the ruins, the young mage just shaking blue flame away from his fingertips. "Wi' trust ye both, I wi' - an' if stumblin' is what 't is? Then fine." He turns to glance back up the path. "Wi' look 't it soon enow, Thayndor - y' may want t' get indoors, one way o' another."

Meian comes trotting in like a vengeful huntress, bow still limbered and grasped firmly in one hand, her expression grave- but there's a spark of anger in pale eyes all the same. "Kael!" she calls, glancing around. "Is somebody hurt? I put an arrow in the woman but she's escaped, and somehow now half of Fastheld has chosen to show up at our door, including the Warpriest! The assassin was Kissed, as well, what in the Light is hap-" She stops in mid-word as proximity resolves the scene here, picking up her pace. "Ohh-h Light..."

"Worssse thingsss have ssstalked your land. Of thisss you know," Murmurs the Archmage. Flicking aside the offending links, she then flattens her slender hand over the bloodied gash. "Thisss monssster finds itsss ssstrength not from the arcane, but from thossse it leadsss..." Trailing off, she turns her head to look squarely at Meian. "What asssasssin? You will find no dead here. Nor ssshall you hunt for ssshe who sssought to make it ssso. Ssshe wasss missstaken. It isss over, now." And sure enough. As Tshepsi's aura fades from a vivid to a softer hue, as the shadows grow beneath her eyes and hollow her cheeks, Thayndor's flesh knits itself together at an unebelievable speed. Blood rivulets shrink, cells mend. Tshepsi falls.

"Naoi knows not what she --" Thayndor begins, but, suddenly, falling Archmage. The werelord, just as suddenly with unblemished flesh peeking out underneath a fair-sized gash in his ringmail, scrambles to catch Tshepsi from falling -- but how does one catch a snake that trips when snakes have no feet for stumbling? -- and by the time he's close to the ground seems to have at least figured out that what he's trying to do is keep her head from hitting the dirt.


 * Peep*

There's a moment of recognition in Kael's eyes -- a reassuring wave Meian's way - "I got 'er, Thayndor - y' may want t' go out an' let folk see e'eryone 's a'right."

Peep? Ah. Peep. Peep. yes.

"Er. Meian, y' want t' see about th' little one?" There's a resigned, wry humor in that.

And...there is an oddly gentle gesture, a frown of very deep concentration, the mage stepping forward to the Archmage's side, "What did y' go 'n do that for?" Gently exasperated at best; unseen hands move to lift the prone form. There are four, by the low stone wall deep in the ruins on the west side, Meian approaches now, while Thayndor cradles Tshepsi's very unawake head, and Kael moves forward to... lift her. Carefully, his face a mask of concentration.

Sandrim walks into the Ruins now, just ahead of Ziavri as he looks over to the sight. Thayndor is injured, Tshepsi is asleep. And someone, someone appears to be making the uncounscious syladris levitate a bit. Meian's already there, heading for them. "Oh dear, so, ahh, what is actually /happening/ here now?"

"Oh, Light," Meian repeats, standing there looking slightly stunned, eyes widening. The girl seems to be having visible difficulty parsing all of this. "T-that was Naoi? Naoi Cloth? She j-just... showed up and attacked Lord Thayndor? ...Is T-Tshepsi okay...? What's..." The girl shakes her head, and numbly, she goes to do what comes natural- the bow's back over a shoulder and she hunts down the chirping chick with trembling hands.

"Good question." Zia moves quickly for the group, brow furrowing with concern as she spies Tshepsi and Thayndor. And hears something about Naoi. "Wait... what?" And so it is that she joins the ranks of the confused here.

Ailith is the last to arrive, the Warpriest in full armor and visibly Not Happy. Approaching Thayndor as, regrettably, the only one with both sense and a possible clue, she says, "What. is. Going. On."

Griedan approaches the knot of people and freezes at the name Meian says first before his eyes glance over to the prone Tshepsi and his feet carry him to her side. "Does ana'un know where th' Gran'mas'er is?" he asks, trying desperately to keep his voice from choking up.

Sandrim reaches up to put his hand on Zia's shoulder, frowning. "I think now might be the time to sit back and, er, just watch."

Blackfox does just that, listening as she stands on the fringes of the crowd.

Those worried lines on Zia's face deepen... but she makes herself stop at Sandrim's touch. It's killing her, but she'll do her best to watch quietly. Hands tucked deeply into her pockets, as if for restraint.

The chick wiggles and kicks and nubby wing-flops as its discovered, mashed inside the Syladris' vest, between her more humanish bits. At least it was warm. Disoriented enough from the sudden drop and stop, it pecks aimlessly at the invading hands, vest, whatever. "It isss over." Tshepsi rasps a second time, her head turning to stare through Meian and at Kael. "Sssome are yet learning to have faith beyond that which isss written." Mustering a sleepy sort of smile, she creeps her hands up her tail and torso to grip at her seemingly flawless side. "For sssome, thisss will not sssuffice asss jussstice. But it mussst."

Justus mutter something under his breath and exhales.

There are many voices approaching from behind the mage, but Kael concentrates on lifting Tshepsi. All of her. Carefully - with visible effort. "C'mon, ye dear thing - y' pushed where y' shoul' nae." Is he /scolding/ her? Mildly, yes, with a faint smile. "M' gettin' ye t' bed. An' t' quiet - n' warm, 't least. An' maybe /tea/." And he moves, as though to turn, to bring the Syladris back - -even as the press of people gets closer.

"If y' lot donnae /mind/.. s' nae 's easy 's t' looks."

"/No/," Thayndor says, decisively, rising once he's sure Kael has the Archmage. He makes a slashing motion with his hand, which, incidentally, exposes the gash in his ringmail. He moves as he speaks, away from Tshepsi -- perhaps drawing attention away as well -- including Ailith and everyone else in his collective gaze over the course of a brief monologue. "There was no 'assassination attempt.' No attacker." He nods to Tshepsi. "Just a lesson learned, and a brave girl, now out in the wilderness someewhere nursing an arrow wound and the blinding poison of fear and misplaced guilt." He levels his eyes on Ailith. "The Ordinator was here, yes. But, as you can see, she has hurt no one."

Meian's jaw hangs open as she stares at Thayndor, looking more than slightly betrayed and shocked at this recital. "Fine then," she says after a moment, voice faltering at first but steadily growing stronger. "I shot a 'brave girl' who did NOT have a bloody weapon in hand, because I like to play target practice with innocent people."

The sound of steps, muffled by the soft grass perhaps, and no doubt even more so by the voices of the gathered mass. "Interesting," notes a thick voice just as its source becomes evident: an old man, with a wooden came to ease the burden of his steps, moves slowly towards the large group. The sight makes Oren smile faintly. "My, my."

Sandrim starts to concentrate a moment, after listening, staring off into nothing for a while. After a few moments, he shakes his hiead. "Can't find her," he mutters to Ziavri.

Justus's hand reaches out, touching Blackfox's sleeve as if to gain her attention. He murmurs something quietly to the woman.

Blackfox speaks softly back to Justus.

"She can't have gotten all the way to Light's Reach..." Zia worries her lower lip, hands fidgeting with something in her pocket. It's *visible* that she's tempted to go out and search. Right now. In the middle of everything. She steps back and away from Kael, giving the mage as much room as she can manage, one hand reaching out to take Sandrim with her out of the way, if he'll go.

Griedan attempts to rest a hand briefly upon Tshepsi's brow and smile at her, but his attention drifts to Thayndor shortly after, letting Kael get the archmage away. "Lord Za'ir, sh' 'ad a bloodeh'd blade. 'Ow did that 'appen ifn sh' wasna tryin' t' 'arm some'un?" he asks.

Sandrim frowns as he's tugged back, but goes easily enough. He turns to look at Zia, asking quietly, "should I try again?"

Ailith turns to note Oren's presence. "...You were given exile," she says flatly. "It seems Celeste cannot heed even the simplest of requests. I shall have to take her armor; it is becoming a waste of my time to defend her. She can be Norran's problem." And with that she turns her attention back to Thayndor. "You routinely wear damaged armor, then?"

Zia glances from Ailith to Griedan, and shakes her head slowly. "No. Not... not now." She turns back to the spectacle of the flying Syladris with a visible effort, murmuring, "Thank you."

Justus chuckles at Fox, "My hopes are more prosaic." He says quietly to her in response to something murmured more quietly. "But thank you."

"Releassse me, Firelight," Coaxes the levitated Syladris, finding her sense of balance again with this new pain. "It isss not time for tea. Not even pie. It will make the Grandmassster Norran noble very upssset if I do not return to him. He isss sssupposssed to watch me, after all." As she passes by Griedan, she brushes the touching hand/arm with her own. From her invisible bed, Tshepsi shifts her tail and curls into a sitting position with outstretched hands. "Bring egg maker back to me, pleassse. I am sssorry I frightened him."

Blackfox nods to Justus, another soft word, and then slips quietly away.

Sandrim nods to Zia, before he starts looking around, and tries to wave toward Blackfox. "Fox?"

Oren's eyebrows shoot up at Ailith. "Why, yes, I was, but the decree, as per your exact words, stated I could no longer return to Fastheld... once I left. This is what was agreed. I, as a man of my word, intend to honor it. For the time being, however, I remain in Valoria lands, preparing for my departure. Which will come. At some point." His smile never leaves his lips, even as he turns to watch the Syladris. "How marvelous. How... ungraspable, yet evident before my eyes. So new." Carefully, using the wooden cane to test the ground, he too moves aside to allow easy passage for those leaving, eyes wide with wonder.

After a moment more of stunned silence, Meian pads forward and offers the chick- huddled in her tiny white hands- back to Tshepsi. "...Warpriest, I d-don't remember hearing a-anything about Lady Celeste w-willfully giving this man succor. I m-may be wrong, but I've heard not a mention of his permission to be here."

Justus shows no signs of leaving, but instead moves out of the way as well. He watches Tshepsi with something less than awe but more of patience.

Blackfox pauses to glance over at Sandrim, giving him a slight nod of farewell.

"'Brave' does not mean 'right,' Meian," Thayndor replies. He sighs. "Warpriest, the blood was mine. But you can see that her cut did me no harm -- and if you cannot accept my honest answer, then perhaps when you see her, you will accept hers: It was an unintentional cut. She meant no harm to me. You can see that in the end, she caused none." He meets Ailith's eyes squarely. "You have more pressing matters, it seems, where intent is concerned." Thayndor half-turns to include Oren in his gaze after the old man speaks.

Kael smiles - he can't help it. And with a crouch and an odd gesture, he does just that, setting Tshepsi down carefully. "S' allus time fer tea." And.. when that look of concentration fades, the young mage just manages to look grey, and tired. "Wi' see about havin' some waitin' fer ye, regardless." He absently passes a hand over his eyes as he stands -"Meian - w' shoul' go see about tryin' t' make a room o' two a bit more hospitable, aye?"

Sandrim shakes his head, then breaks free, trying to run toward Blackfox.

Zia doesn't detain Sandrim, taking her hand from his arm and replacing it in her pocket as her gaze wanders over the crowd. It lingers on the Firelights... and for a brief moment, on Oren.

Griedan ends up standing aside and letting people go where they will, another smile reserved for Tshepsi, but his attention focused upon Ailith, particularly in light of what Thayndor says.

"I have many matters," says Ailith flatly. She takes a deep breath, and in a tone that says clearly how very well she knows she's going to regret this later, "I release you from your binding to refrain from Shadow's use, if you wish to use it do defend this place. The signs of war are in the air." She turns to Meian. "A quick defense. The Lady and I will have a long...discussion...when there is time." And then to Griedan. "Find Naoi. Bring her back here. Carry her if you must - take a horse if you need."

Blackfox pauses out in the darkness, waiting a moment for Sandrim to catch up.

When Sandrim does catch up, it's to ask Blackfox, "Do you think you can track her down?"

I don't even know w-who we're fighting," Meian whispers with a slow, confused shake of her head. "...But I won't let anybody take Night's Edge away from me." The girl exhales, standing straighter and glancing around. "How many of you intend to stay the n-night? PLease raise your hands."

Justus raises his hand. "If it is possible, mistress." His gaze goes to Tshepsi, "My lady, I have come quite a distance to speak with you. I understand that now might not be the best time. But, if it could be arranged, I promise it would not take more then ten minute of your time." He smiles, expression apologetic but unrepentant.

"Your trust won't go betrayed," Thayndor says to Ailith. "The girl doesn't understand what's happening; but she -is- brave. She needs to be pointed in the right direction." His hand, quietly, finds the pommel of his sword. "She doesn't understand, but I don't either. Meian, if you are expecting a fight this evening, then I will await it with you." His other hand raises.

Griedan bows to Ailith. "Aye Warpries'." he intones, sighing heavily and heading out of the ruins with one final fond look at Tshepsi, Meian, and Kael, but then he pauses. "Might I bring th'tracker Blackfox with m' ifn sh' is willin'?" he asks Ailith.

Ailith doesn't raise her hand. She just nods. "You are fighting Sun's Keep," she says simply. "This would be my former compatriots' idea of subtlety, it would seem. The Archmage must be returned to her city; I will need to speak with her about the recent storm, but it can wait until the risk of vigilantism has decreased somewhat. In her own city even a tempest is of limited range." She nods to Griedan. "Whatever you require. But bring her back here."

"Thank you, all of you." Wiping something from her horns, Tshepsi tucks the boy King's present back into her vest and pats at Meian's arm. "I once ssshared with your girl priessst a bad fruit. Ssshe did not like itsss tassste and ssso...it wasss wrong of me. If you find her, tell her that ssshe reacted asss could be expected and that the Ssspirit that isss Tssshepsi will not find fault. Thisss time." Nodding these cryptic words, Tshepsi hunches away from the majority of those gathered and slithers slowly towards the Monastery proper. "You who dwell with hesssitancy," Muses the Archmage a few moments later, her gaze turned to settle heavily over Justus' form. "Find your calm, and follow me."

"No, I need to know how many beds to make and h-how much a dinner to lay out," Meian points out with calm practicality, glancing around. "...Sun's Keep, aye? W-well, then I'll welcome all the e-erstwhile soldiers I can f-find, and so will L-lady Celeste. Anyone w-who wants to stay to help will be h-housed and fed in the u-upcoming days- anyone at *all* c-can find a meal and bed here t-tonight."

Blackfox speaks quietly to Sandrim, her voice pitched for his ears only, "Aye, but I will do so to help her and to see what she wishes to do. I am no man...or woman's...dog to be set on a trail and fetch prey back."

Quietly, Zia departs from her place at the edge of the crowd and slips through the knots of people to Griedan's side. Quick-eared as ever. "I will help," she says quietly, but firmly.

Justus bows his head obediently, though, the barest start of a smile might be seen. He follows the Archmage at a respectable distance.

Sandrim blinks at Blackfox. "Well, I was asking you to find her because she was hurt," he notes quietly. "Thank you."

"I don't have a choice," Thayndor replies to Meian drily with a wry, toothy grin, "but your hospitality is gracious nonetheless. In the mean time, I would suggest those who search for Naoi prevail upon her not to flee to the north. And we who will impose upon Night's Edge for the night had best return there." He inclines his head towards the monastery grounds proper. "If we are now in combat with an enemy that could attack at any time, it would be best to organize a more formal defense."

"Ah, so the rogue Corona has finally decided to act?" Oren muses. At Meian's declaration, the smile that had but for a moment vanished returns. "Anyone at all? Well, these are still House Valoria lands, so I doubt the Lady Celeste will mind my presence of the Duchess Rowena herself is unperturbed by it. After all, given my time spent in Sun's Keep, who better than me to offer tidbits of advice on how best to deal with them?" He chuckles and, trusty cane at hand, prepares to follow.

Griedan approaches Blackfox and taps her on the shoulder. "Blackfox, could I get yer 'sistance in 'elpin' m' find where Mis'ress cloth 'as gone? Word is yeh are th' bes' 'unter in th' R'fuge, an' I could use yer 'elp. Ifn nothin' else, th' lass 'as a nasteh wound an' is out there somewhere with it."

Blackfox glances over Sandrim's shoulder at Ailith and nods, "I am sorry...that woman just...Naoi is my friend, and I think I know why she did this. I do not wish to see any more rash actions tonight, aye?" She pauses as Griedan approaches, still pitching her voice low, "I will find her, but I will bring her back only if she wishes it."

Sandrim smiles faintly. "I suppose I'm helping out here," he says, "but I'm letting the hunters track her down. I'd get in the way, doing that." With that, he turns and starts to walk on back toward the monastery.

Silently, the ivory weave of scales winds its way to the Monastery, crimson irises flicking now and again to ensure that her acquired shadow is keeping pace.

Night's Edge Monastery Grounds -  ''Eight centuries ago, The Church of True Light sent its carpenters and rchitects into the wilderness southeast of the Old City, now known as the Shadow District, to build a monastic facility for the scholarly eunuchs of the church to ponder their faith and expand the influence of the church to new frontiers. Thammon Greengrass, a carpenter descended from servants indentured to House Lomasa, designed and supervised construction of the Nights Edge Monastery.'' ''A five-foot-high outwall of sun clay bricks surrounds the acreage of the grounds. At the heart of it all is a roughly rectangular monastery building that had in the past several decades has been acquired by the former House Mikin with the blessing of and refurbished as a manor home''. ''After it fell into disrepair after being abandoned in early 625 ATA, it was reclaimed and restored by Celeste Mikin following the Wildlands Expedition of 627 ATA. The refurbished monastery features a spacious courtyard, visible through a large archway of rounded sun clay bricks to the north. Over the years the manor home has taken on a horseshoe appearance surrounding a central garden courtyard''. ''A trail leading back to the thoroughfare of Mikin Road to the south extends from the courtyard of the monastery. The eastern edge of the vast and beautiful Dawnstar Forest can be see to the west, while rolling grasslands blanket the horizon to the north and east''. Tshepsi's shadow, if that is what Justus is, is here indeed. His eyes scan the grounds around and he straightens, losing a bit of the subdued attitude he'd carried within.

"What quessstions have you for me?" Tshepsi asks as they grow farther from the group's ear shot. "I ssseem to be a fountain of anssswers of late, or ssso othersss would take me for."

"I have no questions for you, Archmage," Justus says frankly, "Though initially I'd thought to approach this conversation with a sum of money on my mind. Charming words. The whole lot. Unfortuntely, I've lost my taste for barter this night. Have you found any information on who attacked your shrine the other night?"

"Tssshepsi hasss never held a money in her hand," Scoffs the Syladris lightly, dipping her chin to peer inside her vest. The chick blinks back up at her. All is well. "Ssshe hasss not needed to. Essspecially not for wordsss to ssshare. Thisss ssshrine you ssspeak of - it isss not mine. It belongsss to the entity it wasss built for. It isss the Light'sss Ssshrine. It isss the White Dragon'sss ssshrine. And for that reassson it wasss injured." Features darkening somewhat in the face, she exhales sharply through her nostrils. "The Sssun ssshines more brightly in sssome placesss than othersss. In placesss where it isss dim, it hasss lossst sssight of itsss true enemy and hasss turned to hate that which it percievesss asss threat. Many wingsss it hasss broken, many facesss. And many more it will ssshatter. If it isss allowed to ssshine."

"Archmage, I could stand here and listen to your voice all night," Justus smiles, "For it is nearly as lovely as you. But? I'm going to take that as a no. Or at least, the knowledge of the light's turning, and who is behind it, isn't one you feel like sharing." He reaches into his sodden shirt, having no had time to dry from the rain in Crown Refuge and comes up with a folded piece of paper. He hands it out towards Tshepsi. "For you, Lady. Taken off the body of one of those who attacked your White Dragon's shrine. I think that you may wish to think about what you've been called to do here in the past couple days. And what the general response of the public has been." He nods to the letter. "And then read that again."

"Tssshepsi doesss not read well." Taking the letter and turning it over a few times delicately between her crystaline nails, Tshepsi shakes her head. "But ssshe will find one who can. I have been called to do nothing - not by thessse people. It wasss Tssshepsi's wish to sssee the Regent and the boy they call King. The boy whossse father firssst gave birth to what Tssshepsi made ssstronger. Fassstheld sssaid they would grant thisss wisssh. That isss why I am here. In the mean time, I will do what I mussst to ensssure that whatever hurt my people doesss not succeed here."

"Do not have someone from Fastheld read it to you, my lady. Have one of your own people do so." Justus says, eyes hard and deadly serious, "You were forced to act in a way that has made people here think badly of you. That is significant." He nods to the letter, "Make sure it is someone you trust." He smiles, "And do not tell anyone I gave it to you? I would like to remain alive for some time longer."

Nodding tentatively, Tshepsi stuffs the letter in with the chick. "Forced only by my love for Ssshe," Tshepsi bows her head. "My wisssh to protect that which they ssseek to dessstroy. The fatal error liesss in their own ssstep. The child of the sssky they ssseek to burn hasss more than enough teeeth to devour them all...and sssave sssome for Tssshepsi to have asss sssnack." Gruesome as it may be, the imagery is spoken with gentle, matter-of-factness. "Thank you, ssservant of what isss jussst. Tssshepsi, child of the earth, ssservant of the sssky, will heed your warning." A courtly bow is offered then, her tail sweeping around, torso gracefully bent, and horns jingling their hanging adornments oh so melodically.

Justus's gaze is drawn by the tail for a long moment and he chuckles a breath before looking back to the woman, "My lady, with any luck I shall stumble on a hundred more plots... if only to have an excuse to speak with you again." He grins and bows.

"By then, perhapsss Tssshepsi will remember the lettersss and wordsss ssshe wasss taught." Rising fluidly from the bow, the Syladris rears a notch, pivots on herself, slithers over a length of her own tail, then plops back to the ground, direction of wandering altered. "Good night, tricksssome messsenger. Keep sssafe watch over the ssskies." That said, she slithers off across the yard.

"Good night, Archmage," Justus returns and watches for a moment longer. Then he angles off towards the Old Ruins. Apparently, this night is to be spent outside.