This. This I remember. As the drow twisted away, his war fork deftly twisted into the orc’s side, once again finding its way through the rings of armor, and piercing the leathery skin underneath. The orcish captain growled in agony, his blows becoming weaker and slower as his life bled out of him through a dozen open wounds. This ebon-skinned elf was too much, and the orc knew it. He spun around and dashed away, summoning what reserve of strength he had in a last desperate attempt to escape. “No! Kill me not!”

The drow took comfort in the feel of this battle. The war fork and kite shield that he held were familiar friends in an unrecognizable world. He remembered the young girl, Sin, who had spoken with him. He had remembered his way to this place, and knew where to find his armor and weapons when he arrived. But little else in this barren place provided any visual cues. If he had been here before — part of him was certain he had — it had changed much in his absence. He knew precious little else.

He knew that a drowess — he thought he had recognized her as well — had given her life so that he could be restored. Though he could not clearly remember her, he wished to do so, if only to offer silent thankfulness for her sacrifice.

He remembered that a woman had come to him when he was in that other place, and she had taken something that belonged to him. But he could neither remember whom she was, nor what she had taken.

He knew, despite everyone’s beliefs, that his name was Kesar. And he did not understand why so many took to calling him a trusting fool. Perhaps it was some past mistake? If that was the case, he would remember, and he would not make the same mistake again.

And he remembered a waterfall.

Remembering things seemed an impossible task. And yet, he was desperate to fill this void that existed within him. So he held desperately onto the things that brought him familiarity. Like his war fork. Like his shield.

His hands gripped them till his knuckles ached with the strain. His eyes closed tightly, and his jaw clenched as he pushed all his confusion and his emptiness aside. When he opened his eyes to the throbbing of veins, he saw the shape of the orc captain fleeing into the dead wilderness. Wielding his only familiar friends, he sped off after the orc, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

That’s when it changed colors.

He felt the tingle in his fingertips as he touched it, and dropped it out of reflex. His eyes followed it to the ground, wondering what enchantment filled this simple-looking thing. He reached down and snatched it up, rolling it in his fingers, wondering what it was.

Standing up, he made his way east, back toward the village that had originally drawn him. There were others there on occasion, and perhaps one of them would be able to tell him more about this thing. As he marched through the woods, he felt the thing in his hand... and a peculiar thought came to his mind. He did not know why he would think the word, or if it was in any way related to the strange stone. But he could not shake the thought, repeating it in his mind over and over again. For just a moment, he stopped, thinking that perhaps another memory was returning. But an instant later, he continued his journey, just repeating the word in his head.

“Paradise.”

She gave them no direction, paying little attention to the visions floating across her consciousness. The night was bright, both moons full and flooding the landscape with a silvered glow. For the first time in elven years, the depression that normally marred her wedding anniversary was absent, and she was able to admire the iridescent beauty around her. Perhaps, finally, she had been able to leave the tragedy of her failed marriage behind her. A “perhaps” she refused to dwell upon, she simply accepted it.

A familiar chirp roused her from her reverie, her quiet hazel gaze drifting over the forest to seek out her sparrow. Her delicate laughter rose with the wind that the bird drifted off on, and she took the subtle hint. She tired more easily since her last, final, trip to Felucca, so sitting a spell was not such a bad idea she decided.

Lowering herself to a convenient, fallen log at the bay-side, she tucked her staff beneath her feet. She chuckled silently at herself, thankful as always to her sparrow friend for looking after her. It seemed the bird was more aware of the woman’s limitations then she was herself.

Removing her hat, she let the gentle sea breeze tug her wispy hair awry, uncaring about the wild disarray for the moment. The warmth of the night, coupled with the music of nature, lulled the young woman into a peaceful repose which she took full advantage of.

Sliding her slender fingers along the leather thong around her neck, she gently pulled the pendent from under her shirt. Turning slightly, her shadow cast by the moonlight slid off the glyph cupped in her small hand. A slow smile drifted over her face as she traced the unusual pictograph with a delicate touch. Turning the glyph over, she tilted it slightly to take full advantage of the moonlight.

Having always been half-elven, it never seemed odd to her that she could see almost as well at night as during the day.. she just could. Adding this gift to the brightness of the twin moons, it was a simple task for her to pick out the words on the disk. Stamped boldly, his house’s name was simple to read, but the child-like etching around the bottom of the pendent was not as easy.

Recognizing his name in the trembled carving, she slowly repeated it, “Kesar Daerszhazzonn.” As the last syllable passed her lips, her eyes widened and she hurriedly tucked the necklace back beneath her shirt. The last flicker of her vision faded as quickly as it had appeared, but the frightening, empty feeling of loss lingered as the young woman made her way rapidly back to the Abbey. It was done, somehow the others had managed to recover him. Her time of healing was at an end, completed or not.

Now, it was time to plan.

She had begun by consulting the monks at Empath Abbey, but they proved to be of no help. Cloistered too long, too far removed from everyday life to have the answer she sought. Her next stop had been Jhelom, hoping the library there might surrender a clue. It had not. The librarians and clerics only looked frightened when she told them her tale, and quietly requested she continue her search elsewhere. Bah! No help, and not even willing to try. She received much the same response at the Lycaeum. Too busy studying the Virtues, she supposed, as if the Virtues were the answer.

On Trammel, her last hope had been the Britain Public Library. The clerics there at least did not look frightened, they had heard stranger tales. They even helped her locate some books that might lead her to the answers she sought. The books had a wealth of information in them, but nothing even remotely what she was looking for.

Nowhere, in everything she had read, was there an explanation of why someone would desecrate a corpse, only to neatly sew the wounds shut again. There had to be a reason for Kesar’s wounds. He was positive he had not had them prior to the ritual that robbed him of his life. But there they were, marring his chest and thigh, both neatly sewn shut with a black filament. At least they did not pain him, but that still did not explain why they were there or who caused them, and something whispered in Joy’s mind that it was important to find out.

She muttered to herself, pushing the last book away with a nod to the cleric that she had finished. Collecting her things, she dropped some gold pieces in the donation box in thanks for what help they had given, and was on her way. If books were not the answer, perhaps a person would be.

She had very little knowledge of necromancy, or the people who worked it. Mephistos had been about the only person she knew with that understanding. There was another she had a passing acquaintance with. Maybe Asterius might be able to shed some light on her search. Now.. where to find for him...

"This is the Chaos shrine." Kesar turned toward Joylah's voice. "Rather pathetic, isn't it?"

Kesar looked at her curiously. "Why do you think it is pathetic?"

"I suppose I think in comparison to the others. This is... understated?" The two stared, Kesar at the shrine, Joylah at Kesar. After a moment she leaned her shoulder against his arm quietly.

He nodded, agreeing noncommittally. "Perhaps it is somewhat... modest."

Joylah laughed. "A tad."

Khalin smiled at the sound of her laughter. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling her sigh softly as she leaned into him. He squeezed her gently for a moment and then released his hold, moving closer to the shrine. "What is it that draws you to this place?"

"I am not sure."

Kesar moved closer still, his foot resting on the first step. He stared down at the carving curiously. "What is this symbol?"

"That is Lord Blackthorne's crest, I think. The way serpents are for Lord British." He listed to her speak behind him, still examining it. "I have a shield with that upon it."

"Do you?" The question was instinctive, still focusing on the shrine.

"Mmhmm. It's in my bank vault, right now."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Kesar shrugged at the question. His mind was elsewhere. Joylah laughed as she continued, "I wish it was safe to use as decoration, but they aren't. Just... something I acquired."

"Why not?"

It took her a brief moment to consider what he was asking before she continued. She grinned, watching as he made a tentative step up onto the shrine. "They... decay almost instantly if you put them down."

Kesar stood on the first step, his heart racing for some unknown reason. Nervousness, perhaps? He could not reason why. Instead, he tried to focus on Joylah's words, hoping they would calm him. He turned to look over he shoulder, nodding to her. "Part of an enchantment?"

She returned his look with her beautiful smile. "Mmhmm, I think so. The same thing which disallows me using it." She watched him contentedly. "As I said, just... something I have."

Kesar turned back toward the shrine, still wondering about the sensation he was feeling. He nodded, as much to her as to himself. Drawing upon what resolve he had, he made his way up onto the shrine, standing on the etching and staring at the ankh.

That's when it began. His heart began to pound in his chest. Painfully. At first it felt as if an ogre were beating on his ribs. A hand clutched his chest instinctively, and his eyes widened. After a few moments, it felt as if his blood was on fire as is moved through his veins. His whole body burned with the sensation.

Behind him, Joylah called out. "What do you think?" Kesar could barely hear her. The pounding in his ears was slowly being drowned out by something that resembled a monstrous scream. He gathered what control he still had of his legs and stepped backward, down the steps and off the shrine.

A moment was all it took, and the pain was gone. It was as if nothing had happened, save for the light beads of perspiration that had formed on his forehead. He breathed deeply, turning back toward Joylah. "Was there... something else to see here?"

His demeanor had visibly changed. Joylah saw it instantly. "Mm... what is wrong?"

He knew she saw. How could she not? Instead of answering her, he misdirected. "This place is beautiful." He looked around at the landscape. It was beautiful, but he knew that the feint would not divert her.

"Mmhmm, it is," she nodded. "But that did not answer my question, Kesar."

He cut in, not allowing her to continue. "It seems odd to me that your favorite thing here is this shrine."

Joylah lifted a slender brow at the comment. "Why?"

Kesar shrugged, his eyes not meeting hers. "I would have thought that the beauty surrounding it would be more appealing."

"It is... which is why when I come here, I sit on the steps and look at the beauty, not at the shrine." She moved tentatively over to the steps. Kesar did not follow.

"I... will sit on the grass perhaps"

She examined him. "Something is bothering you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Nau." The reply was flat. It was a statement, not an answer. And it was a lie, and she knew it.

She responded, defying his lie. "Xas."

Kesar looked up as she responded to him in his native tongue. But his gaze was stern, eliminating the possibility of further discussion. "Nau."

Joylah stood, disturbed and quieted by his change in tone. She nodded, disappointed that he had closed himself off so suddenly. The silence hung between them for a few moments until she, slowly nodding, changed the subject.

"Wind is near here." She managed a smile as she said it, and offered her hand out to Kesar. His expression, still marred with his stern declaration, softened somewhat as he took her hand. Joylah continued, "Of course... I can never find the entrance, but... we can get lost together."

Kesar nodded, knowing that he would have to explain this to her eventually. But now was not the time. He looked into her eyes and began walking. "Lead the way."