He waited for a few minutes, entranced by her peaceful form. Then, as quietly as he could, he whispered words of power and focused the magical energy toward his wife. Kal Zu Wis Sanct. Melyanna stirred slightly as the magic essence poured over her, but the calm never left her face.

Azeron, however, barely had time to close his eyes before his head hit the down-filled pillow. His neck tilted awkwardly, and his breathing stilled. Though his lungs still took in air, it was so slow and slight that an observer might have thought him dead.

But he was far from it. In some other place, Azeron took his bearings and prepared for his difficult task... to protect Melyanna.

Melyanna stretched, reaching for her husband's form, a Cheshire smile gracing her pouty lips. Melamin, wake up, let's experiment again, she teased huskily, as she turned towards him, only to find his spot beside her empty and cold. Frowning, she climbed out of their bed, reached for the silk robe that exactly matched her eyes, quickly slipping it over her bare skin. Her bare feet padded across the fur rug at the foot of her bed as she wandered out their door, searching for her missing husband. The small office before the fireplace was empty, so she continued downstairs.

An eerie prickling at her senses had her looking over her shoulder, the malicious crimson gaze unobserved by their prey. Descending the rest of the stairs, she looked up and smiled as she saw her husband sitting at the kitchen table. There you are, Mela. I was frightened when I woke up and found you gone. Couldn't you sleep? she asked only to gasp in sudden fear as Azeron turned to face her, his familiar hazel eyes replaced by those sinister red ones. Shaking her head in denial she slowly started to back up. As Azeron closed the distance between them, his fingers cruelly closed around her delicate wrist, bruising the skin. You've been bad, Melyanna and I'm going to have to punish you. You know what that means... he laughed, the sound almost maniacal, as he dragged her screaming out the door. Mely fought with what strength she had, her robe tearing as it snagged against the rocks and branches they passed. She knew, just knew where he was taking her. The Crypt.

Soon, the macabre chamber loomed before them. Azeron, crimson eyes flashing angrily, shook his finger at her as he threw her against the wall. I told you not to leave the crypt, yet you repeatedly ignore my warnings. This is for your own good. The hollow, metallic scraping made as he opened the door, chilled Melyanna to the bone. She shook like a leaf, afraid to move. Yet she feared what was in the crypt more than the man before her. Scrambling to her bare, bloodied feet, Mely held her robe closed as she tried to escape the man. Just as she rounded the corner of the Crypt, a scream erupted from her lips as vicious fingers, cruelly grabbed the fleeing figure by her hair and dragged her back to the crypt. Throwing her into the dank chamber, all she could see were his glowing eyes as he leaned close to her. You will never leave here again, Melyanna, he sneered as he reached behind her and closed the cuff about her wrist....

The thoughts were suddenly shattered by the sound of a scream from the northwest. His body spun and he broke into a full sprint even before his thoughts became coherent... Mely! As the streets of Jhelom passed quickly by, he knew instantly where he was headed — the cemetery.

He approached the gates, leaping up and vaulting himself over, and onto the soft earth on the other side. He could hear Melyanna's terrified sobs coming from the central crypt, and so he sped there with all his strength. There, in the doorway of the crypt, was a figure standing in shadow, holding Mely in an angry, forceful grip. As he approached, he saw the figure clearly: it was an exact replica of him, down to the most minute detail... save for the eyes. The thing turned only briefly toward Azeron, casting a glance with his glowing, crimson eyes. Then, ignoring him, it turned its attention back on Melyanna.

The words escaped before he realized he was saying them. Kal Vas Flam! Inside the crypt, the doppelganger took a step backward. Melyanna flinched, blinking as ripples of heat suddenly emanated from the creature. Her eyes met Azeron's, her gaze filled with terror and confusion. Meanwhile, the other figure winced at the first licks of flame, starting along the seams of his clothing and the ends of his hair. The flames, magically fueled, took only an instant to spread. A moment later, the smells of burning flesh hit Azeron, and he saw Mely recoiling in horror. He watched as the flames ravaged the doppelganger.

But the creature did not fall.

Azeron stared as the charred body turned towards him, glaring at him with its red, glowing eyes. He startled for a moment as the sinister thing drew a scimitar, filling the crypt with the echoes of its metallic ring. It smiled a toothy, lipless grin, raising the blade over the terrified form of Melyanna. Its eyes, however, remained locked on Az, goading him.

Get away from her! Azeron sprinted toward the crypt, then took to the air, hitting the charred figure and sending them both tumbling on the floor of the crypt. He heard the scimitar clang against the back wall. The other figure gained leverage in the fall, however, and Azeron felt feet kick beneath his stomach, sending him sprawling out the doors of the crypt. He quickly found his footing again and stood determined as the figure slowly advanced toward him, its recovered scimitar back in hand. Azeron pushed his sleeves up slightly and flexed his forearms, hoping that his recent sparring had prepared him for this...

Kal Vas Flam. Suddenly the crimson eyed Azeron was aflame, the putrid odor of charring flesh turning her stomach. Melyanna stared in macabre fascination as the wall of flames slowly died out, leaving in its placed the charred, walking remains of her captor. Suddenly, the crypt echoed with the with the metallic ringing of steel as the walking corpse pulled a wicked looking scimitar from the sheath at his hip. She whimpered, cringing away from the raised scimitar as it was held above her head.

Leave her alone! Called the figure at the door to the crypt, she couldn't make him out through the blinding light, though he seemed oddly familiar. There was a brief struggle before the scimitar was flying through the air. A startled shriek escaped her lips as the scimitar came within inches of impaling her, before it fell with a shrill clang against the sarcophagus next to her. Mela...help me, please help me... she whimpered, pleading with the figure she couldn't quite make out, yet somehow she knew it was Azeron.

The sinister, charred figure was once again swinging the scimitar. Viciously, he made a sweeping arc with it, its blade easily slicing through the thin material of the familiar double and shirt... NUMA! Mela watch out...

Azeron stumbled for a moment, his heel catching the corner of a headstone. His head spun to the side as he tried to maneuver himself backward. He heard Mely cry NUMA! Mela watch out! an instant before another savage swing of the scimitar nearly lobbed his ear off. But he dodged in time, leaving the blade to cut at wisps of hair where moments before his head had been.

He saw the opening, though, as the creature followed through on his swipe. Taking advantage, Azeron swung a fist at the thing, hitting it squarely in the temple. The creature staggered, dropping down to one knee, and Azeron used that instant to put some distance between them. Thinking quickly, he uttered an An Ex Por hoping to widen the gap even further.

Tendrils of magical energy reached up from the ground, anchoring the ravaged doppelganger to where it stood. It watched as Azeron sped back toward the crypt, unable to move. Then, taking its scimitar into its palm, it slashed at its own hand, forcing the premature end of the spell. As the tendrils vanished into nothing, it sped toward the crypt, raising the scimitar as he closed in on Azeron.

But Azeron was already in the crypt, kneeling down before Melyanna as he recited another spell. In Sanct Grav! Even as the doppelganger sped toward the entrance of the crypt, a wall of shimmering, translucent energy appeared between them. The creature ran into it, sparks flying where he touched it.

The two stared at one another — Azeron and his charred duplicate — for what seemed like an eternity. Then, the creature grinned his toothy, lipless smile. You interfere in games in which you were not invited. It raised its scimitar, pointing it at Azeron, drawing sparks and flashes of bluish light from the energy field where the blade's tip touched. I will remember you.

Behind the creature, a black moongate opened. A moment later, it had sunk into the shadowed depths of the portal, leaving only its glowing red eyes visible. Azeron could not tear his gaze away from those eyes until the gate finally disappeared.

Turning back to Melyanna, he shuddered for a moment, realizing the scope of terror she had been living for the past months. He looked down at the manacle around her wrist, and saw the blood running from the bite of rusted metal. Mela, let's get you out of these chains...

Melyanna sat up in bed, a whimpering sob escaping her as she frantically tried to figure out if this was more of the dream, or if she finally escaped it. Hesitantly, her hand reached for Azeron, shaking him. “Mela...I had another dream...” her voice a mere whisper as she curled up against his side, her hand coming to rest on his chest.

Azeron stirred in his sleep, wincing at the slight pain the touch caused, wrapped his arms around his wife. “Shh, Mely, go back to sleep, I'm here,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her close against his side. Mely's last thought as she drifted back into reverie was about the odd bump she had felt when she touched his chest.

He stroked he red beard, his eyes wandering the room. He arched an eyebrow as he caught sight of the petite assassin in the corner. Somehow she had managed to wander into the room without him noticing. The evening's endeavors must have taken more concentration than he realized, but he did not let this concern him. Instead, he chuckled briefly as he watched the pale girl standing there, her eyes bloodshot as she sucked on a finger.

"Prick yourself again?"

The young assassin mumbled something under her breath and shrugged, before focusing her attention on the dagger in her hand. She sat quietly, the application of poison on the blade her only sound.

The red-haired man watched her for a moment longer, understanding the potential of such a unobtrusive ally. Then he thought back to the events of the eve. And he took time to memorize the details of that face — the face of the man who dared interfere. Oh, have no fear. I will remember you...

Nothing...

Puzzled, he drew his curved ceremonial dagger and raised the sleeves of his tunic, exposing a crooked maze of shallow scars. With practiced ease, he sliced a thin suture open, blood trickling forth in dark droplets across his forearm. With a swift thrust, he reached into a nearby cage and caught a rat on the blade, impaling its head and dragging up its still squirming carcass to dangle over his arm... the blood of the dying rat mixing with his own.

Again, he intoned ancient words of power — power lost to the surface world for millennia — and his vision changed and heightened to peer beyond the physical realm. He watched as streams of power flowed from within the crypts and reached far beyond, their dark energies infused with a level of cold, malicious skill that were surprising... and threatening. The sorcerer mused over the creature invoking the streams of energy. Here was one whom the sorcerer could understand, a power bent towards aims of control and domination, a power mated with the wisdom of age and experience, a power... a power far too close to their stronghold for comfort.

With a frown, he turned his attention to the lines of power, his spirit's eye tracing them over their tower and on towards the Elven village. Intrigued, he stepped back to the bloody scrying pool and let the mixed blood drip into its confines, sending ripples across the smooth surface that slowly grew into the image of two stirring forms, an Elf and Human in bed. These two he recognized from his scryings within Tel'Ruid, and it appeared that they were the subject of the dark power's attention.

A dark evil, an ancient evil -- here was one who was understood. Here was one who held power with the casual ease of one destined to it. Here was one to spoil their plans. The cowled figure waved his hands over the pool, dispelling the scrying as he descended the stairs into the darkness. It was time to speak with his Mistress.