Daydreams and Night Songs: Emiliana Blackwell

[FoogooFish]

Goodbye: Part I

She stood in front of the armoire in the room that they used to share. Many moons had passed since she had seen him, and no word had arrived to ease her worry. Her heart slowly, reluctantly came to terms with the fact that William Shepard would never return to her, and so she decided to pack what remained of his personal belongings into a few boxes. She would keep the boxes for a while; she could not bring herself to dispose of the various masculine things her lover had kept in the suite. However, seeing his possessions every time she got dressed in the morning stabbed at her heart, and she made the agonizing decision to move forward in her life without him.

She lingered, sentimental in her waning grief, over otherwise meaningless items simply because they belonged to the man who had turned the carefree, directionless girl who cheerfully arrived in Sundren Valley into the respectable woman to whom others now turned. She knew she was better for having loved him, and she hoped - whether he was alive, or dead, or somewhere inbetween - that he felt the same.

Glimmering blue eyes settled upon a folded trio of parchments, and she found herself wondering if he had ever read the story she had written for his armor engravings. He was so excited about enlisting her aid at the time, and she was so excited and honored that he had asked her. Trembling hands unfolded the parchments, and teardrops slipped down her cheeks as she re-read the words she had so lovingly written just for him.

[FoogooFish]

Goodbye: Part II

* * * * *

In the days of old, in a small, nameless village, there once lived a young woman who was possessed of a fair amount of magical skills. She was lovely, as young women in stories tend to be, and her very smile could brighten even the darkest of days. Various suitors clamored for her hand, but her eyes had set their sights upon the one man who had always kept himself distant from her and everyone else.

He was a soldier in the local militia, and he was as handsome and jaded as soldiers in stories tend to be. He had seen hardships that no mortal man should have ever witnessed, and the light in his eyes had long since dimmed. He held no one close to him, least of all a creature as fickle as a woman, and he lived his life content with his solitude. He was contently oblivious to the adoration the young arcanist felt for him.

One day, battle came to the village. The handsome soldier valiantly, dutifully, fought to defend his people. He commanded his men with honor, but the cheers and praise of the villagers meant nothing to him. The people were safe, but the battle had moved to the north – into the cold, unforgiving mountains. Against the advice of the village elders, the soldier decided to travel, alone, to join the forces that were fighting for the freedoms of all the villages in the regions.

The woman could not bear the thought of the man she loved leaving, but she knew that he would not stay – especially not for her. Instead, she decided to use her talents to create for him things that would keep him safe during the time he was elsewhere. She decided, in her womanly wisdom, that each piece would contain an inscription that would one day, she hoped, reveal to the soldier the words she did not have the courage to speak.

Her first creation was simple – she fastened for him a magical cloak that would protect him from the colds he would face in the mountains. The fabric was thick and protective, and the woman was proud of her work. She sewed a small square of cloth into a seam near the front folds of the cloak, and the square had the following words stitched into it: May I always protect you, come whatever may.

The soldier accepted the gift; he was a practical man. He assumed that the embroidered cloth’s message referred to the cloak itself, and so he thanked its maker and departed. Many, many moons passed, and the skirmishes in the mountains abated enough for the soldier to return to his village. The woman was there to greet him when he returned, and he thanked her again for the sturdy quality of the protective cloak.

Barely a moon had passed when scouts arrived at the village. Enemies were marching towards them again, and although the militia had little time to prepare, the return of the soldier meant that they had a chance of victory. The woman decided that the man she loved needed a magical amulet to bolster him during the impending battle, and she quickly set to work enchanting a silver disk necklace with protective magics. Upon the disk, the following words were engraved: May I always defend you, until forever and a day.

The soldier accepted the gift; he was a practical man. As before, he assumed that the inscription referred to the amulet itself, and he thanked its maker before he clasped it around his neck and rallied his men for a defense of the village. The conflict was messy and horrible, as conflict tends to be, but the soldier remained standing at the end of it. The young woman was there to greet him when it was safe for the villagers to emerge from their shelters, and he thanked her again for the magical quality of the protective amulet.

The village enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity after the battles had ended, but the soldier was restless during such times. He was a man of action; he was a man who knew nothing but war and conflict. With the village safe, he decided to indulge in some of the cave-delving adventures he had enjoyed in his youth, and he let the villagers know that he would be departing for a short time. The woman never sought to stop him, because she knew that he would not stay – especially not for her. Instead, she created for him a magical ring that not only contained a protective enchantment, but also contained a magical light source that would activate if he touched the simple gemstone. Engraved along the inside of the silver band were the following words: May I guide you in the darkness when there is no moon.

The soldier accepted the gift; he was a practical man. He did not even notice the words upon the inside of the ring, but he thanked its maker all the same and then set off towards the dark caverns and deep places where adventures in stories always tend to occur. He spent almost three years enjoying his travels before whispers reached his ears that his village was once again threatened by enemy forces. He made his way back there only to find that the entire place had been razed and most of the militia had been defeated. The villagers had fled into the cold recesses of the unforgiving mountains, and the soldier was left with the desolate realization that everyone he knew was either dead, dying, or elsewhere.

He wandered to the modest home where the young woman resided; she had always been there to greet him when he returned from his exploits, and for the first time since he had known her, she was not there for him. He found himself wondering if she had made it to safety. He found himself wondering if she was even alive, and he forged his way through the debris and wreckage of her home in what he hoped would be a futile attempt to find her body.

He had not been searching long when a flash of light caught his attention. He made his way to an overturned bookcase, and there he saw the flickering illusion of a mundane pottery vase. In truth, the glamer was used to conceal a small wooden chest that popped open as soon as the soldier touched it. Inside was a pair of well-made boots that had been enchanted to make their wearer move faster. Also inside the chest was a map of the area. A particular location had been circled, and written on the edging of the map were the following words: May you make haste, my love, and return to me soon.

My love. With those words, realization found the soldier at last. There, amidst the ruins of the young woman’s home, he withdrew the cloak that she had given him. He then unfastened the amulet that he still wore around his neck. The ring was removed from his finger, and the boots that he had just received were plucked from the chest. He sat the items in order, side-by-side, and read aloud each and every inscription.

May I always protect you, come whatever may.
May I always defend you, until forever and a day.
May I guide you in the darkness when there is no moon.
May you make haste, my love, and return to me soon.

All this time, he thought to himself as he stared, dumbfounded, at the magical items she had given to him over the years, she has loved me. She has loved me! The soldier suddenly felt different. He felt complete. He felt as if maybe – just maybe – there was more to his Gods-forsaken life than being a soldier. He thought of her – beautiful, patient, loving, and kind. He thought of the life that they would share together; he saw visions of their future children. With a speed he had not thought himself capable, he gathered all his items and prepared to make his way to her.

The trek to her hideaway was longer than he expected, and he almost exhausted himself with the breakneck speed he used to travel. But when he arrived near the small cabin to which she had retreated, he saw her long before she ever saw him. He watched her as she pinned laundry to the line; her heard her softly humming. Unable to contain himself much longer, he called out to her.

She turned, momentarily startled by the unexpected voice, and then her feet were carrying her towards him once she realized that he had come for her. He was dirty and ragged from his travels, but she flung her arms around him and embraced him with all the love and affection she had kept hidden over the years. He held her close and huskily murmured into her hair.

I will always protect you, come whatever may.
I will always defend you, until forever and a day.
We will sit beneath the stars and we will gaze up at the moon.
A lifetime spent with you, my love, would still end much too soon.

And so the young woman and her soldier lived the rest of their days sharing happiness and love, as couples in stories tend to do.

* * * * *

Emiliana wiped aside the droplets of heartache after she was finished reading, and then she took a deep, sniffling breath. Some of the words smeared together as the parchments were refolded, and she placed them atop the other items in the box before she closed the lid. A slender hand lovingly rested upon the box, and her voice cracked with the finality of the task she had just completed.

"Goodbye, William."

[FoogooFish]

Emiliana stood in front of the full-length mirror in her suite, and she turned to one side so that she could assess the way she looked in the dress Twinkles had given her shortly after she arrived in Sundren Valley. The patchwork skirt had an up-to-there slit that exposed her leg, and in the past she had enough curves to look good in the revealing garment. In recent days, though, she had lost weight, and now the fabric loosely, carelessly draped across her golden skin.

She studied the reflection of her face, and the youthful features were still plainly evident. Her eyes, however, looked different. They were still the same shade of blue, but some of the vivaciousness in them had dimmed. She was older now; she had seen things and experienced things that she had never expected to see or experience. The enthusiasm for life that she had shown when she announced her presence in this new place was slowly starting to fade, and she inwardly worried that she would never be able to recapture it.

Slender fingertips fussed with the long strands of blond hair that framed her face as she made herself ready for another day. She wondered if she should start wearing a new style once she was a part of high society; she wondered if her soon-to-be husband would expect her to change.

Husband. She laughed, but the sound was mirthless. Why would she, a free-spirited woman who valued love over all else, agree to marry a man she did not love simply to keep her Legion career? She justified her decision by stating that she would use her new-found status to enact subtle changes towards goodness and righteousness, but her optimism fell short of convincing the most important person who needed to be convinced - herself.

Still, the alternative choice - declining the man's proposal, losing her Legion career, and facing the vengeance of the nobles who still wanted blood for Lysandra's abandonment of duty - was one that she could not face. Emiliana was not afraid for herself; she was confident that she could escape back to Waterdeep and make a life for herself there. It was the people of Sundren and their needs that gave her pause. If all the champions and potential champions faltered at the first sign of trouble, then who would keep the people safe? Her own happiness was meaningless if it came at the expense of the people who depended on her. When did I become so responsible?

The low-cut white blouse she wore with the skirt was adjusted, and she frowned as she noticed that she did not quite fill it the same way anymore. She had hurled herself into her work after William's disappearance, and there were times when she simply forgot to eat. Another mirthless chuckle escaped her lips as she recalled their exchange right after she had officially joined the Legion.

"What am I now? Tirones Aenator Blackwell?" she asked William as they casually walked back towards the Second Wind Inn after leaving the Legion barracks at the Gate of the Sunderer.

The young blond soldier at her side appeared to run the name through his head before he replied. "Yes. Yes, you are."

Her laughter was light and musical. "I am just Emmi."

"Much more than that, now," William countered.

Emiliana happily strolled alongside the man who would soon become her first lover. "The uniform will not change me," she cheerfully stated.

"Maybe."

"I refuse to let it," she declared.

William's voice, quiet and knowing, echoed in her memories. "You don't have a choice, Emiliana."

Her reply was girlishly defiant and stubborn. "Yes, I do."

As she finished dressing and making certain that she looked as perfect as possible before meeting with the nobleman and accepting her fate, she knew with absolute certainty that William had been right.

She did not have a choice.

[FoogooFish]

Emiliana took a quick drink from her wine glass. She was alone with Centurio Isaac LaCroix at the rear of the grand ballroom where the Van Hellstrom Masquerade was in full swing, and the moment had come for her to make her decision. She was nervous, and she hoped that the nobleman in front of her did not notice. His voice was quiet - friendly, almost - as he spoke the words that would change everything. "Know that regardless of what choice you come to make, my feelings for you shall remain, and I would not bear to see your honorable service in the Legion tarnished by removal."

What?

If her career was intact, then her entire reason for agreeing to the marriage was null and void. Was he testing her? Or was she suddenly not good enough - pretty enough - for his interest? Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line, and she was quiet for a time before she slowly, carefully replied. "I love Ulrich. I could not bear to be parted from him... not so soon after I lost William. I am sure you are aware of my involvement with Salararius Shepard." Former involvement, she mentally corrected herself. There were still times that she could not speak about him in the past tense.

LaCroix's response was curt. "I am not privy to all the romantic affairs of officers."

The nobleman seemed distracted; Emiliana felt as if he had already made the decision to be rid of her long before she made a choice. She was confused, because what he wanted from the marriage in exchange for her keeping her career seemed important enough. Why had he suddenly changed his mind? She took another drink of liquid courage before speaking her thoughts aloud. "What is it that you want from me?" she asked LaCroix. "Forgive me if the question sounds rude, but you make it seem as if you want to court me - legitimately - as opposed to an arrangement of mutual benefit. And with respect... I was not aware that you even knew my name."

She took yet another drink of wine and squared her small shoulders as she regarded the powerful man standing in front of her. Her mind raced with the potential benefits and repercussions of her words, but her paranoid thoughts were kept contained behind the elaborate mask she wore.

"Very well... if that is your choice," came LaCroix's unhelpful response.

Emiliana briefly frowned. "Have I offended you, sir? It is not my intent. I simply wish to understand."

"No," said LaCroix. "You haven't offended at all. I understand where your priorities are." The nobleman then turned to depart from their otherwise intimate conversation. "If you'll excuse me, I understand you have a performance to make."

"Yes sir."

He disappeared then, and Emiliana felt an odd thud of concern in her chest. Still, she was free - and the concern was quickly replaced by a surge of elation. She handed her wine glass to a servant as she made her way back to her lover - Ulrich Lecuyer, a fellow Legionnaire - and immediately reached for his hands as she excitedly murmured. "You will soon have a proposal of your own to make, my love."

It had been their agreement to wed as soon as possible if they had the opportunity, and the opportunity had presented itself. She was no longer beholden to the whims of a fickle nobleman, and she expected that her lover would ask to make her his wife at the earliest opportunity. It was an expectation, she later learned, that was completely wrong.

The rest of the masquerade passed without major incident. The Caretaker arrived, bringing bags of devilweed for party favors, and the abrupt, random appearance of the wisecracking skeleton cast a brief pall over the party. However, Emiliana was able to rally the guests with a spectacular performance of a song she had composed for the event, and the final note for the evening was positive. The hostess, Lady Aurora Van Hellstrom, graciously thanked the attendees, and Emiliana and Ulrich happily returned to their suite at the Sundren Comfort Inn to celebrate their good fortune.

She felt giddy; she felt alive again. Her whispered words to Ulrich were full of the same hope and optimism she had possessed when she first arrived in Sundren Valley. "I never want to be apart from you," she lovingly gushed once they were in the privacy of their home.

Ulrich kept their faces close by resting his forehead against hers. "Nor do you have to now."

She was eager - perhaps too eager - for him to ask the question she had wanted to hear ever since she informed him of the good news. "Soon, then?" she prompted.

"Soon," he promised before pressing his lips to hers.

Their definitions of 'soon' did not match, though. No proposal ever came from his lips, and as the evening hours passed, Emiliana felt her good spirits fade despite the loving words they had earlier exchanged in the afterglow of their intimacy. The arrival of her brother, Darius, set in motion the collapse of Emiliana's perfect moment of love conquering all adversity.

She had never welcomed her brother's interference with her personal life. The paladin of Torm always asked her suitors what were their intentions towards her, and Emiliana hated the way Darius placed pressure on the young men. With Ulrich, however, the outcome was known - or so she thought - and she was gleeful as she addressed her brother. "Darius, you know that thing I always hate that you do when it comes to the men in my life? I am just... you know... wondering if you are going to keep with tradition," she said with a hopeful tone before she subtly nodded towards Ulrich.

Darius, in a rare good mood himself, obliged his sister's request and looked at Ulrich in the way that protective older brothers look at their sister's love interest. His voice was appropriately gruff as he asked Ulrich the simple, innocent question. "What exactly are your intentions, for my dear sister, now that she is not to be wed to the nobleman?"

Ulrich smiled at the question. "I'd claim her hand as my own, Darius, my dear friend."

The paladin was satisfied with Ulrich's reply, and then Darius said the words that changed everything. "In time - don't feel pressured. I imagine it will take at least a week to find a proper priest."

Emiliana and Ulrich responded at the same time, but their responses were vastly different. Her words were energetic and cheerful. "Well, to be fair... we do want to wed with some haste. LaCroix might change his mind, and I do not want to be caught in an awkward position again."

Ulrich, however, hesitated. "It'll take time..." he said before he glanced at her. "But I'm not in a terrible rush, are you? I'd rather it be done properly."

I'm not in a terrible rush. Are you?

She felt as if she had just been punched in the stomach. Her mouth felt dry, and she looked at Ulrich with sudden doubt after their mismatched answers. Catching her look, the former Kelemvorite quickly added, "...I'll see what I can do, with all haste... I'd rather not deal with LaCroix, again."

Emiliana's stomach was already churning, and she knew that his addendum was too late. "Wait... did you just tell me that you wanted to marry me because you thought I would be forced to marry LaCroix?"

Ulrich quickly shook his head. "No, I want to marry you because I love you. But as for hurrying with the proceedings, it makes sense to do so with all haste. Just in case LaCroix decides to change his mind."

"But you just said..."

"Yes, I know what I said. Merely in regards to the speed in which the wedding will be planned, Love. Not the act itself."

She frowned. "It is the same thing!"

"But... " Ulrich sighed in protest and looked towards Darius for help, but the paladin barely uttered a word before a knock sounded at the door. Emiliana's unofficial 'partner', Hand of Mundus Hastian Sanneset, arrived with troubling news, and the Legionnaire had to focus as best she could on the matter at hand.

Later, the couple revisited their earlier disagreement.

"The whole... uhh, wedding discussion. I'll just ask you plainly," Ulrich said to Emiliana. "Would you rather me rush the preparations, so that we may wed sooner?"

Her outward look was contemplative, but inwardly she was breaking in half. I cannot believe that I jeopardized my career and spurned the advances of a nobleman - all for 'love' - and this hesitation is my reward. Gods, I am a fool. "I want you to do what feels right for you," she replied after a few moments of thought.

"I love you, Emiliana - it doesn't matter to me, because I know we already are wed. At least, here," he said as he gestured to his heart. "But... I know you would enjoy a proper ceremony, so that we could share our happiness with our friends."

What happiness? You do not even want to marry me, you bastard.

She stepped closer to him and took his hands. "My answer remains the same. I want you to do what feels right for you. I know I said... did... things in my excitement, but... I do not want to pressure you." In her elation, she had asked Ulrich to marry her right after they had arrived home from the masquerade. Now she squeezed his hands as they stood together. "When you are ready, I will be ready, too."

Liar.

He brought one of her hands up to his lips so that he could gently kiss it. "I would like to do it properly... and surprise you."

Already detached from the situation, she simply smiled a fake smile and nodded at his words. "Okay."

She then wondered if it was too late to accept LaCroix's proposal.

[FoogooFish]

She could hear the faint rustle of the wind as it made the shutters on her window softly creak and groan. The fire crackled, hissed, and popped as the bright orange flames devoured the wooden logs resting within the brick fireplace. Adagio purred next to her as they sat upon the cushioned couch. The bard's acute hearing could hear everything within the room - and the overall silence was deafening to her.

A too-thin hand absently stroked the soft fur of the cat curled in her lap. Adagio was blissfully oblivious to the multiple emotional blows his owner had been dealt, and Emiliana found herself envious of the animal's simple life. A cat did not have to arrest a close friend on charges of being a part of the most evil, most dangerous organization in Sundren. A cat did not have to stand, frozen in place by shock, as its long-lost love strode into a room as if nothing at all were amiss - and then provide no answers to the many questions the cat wanted to ask. A cat did not have to watch its lover - someone it was about to marry - be disintegrated into nothingness before its eyes. A cat - this cat, at least - did not have to do anything but wait for its owner to scratch behind its ears.

Emiliana, in contrast, did have to do all the things to which Adagio remained ignorant. The Legionnaire listened to Mortannis, one of her closest friends, as he confessed to things that she did not expect - and for which she had to arrest him. It was during the arrest that William Shepard made his oh-so-grand reappearance into her life, and she had to remember to say "yes sir!" when he spoke to her. Their grand reuniting conversation consisted of awkward, useless statements, and then William disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.

She could handle arresting her friend. By the Hells, she could even handle William's unexpected return. Her strength - her shoulder, and her sanity - was in Ulrich Lecuyer, and as long as she had him, she could handle everything the Gods placed in her path. He suggested that they travel to Waterdeep so that he could meet her family and ask for their blessing before they married, and so they had departed from Sundren without really telling anyone. The trip had gone well enough, and the pair were on their way back to Sundren when the unthinkable happened.

A group of Luskans ambushed the pair, and the ensuing conflict was quick and deadly. The Legionnaires felled and injured several, but the soldiers knew that they had to retreat. Ulrich pushed Emiliana behind him, and she was in the middle of intoning the musical notes for a Haste spell when she became aware of the deadly, spidery language of the Weave taking shape as a thin, green ray of magic that issued forth from the pointed finger of a Luskan caster. The ray hit Ulrich, and Emiliana watched, eyes wide with absolute horror, as the man she loved turned into a fine wisp of dust that soon scattered into the winds. Time stood still as both she and the Luskans stopped from the shock of what had just happened, and Emiliana's Legion training prompted her to use the advantageous moment to complete the Haste so that she could flee.

Adagio continued to purr as Emiliana listlessly petted him. She was thankful for the solitude. Many of the bard's friends visited her after the news spread of her return, but they were shocked to hear the tragic tale of Ulrich's death. They offered the awkward, polite sympathies that were intended to comfort her, and she nodded and said "thank you" again and again. She did not know what else to say to them, and she knew that they had no idea what to say to her. She was relieved when the last person left her suite, because then she could abandon the image of a strong woman who was coping and let herself be the distraught woman who was on the verge of completely breaking in half.

She did not know what would become of her life now. Mortannis told her that the cards revealed a time of 'independence', and Emiliana suspected that he was politely telling her that she would be alone and lonely for a long time. She did not care; in fact, she accepted and welcomed the revelation. Caring for others was exhausting, and she knew she would not be ready to expose her passionate heart to anyone anytime soon. She had loved William, and he left her only to return as an even harder, more distant man. She had loved Ulrich, and he died protecting her. 'The third time is the charm', or so she has heard the old adage, but she had no desire to affect another man's life for the worse. Nor did she have a desire to see her heart broken again, which is what the mystic had implied would happen should she find love with the next man in her life.

She knew she needed time to think and time to mend, and then the little machine into which she had changed would emerge again. The mechanical smile would be offered, and people would believe that she was okay.

She was not okay.

[FoogooFish]

"Shall we sit?" she asked the dark-haired man as she gestured towards the couch in front of the fireplace. He nodded, and the fabric of his thick red robes rustled as he settled himself at the opposite end from her when they both took their seats.

His voice was calm - comforting - when he spoke to her. "So... what is on your mind?"

What was not on her mind would have been the better question. Her head was filled with a myriad of facts, secrets, and other jumbled bits of information that had no true outlet. Some of the things she knew could be shared with trusted others, but there were still some facets of her life to which only she was privy. Her voice was thus quiet and secretive as she gave a vague reply. "I cannot provide details, but suffice it to say that something bad has happened. I need to know how I will be affected by recent events." She paused for a moment before hesitantly speaking again. "I also... had a romantic question, but it is separate - I think - from the other."

"Very well," replied the robed man. "What did you want to go into first?"

In the past, her answer would have been predictable. She would have wanted to have the mystic sitting beside her reveal all he knew about her fate in regards to love. She would have stared, starry-eyed and naďvé, as the man carefully piqued her interest by providing ambiguous interpretations of colorful cards. Now, however, her needs were more practical. "For now... I want to know how to handle the bad thing that has happened. Will I be able to stop or counter was has been set into motion?"

The red-robed man withdrew his set of cards, and he shuffled them as Emiliana turned to the small table at the end of the couch and poured herself a glass of wine. She used to offer the same hospitality to the mystic, but she finally learned that he preferred not to let his thoughts be addled by drink while he focused upon the cards. Emiliana watched, fascinated as always, as the man drew the spread. "Odd draw," he said, and Emiliana nervously bit her bottom lip before taking a lengthy drink from her glass.

The cards never looked good. She used to wonder if she was projecting her own fears onto the colorful illustrations, but she eventually decided that every single card in the deck had some sort of blood, skull, or death-related item drawn upon it. The man's voice interrupted her thoughts when he spoke while gesturing to the spread. "Without knowing details, I can't translate. I can only tell you the meaning."

"For once, my dear, it is my turn to remain vague," she replied with a hint of apology. She could not tell him what was happening to her.

"You are entitled," he simply said before he explained the meaning of the cards.

The results were as she had expected: grim. She told the man as much. "It sounds to me as if making my choices will get harder and harder - as I suspected."

"Could be," he replied with a nod. "The cards' most blunt translation is 'kill one to save two'."

"Mm." The frown on her face betrayed her attempt at a neutral response. She wished that the words did not make sense; she wished that she could dismiss the prediction as a fluke, but her wishes were in vain. She mildly shrugged her shoulders before speaking again. "Well... onto the next source of amusement..."

The conversation moved to the romantic query she had previously mentioned, but she found herself not really interested in the results given that she was not really interested in the man she had named. Instead, her mind started to wander in the direction of the man sitting at the opposite end of the couch.

Mortannis was not his real name; he had told her his real name shortly after they had first met as a sign of trust and faith. Still, she preferred the alias, and she doubted that she would ever call him by any other name. He was handsome in a scholarly, learned type of way; the glasses perched upon his nose and the thick robes he wore gave him a distinguished, gentlemanly aura despite his physical youthfulness.

The two of them had their own story together; they had always had their own story. There was a certain magnetism between them, but it had remained subtle for as long as they had known each other. Emiliana knew that Mortannis was as dangerous as he was reliable, and he had warned her long ago that his fate would not be a pleasant one. He had warned her that he would only hurt her in the end, and at the time she had accepted his words.

He was telling her about another grim prophecy she knew would come to pass, and she casually propped her left elbow against the back of the couch so that she could rest her gloved hand against her cheek. "Why do you protect me from him?" she asked as she studied Mortannis' visage.

"It's not time for that question to be answered yet," he replied as he looked towards the dancing flames in the fireplace. "Have faith in me, Emmi. I do things with purpose. And if your happy ending needs to come about, I'll do what I can. But remember that most fairytales come from grim truths," he added as his lips curved into a jester's smile.

"I would not rush fate," she dutifully answered. "I can be patient as long as I know that there is hope." Did he understand the double meaning to her words?

He rose from the couch and straightened his robes. "It's time I head out. Chores to finish yet. And remember," he said as he looked at her in a way that implied he knew exactly what she had meant with her words. "There is always hope. No matter the cost, there is always hope."

Later, as she stared at her ceiling during a vain attempt to sleep, Emiliana chided herself for letting her thoughts wander towards someone so dangerous. She knew his affiliations; she knew his preferences. It was far better, she convinced herself, to pursue the unattainable paladin than to dally with the unchangeable profligate.

Right?

[FoogooFish]

Thup.
Thup.
Thupity thup.

The silken fabric covering her fingertips muted the sounds of their drumming against her desk, and Emiliana leaned back in her chair with an irritated sigh. The right side of her face, as well as multiple other places along her body, featured a colorful concoction of blues, purples, and reds as well as the faint beginning of yellows; the bruises were starting to heal.

The older bruises had been received after her protective musical shield had failed to distract the vampire, and Lilene Jora did not waste a moment in taking advantage of Emiliana's vulnerable state. The beating had been quick, and it had been savage - but it had not been fatal. No, she was once again indebted to the paladin, Dain Tornbrook, for whisking her limp form from the clutches of the undead. The thupity thup of her restless fingers grew louder for a moment as the bard irritably sighed again.

The marring of her otherwise attractive face was the more recent development. The vampire had somehow found Emiliana in one of the shops in the city as she helped a drunken Blackwood Company mercenary; she had been aware of the vampire's presence as soon as Lilene entered the shop, but Emiliana's desire to protect the inebriated man from the vampire's manipulations caused the Legionnaire to act oblivious. It was only after she saw Leiren Lilacor safely leave the shop that she shut the door and turned towards where she heard the minute rustlings and noises that lesser trained ears could not pinpoint.

"I know you are here. Reveal yourself," she simply said as she slipped her arm through the heavy shield William Shepard gave her before they even became lovers. The vampire emerged from behind a statue, and Emiliana did not fully realize the creature's legerity and determination until it was too late. Within moments, Lilene was upon her, and soon the two were locked into a vicious męlée. Lilene caught her free arm as Emiliana tried to reach for something; she bashed the vampire with her shield in response. Emiliana was shoved back against the stone wall of the shop, but before Lilene could deliver a head-butt, Emiliana contorted her body and used the vampire's momentum to send her face-first into the wall instead. Momentarily disoriented, Lilene's grasp on Emiliana's arm faltered, and the bard yanked it free.

Fumbling fingers desperately searched for the colorful, crystalline shard that would send her hurtling through the aether towards Aquor, but Emiliana could not concentrate on that task and still avoid the intense fist aimed towards her face. She felt her entire body rattle when the vampire's fist connected with her mouth and jaw, and the pain was like a bolt of white-hot lightning surging through every nerve Emiliana possessed. Still, her fingers found the object they sought, and the shard's magicks were moments from delivering her from her aggressor.

The vampire snarled once she realized what Emiliana intended, and another brutal punch was aimed at the Legionnaire's mid-section. She had enough inner fortitude to avoid doubling over and wretching, but her eyes watered, and a painful wheeze escaped her bleeding, split lips. Knowing full well that she would pay for it later, she flashed a bloody, sardonic grin at Lilene before vanishing from the shop. Once in Aquor, Emiliana wobbled towards the Temple of Sune to seek refuge until morning arrived and Lilene was forced to retreat again.

Emiliana knew that Lilene would not stop stalking her until the vampire received the answers she wanted, and Emiliana had no intentions of revealing anything. Instead, she planned to treat the conflict as she would treat any other threat to the State of Sundren - by preparing for it.

Her fingertips continued to thup thup thup against the desk as she studied an assortment of scrolls.

[FoogooFish]

The lies flowed easily enough from her lips.

"We will prevail. I know that all of our hearts are heavy at the moment. We are worried and concerned. It is natural to feel uneasy during these situations. As I said earlier, though... we have to remain calm, level-headed, and focused. We cannot let despair grip us."

She warmly smiled, and the gesture seemed genuine and confident. It was neither, but she was a convincing actress towards everyone but herself.

Emiliana could not lie to herself, and she hated the notion of lying to her allies. What else could she say to them, though? It was her duty to inspire morale and confidence in others even if she did not feel anything but trepidation. She had managed to avoid Lilene Jora throughout the most recent patrols, but then another worrisome message found the Legionnaire: 'Lord' Kane wanted her to meet him. The vampire had not forgotten her.

She refused, of course, but the Valley felt as if it was suffocating her. One vampire stalking her was one too many; two vampires taking interest in her was almost too much to handle. The desire to flee, a remnant from her more carefree youth, came unbidden into her thoughts, and she irritably swatted it aside. She could not flee; others looked to her for the false optimism she radiated. What would happen if she succumbed to the very despair she warned everyone else to avoid?

Still, she felt completely alone - even when near her allies. She was referred to as the Iron Fist of the Legion by her own Hand of Mundus partner, and even though the moniker was said in jest, she knew that there was a smidgen of truth to the name. She was unyielding when it came to protecting Sundren and the people who called it home, and those closest to her knew that she would not hesitate to discipline them if they interfered with her work or disobeyed her orders. Aurora Sanneset, a fellow Legionnaire and a woman who could easily be called Emiliana's best friend, was confined to her room and recommended for demotion by Emiliana herself after a particularly unfavorable incident took place. She had to put the well-being of Sundren above her personal relationships in such situations, because she was a senior officer in the Legion. She had duties; she had responsibilities. She had to be fair to all of the soldiers under her command.

She missed having a special someone in her life in whom she could completely trust, too. The chaotic day that ended with her and Mortannis sharing quiet words at the dock in Aquor was a fleeting moment of happiness that was just as false as her earlier words of confidence to her friends. She knew she could not have the life she wanted with him; they were destined to be at opposite ends in the endless fight between good and evil. She needed a particular sort of love from a particular sort of man, and she prayed for the day when she could confide in someone who understood and respected her life and her duties. She needed the perfect partner: he would be a friend and a lover, and he would be someone at whose side she could forevermore fight in their mutual pursuit of 'good and right'. They would move together in perfect complement, and he would complete her just as much as she would complete him.

She tried to assure herself that such a person existed, but the lies would not flow as easily from her lips when the only person listening was herself.

[FoogooFish]

The tears glimmered in her eyes as she sat at her desk, but the droplets refused to fall. Her pride prevented her from admitting that she had lost, but her lips quivered all the same.

How can I compete?

Emiliana tried to be logical, but love was never logical. Her chest felt constricted; her breath was shuddered as she shallowly inhaled and exhaled. She was dimly aware of the fact that she could not breathe through her nose. Why would he want someone who could take care of herself? It was easier, she thought, for him to coddle and fawn over the constantly helpless damsel. His ego would be placated time and time again, and he would rather have someone who worshiped him upon his pedestal instead of matching him step for step. He never wanted an equal.

So be it.

He practically ran from her doorway after he misted the vampire who sought to harass her. She knew through her magics to where he had quickly departed; she knew through her magics to whom he had eagerly returned. They spent hours together, day after day, and Emiliana could do nothing but accept the fact that she had been a mistake.

Her heart remained unchanged; it was not as if she could stop loving him. She had made her vow, and she intended to honor it. Her hair would turn silver; her skin would become weathered and wrinkled. She had vowed, though, by Sune, and Milil, and Tyr - and never had she been more stubbornly convinced of anything in her life when she uttered the words that would bind her heart for the rest of its days.

[FoogooFish]

Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and her lips parted in a soft, lazy yawn. Moonlight filtered past the curtains on the wall opposite of the bed, and the otherwise dimly lit room was bathed in pale white luminescence. It was the light that roused her from her slumber, although she was not yet aware of such. She did not remember having a window opposite her bed.

Half-closed eyes peered towards her fireplace; she absently noted that someone had moved her end-table to the opposite end of the couch. A nagging thought in her head reminded her that if she were sleeping on her left side, as she was now, she should be looking at her door. Where was her door? Why had her fireplace exchanged places with her door? Another yawn escaped her lips, and her eyes opened a bit more so that she could better survey her surroundings.

The strewn pieces of red upon the plush white carpet caught her attention first. Recognition was slow, but she eventually located her haphazardly tossed cloak, her discarded gauntlets, one boot, and most of the other pieces of Legion regalia that comprise her uniform. Confusion furrowed her forehead, and when she looked towards the place where she would normally find her armor rack, she discovered it missing. On a hunch, her eyes strayed back to the opposite corner of the room, near the fireplace, and there she found an armor rack - except it already had armor adorning it. Dark blue, nearly black pieces of metal trimmed with gold were neatly arranged, and Emiliana briefly wondered when and why she had bought new armor.

She lifted her head just enough from her pillow to cast a better glance at her room, and just as she was sleepily pondering the clean, masculine décor, she felt movement next to her. Emiliana was then acutely aware of the strong arm that possessively wrapped around her and drew her closer, and her ears tingled at the hushed, mumbled words that sounded before warm lips kissed her bare shoulder. Realization found her then, and a soft smile curved her lips as she returned her head to the pillow.

She did not awake again until morning.

[FoogooFish]

"Hi Emmi."

Emiliana was already counting out the stags that she would deposit into her account at the Temple of Waukeen when the unexpected greeting reached her ears. Her eyes lifted from her coins and momentarily met with familiar dark brown, nearly black eyes; their owner soon looked aside from her and continued on his way out of the temple.

Mortannis.

The Legionnaire stood dumbfounded for several heartbeats before she pivoted on a heel and chased after the red-robed figure who was quickly disappearing into the cool night air. Unnatural celerity had him cresting the stairs to the upper level of the Trade Tier before Emiliana located him, and she sprinted full-speed - taking the steps three at a time - while calling out a single word towards his back. "Stop!"

Mortannis paused, but he did not turn towards her. "Walk with me. I'm heading to the Temple of Oghma," he stated before his brisk pace resumed. When Emiliana hesitated, he tilted his head just enough to speak towards her again. "Come on."

Her eyes carefully flitted towards the various merchants, late-night customers, and random passersby who still milled throughout the district. Some of them had glanced towards her when she called for Mortannis to stop, but soon they resumed their casual, carefree bartering and conversation. She could not risk endangering them if she provoked Mortannis, so she gritted her teeth and followed him into the Temple of Oghma.

"What can I do for you, Emmi?" Mortannis asked as he moved to one of the alchemy workbenches and prepared to extract essences. He arranged vials, set his mortar and pestle near the mixing area, and placed various component materials in their appropriate bowls in a precise, but ultimately unhurried manner that inwardly annoyed Emiliana.

"I know," came her simply stated reply. She remained closer to the doorway; a good twenty feet of distance was between them.

"Mmhmm," said Mortannis as he focused upon his work. "And what is it that you know now that you did not know before?"

"I know that my friend is dead," she quietly answered.

"Only if you kill him," he replied, and Emiliana felt a muscle angrily quirk in her jaw.

"He killed himself."

The fabric of his customary red robes softly swirled as he turned more towards her. He still looked the same as she remembered him for the most part; only now his left arm had an odd, unfamiliar inner glow to it. His glasses were perched upon his nose in the same way she recalled them, and the stubble on his face was still neatly trimmed. "I disagree," he said as he lifted his right sleeve to expose his wrist to her. "Feel free to check," he implored.

Emiliana wrinkled her nose with disdain. "I am not touching you," she snapped. "I was there when Dain used his holy blade upon you and the people you were aiding." Not only had she been there, but she had fought alongside the paladin as they brought down the group before havoc was caused at the Second Wind Inn.

Mortannis turned back to his alchemy. "Pity. His holy avenger always burned me. Even when I returned it to him after it was stolen."

"It turned you into mist, Mortannis," she nearly growled. "Why? Why did you willingly give yourself to that unholy embrace?"

"Mmmm." Mortannis shrugged as he focused upon his work. "We spoke about this once before. The concept of Utopia requires that someone be in the Black Hand to guide them to the benefit of the community as a whole."

Emiliana felt herself growing angrier and angrier with every word the man spoke. "I should draw my blade and strike at you right now."

"And I would willingly allow you to do so," Mortannis calmly replied.

"To what end?" Emiliana asked with a small amount of disbelief.

Mortannis spoke to her as if he was patiently explaining the ways of the world to an impatient child. "From the start I told you I was not one of the good guys. But if my suffering brings about the concept of Utopia for all? If it helps you to slay me? Then so be it."

The muscle quirked in her jaw again as she angrily glared at the red-robed man. "I never expected you to become one of them!" Her optimism and faith in Mortannis had always blinded her to his motivations, and learning the truth had not been pleasant for her. Even though she knew that this day would eventually find them, she had always hoped for a different ending.

"Yet, have I changed?" he asked as he glanced back at her. "I am no more the flesh and bone in front of you as you are the flesh and bone before me. That's one thing I loved about you. No matter what happened, you have always been you no matter the chaos."

His flattery - was it even flattery? - fell upon deaf ears. "You know what path I walk," she told him as she evenly held his gaze. "We are at opposite ends... as you said we would one day be."

"As sorry as I am that it is," he replied as he stopped his work. "I am a monster and you are the honorable vixen. Still, as I always said, I am what you make of me."

What was there to make of him now? He was gone. The man she knew - the man who had been one of her closest confidantes - was gone. Bitterness churned in her heart, and it sounded in her voice as she spoke again. "I do not think I shall ever forgive you," she told him. Mortannis simply looked at her; no remorse or regret showed upon his face. Emiliana took a breath and half-turned towards the door. "For the friendship... for the affection we once shared... I will turn and depart. Once. The next time we meet..." She left the rest implied, but her intentions were clear. She would fight him. She would kill him. She would not show him any kindness or mercy.

Mortannis knew exactly what she had implied. "You will slay me and walk away unharmed. Such is your choice, no?"

"I have my duties," she answered before her chin lifted. "I have my loyalties."

"Mmm. Loyalty," he said before she thought she saw him smirk. "I will not question your motives, Emmi. I do not question you, nor your path."

She already felt her heart hardening against him. "So be it. Consider this your warning. I will not yield."

"You are still the woman I respect," he told her. "If you so desire to do your work, I invite you to do such now. I will not defend myself." Was he taunting her?

She turned more towards the door. "I said what needed to be said. We will not have any more discussions."

Mortannis crossed the distance between them in the time it took her to blink her eyes, and she held up a hand as he neared. "I do not want you near me," she warned.

His words to her were simple and straightforward. "Draw your sword on me now, or never unsheathe it again."

A flash of memories played in her mind. She recalled the first time she met him; he had called her an 'important person' and flattered her following the destruction of the Legion barracks. She had been covered in soot at the time. She recalled the care packages he always left outside her suite; bundles of silk, alchemical reagents for her dyes, and other bits and baubles meant to aid her part-time business. She remembered when he placed the arcane mark upon the bottom of her left foot so that he could always scry her; at the time, the mark was placed so she could be found in case Lord Kane absconded with her. She remembered Mortannis holding her in Aquor; she remembered the times they sat together in front of her fireplace talking about every thing imaginable. He had been her friend, and now he was forever lost to her. Her visage hardened, and the hiss of adamantine leaving its sheath broke the silence that had fallen in the temple.

Mortannis crossed his arms over his chest and watched her, and Emiliana knew he was challenging her. Did he expect her to falter? Did he expect her to place the memories of the past at a higher value than the harsh realities of the present? She did not know what he expected, but his expectations no longer mattered. She sucked in a breath, and then she arced her blade through the air so that the hardened metal sliced through the red robes she once loved to see.

As promised, he did not move. He did not flinch. "Slay me Emmi. It is your choice. Your loyalty."

Her blade quickly slashed through the thick fabric, and Emiliana could tell that he was losing his essence. "You give me no choice!" she cried as she relentlessly attacked. The temple quickly cleared once the fight started.

"It is always your choice," Mortannis gasped after taking another hard blow. "You can be loyal and still honor our arrangement."

"Your false words will not sway me!"

Mortannis intoned then, and the dark energies he commanded soon swirled through his body to restore the lifeforce Emiliana was steadily taking from him. He continued filling himself with unholy magics as Emiliana pressed her attack. "Then slay me!" he taunted. "Do your duty! You must slay me."

The Legionnaire called forth her own magic, a spell that sapped the strength of its victim, and Mortannis fled towards the back of the temple. Emiliana sent a wave of destructive sonic energy through him, and then she repeated her sapping spell. The two did not converse as their battle continued; she used her vocal talents to bolster herself and weaken him while Mortannis focused on keeping himself sustained. The dark magics that aided him also lashed out at Emiliana, but the advantage soon became hers. "You never had to become one of them!" she shouted as her blade slashed across his body again.

"It was by our agreement I went ahead with it!" The words were the last he uttered before his form disintegrated into fine droplets of red mist and disappeared from the temple. Emiliana let loose a guttural scream of rage at the vanishing mist before she was left alone in the suddenly still, silent temple.

A short time later, she stepped back out into the night and continued with her duties - and no remorse or regret showed upon her face.

[FoogooFish]

"It sounds like you're being too needy."

"And jealous."

"...you've got to stop obsessing so much about it..."

The words bombarded Emiliana; they made her reel from the implications. The knot in her stomach had grown larger and larger, and she felt physically ill. All the emotions she had kept buried within her roiled in her veins as she lamented her sorry state to Tigen, and when the elf finally left her chambers, she stared at her ceiling as she sought to understand the reasons why she had been behaving in such ways. Realizations found her, but they were not pleasant ones. Truths revealed themselves, but they were not pleasant, either. Would he believe her if she told him?

Would he even care?

She had to try all the same, because it was not in her nature to surrender without a fight. She suspected the outcome would not change, but at least she could give herself the peace of mind that comes from expending effort.

And then she would not expend any more effort towards him again. His relief, she imagined, would be immense.

[FoogooFish]

"We are not friends," she told Mortannis as he stood in front of her near the stairs that lead back down to the main floor of the Sundren Comfort Inn. The vampire had left another care package for her, and he returned yet again to bring her more items that she once would have used for alchemy or tailoring. Now, despite the quality or rarity of the items, Emiliana never brought them into her suite. The items were either burned or tossed into one of the trash barrels near the ruins of the Legion barracks in the Military Ward of the city.

Down the hallway, Trevor Lecarde was invoking the name of Lathander again and again as protective, divine energies swirled around him. Mortannis did not move, but he did do something Emiliana had never heard: he threatened her. "I don't want to harm either of you, but if you force me, I will leave you both dead. I would rather this not come to violence."

Emiliana was unarmored, but her voice was calm. "I have already told you what path I walk, my once and former friend."

"You really want to do this?" he asked her, and she had to take a ragged, uncertain breath when the question was posed. Her attachment to him, the history they had together, and the conflict that brewed within her made her hesitate.

"I would have preferred you to remain the man I knew," she finally told him as her eyes lifted towards his face. He still looked the same; he still felt the same when she had touched his skin. He still felt the same when he had wrapped his arms around her and she had cried into the familiar red fabric of his robe. Another ragged breath was inhaled, and Emiliana forced herself to focus. "It will be easier, I think, for us to be enemies."

"I disagree," he smoothly replied.

"We cannot be friends, Mortannis. You are a vampire," she tried to explain. "In the end, you would destroy me and all for whom I care to further your own goals."

Mortannis did not have time to counter, because Emiliana stepped aside as Trevor sent a bright beam of divine energy into the vampire. He ran past her towards the stairs, but she stripped him of some of his protections before he descended. The Lathanderite priest charged past her as well, and by the time Emiliana reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the fine droplets of red mist scattering into the air. She stood there for a time, watching the mist fade into nothingness, while Trevor panted next to her.

"I warned him," she quietly stated, but there was no gloating in her tone. The joy that she normally felt when sending one of the undead back towards its coffin was not present. Mortannis was different, and her long friendship and complicated relationship with him clouded her thoughts.

*

"From wha' Oi've hear', yeh've had yer heart kicked aroun' like a ball tae many toimes tae count, each scar impactin' yeh in different ways. Yeh deal with vampires, the Black Hand an' petty thugs each day... Is there anythin' tha' yeh truly fear?" Trevor asked Emiliana as they stood together upon the scenic bridge by the waterfall in Sestra.

Her answer was quiet, and she did not even have to think about it. "Loneliness."

The two continued to talk about their pasts, and after an hour had passed, Emiliana revisited the earlier question. "Do you know what frightens me besides loneliness?" she asked Trevor.

"Shunnin' love in fear o' the pain?"

The reply question was poignant, and while Emiliana had considered adopting such a philosophy, she knew herself better. She shook her head at Trevor. "My fear is that the love of my life... my destiny... is the same man I helped turn to mist earlier. Mortannis."

"Destiny?" Trevor asked before he softly laughed. "Destiny dinnae exist. We make our own destiny. If yeh want tae be wi' him, yeh will. Oi... canno' say Oi woul' agree wi' it unless he be willin' tae change 'imself, bu' it's still yer decision in the end."

*

The bodies outside the Sundren Comfort Inn were in various states of decomposition. Some were fresh corpses; others were little more than bones. All were piled throughout the courtyard, and the few people still awake in the early morning had a glassy-eyed look to them while they recited what seemed to be a carefully detailed lie involving an overturned cart. Emiliana knew better. Trevor knew better. They both reached the conclusion that Mortannis had left a message for her.

She had a feeling it would not be the last one she received from him, either.

[FoogooFish]

The epiphany was so subtle that Emiliana barely even noticed it. She had spent most of the day bemoaning and lamenting the unfairness of life, and she detested herself for the way she had let the opinion of one man chip at her spirit.

"He painted you to be a villain: one such creature I would need to be protected from."
"He made insinuations that you weren't a genuine woman..."
"...[you are] apparently an impure woman. Something that could corrupt me."

The words, at the time, had struck Emiliana as if they had been physical blows. She had no doubt as to their sincerity, though; words spoken in anger are generally the most truthful words ever spoken. There was no reason for the elf to lie, and Emiliana believed her.

Dain Tornbrook had been correct when he told Emiliana that she deserved better than him. He had never appreciated her strength, and he had never valued her abilities. He had uttered silky words, and she had trusted that he had meant them only to discover that he had uttered the same silky words to another woman the day after he had obtained his intimate prize. For a time, Emiliana wondered why she had not been good enough; for a time, she had wondered what she did that was so terrible that she had lost his favor.

Ultimately, it was not one particular conversation, one particular action, or one particular piece of knowledge that caused her epiphany. Instead, it was the collective words of friends and strangers alike that made her realize that the opinion of one man - even if that man was a famed hero - was meaningless in the grand scheme of things. She had earned praises from a celestial being who could see into her heart; she had earned praises from new arrivals to the Valley who appreciated her hard work and dedication. The validation of her worth that she had long sought from the paladin was irrelevant, and she regretted placing his view of her upon a pedestal.

Let others bicker and boohoo over him. Let him think his erroneous thoughts about her. While they were engaged in their petty melodrama, Emiliana was instructing and guiding the new arrivals that would one day shape the history of Sundren Valley. She was forming the alliances that would keep the Valley safe, and it was her duty to keep the Valley safe. She had more important things to do with her life than waste it weeping over the spurned affections of a man who truly did not deserve a second glance from her.

"Heart o' a paladin but mind o' a sane person. Best combination," Trevor Lecarde had said to her. She thought the words feel-good flattery at the time, but she eventually realized that the Dawnbringer was correct. She was not a paladin, nor was she a perfect person, but she worked towards upholding the laws and promoting goodness with as much determination as a paladin. She woke every morning knowing that what she did during the day may not change the course of history, but she was content with the knowledge that her actions just might change the life of someone else for the better.

The smile upon her face was genuine as she stepped outside the Sundren Comfort Inn. The musical, lyrical quality returned to her voice. Inspiration found her again, and she jotted down ideas for songs and stories as she stood next to her pond. All the anger and rejection that had been boiling and churning inside of her faded into nothingness, and Emiliana was left with a sense of serenity she had not felt in a long, long time.

Happiness was a wonderful feeling, and she had sorely missed it.

[FoogooFish]

She had been busy. The life of a soldier, especially one who had been tasked with so many different directives, was rarely quiet. Sundren Valley faced threat after threat, and Emiliana was doing her best to remain optimistic. However, as she stood within the Temple Barracks of the Triumvirate alongside her brother, the voice of the Tormite cleric announced news that made Emiliana realize it would be days before she slept again.

The details of the situation slowly crept into her ears, and the Legionnaire found herself asking the usual questions befitting a soldier of her rank. Tactics, forces, flanks, maneuvers... the words left her lips in a methodical, practiced manner. Answers were obtained; suggestions were presented. The process had long become standard: this is the enemy we face, and we are at a numerical disadvantage. Emiliana remained quiet, absorbing the facts the cleric stated, as her mind plotted the battle map. Only when the cleric's hesitant wisp of a phrase left his lips did Emiliana pause her planning. "Of all the things that concern me of this mission, it is Tornbrook himself that troubles me most."

Three Blackwells - Emiliana stood between her brother and her cousin, Olivia - turned their heads in unison towards the cleric. Darius was the one who asked the obvious question, and the cleric slowly answered. "The fallen of the dawn temple is said to be at the heart of command..."

Anasath.

Emiliana felt a sharp pang of guilt as the conversation continued. If only she had been better warrior... if only she had not been overpowered by the demons... if only she had not been forced into leaving Dain to face Anasath alone...

He blamed her. How could he not? Despite her best efforts, and despite the over-confident bravado she projected, she had failed him when she was most needed. The whispered rumors that originated from the LaCroix estate made sense to her despite the hurt they caused. Out of sight was out of mind (not that she thought she ever crossed his mind anymore.)

The conversation ended, and Emiliana left the temple in order to start preparations and rally what Legionnaires she could muster. The coming battle - just like all the coming battles - would be difficult.