Aris Cretu swallowed a curse, "Aflia, go enjoy the dance, I'll join you as soon as I can. Lord Wavethunder, if you could see to the safety of her Majesty, I'll see to this interloper." And me without my blade or warplate. Noxxy?

"Mew?" What now? I was about to go hunting.

Remind me where I put my Greatsword would you? My heads a bit scrambled at the moment.

"Mrow." Office, on the weapon rack. Where you always leave it.

Thanks Noxxy. Aris hurried from the room, already trying to guess at who would be intruding on the convent.

He didn't see Aflia staring at his back as he hurried away, nor the frown on Ilelahne's face as she hurried after him.

He followed the sounds of the gathering towards the settlement. The sounds of merriment and celebration suffused the air, causing him to slow his approach. He didn't know how long it had been, or how what he now was would be remembered, but he remembered from... before... that the appearance of one like himself would have been the ghost at the feast. He stopped perhaps three long steps from the edge of the trees as an expectant silence fell over the land. Something was about to happen, presumably a long-expected performance at the festival. Torches were being lit as the sun began to set.

thoom…

There. A drumbeat. Was that...?

Thoom…

Could it be?

THoom... THOom…

It was.

THOOm... THOOM…

But how? Alexandria had been fire and rubble when he had...

THOOM THOOM…

Was this a dance? A call to arms? A last farewell?

THOOM THOOM THOOM THOOM…

He drew back a step, puzzled. He would listen, and perhaps learn, in solitude. Only he wouldn't get that solitude, he discovered, as two figures walked across the grass towards where he stood.

Aris Cretu stepped softly across the grass borders of the convent. He could hear the drums beginning the call to the Fire Dance, feel the night breeze blowing down of the mountains over in Paric. The setting sun and kindled torches cast dancing shadows in the trees in front of him. Aris' greatsword sat heavy across his back, his shirt clung to his chest in the summer heat.

There. In the trees. A glint of torchlight on metal. Something stepping back from one tree to another, withdrawing deeper into the woods. Fleeing discovery? Or changing position for a better view?

A twig snapped behind Aris, announcing the presence of someone following him into danger. He didn't look back because he had left only allies and friends behind at the convent.

Ilelahne SiDabolo froze as her foot found the twig. She had no Idea what she was doing here, in a possible combat situation, with no training as a war-caster. Ilelahne was an Enchanter and Diviner for planes' sake! But this shadowed figure, the look on Aflia's face, the absence of the Althiem Royal Guards... Something was afoot, and she was determined to be here in person to see it instead of reading about it in a book someday.

He froze when the twig snapped. Not because it had broken under his foot, but because it had drawn his attention to the second figure: the woman. The man was clearly a guard or soldier come to see what was lurking in the woods. The black pants and white shirt spoke of a man pulled away from the celebrations, but the battered greatsword that the man carried spoke of a seasoned combatant. The woman on the other hand wore what looked to be a peasant's dress, were it not in Tyrian Red. Gold jewelry graced her arms and neck, but most importantly she cared no weapons. A spellcaster then? Common-born but risen to wealth with her emergent abilities? He didn't know, so he waited.

The drums rumbled on, swirling into a dance.

Aris stopped his advance. He could feel the music building, feel the moment of decision approaching. He could go forwards with blade drawn or issue a challenge as see what the figure in the woods did.