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[Church II] Compendium I  March 1996-March 1996
                 Grand Inquisitor Blayne
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It had been weeks since High Inquisitor Semareth had disappeared from the
face of Ifreann.  It had been many days since Lieutenant Mauq had been
heard from as well, and Proctor John feared the worst for both men.  Many
duties which needed seeing to were left undone, and the time had come for
the Proctor to take action.

After securing his office, he sat at his desk and sent a message to his
master in the north.  Soon, he was allowed in, to take counsel with his
dark master.  First, he was given news of the war.  Things were going
quite well there, and his masters troops had finally broken through the
delaying actions, and now faced the elves upon Tynntanglian soil.  This
was very good news indeed!

When it was time for him to speak, he quickly relayed the current events 
of Montfort to his master.  Things were going well, and it would only take
a small push to win over his demesne in its entirety.  His master gave him
a rebuke.  If things were going so well, then why was an army forming in
Chadwick to oppose them?  This was news to Proctor John, who stated that
he would look into it immediately.  The Dark One shook his head no, and 
proceeded to tell his servant of how he had 'cut off' the head of this
particular serpent.

Proctor John asked his master for assistance.  He no longer wished for an
outsider to turn to their ways.  He wished for one of his masters 'taken'.
The Dark One seemed to have foreseen this request, as he had a name ready for
Proctor John.  The name he gave him was one of the more powerful Darkguard.  
Not a Darkguard Lord, as yet....but truly on his way to being so.  This would
be where his tempering would begin.  Once he satisfactorily completed this 
task, he would join Proctor John as a Darkguard Lord. 

Proctor John was quite satisfied by the name his master had given him.  Like
himself, this Darkguard was once of elven-kind.  But unlike Proctor John,
this Darkguard had *not* been 'taken' at the prime of his life as a master
mage.  No, this one had been 'taken' after spending nigh-on two millennia as
a lord of the undead....a vampyre.  The Dark One had retarded the curse of
vampirism from the man, but added many curses far worse.  Though the rewards
were great, it was sometimes difficult to bare the pain that gave the power.

After being dismissed by his master, Proctor John returned to his office.  He
proceeded to open a portal to the north, where his new help awaited him.  The
Darkguard stepped through the portal, ice and snow sloughing off his body
onto the Proctor's wooden floor.  Proctor John smiled with a mouth full of 
dagger-like teeth.  "Welcome to my demesne, Grand Inquisitor Blayne!" he
hissed.
--Johny Enright

Grand Inquisitor Blayne immediately knelt before his newest master, a 
gesture from one of power to the one who held his future in his claw-like 
grasp. Blayne could not help but smile, the tests and learning, the work 
and suffering, the agonizing suffering torment, would soon be over and he 
would be this one's equal.

"I am honored," Blayne hissed, the sound like hellfire as it engulfed the 
dried husks of those he had once fed upon. He raised his head revealing 
the same burning eyes possessed by the Dark Guard Lord, 'Proctor John'.

"How may I serve you, Lord?"
--Phaedra Whitlock

Proctor John resumed his image of an old, benevolent pastor.  "We are no
longer in our Master's  conquered territories.  First you must assume a
more.....gentle form."

Blayne stood, and his image began to waver.  He quickly changed to a very
handsome blond man.  No...not a man....an elf!  Proctor John looked some
what surprised, then nodded.  "Yes, I think the taint of elvish will work
in your favor in your new duties.  How.....clever, of you!"  It would 
indeed look good to have someone so fully elvish in a position of power.  
He had hoped to accomplish a similar gesture when he appointed Thai, 
but the woman's elven blood did not always let out.

Blayne smiled, his canines *still* seeming somewhat longish, and said 
"Thus did I look back when I still lived, Lord.  And before I came into 
our Master's service."

Proctor John nodded, placing this fact in memory should he ever need it 
again. "Now, we will get you garbed properly.  One of the acolytes outside 
will show you where we keep the church's garment closets.  Your duties 
have been outlined herein..."  He handed Blayne two scrolls.  "The 
other is your official written appointment as Grand Inquisitor, as well as 
the universal warrant for search and seizure in the city of Montfort.  
Besides the normal duties as Grand Inquisitor, I have some 'special' 
projects for you to work on."

Proctor John gestured in the air, and a three-dimensional image of Smith
came into view.  "This man, is my most hated enemy.  Hunt him down!  I
already have several agents in place watching him and other members of 
the Refuser cell in Montfort."  Once Proctor John was sure that Blayne
had memorized Smith's face, the image faded and he continued.  "I believe
this Smith is responsible for the death of my brother Proctors, so remove
him with extreme prejudice!"
--Johny Enright

Blayne nodded. Smith's reputation had reached far into the realms of the 
Dark One with his actions. It would be a pleasure to see him punished.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Proctor John continued by explaining who he had in what positions within
the church.  Blayne would have to meet Deacon Geod, a man after their
own hearts, Proctor John said.  Then there was Enrico....a wraith Proctor
John had brought back from beyond.  Though he did not come right out and
say it, the Proctor seemed somewhat troubled by this Enrico.  Blayne made
note of that for further investigation.  ".....well, then.....If you
do not have any further questions, you can go out and find an acolyte to
help you get dressed for your new position."
--Johny Enright

"I have no questions at this time." Blayne replied.
--Phaedra Whitlock


**********


>From far away Rodrik felt a great power moving to the west. The taste 
was like one he had felt only once before when an Elder Lord had let 
him drink one night. Her pale, haunting beauty was branded in him 
still, as was The Hunger, the need  to bask in her greater glory, to 
serve until he had nothing left to give her but his immortal life, to be 
taken as she had taken his mortal life from him. She was gone, lost in a 
nightmare of fire and steel, but The Hunger remained. Without thinking 
Rodrik transformed and spread bat-like wings in search of the one who 
drew him like a lodestone. 
--Phaedra Whitlock


**********


Grand Inquisitor Blayne closed the door behind him as he left Proctor 
John's office. As promised an acolyte was even now running down 
the hall towards him. 

In short order the child showed Blayne to his quarters in the Tower 
and dashed off with a message to Deacon Geod requesting a meeting. 
Blayne took this brief opportunity to read over the two parchments 
and had just finished when there came a hesitant knock at his door. 
Loathe as the child was to disappoint the tall, imposing elf lord just 
arrived, it seemed the Deacon was unavailable at the moment. 

Blayne nodded and dismissed the matter for now, turning from the 
child to the darkness outside his room. 

Outside his windows the town of Montfort spread like a velvet 
tapestry. Amber pools of lantern light interspersed the darkness with 
order in the form of the Foreign Legion. Somewhere in the places 
in between walked Smith and the other Refusers. The sun had set 
long ago but this fact meant nothing to him any longer. Somewhere 
in the chill night he felt others of his Kindred emerging and noted 
the direction. There would be time to seek them out later. 

On silent footsteps Blayne descended the tower stairs and crossed the 
darkened courtyard, empty of all but a few church healers returning 
from the sickbed of one of the peasantry and a squad of Inquisitors 
patrolling inside the walls. Blayne passed through the gates and strode 
down the Avenue of Heroes.

The first moon rose on ethereal wings as Blayne passed the Weaver's 
House. Wisps of souls still on this plane were everywhere he looked. 
Often these fled his presence, as did the mortal vermin of the streets, 
but their existence was noted and filed to be dealt with.

Twice he was challenged by patrols of the Foreign Legion and twice the 
sight of his armor, emblazoned with the holy symbol of the Redeemer, 
and his eyes glowing like lit coals in the darkness, caused them to 
let him pass unchallenged through the gathering fog.
--Phaedra Whitlock


**********


Rodrik circled above a small town astride the main road, then dropped 
lower as he felt the nearness of the powerful one he sought. A lone 
figure walked the night, swirling in and out of the mists. 

Rodrik landed before Blayne and transformed into his human shape. 
Fangs glinted white against his dusky skin as he crouched there, mouth 
slack as he gazed in awe at the hauntingly handsome face before him, 
so different from his Marjoreen's, yet so similar. "You," he whispered 
through numbed lips, 'You are one of the Elders, I feel it in you." He 
licked dry, bloodless lips and pressed forward, closer to the One. 
"Please, let me serve you, master."
--Phaedra Whitlock

Blayne stared unmoving at the pitiful creature before him. Behind 
him he could hear the muffled sounds of approaching feet. This one 
was not worth Taking but could serve as an example.

Blayne shook back his enormous black cloak. The mists rolled away 
allowing those approaching to see everything clearly that had until 
now been hidden. Uncomprehending, Rodrik stared upward as Blayne 
drew his heavy silver holy symbol over his head and held it out 
before him. His eyes flashed as words like divine thunder rolled 
from his mouth. Light from the symbol seared Rodrik's exposed 
flesh and he screamed in sudden agony. The chanting rose in 
degree as Blayne seemed to call upon a greater level of power. The 
pain gnawing inside Blayne trebled and quadrupled geometrically 
as the power flowed through him.

Rodrik scrambled back as fast as he could, but his movements were slow, 
as if he was caught up in a nightmare that would not release him. 
Blayne stalked forward like a lion towards fallen prey. The words 
rolled over Rodrik, drowning his screams in their power. His gaze met 
that of the Grand Inquisitor and he could not move. 

"Thou art an abomination before the Redeemer and to the eternal 
Darkness shall you go. " Blayne chanted, his voice rough and hard 
edged from the pain he refused to do without. He touched the silver 
symbol to Rodrik's forehead. Smoke and a burning smell suffused the 
street. 

"By the power of the Redeemer, I command that you return to the 
hellfire that sent you forth, and do not return."  Rodrik screamed as 
if his undead soul was being ripped apart on the razor edges of Blayne's 
own agony. 

His body burst into white-hot flames. For a moment Rodrik thrashed, a 
dark shadow in the burning white, and then he was gone. A thin powder 
of ash swirled in the night and then there was nothing.

Behind him Blayne knew the Foreign Legion troops were looking at 
each other. None wanted to be the first to announce their presence. 
In the alley the slight figure Blayne had sensed also turned and 
scurried away on light feet. 

Returning his Holy Symbol to around his neck, Blayne returned to the 
Church. As the mist closed around him he sent a message on the night 
breeze to the Kindred of Montfort. "I am Blayne, Lord of the Kindred. 
Join me my children, and receive the power that is your due."
--Phaedra Whitlock


**********


Geod finished reading the reports on the Republic's activities. All
seemed to be going extremely well. The arrival of the Foreign Legion was
good news. It would mean no more Limpia deaths. He stacked the reports
neatly and pushed them aside. He would need to meet with High Inquisitor
Blayne at some point. He had not been available earlier. Geod rose to his
feet and crossed the room, stopping before the window. He looked out upon
the streets. They were deserted except for the occasional Foreign Legion
patrol. Geod turned from the window and walked to the door. He pulled it
open and called to one of the Acolytes who came to him immediately. He sent
him to tell High Inquisitor Blayne that he was available. The Acolyte went
to deliver the Deacon's message. Geod closed the door and went back to his
desk.

Moments later there was a knock on his door. "Come in." The door opened 
and the Acolyte entered.

"Your Eminence, High Inquisitor Blayne is not in his room. He is outside 
somewhere."

Geod nodded. "Thank you. That will be all."

The Acolyte bowed then left closing the door behind him.

Geod went to the closet and opened it. Inside was armor, a black
set of clothing, a white set or robes and a flame-rod. He put on the 
armor and black clothing. He pulled on a set of gloves and put the 
flame-rod where it was concealed and accessible. He left his office and 
descended the stairs. Leaving the tower, he crosses the court yard and 
steps onto the Avenue of Triumph. An officer of the Foreign Legion stops 
him. "What are you doing out after curfew?" He asked.

"That is none of your concern." Geod hissed.

"I am afraid it is." He said slowly drawing his sword. "Now who are you
and why are you out after curfew?" He said in a firmer tone.

"I am Deacon Geod. Do you not recognize the insignia I wear? My business
is not your concern. Now step aside or pay dearly!" Geod commanded.

"Your station means nothing to me." He snarled.

"You had your warning fool!"

Simultaneously the soldier rushed Geod while he drew his flame-rod. The
soldier raised his blade as a burst of searing flames engulfed him. His
agonized screams filled the air. Footsteps were heard rushing toward Geod.
Several Foreign Legion troops arrived. "Let this be a lesson to any fool
who dares oppose the Church!"  Geod said with a iron voice. The attacking
soldier was just a charred pile of bones. "Clean this mess up!" Geod turned
away and continued along the avenue. He stopped for a moment, trying to
detect Blayne. It was not that difficult. Geod had located him. He moved on
and about twenty yards away he saw a figure in the same black uniform that
he wore. Geod covered the distant rapidly.

"High Inquisitor Blayne I presume. I am Deacon Geod. I must apologize
for not seeing you earlier, but I had matters to attend to. Matters
that needed my immediate attention. I am free now if you wish to speak."
--Chris Webb

Standing at the edge of the plaza Blayne's imposing presence was indeed 
easy to locate. He had no wish to hide at the moment.

Blayne's cool gaze swept over the charred remains and the livid Foreign 
Legion troops staring after the Deacon. 

"*Grand* Inquisitor." he corrected with a charming smile. "Proctor John 
spoke highly of you Deacon Geod. However, as you seem to feel threatened 
by these troops," Blayne dismissed the rag tag mercenaries as no true 
threat to either of them, "let us adjourn to the Church precincts."
--Phaedra Whitlock

"I stand corrected, Grand Inquisitor." Geod did not like the fact Blayne
thought he was threatened by foolish mortals. "Respectfully, you are
mistaken. I do no feel threatened by these vermin." A hint of red flashed
in his black eyes. "The Church would be a more suitable place to meet."
--Chris Webb

Over Geod's shoulder Blayne stared down the approaching troops, 
dominating their weak wills with his own. The leader faltered but his 
anger gave him added strength to resist the Discipline. For the leader, 
time and space shrank to just the two of them. Blayne locked eyes with 
the man and smiled slowly. Canines emerged with the lazy grace of 
millennia practice, adding to the effect. In the leader's mind now Blayne 
disarmed the man's volatile emotions.

Striding casually forward Blayne closed the distance to the Captain. His 
whisper echoed through the man's mind like night breezes through a 
dead forest. "Take your brother's remains and continue your duties 
Captain. We shall do the same and if you wish, we will discuss this in 
the morning."
--Phaedra Whitlock

Blayne was good. His resources would be extremely helpful in the days to
come. Geod felt respect for him. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from
him.
--Chris Webb

The Captain nodded slowly, then more readily as Blayne withdrew from his 
mind. For the life of him the Captain could not remember what had just 
happened between one second and the next, but he would remember the fear 
the Grand Inquisitor left behind.

Blayne dismissed the Captain and raised a finely arched eyebrow at the 
Deacon. "I find myself growing hungry Deacon, shall we dine?"
--Phaedra Whitlock

"You seem to have a way with people." Geod smiled wickedly. Yes, let us
dine. I too feel hungry."
--Chris Webb

Blayne was about to agree with Deacon Geod when he saw the flash from an 
Inquisitor's baton. A few helpless people were outlined by the radiance 
for barely a instant before they were as much dust as the one Geod had 
killed moments ago.

With barely a thought the entire area lit up like the sky at high noon 
revealing Smith and two others.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Dalmanae threw up a black-armored sleeve to protect her eyes. When the 
light faded to a tolerable level Blayne had thrown a glowing wall up 
between them and the portal.

He had his Holy Symbol out and began intoning a second spell, this time 
one aimed directly at Smith.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Smith could tell that something new had been added...for perhaps the
first time, the Church had someone competent.  Had they called in 
someone to help them?  In any case, there wasn't any time for reflection.
He had no intention of sticking around to see what that next spell
would do!

He shimmered for an instant, and ceased to exist in the present....
And blinked into the past in what would be Montfort 100 years in the
future.  It didn't take long to recharge his flamerod, and to prepare
himself for the rescue of his associates.  And, perhaps more importantly,
to plan something for the Church.  The plan was simple enough.  He would
return to the same time he had disappeared, and distract the Churchies...
hopefully, Raven, Dalmanae, and Lucc would make use of the 
distraction to run.

The next day, fully rested, Smith walked a short distance, and then
turned.  He shimmered again, appearing in an alleyway some distance
from his original location;  in time, it had only been an instant
since he had left.  His flamerod already prepared, he released it's
full power upon the two Churchies....
--Jack Smith 
 
Dalmanae gasped in shock as Smith disappeared. This was NOT supposed to 
happen! She pivoted to see what Raven was doing. Without thinking, her 
sword was again in her hand, although she hesitated before making any 
threatening gestures to ANYONE with it. What was the best way to deal 
with this upset!
--Phaedra Whitlock

Avere hovered near. He, like Dalmanae, wasn't sure what to do with the 
twist Smith had thrown them.
--Cathy Mosley

Blayne was enraged by the sight of Smith's grin, just before the Refuser 
winked out of existence. He almost howled in rage, and then the roar of 
flames warned him of someone behind him.
--Phaedra Whitlock

The flame-rod unleashed a searing plume of flames at Blayne and Geod. The
Lich stepped forward and waved his left hand. A shimmering barrier appeared
before him. The flames struck the shield with a loud roar and dissipated.
Geod raised his holy symbol and spoke in a booming iron voice. "In the name
of the holy Redeemer I command thee to surrender and be saved!" He
singled out Raven since Blayne was keeping Smith busy. A brilliant
blue/purple bolt of lightning shot from the holy symbol and exploded yards
from Raven. Geod pointed a gaunt spindly finger at Raven and spoke "The
Redeemer has showed mercy on you! It is not too late for you!"
--Chris Webb

Expecting the Foreign Legion, Blayne cast the spell intended for many on 
just Smith. The flames rolled over him an instant later, obscuring him in 
the red-orange maelstrom. A dozen blue-white bolts of energy leapt from his 
fingertips towards Smith, arrowing unerringly towards their target.  
Striding forward through the flames, Holy Symbol held before him as if IT 
was the cause of his deliverance, Blayne prepared to cast again.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Smith was surprised as Blayne reacted so quickly!  Instead of bar room
sweepings and amateurs, wanna-be's and has beens...it looked like the
Church finally had a professional.  So, it looked like he'd need to
be more careful!  These thoughts flashed through Smith's mind as he
noticed the Churchie turning faster than anyone he had seen lately; he
fell to the ground and rolled to avoid the spell.  Behind him, a rock
wall caught the spell's full force, exploding with a horrendous flash and 
a sound that left his ears ringing painfully.  Stones pelted him, and
shards of broken rock cut his flesh;  whoever this was, he was good!

His instincts took over, as he attempted to use the powers given him
by Yewliah's curse and drain the energy from the tall, well proportioned
elf.  Lightning bolts of red. violet, and purple writhed outward toward
Blayne, intercepting the energy bolts.  
--Jack Smith

Blayne felt more than saw the lightning bolts coming towards him. 
Uncertain what effect they would have since he was not alive, Blayne 
poured a barrage of 'Holy' energy outward to counter them. 
--Phaedra Whitlock

The forces mutually annihilated themselves, with a brilliant flash of 
light, and a crater 15 feet in diameter in the middle of what had been a 
street.  Windows shattered, and a nearby building collapsed as a wall was 
blown in by the blast.  The crater glowed red, with melted stone flowing 
slowly as it radiated heat.

The energy aimed at Smith wasn't exactly life force, but he could feel
some sense of the power in it.  In sheer magnitude, it was daunting;
but, there were still some cards to be played!
--Jack Smith

Blayne hesitated as the attack ended, a surge of intense pain nearly 
dropping him to his knees then and there. Countering Smith's raw power 
was taking too much of his own. Soon the agony would be more than he 
could bear and he would lose control.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Seeing his efforts fail, Smith tried one more trick... his old favorite
spell, the first one he had learned from his friend Red...Dragon's Fire
leapt toward Blayne, setting the very stones of the street on fire...
--Jack Smith

Blayne gestured and in a voice like thunder pronounced a single, sharp 
word of Power. The street between he and Smith erupted towards the Refuser 
in a tidal wave as if blasted out of the ground by an unseen force. The 
burning stones ignited their fellows in a chain reaction. Almost 
immediately the flaming rubble glowed red and then it was upon Smith.

Blayne stumbled slightly with the force of his muscles clenching. His 
eyes mirrored the burning stonework hurtling for the Refuser....
--Phaedra Whitlock

Smith had just time enough to shift once at random.  He had no idea
where he'd come out...or when...or even in which probable universe;  but
it couldn't be a lot worse than being buried in burning stones.  He needed
to find out who that Churchie was.  Whoever it was, he was one tough
opponent!

He flickered into existence in a grassy field, his clothing burned and
torn, bleeding from numerous cuts, burned, and with many small second
and third degree burns.  Looking around quickly, he noticed with relief
that no one was around, sat, and dug a small bottle out of an inner
pocket.  He dug out a capsule and swallowed it.  Special Forces popcorn
they called it...a combination of pain killers, stimulants, and anti-infection
agents that could keep a man going a little longer than otherwise.

Next, he applied a bit of healing here and there, stopping the bleeding
and taking the remaining sting out of some of the burns.  He lay on the
grass for a moment, but he knew now was not the time for rest...that would
come later.  Smith extended his senses; not far away was a small
farmstead.  He walked there, and met a friendly family;  they were very
concerned for the health of this stranger.  Smith offered them silver, but
they refused payment, and insisted on feeding him, giving him good, clean
spring water to drink.  He thought he recognized the family, and wasn't
terribly surprised to learn that the man's name was Hugh, and his wife's
name was Judy.  In this probability, they had 3 children...clearly, the
parents loved them dearly.  In conversation, it became apparent that they
had never heard anything of the Republic or the Church;  Smith breathed
a discrete sigh of relief.  That night, he slept 12 hours straight.

A week passed as Smith healed up, recharged various magical items, and
started figuring out how exactly to get back to Montfort.  One thing for
sure...it wouldn't be a good idea to go head to head with the Churchie.
Well, that was fine too...he had been fighting amateurs too long, gotten
lazy, maybe let himself develop some bad habits.  Smith grinned as his
plans formed;  it was time to go back to work.

He bid the alternative Hugh and Judy good-bye, and walked over a hill, finally
getting safely out of sight.  His next step was to concentrate on his friend
Dralen.  It took awhile, but he eventually found his friend, and went to
him.  It was good to visit with Dralen, Blaze, Gold Dragon, and little
Cheren.  Dralen added a few more touches of healing, finally eliminating
everything but a couple of minor scars.  That night, Smith, Blaze, and 
Dralen talked long, finally parting in the early morning, just as Bellatrix
rose above the horizon.  Smith grinned as he departed;  this was what he
had needed to get back in fighting trim!  He left that area, and was soon
in Chadwick.  A tailor was willing to fit him in some used working mans
clothing, and accepted a few silvers for his silence.  Smith gave the man
to understand that he had stolen some chickens, and was hiding from the
law;  he didn't really expect any great loyalty from the tailor...but then, he
didn't need it.  

Suitably attired, he walked by the castle where Therion had ruled...walked 
up to a Company soldier and talked for a moment, then left.  He stayed at
an inn in Chadwick, and that evening went for a stroll.  A man in an alleyway
called out as he passed "Got a light?"  Smith grinned and replied "Sure.  
Weather is heating up this Spring."  The man took a drag from his cigarette
and replied "The North may get particularly hot.  So I hear."  Smith
chuckled and commented "Makes me want to write home."  The man responded
"Always good to stay in touch.  Later."  And so Smith and Jones parted,
the appropriate messages having been exchanged.  He returned to his room,
and departed...the innkeeper congratulated himself on collecting the rent
first, since the stranger had clearly decided to abscond in the night!

Smith, nicely rested and ready for battle,  returned to Montfort a moment
in time after he had left.  This time, he was on the roof of a 2 story
building overlooking the fight.  Where he had been...from his reference
frame, nearly 2 weeks ago, but from the reference of Montfort scarcely
a second later...there was nothing but a pile of still burning stones
and rubble.  A tall man stood...the one who had attacked Smith.  Well,
now to rescue the others!
--Jack Smith

Raven had grabbed Dalmanae's hand and started running with her down the 
street the other way from the Church when...
--Phaedra Whitlock

Smith opened a portal directly beneath Dalmanae, Raven, and the ghost.  With
a twist in the dimensionality of space, the other end of the portal was
in a small stand of trees, well outside Montfort...so, hopefully, they would
literally fall out of danger.  Hopefully, they wouldn't even be bruised...at
least, not too badly!  And with that, he departed too, joining the others
before he had to spend more time recovering!
--Jack Smith

Smith commented to the others "Seems like weeks when you're in a fight,
doesn't it?" and chuckled.  He then added to the ghost "We need to find 
out who I was fighting.  Whoever he is, he's good!"
--Jack Smith


**********


Alone at last in his dark tower room Blayne hissed in agony. 
The pain of his magic was almost too much to bear, 
especially when  it must remain a secret. His eyes burned 
red as he lost control of himself. Claws blackened from use  
splayed out from dead white hands.  Attacking himself as he 
could not anyone else, Blayne tore gaping black wounds in 
his body with the blind frenzy of one pushed too far. 

An uncertain time later Blayne collapsed to the stone floor 
exhausted. The pain inside him retreated to a dull throb, 
replaced by external pain that he could tolerate more easily. 
Slowly his wounds closed as if they had never been. Black 
ichor ceased to drip onto the floor and the red receded from 
his eyes. Once more an elf in appearance Blayne lifted his 
head. There across the room, barely visible in the darkness 
floated the ghostly outline of a  surprised, handsome woman 
watching him .

Blayne's unearthly handsome features twisted into a rictus 
of anger and hatred. The ghost woman, one of the Mothers 
named Isobel,  started to sink through the floor but wasn't 
quick enough. Glistening wards of electric blue arced into 
being, sealing the room.  When  Isobel wheeled to seek 
another exit it was to find Blayne directly in front of her. 

Hatred won out over the woman's fear. Objects around the 
room were swept into the air as if caught in a hurricane. 
Blayne lashed out, deflecting a sword that had hung on the 
wall. His claws ripped through the ghost with no apparent 
effect. The ghost screamed in pain anyway  and her attack 
faltered.

Blayne slashed at her hazy form again and chanted a short 
spell. The woman screamed as if burning alive although that 
was impossible. Desperately she threw a heavy chest at the 
Dark Guard. The wooden box disintegrated into a thousand 
splinters, momentarily distracting the Grand Inquisitor in his 
assault. Ichor seeped from  a thousand wounds where 
splinters had gored him.  Isobel laughed outright at her 
successful attack, knowing now what his weakness was.

Blayne bared his fangs in a hiss of rage. The room burst into 
flames, instantly consuming everything flammable. His elven 
skin blackened from the heat and flaming splinters driving 
into his flesh. The stench of burning ichor was incredible. 
Unable to see through the firestorm, Isobel darted for the 
door and freedom.  Looking for Kit she'd found something 
even better. Unfortunately for her, Blayne's wards held.

Blayne chanted another spell. As the heavy sounding words 
rolled over her Isobel felt her remaining self being ripped to 
pieces. Her screams of pain echoed off of blackened stone 
walls with each syllable he spoke. With a final, long, drawn 
out wail of agony Isobel's ghost form hovered in the center 
of the room, arching to escape the inevitable, and then she 
was gone forever. 

Blayne grimaced from the pain of his wounds. With a 
gesture the scorched splinters fell out of his body. Another 
gesture and he was again the handsome elf lord of an hour 
ago.  

Blayne released the wards and clad in a singed, makeshift 
breech clout, opened the door . Ignoring the goggling stares 
of the acolytes on duty and the Inquisitors summoned to 
break down the door, Blayne addressed the  Captain of 
Inquisitors . "There has been a breach of security Captain, 
but I have dealt with the intruder. Send for another outfit 
for me and some women to clean my chambers. I will be 
speaking with the Proctor if he is available."

Blayne's bare feet padded silently down the hall, away from 
the curious looks of the acolytes. He did not truly need to 
speak with the Proctor, he needed privacy.  His insides 
gnawed at his soul again from the power he had used on the 
ghost. Although no expression showed on his face, his skin 
burned from the pin pricks of the splinters as if he were still 
a mere vampire and had wandered outside by mistake on a 
cloudy day. 

His report completed and dressed once again, Blayne 
descended to the Church dungeons where prisoners waited 
for trial or Cleansing. 
--Phaedra Whitlock

The Grand Inquisitor left the cells much revived. His wounds were
healed with the blood of many prisoners. His power restored
Blayne felt it time to renew his duties.

His room smelled strongly of lye when he arrived. The floor was
damp in places from being scrubbed clean. There was no furniture
yet but it would serve his purposes.

Blayne locked the door behind him and warded it. Setting up
candles in a pattern, he sat in their center and let his
consciousness roam throughout Montfort. It was nearly dawn and the
Vampires had retreated for the night. Other things he noticed in
passing, but it was the Weavers' House that drew him now.

He examined the wards around the place from all angles and then
pushed against one of the threads. More force to dislodge even
one thread.
--Phaedra Whitlock

At the first tentative touch, Kallin had immediately thought
of Demetrius.  -May have to start locking that boy in his room at
night,- he thought with a sigh.  But in an instant, it was
obvious to him that the probe of the wardings around the House
came from outside -- and from something or someone of much
greater power than the Politi's newest student.

A <push>.  Kallin was up and out of his room, speeding
down the halls before he even realized it, his heart racing.
Another <push>, harder now, something hungry sniffing around the
protections binding the House.  By this time, doors up and down
the hall were opening, the other Politi spilling out of their
rooms.  Deanna, her eyes wide with sudden fear.
--Rebecca Ward

Lucc had awakened Morrighu to tell her of Kit's capture. She had called 
Elenia to her and three were discussing what needed to be done 
when she heard/felt something strong and ancient pressing near. 
She sent the ghosts to guard Gwion, and began to follow its movements.
--Cathy Mosley

Kallin started feeding his own energies into the wards
before his bare feet hit the mosaic.  ::Wait!:: Lanaera's
voice stopped him, before he could activate it.  He turned to see
the other two master weavers behind her; all three were afire to
his mage-sight.  ::The north wing,:: she said quickly, as if he
needed to be reminded it was, for the most part, wholly unwarded.

Another <push>, and Lanaera herself called the mosaic awake.
She and the other two masters seized the strands, wrapping the
flows about themselves and immediately channeling them, as
quietly as possible into the wardings, weaving.

<push>

Cursing, Kallin sped from the courtyard, feeling the flows
building behind him, moving outwards from the south wing and
expanding.  -Spread too thin,- he thought.  Into the main
courtyard.  The gates were down over the entrance, glimmering
with the low-level wardings that typically covered it.  With a
thought, he grasped the flows Lanaera and the others were feeding
to him and bound them about the doors.  It made him feel only
slightly better; the gossamer sheet tossed over the open skies of
the courtyard, like a smoldering fire over his head, left him
uneasy.  -We're spread too thin.-

<push>

The mind-speech of the others was a low, chattering hum in
the back of his mind.  Awash in colors, Kallin stood in the main
courtyard, poised and waiting.

<push>
--Rebecca Ward

Morrighu went to the Northern courtyard, so not to disturb Gwion.
There she began to sing, and added her strength to the
protecting of the North wing.
--Cathy Mosley

Blayne felt the wards strengthen. Someone was inside....

His astral form bared yellowed fangs in a smile. If they were
weak he could take them now, tonight, and report one less faction
to Proctor John in the morning.

Blayne threw his astral body against the wards with sufficient
force to bring down a lesser wall....
--Phaedra Whitlock

Kallin allowed the threads to bend, a fold in the wardings
that did not yield so much as evade.  The colors <moved> and
coalesced again.  He hesitated only momentarily when unfamiliar
shades seeped from the Northern courtyard, a cold and icy flow;
then, with a grin, he took it, a small tug to Morrighu.  <Here>
and <here>.  Not combined with but complementing the flows from
the mosaic.
--Rebecca Ward

Failing to breach the wards, Blayne retreated a pace. His astral
body turned to face outward. Hands raised as if in benediction,
Blayne intoned words he seldom uttered. Nearby ghosts started to
feel an oddness, a malevolent presence stalking them. 
--Phaedra Whitlock

Walking the 'between' had become Shan's only means of moving about.
It was becoming more natural to him now.  As diviners and oracles,
that's just one of the things the White Wyrms did.  They learned
many things of the astral plane, and Shan was fortunate enough to
get some training.  He even knew some Wa'ari prayers that called
for the aid of spirits.  Even so, he did not know what was coming.
He cast a passage about himself.  Whatever it was, he didn't want
it to find him.

Shan could not tell where it was coming from.  It was everywhere a strong
feeling of evil.  Almost as strong as it had been in the presence of..
no.  Not that strong.  This was a spell, but not entirely a fraud.
Something powerful was out there.  And it was feasting! 
--Samson Gonzales

Some fled or retreated before the advancing wave of power but most
hesitated. Those who failed to escape felt a darkness sweep over them. In
that darkness, red eyes leapt at them, tearing with black claws to rip
them to pieces.

Screams of her dying ghosts echoed in Morrighu's mind as the first died.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Her song faltered as she felt the first ghosts die again - in the
agony they had fled from in their mortal bodies.
--Cathy Mosley

Blayne expanded his sphere again and again, killing
every enemy ghost he encountered. Some escaped to warded
buildings where he could do no more than circle like a wolf
stalking prey, but then he moved on, destroying more and more of
the ghosts.
--Phaedra Whitlock

As more of the ghosts were obliterated Morrighu threw back her
head, feeling the call to sing - for these souls were under 
her protection. Her dirge of soul-wrenching grief was torn apart with 
screams of agony each time a ghost suffered a second, horrible death. 
--Cathy Mosley

Kallin did not flinch when the Bean Nighe screamed.  From 
the north courtyard, her physical cry was barely audible to him,
but it rippled through the flows in the House, a back-current he
wove around.  The whispers of mind-speech from the others
suddenly rose in worried questioning.  ::Quiet!:: he snapped, and
it receded. But Morrighu's cries continued.
--Rebecca Ward

Inside the Dragon's Inn, the presence that had been making itself known 
through small hints awoke.  He could hear the screams and shuddered.  
Invisibly he looked about the inn.  "Can't you hear it?  Can't you hear 
it?"  Still, however, it seemed no one acknowledged his efforts.  He 
expanded his senses outward and sensed the evil responsible.

The presence howled in frustration and anger.  In response, a wind began 
to blow inside the inn.  A hot, dry wind that circled the common room 
several times quickly before splitting and rushing out all the exits to 
explore the rest of the inn.

Finally, both wind and spirit began to fade as the effort began to 
exhaust him.  "Why don't you hear me....", he asked as he drifted back to 
the familiar oblivion that seemed to be his home now.
--David Wendt

With the song of death filling his mind and soul with a terrible joy 
Blayne hunted throughout the long night. Morrighu's screams mingled with 
those of his victims to become his reason for being. Each death furthered 
the divine chorus he shared with Morrighu. 

At last Blayne's sphere wavered far out in the countryside. Nearly 200 
ghosts were dead and the pain had returned full force to Blayne. His mind 
returned to his body and the familiar torment awaiting him. It had been a 
*good* night.

Casting one last spell of Silence upon himself, Blayne collapsed
to a crouch and howled as the pain took his sanity once again.
--Phaedra Whitlock

Long before the last of his quarry was destroyed Morrighu had
fallen to the ground in the small Northern courtyard, where she
lay cold and unmoving.
--Cathy Mosley

When, finally, it became apparent that the Weavers' House
was -- for that night at least -- safe, Lanaera lowered the level
of the mosaic.  Leaving the other two master weavers still
standing on the patterns, ready to call it awake again in a
heartbeat, she walked into the main courtyard.  Her expression
was grim.  ::Go.  I will wait here.::

Kallin did not pause.  Still drenched in the colors of
weaving, he hurried to the North courtyard and knelt over
Morrighu.  Her skin was ice, her lips blue.  Shadows were pouring
from the northern wing -- Morrighu's husband, armed, and others.
--Rebecca Ward

Geiren's own mind rang with echoes of Morrighu's agony as he ran across 
the courtyard in bare feet, and only trousers on. He dropped to her side 
and with little grace, but infinite tenderness, lifted her icy body into 
his arms, and cradled her there. He was terrified, and felt like the lost 
soul she had found wandering in the forest.

He knew it was impossible to warm her, but that didn't keep him from 
holding her close, and stroking her moonlight white hair. All the time he 
said, "Morrighu." In his madness and in his sanity she had been his only 
constant - his only reality. 

The part of his soul that was bound to her told him that she still lived, 
but that she was very far away. 

He became aware that others had gathered, and he looked up at Lanaera 
with a helpless questioning. Carefully he lifted Morrighu into his arms 
and said to Lanaera, "If there is anything you can think to do for her. 
.. ?" 
--Cathy Mosley

Lanaera swept her fingers across Morrighu's face, flinching at
the icy coldness of the other woman's skin, and looked into Geiren's
anguished eyes.  "Take her to your rooms," she murmured, "we will do
what we can."  Though she was uncertain what good it would do the
banshee.  "I will call Deanna."
--Rebecca Ward

Geiren carried Morrighu back to their quarters and lay her 
on their pallet.  Geiren pulled a blanket around her fragile form
and held her close. He had left the door open for Lanaera. 

Lucc and Elenia stayed near Gwion, but to all who were sensitive they 
were filled with fear.
--Cathy Mosley

Lanaera entered the apartments with Deanna, and Paul Rustin,
another of the master Politi, in tow.  Deanna brushed past Yon, and
hurried to gather the still half-asleep Gwion into her arms.  "Come,
little one," she murmured, brushing down his hair as he wrapped his
arms around her neck.  Now that the threat had passed, some element
of calm had returned to her face.  "We will watch him," she said
softly to Geiren, before hurrying from the room.

Paul knelt by Morrighu's pallet, his pale blue eyes worried.
He was an older man -- older than Lanaera -- and though like many
Politi mages, almost ageless, his face bore the lines of his years.
He curved one hand around Morrighu's face.  After a moment, he
shook his head.  "Hers is not a weaving we know well," he told Geiren,
regret in his voice.  "Not so easy for us to summon her back."
--Rebecca Ward

All he could do was hold her as close as flesh allowed. He nodded mutely; 
not knowing what to say. Though she lay in his arms in mortal form he 
knew that she was still a creature of spirit and legend. And how did one 
heal such a being? 
--Cathy Mosley

Lanaera, standing by the door, cleared her throat.  "We can
warm her," she pointed out impatiently.  She nodded at Geiren and
added, "The threads binding them together will call her back, if
only we can warm her."

Paul placed his other hand on Geiren's face, lightly and
without threat, and his thin mouth smiled.  "If you will allow
us to weave...?"
--Rebecca Ward

Geiren kept himself from flinching away from the mage's light touch. "Do 
so and welcome. . .," he said, looking down at Morrighu's face; her 
alabaster beauty - so still and white, reminded him of the purity of 
freshly fallen snow. Almost to himself he said, "I've never felt her so 
cold - the Void is touching her."
--Cathy Mosley

Lanaera knelt also, on the other side of the pallet; as
Geiren and Morrighu lay together, the two Politi mages took the
flows into their grasp and wrapped them gently around the two.
Lanaera whispered past the channel between husband and wife, curling 
silken threads about it.  Softly, because of the unfamiliarity with
Morrighu's magic, they wove a shimmering blanket around the Bean
Nighe and her husband, and began to leach away the cold.
--Rebecca Ward

He lay holding Morrighu, and felt the whisper of energies wrapping 
themselves around he and his wife, and in some ways through them. 
The energies seemed to bring with them warmth. 

He called to her - giving her his love and belief. And from in the 
distant blackness he felt her - lost in her own domain; her very essence 
torn at by the agonizing deaths of so many souls. He realized that he 
needed to find a way to anchor and draw her to him.
--Cathy Mosley

At long last the feeling was gone.  Shan burst out of the between, 
loosing the rite of passage an instant before leaving.  It was 
always that way.  Once you hid, there was no escaping the between
without being found.  Until then, he had always found it an amusing
game to play, something a very young Sylphein had taught him.

He had never done it so long before, and he felt the drain down to
his bones.  After spending so much time working the magetite, he 
was even fatigued, but that was merely physical.  Many times before
he had felt such fatigue, but after days of battle it was expected.
It was clearly obvious to him now that he could never again hide
in the between while that _thing_ was still out there.  Even if he
eluded it, he would be too drained to act if anything worse were
to happen.  The alternative was to face it.  For that he would 
need help.

He wrapped his greasy begger's robes tighter about himself to
help assuage the cold shivering he felt within, and walked on in
the night.    
--Samson Gonzales