At Jodiah?s words, Alysia disengaged and lowered her rapier, stepped back to impassively salute him, then bowed. A small child with curly orange hair ran up and unobtrusively held out a pair of towels. She took one and used it to dredge a faint sheen of blood-tinged sweat from her face and arms, then smiled evenly at the death knight.

?It is regrettable that my son?s reign allowed corruption to breed nearly unchecked. But that is a symptom of a greater problem, one not entirely unexpected and certainly not unique to Rhilshen,? commented the priestess in a conversational tone. She regarded Ayreg with glittering crimson eyes. ?But I have no qualms about executing any of those who swore allegiance, should they prove false. There?s going to be a hell of a lot of blood shed before this realm is fully mine again, and in that time, I intend to become one of those dark rumors.?

Alysia grinned crookedly then. ?I have not yet sworn you to my service, Ayreg; the oaths involved in such are undertaken by few and require quite a bit of consideration.? Her voice grew quiet and pleasant, an almost musical sound under the bright percussion of swords and shouting in the dueling rings. ?Regardless, you should know that I trust you implicitly for a number of reasons, and I am, of course, quite indebted to you. So, there are many things I will tell you that others would never learn of.?

The golden sunlight of late afternoon filtered in through flung open windows and doors and danced on a few lingering motes of spicy incense made iridescent by a few globes of magelight hung upon unadorned stone walls. The room was a small, circular chamber set off of the second level of the fortress library, occupied by a round table, five chairs, a death knight, and a priestess. The table, inset at the center with an enamelled eight-pointed star and a serpent, had a dark, mirror-like finish and held a few maps, a half-empty goblet.

?You?re right. Besides you and Javan, there are none in this Fortress that are worth any trust,? said Alysia in a wry comment to their conversation terminated at the courtyard dueling rings. She was staring through the doors at a pattern of shadows raking dark lines across the balcony outside. ?I?ve never been particularly trusting, though. It?s always seemed to be a mindset that leads to weakness.?

Alysia?s voice sounded quite still and flat, due largely to a warding spell set on the room. The warding spell failed to diminish the cynical tone of her words. A cool breeze drifted through the room, bringing with it the green, sappy scent of spring. The priestess wrinkled her nose and returned to the table, refilled her goblet from a silver pitcher and drank. She brooded for a moment before she continued speaking.

?That reminds me -- I find myself in the personally unique situation of owing someone my life, and am at a loss for how to repay such a debt. Especially as that debt deepens.? She glanced at the death knight and half-smiled. ?The least I can do is offer my gratitude for your assistance, Ayreg, and my assurance that whatever you need is yours.?

"I don't need much, Alysia," the death knight said, craddling a nearly-empty goblet of his own. The wine in his cup, though, did not previously course some creature's veins. He stood near the table already, taking a seperate pitcher and refilling his cup. Chilled wine was becoming a fast favorite with the onset of spring. "It pleases me to know you have regained most of your power since the night Alaric ascended," he paused long enough to take a sip of the wine. "And you make a fine dueling partner. I daresay it's almost everything I can do to keep your rapier from biting me in our little spars." He smiled, but it seemed.. tired.

She regarded Ayreg for a few moments, then tasted her wine again. She studied the death knight, even as she spoke, taking note of how tired and old he seemed. "And you keep me on my toes. It's been too easy for me to rely on sorcery. Are you alright?"

"I am tired, Alysia. I'm not quite the spry little devil I used to be. It is nothing you should concern yourself with. A trifle, truly. I won't reflect poorly on you, when the time comes that I need to. Hopefully the Top Clerk doesn't ever start to notice that it's always time for your dueling sessions when he's giving his dusty old reports," Thin lips twitched and he made another sip of the chilled wine.

"Those dusty reports have a place, and not just for inducing sleep among insomniacs. But the swordplay is preferable." She set the goblet down, nudged it aside, and stared at Jodiah. "And I'm hardly concerned about you reflecting poorly upon me."

"I am. You must appear strong if you are to bring Rhilshen to heel. Rumors of dark tidings alone can often breed malcontents. If I am to be seen at your side in the Fortress, Emperess, I must display your Imperial power. That's why I asked to take one of Alaric's coats."

She considered his words, thoughtfully. "Appearances are frequently deceiving. If someone perceives a weakness which is not there, they might be inclined to make mistakes or show their hand."

That seemed to strike a nerve in the death knight. His jaw set into a stubborn grind of teeth, and his brow furrowed in a grimace. "Yes.. but I will not appear weak when I stand at your side, Alysia. I will not invite someone to make another attempt on your life. But... perhaps there is an alternative."

Words poised on the tip of her tongue, but held behind teeth and lips. She raises her eyebrows, taking up the goblet once again with a deep draw on its contents, and a satisfied smile. It was a good vintage, flavored perfectly with the right touch of spice. "Sure. There are always alternatives."

Alysia was trying not to laugh. She somehow managed to keep a.. mostly.. serene expression, speaking evenly and politely. "You should have seen the look on your face. Is it that peculiar that I don't dance?"

"You..." A faint heat in his cheeks. Ayreg took up an intense study of the contents of his glass -- what was left of the not-so-chilled-anymore wine. "Forgive me, Emperess, but there seemed nothing you were not capable of."

"I would be repeating myself if I said that appearances can be deceiving." She offered a dour smile, commenting in a confiding tone. "I'm also terrible at archery. I could spend quite possibly a week reciting my list of shortcomings, flaws, weaknesses, and failings, and not be finished, Ayreg. But your impression is quite kind."

"Not one of my stronger suits either, Alysia." Thin lips twitched, he finished the glass of wine like it were a shot of vodka.

Scarlet lips parted as Alysia gave a demon-grin, laughing and showing the points of her fangs. She appeared quite genuinely amused by something, then gave voice to some of her thoughts. "You know, I would wager that you made quite a noble knight, in your time."

"I did as was expected of me." The tips of those fangs were not lost on the death knight. Brilliantly green eyes lingered upon them perhaps a bit too long to have been a passing glance. "And I did it as best I could. Those days are.. mostly gone, I should say."

He continued, "But, perhaps, there is enough left in me to teach you to be a proper lady suitable for a Ball." He seemed to take on a curious gleam in his eyes, then, and his thin lips twitched with the faintest hints of smile. "When my lady has some free time away from the tedious sermons of the Top Clerk, then perhaps I should teach her to waltz, and to form dance, in Three-Time as well as in Four-Time. One cannot know what an orchestra will do."

Then, suddenly, as if remembering himself.. his head bows slightly. "If it pleases the Emperess.."

"Mmm," Non-committal, she inclined her head. "If you persist in referring to me as the Emperess when not in the company of others, then I will continue to refer to you as Lord Ayreg. I am who I am, regardless of what titles I hold."

Oh, he flinched at that. His voice was soft when he spoke again. "I am lord of nothing... Alysia. Please, call me Jodiah."

Alysia Skye's lips pursed briefly. Dubious thoughts about learning to waltz were left unspoken, but quite visible on her expression; her countenance. The priestess studies the death knight for a few moments, unblinking, then nods. "I could offer a title and lands. I should, actually. It would be a way to begin to repay my debt to you."

Elven features impassive, she became unreadable again. "What sort of place do you fancy?"

The death knight's green eyes looked almost hazy, as if he suddenly was embroiled in memory. "I... I would know nothing of being a noble now, Alysia. Any land granted to me would be the first in Rhilshen to turn black from border to border due to mismanagement."

"My mentor said the same thing, yet the Baroness of Mynw has managed to turn her lands... hell, the whole damned province into the most profitable and peaceful in the realm. But as you wish, Jodiah."

He shook his head, lifting a hand as if ward off any sort of high-toned and fancy-to-do manor. "What do I fancy? I've always been fond of a small room. A rack for armor, and a place to rest a sword. A cot to sleep upon, and a few spare changes of clothes." He offered a small smile. "I am a soldier, Alysia, and an old one at that."

Alysia began speaking at length. She was long-winded, a bit too preachy, and some of what she said was in dire need of being refined a bit. Still, she explained the situation to him perfectly, regardless of the somewhat stilted way it was presented. From time to time, she interrupted herself with a drink of bloodwine. "The assassin you so fortuitously saved me from used to be a Guardian Priest, kind of like I am. But he was gloating about serving Varltesh, the Dark Ancient. Vartelsh is one of the Ancients who initially fell outside the pantheon of this world. He wasn?t really a god, but he ultimately became this world?s deity of ... well, hatred, murder, abused power, despoliation, sadism, that sort of thing. He feeds off the life energy of those dying a painful, unnatural death. Those he influences are great advocates of particularly unpleasant sacrifices.?

The death knight's face was without expression.

Alysia went on to explain that it had been assumed that Varltesh had been destroyed by the Gods a little more than a thousand years ago. It was later discovered that the Dark Ancient had survived by retreating to a perpetually sunless sliver of land on the barren, western coast of a small continent. There, out of clay and stone and brine, he created a clan of minotaurs who gleefully provided his required sacrifices. That continent was Rhilshen.

?Then, there is Astaen, The Morning Lord. He is the god of the Sun and knowledge, usually invoked as the deity of the illuminative nature of law and order. He created Lojwwdthrendtalen, who takes the form of a gold dragon, specifically to guard Rhilshen from the threat of Varltesh, the Dark Ancient.? She lifted her arms, allowing her sleeves to slide back, showing the gold and black serpentine tattoos about her pale wrists. ?So, as a Priestess of Dthrendtalen, I also serve Astaen." Ayreg's green eyes scanned across the sinuous form of the tattoos, nodding to her words as she spoke. He had refilled his goblet of wine, though even the pitcher was hardly chilled any longer, and merely listened as she spoke.

?If Varltesh is involved ? and I am certain he is ? this conflict I?m facing is not at all unique to Rhilshen. The problem is both historical and cyclical. The first Twilight War happened during a weeklong solar eclipse, when Vartelsh?s power first grew enough for him to overcome Astaen and Dthrendtalen?s wardings and he was able to exhort his minotaurs to attempt to take parts of Rhilshen. As they moved east over the Dragonspine Mountains, Varltesh?s influence strengthened."

?During the twilight of the eclipse, the Priests and Priestesses were detailed to perform rituals to channel energy to the Avatar of the Guardian. There have been four Twilight Wars recorded so far, one about every 100 years, during an eclipse. It?s been less than fifty years since the last.?

"So," he said, finally, after a long pause and a few drinks of wine. He set the goblet down, leaving it half-empty. "Not only do you face a civil war over your reclaimation of the throne of your Empire, and the possibility of facing dancing lessons.. there also seems to be an outside influence ready to spill out into your lands, wreaking chaos, bloodshed, and tumult in its wake. A fair assessment?"

Jodiah Ayreg huddled beneath a roughly-hewn shelter, and wrapped his cloak a bit tighter around him. Slouching back against the tree the lean-to was propped up against, he sighed, going over what he had told the Emperess the last time he had seen her.

"I will take what is left of the day, and probably most of tommorow, ferreting out the dispositions of the provinces in Rhilshen, Alysia. I will know by then who stands with you, and who would see you pulled down."

Damn foolish of a thing to say. She'd probably berate him down one side and up the other for making such a ridiculous statement. It took considerably more than a day and a half, he discovered, to cross Rhilshen by horse one province at a time. Blood and ashes, he'd be lucky to have a hide left when she was done with him, the way he saw it. It had been nearly seven days now since he set out in that sudden downpour of rain.

He knew that the weather in Rhilshen could be chaotic at times. What he did not know was that there seemed to be a season where it rained continuously. Every day. He was cold, soaked to the bones, and there had been times he probably looked better too, what with all the mud splattered over him.

The death knight straitened his posture on the ground, adjusting his position so as to not be sitting directly on a root from that tree. Ayreg reached behind him to work a knot out of his back, grumbling softly. I am getting old, he thought. A week in the saddle, with two pauses a day to water the horse, and he felt every gray hair on his head. He would not even have noticed years ago.

As he sat there in the cold, and the rain, and the thunder, and the hail, and the rain, and the lightning, and the rain, and without anything better to do until his shadow mare had been given ample time to rest, he began to think of this place.

Rhilshen.

Alysia's explanations about the current situation in Rhilshen, as well as being here again, had jogged his memories considerably. Coming through the shadow gate with Alysia the night her son, Alaric, ascended to divinity was not the first time he had come to Rhilshen. Years ago...

The Sovereign had just arrived from the eastern slopes of the Dragonspine Mountains, marking the western border of Rhilshen. Once she had returned, it became a rather unguarded secret that her demon-scourge consort was, in fact, a servant of the Dark Ancient, Varltesh. Upon her return to the Fortress, the Sovereign had went about fortifying the nation. Foremost of her agenda was to unify it entirely under her control. Rhilshen became an Empire, and the Sovereign became an Emperess -- along with the Avatar of the divine being which guarded this newly reformed empire.

She had issued a formal decree calling for all warriors to join her army in preparation for the oncoming Twilight War. It happened once every hundred years -- everyone in Rhilshen knew this -- and it had been nearly that long since the last. With the enclave of minotaurs and other demi-human beasts growing in the Dragonspine Mountains, Varltesh's influence had begun to spread throughout the western provinces.

The Temple of Syladesh had sent a group of warriors to answer the call, hand-picked by Javan, to report to the Fortress. Jodiah Ayreg, having been a wandering sort before he waged his war upon Rhy'Din itself, had just happened to be in Rhilshen, and so answered that call. Not for love of the empire, though, or of its emperess -- he did it for love of carnage. Javan was impressed with his savage skills; at the way he threw himself into combat as if uncaring whether he lived or died, and so he had been named a member of this Undead Association that the Emperess had begun to gather to herself.

They had just arrived at the Fortress. Assembled in formation as they were, they numbered in the hundreds. A personal army, this Association was. More specifically, an organization to carry out the Emperess' wishes alone, and the goals of the Skye clan.

She stepped down the ranks, and one by one over the course of the inspection the men and women identified themselves. When she reached him, she stared at him and awaited him to declare himself as the one before him had, as did the one before him, and the one before her, and the one before him.

"Jodiah Ayreg. Captain in the Division of the Inner Circle, Emperess."

Her eyes had raked over him, impassively, and she moved on to the next. He was one amongst so many, and not memorable in the least. His face was smooth, just old enough to shave without the real need to. His hair was shorter, and colored like the raven's wing.

It wasn't a wonder she didn't seem to recognize him now. All the better, he supposed. His being appointed to the Inner Circle Division back then seemed to keep him away from the front lines. He was assigned to be one of the bodyguards for the White Queen (also of the Inner Circle), who would later, after the end of the Twilight War, become the Baroness of Mynw.

It was a tedious position that, heralded by the White Queen's frosty demeanor and the complete lack of need that she had for a bodyguard at all, led him to spend more time than was necessary -- indeed, proper -- in the Fortress in the company of the so-called Black Queen; the Emperess herself.

"Was watching the stars. There's a meteor shower happening... you can see the stars flying across the sky every now and then. Some superstitious types say it's an omen. Only time will tell. I don't have the gift of foresight."

It was his fault. He was impertinent in his youth, after all, and had betrayed a certain trust that had been appointed to him. He was a man of his word, now, though he was headstrong and foolish in his younger days. Jodiah Ayreg never heard of what happened in that Twilight War -- he had abandoned the cause of Rhilshen, and returned to Rhy'Din to wage his own war of destruction and domination in the name of his own dark gods.

Seeing her again, in Rhy'Din, was a shock to the death knight. She had changed slightly, of course -- her pale golden hair was now as white as bone, as was her skin -- but it was still her, and easily recognizable to him. She didn't seem to recognize him now (no doubt due to his much-advanced age), which was all for the better.

If she did, she would likely skin him alive and hang him from the ramparts of Rhilshen Fortress as a warning to those who desert their posts. To him, this was the repayment of a debt, several generations old by now.

And it would be repaid with interest.

Jodiah Ayreg grumbled, shivering in the cold. In Rhy'Din this was a good spring, but here? Darkness seemed to cling to the land, and it was bloody cold even now. He wondered how the farmers -- these Earth-Workers as they were known as -- managed to keep their crops from withering and dying in this near-constant chill. Oh, he knew from the inns among the scattered villages he had the opportunity to stay in that this was most unusual weather for this time of the year. A sign, the commoners had said, that Varltesh's strength was growing.

They seemed incredulous; worried, doubtful maybe as to if Rhilshen could even survive another Twilight War.

It wasn't his concern. Not for the moment. There may come a time when he donned his armor and drew steel in the name of the Skye clan. There may come a time when he declared Alysia Skye the true and eternal Emperess of Rhilshen, and spit in the Dark Ancient's eye. There may come a time when he would fling her banner across the sky, and join -- or lead -- her armies into pitched, open, and total war.

That time was not now.

No. Now was the time to not freeze to death. Now was the time to make it another two hours for the horse to rest, and then push on. His mission of ferreting the information was complete; he had only to deliver the reports to Alysia Skye now, and then warm his soggy bones in front of a burning hearth as he tried to never move another muscle again.

A pack was strapped to his back, beneath his cloak. Covered in several layers of greasy oil, it kept the contents dry and completly safe from this bedamndable storm that refused to go away. Those reports, observations, and deduced conclusions would be important to the way she shaped her reclaimed empire.

Relief. Sweet, sweet relief. Nothing can weigh on my nerves faster than high-nosed elves that are in dire (ink blotch) lighten their mood.

I used the map I found in the Fortress library to navigate my way to a river. Once I found it, I followed it south through a pass in those mountains that gave my mare such a time on the trip to Shayltan. The river forked at the edge of the pass near the base of the mountains, so I headed due west to the capital city of the K'Thayne province.

Set into the mountains, it was no shock to me that K'Thayne did not do well in the way of agriculture. I do understand that these rocks hold a great amount of minerals and gems, though, which allow the barony to purchase food and the like from other provinces.

Be warned. The citizenry here have a lean and hungry look.

I know this because I was in one of the K'Thayne taverns briefly. Asking questions concerning the Emperess gets several nasty looks, and more than a few drawn daggers.

This time, no matter how I dressed, I was not allowed into the palace of the Baroness. Apparently my description preceeded me, as well as what I did to that fat woman the night of your ascension.

I would recommend troops loyal to the Emperess be moved into K'Thayne as soon as possible. They have a (another ink blotch) feel that rebellion is brewing.

I will make camp outside the walls of the capital of K'Thayne for tonight, and then I will travel east (ink blotch) south. K'Thayne seems mostly a wasteland, this close to the Dragonspine Mountains.

I do understand that Destil is considerably more fertile.

Does this bloody rain ever stop? (yet another ink blotch)

I was mistaken about Destil.

Fertile though it may be to your "Earth-Workers," Emperess, I have encountered nothing but near-endless, stinking bogs and swampland. The farmers here do make a nice living from what I can see, but I'm not sure what's worse now: this accursed, never-ending rain -- or the insects.

Far be it for me not to mention the citizenry of Destil, though. A fine lot to be sure, and friendly to those bearing the Skye crest and claiming to be your agent. Travel (ink blotch) slow in the marshlands of Destil, and a kindly Earth-Worker has put me up in his home for the night. I will continue these notetakings in the morning, when I reach the capital of Destil.

(ink blotch) I continued on in the morning, thanking my host for his food and shelter. I tried to remember his name for more appropriate thanking later, but it escapes me for now. Pity.

Eventually, another Earth-Worker took pity on an old man and guided me to the capital city of the Destil province. Without even having to wear the now-wrinkled red coat I took from Alaric's wardrobe, I was admitted inside the palace of the Baroness -- one of your kin, lest her name decieve me. She informed me she had only recently returned to Destil from some place called Bloodfalls.

News travels fast (ink blotch) your realm. Her return seemed to coincide with your own.

The Baroness Lledrith also reminds me vaugely of the White Queen. I look forward to meeting her (a word was scratched out here, coated heavily with ink) when I reach Mynw.

She was as gracious a host as I could hope for, replenishing my supplies, having my clothing laundered, and offering me a room in her palace. She assured me of Destil's undying loyalty to you, though not nearly in a language as flowery as the Baron of Shayltan -- simple words. Have to respect that.

I believe her. Destil stands at your side, Alysia.

I also visited the local temple, and met with the Guardian Priests. They seemed loyal enough, though a few tried a bit too hard to listen to conversations they were not a part of.

I was asked to relay a message to you. Apparently, someone named Karthalan is overdue from the Rhilshen Fortress. I very bluntly informed the priest - a shifty-eyed (ink blotch) saw one - that I am no messenger boy, and went on my way.

I'll be making my way due east in the morning. According to that map, I've a river to cross, another to navigate around, miles and miles of filthy swamp, and another mountain range before I reach the deserts of Sethil.

With respects, I would retract my earlier statement about the inhospitable terrain of your realm, Alysia.

The mountain passes separating Sethil from K'Talar were not so difficult to navigate as I first feared they would be, and the land on the other side was much improved from the barren wasteland, sinking bog, and arid, scorching deserts I had to navigate to get here.

Vineyards and orchards made for a scenic trip, and offered an abundance of shade for my trek to the capital of the K'Talar province. Nearly for the first time since (ink blotch) on this trip, I've actually quite enjoyed the environment.

Like the Baroness of Destil, the Baron Warryk and his wife, Evara, were gracious and accepting hosts. They answered every question I had to ask, and they seemed to answer fully and without omission. The lady Evara sends her compliments and respects to you, and would ask I deliver an invitation to you to visit K'Talar sometime in the future.

That being said, I find no fault in the citizenry either. A hard-working lot and they're friendly enough, if not a bit single-minded about tending the wineries and ensuring a good crop. I was even given a bottle to present to you when I returned, Alysia -- it tasted faintly of spice and it gave me a dreadful headache for an hour, but it's not poisoned.

I won't tarry here longer than necessary, no matter how agreeable the landscape or how pleasant the hospitality is. In an hour or so after my horse has had time to water and rest, I will be traveling northeast to Mynw.

K'Talar is yours, Alysia.

The next missive that arrived was written in a nearly illegible hand, and took a great deal of concentration and assumption to make the words out.


I trust and hope that you will forgive the state of this letter, Alysia, but I am writing from the saddle this time. A proper writing (ink blotch, turning into a smeer) preferred, but we do what we must.

Kaul was an interesting province to travel through. Nearer the coast and border (ink blotch)fine land, with fine and friendly citizens. More than once (ink blotch) was able and willing to point me in the generally right direction I needed to travel, as (ink blotch) map I had brought with me from the Fortress library got ruined in this renewed rainstorm since I (ink blotch)from Mynw.

I was not permitted to speak with the Baron of Kaul, though I was not bodily threatened like I was in K'Thayne. I decided to take a(ink blotch) to speak with the citizenry. A fairly common lot, with mixed (ink blotch) opinions.

The longer I sat in the (ink blotch) listening to conversations and partaking of the wonderful flavor of Rhilshen spiced wine, the more I was able to (ink blotch) subtle lilting voices of elves. What few whispered words I was able to make out seemed to be made with the dialect of Shayltan.

The further west I traveled, the more commonly I noticed such cloaked exchanges taking place. I would hazard a guess as to say that Kaul is being corrupted, Alysia, but (ink blotch) speaking of to make a very good guess. Perhaps it is nothing.

By the time you (ink blotch) missive, I should be half-way back to the Fortress. We will discuss this more then, if it pleases you.

"I have returned, Emperess. I trust you received my reports?"

The death knight?s words were received in a bubble of silence, for the rise-and-fall hum of conversation had fallen off as when entered the great hall and offered obeisance to the High Priestess of Rhilshen.

?That we have, Ayreg,? said Alysia. ?And your reports have proven quite useful, even in an immediate sense. Expiation of dishonor by ritual suicide has become quite a popular entertainment in our Court.? As impassive as ever, the corners of her mouths twitched up into a faint smirk. ?We appreciate your efforts on our behalf and remain in your debt, it seems.?

She motioned for her advisors and ministers to step aside. They complied respectfully, turning curious miens toward Jodiah. There were many new faces among them; save Banedal, all were young, with gleaming eyes and pale skin, and more than half were female. Several were vaguely familiar, as those had most recently been employed with various Houses and Clans in Rhy?din.

Alysia leaned forward and studied the death knight for several moments, candidly gauging his condition. ?We have been told that it is customary for the Emperess to reward those who have assisted her, with deeds of land and ennoblement. Our son?s errors aside, that?s why most of the provinces of Rhilshen are governed by those with the Skye surname. There is no doubt that you have assisted us, at the risk of your own health and life.?

She nodded at Banedal, who stepped forward, holding out a scroll to Jodiah. With an almost mocking smile, the priestess explained, ?And I know you have no wish for such a thing, but the forms must be followed. So. You have been granted the deed to Taiva, in Rhy?Din ? I obtained it some time ago, even lived there briefly while Dark Lake Manor was being repaired, and it reverted to Rhilshen when I reclaimed my throne. The estate is small enough that even I could manage it, but there is a capable seneschal there ? Lord Ayreg.?

"...would the Emperess continue to show her generosity, by granting me some time of leave to return to Rhy'Din?"

Alysia grinned impishly, and with her, a few of the advisors ventured tentative smiles. The death knight kept his usual stoic composure, for the most part, but she thought his smile was starting to look a little strained.

?We are certain you could benefit from some rest and some diversion in Rhy?din.? The priestess paused, wrinkling the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, gleaming crimson, glittered with silent laughter. ?Maybe a bath or two, as well.?

She held up her hand, forestalling the inevitable rejoinder. ?I?m joking . . . but you do look a wreck, Ayreg. Just get going, and recover yourself. Return to Rhilshen as it pleases you.?