End of the line. He crosses through the shimmering portal at the end of the Ghost Roads, stepping into Rhydin's old cemetery - long abandoned, left to crumble into the decay of aeons. Although some still visit these lonely stones, most do it under cover of the noonday sun. Let's have a picnic in the cemetery, they tell their families. It's so peaceful there. But few ever finish their meals before the silence and the feeling of watchful, hungry eyes drive them off. Corwin's been here before, once or twice. The last time involved a strange, partially mute girl who played a flute and raised the dead to dance. That had brought him to the attention of The Betrayer and ended with one of her seeds planted in his brain. This time... this time is even worse. He steps through the shimmering beacon at the end of the Ghost Roads and finds himself... in darkness, close and cramped and smelling foul. When he opens his mouth in shock and surprise, earth fills it. The Ghost Roads had one final trick to play, and even as he'd entered them by stepping into an empty grave, he finds that he has exited by stepping out into a filled one.

The cemetery was not one of her favorite places... Not in the least... And the fact that she was there spoke volume of the reason. Tucked into the curve of her left arm was a bundle of flowers and she was all but marching through in order to find that particular spot that the flowers would be placed. This place... it was a reminder of what was lost and..worse yet...what will be lost soon enough. Something that she was reminded of, daily, that she could not stop. Not far behind her a large beast of a feline followed. As large as any great tiger, black as charcoal with ink black stripes. Brilliant blue eyes of the creature seemed to be following her but only seemed to cut to the side when something caught its attention. After all...the creature's ears were better than her own.

Shock freezes him, if only for a heartbeat. Not like this, to have come so far, only to fail at the last. Not like this, to have beaten so many foes, overcome such adversity, only to fall down at the last hurdle. Not like this, dying, choking, alone in the dark - and no one will never know where his body lies, and no one will ever properly mourn his loss. If he's lucky, the gravestone above him is still legible and clear, the body below him fresh enough that its memory is still alive in those left behind. Flowers will be left, and offerings on holy days, and Corwin's poor, tattered shade can take advantage of them to steal a little of the energy they have, to subsist without fading into indistinguishability, just a little longer. For half a heartbeat, he believes himself gone. And then the anger strikes. Not like this. Spells require many things; mysterious words, magic symbols, arcane passes of the hands and twitching of the fingers. Everyone knows this. Even a master magus cannot avoid it. Magic, however, requires only the will and the energy - and those, Corwin possesses in abundance, revitalized by terror and rage, and he wields it like a hammer against that which holds him down. Had he arrived head down, as they once buried suspected vampires, then all of his power would be for nothing. He would only have dug himself deeper, until his energies failed and his life faded. But in this one thing, he is fortunate, and his bolt of undirected force smashes through the earth that seals him from the sky, blasts it clear enough that air - sweet and chill, lifegiving air - reaches his lungs, before the hole starts to crumble in and lock him away again. But now, at least, he has a hand free...

It was the growl from the large cat that drew her attention and she looked over to him then into the direction he was staring. Sharp greens all but stared at a...the hell?! It was too early for halloween and the living dead to rising. She grunted quietly and placed the bundle of flowers on top of a headstone before slinking her way in that direction. She could have drawn her swords and sliced the undead before it broke completely free but she knew the difference between necro raising and..that wasn't a decaying hand. There was a number of explanations but she didn't care to list them. Instead a hand slapped out to take hold of a hand and there was a heave to help the buried from the ground. He smelled like the dead but didn't look it... That was a compliment!

He clutches for life, clutches for air, scrabbling at the ground. Perhaps, if he could think clearer, he would have tried to scoop the dirt away from him instead of trying to pull himself out against the sucking pull of the damp earth, but- maybe it would have occurred to him, in time, but instead he feels a strong grip seize his hand and then the earth is falling away around him as he is bodily removed from the clutch of his premature grave. Only his battered fighting stick remains in the pit, protruding out like a rotted tooth. Corwin lies headlong on the ground, coughing and gasping for breath and choking out wet clods. It seems like a lifetime before at last he can look up to his rescuer, his eyes watery behind his shattered and twisted spectacles, and attempt to mutter words of thanks.

The shadows that inked up along their legs, to him no doubt would feel cold like the touch of winter. Curling her arm to his side she shifted just enough to push forward and it would be a snap from one plane to another. A discomfort as the word sped by in what seemed like steps, time stilled if only briefly. What should of taken at least a twenty minute walk took seconds and when the shadow step ended it was like crashing into the world again. The veil split to allow them to exit, the twisted world light and dark giving way to the night of the city. From cemetery to the ground floor of a two story building. A dojo of sorts that was in a little need of attention but wasn't on the edge of breaking down. Lights above flickered their dull lights to show a wide area with three rings that looked like they were suited for sparring. The man was released, maybe a bit too quickly, as she pointed to the stairs leading to the second floor where he would find two empty bedrooms with a kitchen area between. Each had a bathroom. "Go ahead and clean up. Give me your robes before you head up." She needed something to work with when she went to get him fresh clothing.

When was the last time he'd felt true cold? Probably when the shadows of the Ghost Roads had torn at his flesh, striving to suck the life from his bones and the soul from his body. Despite that, he bears the walk with stoic calm, his face seemingly frozen in that serene mask. He doesn't even stagger as they arrive, although that may be because of her guiding hand and his valiant staff still bearing his weight. "I... okay." It feels... weird, to disrobe in front of her - literally - but he does so numbly, as mechanically as a clockwork doll. There's little left of what were once fine testaments to the enchanter's art, but the fact that he has lived - that there is still flesh beneath those gaping tears - indicates that they had done their work, and done it well. He looks - feels - odd without their protection, his pants and shirt as equally torn and tattered and barely protecting his modesty, his leather harness with its pouches and loops cracked and split. He has spent his potions, his wands and devices, expended nearly everything he had in his battles on the Ghost Roads. Only the satchel riding at the small of his back still possesses its secrets, the Bag of Holding Niima once gave him. Without his robes, he looks much frailer and far more worn, and he leans heavily on his staff as he goes to clean himself as best he can.

She wasn't interested in seeing his goods and it wasn't hard to tell. She was focused on her task and the moment she had the robes, and essentially the soulstones, she left him to clean. She, however, did not leave him alone. He would find in the kitchen that large feline and that feline would keep a keen eye on him. And while he was busy cleaning she was off to collect a few things.

Hot water. Hot water. When was the last time he'd...? Months, easily. The winter long, before the ship, before the roads. He might have fallen asleep there, under the pounding spray, heedless of the sting or the way it caused pale skin to turn pink, then bright red. He stands there, under the spray, and then - then he turns the water as cold as it will go, so cold it sucks the breath from his lungs, and he scrubs until he thinks he will tear the skin from his bones. It doesn't erase the black lines that mar his flesh, the places where the shadows touched him. It doesn't take away the scars. But at the end of punishing himself, he feels... almost human again. He emerges from the shower and dries himself off, finger brushes his hair into some semblance of order - as much as that raven mop ever gets, anyway - and finds some fresh clothes in his bag of holding to change into. When he walks out into the kitchen, he nods gravely to the massive cat that watches him with a wary eye.

The large cat made a huffing sound at him and after a moment or two seemed to bow his head as if greeting back. Hey! He didn't stink no more. Or it could be that without a word of warning...Someone was in his shadow. "These should fit you." She did have the worse tendency to pop up out of nowhere without so much of a sound. This was no different. In her arms was a pair of pants and a simple shirt since...well...she didn't know what he liked to wear so just went off of what he had before. Along with them was a robe of rather interesting fabric. While sitting as still as it was it looked sable but once it moved it looked as if the color shifted, as if attempting to blend in with the very shadows themselves. On top was a pair of simple boots to go with the attire.

"Oh-" He seems surprised, even though she had said she was going for clothing. "-thank you. I had some clothes in my bag, but no boots." He looks longingly at the robes. Black has never been his color, but... to be a wizard, and be without robes, just felt wrong. "I can- I do not mean to offer insult, and I thank you for your generosity. But I can repay you, if you wish. I have coin." He stumbles, just a bit, feeling his inexperience with... people... heavier than ever. Some demanded coin in advance. Some hated the thought of a monetary value being assigned to their generosity. One could never be sure how it would be taken...

"Save your money for new robes. These will only last two days..." And it was better he did not ask what they were made of. She grunted, offering the clothes at him awkwardly. "Go change..." He was inexperienced and she sucked with people. What a pair they made... "Do...you feel better?"

He considers her question gravely, as though the fate of the world rides on it. "Yes... and no. I believe I could sleep for a week and still remain tired, but-" he tilts his head, taking the bundle of clothes she shoves into his arms. "-there is so much to do." That creeping madness seems to return, just for a second, as he murmurs, "...so much to do." He looks down at the bundle of clothes for a moment, and then - apparently accepting that it was better to comply - he goes back into the bathroom to don them, returning his own to his bag of holding. Reclad, and with the strange - evidently fae enchantment - robes over his clothes and harness, he feels a bit more like a proper wizard as he emerges once again. "Thank you. Where are we? Is the Market far from here?"

By the time he was back out she had already paced somewhere close to the stairs. "We are in the market. There are two alchemist shops a few blocks away. One is owned by a really annoying woman and the other a man up in his years." She had only visited one and for what reasons, well, those didn't matter. Lifting a hand she held out something small to him. A key.

He accepts the key with a tilt of his head in unspoken question.

"You will need someplace to go to after you are done with your business. A place to rest." She started down the stairs but slowly. "There is food in the fridge. You? can stay as long as you wish...And when you decide you no longer need the key just shove it in the desk downstairs by the door."

He nods gravely. "Thank you." He looks back at the bedrooms - two of them - and then to her again. "If... if all goes well. If I succeed, I will have someone else with me. My friend. I hope you do not mind if I bring a guest." It's probably silly; two guests in her house are about the same amount of trouble as one, but... proprieties. If he doesn't succeed, he doesn't say, he probably won't be returning. Not alive.

She swatted her hand in the air. "That is fine so long as your friend does not trash the place. Same goes for you. It is no longer in use so might as well get some use out of it." She stopped after a few steps. "Do you need money?" It seemed almost an afterthought. "If you feel obliged to repay me for any money I can put you to work going to the orphanages to make deliveries twice a week." It wasn't much but ...well..there was reasons.

He bows his head. "I was well paid before - well. Before. I do not believe I will need funds. But I would be honored to repay you, in whatever manner you deem fit." Whatever honorable manner, obviously - but he gets the feeling that goes without saying. Dishonorable people rarely helped strangers break free of their graves, or talked about making deliveries to orphanages.

"Do what you need to do...I will..stop by in a few days to see if you are still here or not." Check on him so to speak. She hadn't moved yet, like she was mulling something over.

"Thank you." He flexes his fingers, then bows deeply. "My name is Corwin-" he hesitates, as though trying to remember something - or as though something pains him. "I am in your debt," he finishes softly.

"Corwin..." She was staring down and finally she glanced over to him. "Katt. And no? you are not in my debt. You never should think you are. I am helping because I want to.." She watched him for a moment? two... "Do you want me to come with you?"

He bites his lip as he straightens. "I... yes. If you will." It's hard to admit it, but... "I am afraid. I do not... know what I will face." He touches his chest, where the soul gem in the pouch still sits. "The one who - who enchanted my friend-" Enslaved her. "-was powerful, and cunning. Whoever holds her now may be moreso. I am... damaged. I do not know if I will prevail alone and-" He steels his jaw as he looks up and meets her eyes, the watery blue of his own as hard and cold as the winter ocean. "And I would know that, even should I fall, she will be free. No matter what else, I will not stand to see her bound any longer."

His cold eyes would meet the steel of her unnatural greens, heavy in a stare that never meant to be a stare. It was just how she looked, honest. She gave him a nod and continued down the stairs. "Then let us go before the hour grows too late and you lose your will." Or finds himself face planted in a ditch.

The latter is far more likely than the former. Leaning heavily on his staff, he follows her down the stairs and out the door, into the predawn gloom of the Market. Someone once referred to three in the morning as the "long, dark, teatime of the soul"; the hours when the most babies were born, the hours when the critically ill or injured most often died. The true witching hour, when good people huddled home in their beds and dark things crept out to play and prey. Corwin is unafraid of either monsters or men, for there's a demon riding him with the name of Duty, and it will not let up until his friend is free again. "You said there are two alchemists' shops, an old man and a... a strange lady?" He tilts his head at Katt in query.

And a demon at his side. "Yeah. Plump lady with bright yellow hair. Like? crazy bright." She scowled at the air as she pushed past the door. Not a single sound came from her person as she moved. "She sold me a potion a few years ago that? well... let's say for Halloween I didn't need a costume. I basically wore my namesake." She tilted her gaze over to him. "Is that where you want to start?"

"Does she seem the sort who would hold someone enslaved?" He considers it carefully as they walk. "What of the old man?"

"I do not know. I've never been to that one. Only the other one." The way she spoke may have been apologetic.

He rubs his chin in thought. Choose wrong, and waste precious time... time, time, time. And what if they're both wrong? Surely, a city the size of Rhydin has more than two alchemists? He should have scoped out his competition more thoroughly... Perhaps he should flip a coin? Or- "No," he says abruptly. "The old man." He would rather believe that a man would hold someone like Niima prisoner than a woman, but there's something else that draws him to the conclusion. He doesn't glance at the soulgem, but then, he doesn't have to. He can feel it there, like a cancerous tumor, laying in wait.

Sure Rhydin had more than two but those were in the closest to the circle so why not start there. She rumbled a sound in agreement and started to guide him along. She didn't point out that it may or may not be open at this hour. Who knows? "When? you left... why didn't you take this person with you? If they were so? important? Or they aren't important and you just feel like some impeding duty towards them?" Small talk. She sucked at it..

"I didn't-" His voice caught. Blame it on the exhaustion, on the endless chanting and the pained screams. Blame it on how battered and pained he's been. "There was an accident. A- a flux in the weave, or... or something. I do not know. I was working in my laboratory. The light changed. I looked up and... everything was different. Older. Worn. I lost... years." Seven of them, by his count. "And I could not find her, when I looked. I... I went away, after that. Because I had to make a living, and I could not seem to do it in Rhydin, not... not the way things had changed. So I signed onto a ship and I sailed away. But the ship... someone contracted them for longer, and there were people I wanted to see again. Family, of a sorts. So I took the Ghost Roads home, thinking that I was strong enough, clever enough, that they would be a shortcut." He laughs, bitterly. "I was wrong. But I learned of Niima. I learned what happened to her, and that she had been here the entire time." He scrubs his face with his hand angrily. "Trapped here. So I have to free her, you see? It's my fault. If I hadn't vanished - if she hadn't been looking for me- none of this would have happened." His voice is almost pleading as he looks up at the woman with the face of stone.

"So you gave up on finding her to seek riches." She stopped and looked over to him. "So why does her state matter now? Because you know she is someone's..servant?" Was it stated before that she was not a people person? Case in point..

"I couldn't find her," he all but snarls. "I cast spells, I asked people, I... I searched the markets. I tried..." He touches his face and sways against his staff. "And I... I was alone." His voice is nearly broken. "Even... there were those who adopted me, gave me a place in their family, and still I felt... felt lost and alone. So yes, I left. Not for riches. To find... myself, I suppose. And even in that, I failed, and now I return more broken than before." He lets his hand fall to his side. "I can't fail in this as well. I can not."

Her eyes drifted down slightly. "I apologize." She turned away from him and resumed her pace. "I know..how you mean. About feeling alone." She left it at that as she stopped in front of the shop and her eyes turned up to it, to the door with the little sign that said it was open. She'd glance to him. He needed to collect himself for whatever was on the other side of that door...Whatever it may be.

The mage is calm. The mage is serene. He stares at the narrow shop door as though he can stare right through it, and straightens his shoulders. "Finish the game," he says to himself, barely audible. And with his staff, he reaches out and raps on the door - loud, ringing, and insistent.