Alain strolls down the hallway he's been down once before, clutching a single unmarked black book in his left hand. He moves his cigarette thoughtfully from the middle of his mouth to the right corner as he passes Belial's office, eyes focused on the closed door directly in front of him.

Corwyn's office. He's heard the name, he knows this man is the leader of Blood House Onyx... but beyond that, Corwyn is a mystery to the young man. Maybe he can sort out the story of demons and seraphim that Alain has embroiled himself in? Either way, he has his own plans to discuss and ideas to share... Fingertips drum out a little beat on the black book.

Alain has not foregone his usual dress code even for a meeting like this - a pistol sits in a shoulder holster under his left arm. Never know when you'll need it. He makes a fist and knocks on the office door with the back of his hand, and Kael gets antsy.

?Come in.? A masculine cultured voice from behind the door invites.

As Alain steps into Corwyn?s office he may notice the simple grandeur the elf behind the massive oaken desk prefers. To Alain?s right old books line one side of the room?s wall. To his left are the French doors that lead out into the formal gardens. A fireplace has been strategically placed in the corner of the room, again to Alain?s left and against the wall where the door he?s just stepped through is located. But the contents and trappings of the room pale in comparison to the male who sits behind the oaken desk.

Spider thin fingers steeple as silver eyes rest on Alain. Corwyn looks to be tall, even in a sitting position. He is slender yet there is about him an air of strength, of power, an aura that demands command. Silver hair is caught in a tight braid that hangs down his back. Corwyn is dressed in a fashion most commonly seen in the Lands; his slacks are tight and fitted, his shirt of elven silk and his jacket tailored but surprisingly unadorned. Many in the Lands flaunt their wealth or position in their garb, but that trend doesn?t seem to have impressed Corwyn; his jacket although well-made and expensive has no frills or fops. He smiles in a friendly manner, gesturing the man towards a comfortable looking chair that sits before the massive desk as he stands. Yes, he is indeed tall, over six feet easily.

?Alain, it is nice to finally meet you. Please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Would you care for some refreshment, or shall we simply begin??

Shaking hands is a mortal concept his race is aware of, but it isn?t a custom among the elves. Corwyn doesn?t offer his hand, but he remains standing should Alain decide to offer his.

It isn't what Alain expected, except that he anticipated a surprise, and there are certainly a few. But the man's smile - if he could be called a man - elicits a small one from Alain, and while Kael cowers, the young man proceeds to the indicated chair. "No thank you - I just had a drink before I came over."

Corwyn's taller than Alain, though not by too much. Still, he has quite a presence, and even without his rider's help Alain gets a sense of some great inner strength coming from the slender elf. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the man behind the name." And behind the House. He takes a seat and holds his cigarette aside.

"I hope you don't mind if I smoke?" Sharp blue eyes now absent of silver search for an ashtray.

Corwyn?s smile never falters. He shakes his head and, without a word or gesture, an ashtray appears on the table beside Alain?s chair. ?Of course not; if you care to smoke, please be my guest.?

As Corwyn reseats himself, silvers remain steady on the boy. There is something about Alain that begs mystery, something Celestial in nature. Corwyn makes a mental note but doesn?t push for answers; all things in good time.

?You are quite the hero, Mister DeMuer, is it?? Long fingers steeple as elbows prop to the arm rest of his elegant chair, silver eyes never straying from Alain. Corwyn?s silvered head inclines in a respectful nod. ?I suspect you have questions. Belial has spoken quite highly of you, Mister DeMuer. And you survived your adventure with DCH, which speaks strongly of your abilities. For a human you seem to be blessed or incredibly lucky.? There is no emotion tainting his words, he?s not mocking Alain or teasing him. There is no confrontation intended by his remarks. He is stating facts as he perceives them. ?But I am sure that you, like Belial, may wonder why I have done as I have concerning the demonic trio.?

Corwyn leans back in his seat as index fingers tap lightly. ?Truth be told, a greater evil is coming, Mister DeMuer. DCH will play a vital role in insuring our success in overcoming it. You may want some reassurance that what I say is truth, but I fear that may not be possible. What comes is future and our path is now.?

"All I need are assurances that the lawyers will be kept from me and mine... and I want them to see justice once their role, whatever it is, has played out." Alain leans forward to tap his cigarette over the ashtray, which also allows him a closer look at Corwyn, a more meaningful look from himself to the other. "If they are allowed to survive too long, I don't doubt they will conspire to kill me, if they haven't already. And..."

Questions burn in him, just in front of his anger that the three, especially Howe, still live. What is so important about that book? Who are they - what are they? And even with the vague idea Alain has of who he's fighting, he knows even less who he's fighting for. "I need to know, as much as possible, what I've gotten myself into... what this is all about. People have died, Corwyn, fighting for me because I told them the lawyers were evil men, and they're still alive. I have a right to know as much as you do who and what they are, and just who it is I have chosen to fight for."

If there's emotion in him, he keeps it under the surface. While he asks for answers, his tone is not rude or insistent but carefully controlled, only slightly demanding - though his demands, his stated 'right to know,' may belie the frustration that churns at his center.

Inscrutable silver eyes remain steadfast on Alain, the Ancient?s expression hints at someone weighing and measuring what sits before him. Spidery thin fingers tap, tap, tap a slow contemplative rhythm. ?You seek understanding. Are you sure, Mister DeMuer that you care to know the truth? Let me assure you, you may not like what I will say.?

A cross hangs around Alain?s neck. Corwyn can feel the faith of the boy and therein lies the prickly problem. Faith can be destroyed or mutated by knowledge. Look at what happened to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It has always rested on him to be the Healer, but there is nothing healing in the destruction of purity. Faith is pure, knowledge corrupts. But in knowledge there lies true power.

Silver eyes narrow marginally and the Ancient leans forward. His voice is quiet and low but the intensity reverberates in every syllable.

?Careful of what you seek to know, Mister DeMuer. What you learn may change you forever.?

"It's too late to go back," Alain answers Corwyn, and he feels it to be truth. "Ignorance has nearly destroyed me... With knowledge, I may become something new, but at least not something empty."

And then he leans back in his chair again, the cigarette left smoldering in the ashtray. He watches and listens to the Ancient before him, matching his gaze for intensity at least the best that a mortal man can, and Kael is reverently silent.

The Ancient?s face softens and for a brief moment Alain would swear that Corwyn seems pleased. Perhaps by Alain?s answer or his matching intensity? Whatever the reason, the un-aging elf gives a single firm nod of acquiescence. ?Then truth it shall be.?

Corwyn returns to his lounge, the silvered head resting against the back of his chair as silver eyes close. His left hand lifts and with a wave images begin to dance in the air between them. Shimmering and slightly out of focus they begin to take on more cohesion as he starts speaking; images of war and of angels in horrific vignettes of death. As Alain watches the images change in a kaleidoscope of colors, going from the bloody battlefield of Heaven to the very pits of Hades.

?It is an age old story, passed down over thousands of years, through writings and word of mouth; the struggle of good and evil, of God and Satan. I am sure you have heard this before in sermons in church, for you are a religious man, are you not, Mister DeMuer?? The question is rhetorical and Corwyn?s doesn?t pause to await Alain?s response, but continues. ?DCH hail from Hell, they are spawns of evil, demons if you will. Mister Dewey, (of course, that?s not his real name, for in our culture, real names hold great power), he was once as I am, as Belial is today. But he chose a path far different from either her or me. Mister Dewey is what we call a ?Fallen Angel?. Not so Mister Cheatham or Mister Howe. They are demons made by the hands of those who Fell; fashioned as it were to commit acts of evil and to lure the innocent, naive or unsuspecting into their foul grips.

?Whereas, I am of Heaven, Angelic in nature and fashioned to answer the demand of my duties.? It is rare that Corwyn speaks so frankly of his nature to any, this is a great trust he bestows Alain. Time will tell if it is wise or not. ?You, Mister DeMuer, have gotten caught up in an age-old battle I?m afraid. But that is just the tip. For all things are not as they seem. Heaven, Hell? They are but places, like Rhy?Din or Chicago. Angels and demons are one and the same; creatures of energy created to serve their ?duty? whether it is for good or evil. You see, Mister DeMuer, there is nothing evil according to nature; we are what we were created to be. Which means sir, behaviors of both may contradict what you?ve been taught to believe in. ?

Corwyn pauses to allow this information to be digested by the man. The floating images begin to fade away, the last visages of horrors committed by warring factions. The sights had not been pretty but gruesome and oddly lacking in compassion, on both sides.

There is nothing for Alain to say, not yet. He watches intently, and he isn't the only one... His heart skips two beats when Corwyn admits he is an Angel, and yet... on a level, it does not surprise Alain. He has known for some time he is fighting demons, and Belial spoke of seraphs - is it so surprising Belial's boss comes from above?

The young man does not know enough yet to make a judgment about the Ancient before him. He nods for him to continue, at last.

Corwyn chuckles softly, watching the play of subtle ticks that speak of deeper emotions. Alain is good at keeping up his fa?ade, but the tiny, nearly imperceptible tells are ever-present. A slow measured nod of the Ancient silvered head is given before he continues.

?I understand how the sacrifice of life offends you, Mister DeMuer, but the cause you are fighting is just. The lives lost are not in vain, but are nevertheless a deep abiding pain. Every life is sacred, I believe. But I ask you this; does not the good of the many outweigh that of the few? Through your aid we have been able to reign in DCH. Their power has been taken from them and we hold evidence that is their undoing. They will not harm us, not you, or any under my care, at least not yet. Can I promise they never shall? I fear that is beyond our control but should they cross the lines we?ve set, we shall see them more than physically destroyed. You can take peace in knowing this.?

Corwyn knows the hearts of mortals, their emotions rule hot and heated over reason and logic. Yet in Alain Corwyn recognizes a deeper wisdom and perhaps he will understand the magnitude of the events. What?s coming is far worse than what has happened so far, yet the future is molded by free will and in the control of many. The tools needed to guide events towards a favorable outcome are costly indeed. The Ancient smiles sadly resting his hands in his lap, long fingers interlock then relax in quiet calm composure.

?There is much grey between reality and fantasy, Mister DeMuer. Heaven, Hell, God, Satan? These are concepts that have been fictionalized by your world. They exist, just as the soil or air or water does. But they are not as they have been painted to be but whatever we create of them. We make our prisons, Alain. You have inadvertently stumbled into a war that has been raging for longer than a millennium. Not just a war between Heaven and Hell, but a war between Brethren.?

Corwyn reaches for his silver cup and pauses to sip. Silver eyes come to rest on the mortal sitting before him. ?Why don?t you tell me what you feel you need to know? I shall do my best to answer you.? He invites coolly.

Corwyn is intrigued by the sense of ?otherness? he?s picking up from Alain; something familiar yet well hidden. He doesn?t press however, nor does he attempt to read the man; in Corwyn?s mind that would be rude. So he waits, biding his time until the opportunity presents itself to confront it. Unlike many, Alain intrigues the Ancient. Corwyn understands Bel?s attraction to him, but worries nonetheless. Alain is mortal, that is a fact that cannot be disputed.

"That book. I..." Alain's words are slower - there's still quite a bit to digest. "...surmised, that it was Celestial in nature. The Book of Secrets. And yet a Fallen-turned-demon and his two cohorts used its magic. I assume that is their sin, their trespass..." How he assumes that also remains a mystery... "...but who is there to punish them for it?"

Corwyn laughs gently. ?Why, Satan of course. It?s a rather long and tedious past we have, the Above and Below. You must understand that once we were one and now we are not. The book holds some Angelic Arcane. We know how they laid their hands on it. Using it is as easy for Mister Dewey as breathing is for you, Alain.?

"And you have the Prince of Lies on speed-dial?" Humor creeps back into the mortal's voice and expression, in spite of it all.

?Hmm,? Corwyn smiles as he considers how to answer Alain. Then with a slight shake of his silvered head he says. ?No, we don?t need phones, Alain. I have but to think about my Brother and he will ?hear? me. We are not physical in nature.?

"Close enough." Alain leans forward long enough to put his cigarette out under his thumb. His tattoo has changed, the encircled cross with the four symbols, one of them that might be familiar... Kael's mark. "...So. You're an angel, fighting wars against your brethren, among them a demon gone rogue trying to use the secrets of Heaven for his own wicked ends. I know a name is a powerful thing to give up... but maybe you could give me one of your nicknames, so I have an idea who I'm listening to here? My angelology's not as good as my demonology, but I might be up to scratch." On his lips is a brief flicker of a smile.

Kael?s mark distracts the Ancient. Silver eyes fall on the tattoo, staring at the Angelic mark curiously. How had Alain come up with such a thing? But the real mystery is why? Corwyn considers the mark and the man. A name is a powerful thing; it can be used as a weapon in the wrong hands. Alain however doesn?t present a threat, but some may steal what he knows without him ever realizing it. And that mark, it begs to be questioned.

?Let me ask you first, where did you find that interesting symbol?? Silver eyes track from Alain?s bright blues back to the tattoo, straight to the angelic script. ?I hope you do not take offense Alain.? The words are spoken quietly just before Alain feels the feather-light touch against his thoughts. It is as if someone had metaphysically brushed up against him. It is all that is needed for Corwyn to feel the presence of the Rider. A sudden narrowing of suspicious silver eyes on Alain but not-Alain, it is Corwyn?s turn to digest the news. ?Is this what kept you alive, your rider, Alain??

?Where does this rider come from,? Corwyn must wonder. ?Did the senior partners have something to do with this?? But he keeps his thoughts to himself as he waits for a response.

"Kael is broken," Alain says, "and he is part of a curse." His fingers rest over that symbol as he watches Corwyn's eyes. "...About a year ago, a witch by the name of Gwyneth took an interest in me. She kidnapped me, drugged me, and made a deal with some kind of spirit to possess me... and bound me to three other spirits, in an attempt to... well, I'm not sure I understand it, but I think she wanted something more than a mortal servant. I threw her and the spirit off, and two of those bound to me... but Kael has remained."

He considers. No, it's not Kael that kept Alain from death... except sometimes. "...Kael has never betrayed me, and while he is nowhere near as potent as I imagine he once was, he has helped me from time to time -- for whatever reason, he prefers me alive."

?I see.? Corwyn answers his expression inscrutable. Silver eyes reflect nothing as Corwyn weighs and measures Alain?s words. An Angelic rider is no more absurd than a demonic one, yet there are consequences for all parties concerned. Corwyn ponders if Alain is aware of them. However, this is not the Ancient?s business and therefore he remains silent on the issue for now.

The question of Corwyn's name still hangs between them. The Ancient has many talents and should there be need he could easily fog the mind of the mortal before him. Corwyn realizes something Alain may fail to understand; should push come to shove, Alain can easily be made to 'forget' anything the elder says to him. Therefore the choice is easy.

?I have been known by many names, Alain. Above I served as ?God has Healed?, my name then was Raphael. Is this sufficient, or do you require something more??

"...Raphael. I've read stories about you, and if a fraction of them are true, I should find some comfort in who I've been working for all this time."

Alain's eyes wander and lose their focus, as he takes a few moments to soak in this new reality. An archangel, Raphael, the Healer, the Lifebringer, here before him - and all because one night Alain had taken offense to Mister Howe saying he'd burn the Red Dragon to the ground...

"And this House... it's to work towards your goals as an archangel?" He looks back up at him, and with a very faint smile, he adds, "If you don't mind, I think I'd like that drink now."

?Please, be my guest. Help yourself,? Corwyn motions towards the wet bar where Alain will find practically anything he may wish to partake of. ?To answer your question; I, like the rest of my brethren, am a creature of my nature. I serve my duties now as faithfully as ever before. It is true that I do not serve the Angelic Council as I once did, but time changes everything, does it not?? It is a rhetorical question, posed as the Ancient watches Alain pour himself a drink.

?As for the Bloods, I suspect that is what you mean when you ask after our Houses? That isn?t far from the meaning behind the group?s origins. However, the Bloods were built to keep our Elven youths safe as they wandered out into the vast realms, away from their homelands. We established the Bloods in Bordertown for the sheer sake of keeping those far from home as protected as we could.

?Over the years, change, as is it?s want, has come and today we are a vast empire that caters to broadening many ventures while offering a place for our youths to explore other worlds, other cultures. Yet, throughout all of it, the primary goal is in the safe-keeping of our collective futures.? Corwyn leans back with a soft nearly indistinct sigh. ?I am too old not to see the wisdom in keeping the young alive and well. We may not be able to protect them from all the evils that may befall, but we can strive to keep them alive.

?For me, however, I shall forever remain vigilant of my duties and see them performed as best I am capable. There are grave repercussions otherwise, a fate that few would willingly seek.? Corwyn could tell Alain to speak to his rider about this, for certainly the presence would know well enough. But he refrains. Whoever it is inside the boy is hiding there for a reason no doubt and Corwyn isn?t inclined to force a confrontation. ?In short, I am what I am and nothing shall change that.?

He isn?t sure if he has answered Alain?s question to the boy?s satisfaction but he has spoken in honesty.

Alain is listening and pondering the entire time he makes himself a drink. He scoops up ice in an old-fashioned glass, pours a splash of grenadine over it, and drambuie over that. He stirs it slightly with a toothpick and it comes out bittersweet, tones of syrup and honey with the sting of scotch, and distinctly the color of blood but less opaque. "Is there anything I can get you while I'm up?"

Alain takes one testing sip, then another, longer. "I'd like to know how the Bloods feel about RhyDin City... about the health of this city, and their role in it. Or at least how you feel about it." The original purpose of the Bloods is far from what he may have suspected, but now he can't help but think that the Bloods may want to protect the environment that their elves live in, at least to an extent...

Corwyn shakes his silvered head. ?No thank you, Alain, I am fine.? He replies with a nod to his goblet. ?Yes, Belial came to me about this recently herself. We like Rhy?Din, we have made a home here and it is an excellent base for imports and exports. We?ve decided to begin a few charitable projects of our own. I suspect you were her inspiration?? Corwyn concludes.

?However, it is not our nature to presume the community will be fixed with the renovations of a few buildings and half-way houses meant to provide help and training to those less fortunate than ourselves. Nor will I allow us to resort to violence or force. We will do what we can and be grateful if we are able to help our town or even a handful of citizens.?

Corwyn pauses thoughtfully a frown knits the unlined face. ?As for what our role is or will be? I would suspect that all we can do is our best and hope it is perceived as such. However, as with all things, there will be some who may suspect other motives behind our generosity. Frankly, it is the nature of the beast. Do I intend to seek some form of power within our community?? With this query posed, the Ancient silvered head shakes. ?No. I do not seek such accolades; it is in our best interest that I remain out of that limelight. Would I keep others within the Family from seeking such? No, but neither would I insist upon it. I am not quite sure what you are asking, Alain, perhaps you could clarify what it is you want to know specifically??

"I believe you have already addressed it," Alain says softly and takes a sip of the drink. The West End knuckleduster, he likes to call it.

"Yes, Belial and I discussed getting more involved in charity, getting more involved in the community at large... We're both businessmen, we have plans for charity -- I feel like, at least on some level, our plans and our ideas may be similar. The question that remains, then... is what is my future with the Bloods?" His drink shifts in his hand, and ice cubes rattle. "Is the closure of this case the end of my involvement?"

?That would depend on you, Alain.? Corwyn chuckles lightly, silver eyes ever on the young mortal man before him. ?Since coming to Rhy?Din we have welcomed all kinds into our Family. Since learning of my heritage, I will understand if you wish to pull away or distance yourself from us, however?? Corwyn lets the word trail to silence as spider-thin fingers steeple and silver eyes shimmer with an odd bluish white light.

?You realize you are a hero among us. You and your Knights have won the hearts and minds of many within these halls. It would be a shame to toss that aside, a waste not to capitalize on what you can learn, what you can teach.

?Let me ask you instead, what might we offer you, Alain, to entice you to join our Family? I suspect there is much you and we can do together, given the opportunity.?

"To become a part of House Onyx?" he asks, for clarification. He sets the glass down, folding his arms over his knees as he leans forward a touch.

?House Onyx is but one of our establishments, Alain. I suspect you have resources enough for your own House should you desire the responsibilities. But if you seek to belong to this House, that too can be arranged.? Corwyn pauses as he leans forward, mimicking Alain; silver eyes stare into Alain?s bright blue depths.

?Before you answer, think of the possibilities of what a House of your own might afford us. Where prejudice has afflicted Onyx, for various reasons, a new House would allow for far better communal relations. It will allow us to branch out in our efforts to encourage economic and other forms of growth for our township and our businesses. It will also leave you time to pursue what interests you prefer and enjoy. Stepping into Onyx is possible, I would not wish to infer otherwise, but the potential here is tremendous, Alain, should you deign to run your own House.

?I am happy to give you time to mull this over. I do not expect your answer this minute. I understand the magnitude of what I am suggesting, Alain and in no way wish to force you into a choice. But I do request you consider what I have said.?

"...You're an insightful man, Corwyn," Alain says, and he rises slowly and extends his right hand. Light shines in bright blue eyes flecked with silver, alight with hope, with the knowledge of opportunity, a turning point in his life and a future for his family, and rebuilding the DeMuers of old in RhyDin.

"House Onyx is a great family, and they have done great things for me and mine, and my debts to them will not be forgotten... but I have a family also. If the Bloods have room for men and women that they might call cousin, another family to stand beside them... then I am only too happy to offer the alliance, and the friendship, of House DeMuer."

It is apparently something the young man has thought out before.

Corwyn stands and takes Alain?s offered hand. His touch is warm, nearly human, and the shake firm. He smiles and nods.

?I am sure we shall all profit from our association, Alain. If there is ever anything we can do for you or yours, you have but to ask. I shall assign a liaison that will be our intermediary. Do not worry, our door is always open to you, but this will allow us more immediacy and freedom.? Corwyn releases Alain?s hand and grants him a respectful nod of the un-aging silvered head. ?As for any debt you feel you owe us, please know we have another perception; it we who owe you, Sir. May you walk in peace and find contentment.?

He bows his head, and while Alain is not a man of many proverbs, he is a Catholic, so he offers one back - "Peace be with you, Corwyn." After a firm shake, his hand is released, the smile far greater in his eyes than the faint one on his lips, and he drains what's left of his glass. He begins to drift towards the wet bar to set the glass down... but something makes him pause, and look back at him.

"I don't know if you already have a liaison in mind... but either way... If you want to discuss business with me and cannot go yourself, can you send Belial when she's available? She's become a very good friend."

A darkness drifts behind silver eyes at the question. Corwyn has his reservations concerning Alain and Belial. The pair could well be on a collision course that could be detrimental for their alliance. Belial has been weakened by recent events and Corwyn feels protective of her, as he does for his daughters, his wife, Sun and sibling, Manon. Yet, what the Fates weave is not for the Ancient to undermine. Alain may not be what Corwyn believes is best for Bel, but it isn?t his call really.

The Ancient reminds himself that Alain has that young girl, what is her name again? He can?t recall, but it doesn?t matter, it may well be enough to keep the pair of them chaste. No turmoil rises when emotions and urges are kept under tight lock and the key is tossed into the ocean. He can but hope they will oblige him and behave accordingly.

?I shall look into it, Alain. She is Onyx House Leader and hence has many responsibilities laid upon her already. Are you certain you wouldn?t prefer someone else? Someone less, let?s call it ?complicated?, shall we? You are aware that Belial isn?t what she appears, I take it??

It may not be his call, but he can plant seeds of doubt.

"If she is too busy, I understand... but aside from Sid, I'm afraid I don't know anyone in Onyx House well. And things are always more than they appear..." Alain smiles faintly.

"...If it cannot be Belial, it should be someone without prejudice. I have hired humans, half-elves, shapeshifters and even Aurkindri." The Aurkindri are a diasporic race scattered between several realms, green-skinned with slightly prominent lower teeth and pointy ears closer to those of half-elves than full elves. In spite of their more civilized ways and great mechanical aptitude, they are often mistaken for orcs, and many elves are prejudiced against them. "Someone intolerant will not care much to work with my House."

Corwyn nods slowly then smiles benevolently. ?I am sure we can find a suitable substitute that will not bring prejudice into your House, Alain. And should you not enjoy whomever we pick, you have but to say and we shall try another.?

Corwyn is relieved but he doesn?t let is show.

?Now, if you would be kind enough to excuse me? I have a council I need to attend.? The Ancient silvered head dips once again in a respectful nod then the tall, lanky form moves towards the office door opening it. ?Have a good evening, Alain.?

Corwyn thinks to add ?and do try to stay out of trouble?, a common thing he says to most within the Family. But he refrains. No need to give the boy ideas.

Alain sets the empty glass down and turns, smiling at Corwyn. He has his own business to attend to now, a great deal, but he's sure the Ancient suspects that... "And you, Corwyn." He exits.