"It is an inevitability that the closer we get to the light, the longer the shadows behind us grow." - aphorism of the Path of Light

4th Rhaan (Late-Summer), 998YK

Fairhaven, Aundair

The Gladiatorum was located in an old cistern beneath the city. The place was a den of several things considered illegal in many of Khorvaire's nations; fights with the potential for death, burndust and dreamlily usage, and unregulated gambling. One might be surprised which of those caused city officials more consternation.

Surprisingly sophisticated wooden scaffolding held up the areas where patrons sat around the walls of the cistern. This wooden ring surrounded the central fighting pit, no more than fifty or so feet across. The bare stone had blood both fresh and coagulated splattered across its surface. Limelights washed the pit in bright, unforgiving light, making those who sat around the rim to watch the bloodsport little more than amorphous shadows.

"Rusting edge, what the fuck am I doing?" Marek muttered to himself as he waited beyond the red painted bars that separated the prep area from the arena. The paladin was shirtless, clad from the waist down in a pair of leather leggings and rough boots. Both of his fists were wrapped in cesti; leather gloves with reinforced knuckles. Up above him, Elusene would be watching the proceedings, joined by Rishgek and Novashtai under the guise of bodyguards.

Novashtai should have been in Marek's place. The owner of Gladiatorum, a pasty and willowy elf that looked like he'd die if he so much glanced at a clenched fist, insisted that his upper class clientele would not approve of an "Infernally inclined" combatant. Normally, that would warrant a bloody nose from Marek and/or Novashtai on the part of the speaker, but getting in this fight was necessary. And so, here Marek was.

"Good people of Fairhaven", a booming voice echoed through the chamber. "Please, turn your eyes to center stage. Tonight's main event is finally about to begin. It is rare we get the chance to pit two fighters against each other who are new to the business but skilled in violence! Two surprise pugilists, two pairs of eager fists, but only one will be standing to bask in the glory of the Gladiatorum! Are you ready?!"

The confined space made the responding cheer disproportionately loud. Marek grit his teeth. He wasn't scared of dying here thanks to his healing magic, but this was an unfamiliar environment. Novashtai's lessons were flitting through the paladin's mind.

"Coming out of the red gate, we have a warrior bringing the fury of the gods to the arena! He's a paladin of Dol Dorn, a veteran of the war, and he's ready to show the Gladiatorum what he's got! Introducing; Marek Izaaaarooooo!"

The gate clanked open. Taking a deep breath, Marek stepped out into the arena. He didn't make an effort to work the crowd or even really look up at them. He was too busy staring across at the blue gate, wondering who was about to be let out to face him.

The voice went on. "Coming out of the blue gate, we have a mountain dwelling monster, a slayer of orcs and dwarves alike, Graniiiiiite Gaaaaaaaune!"

The blue bars rose. Out stepped a man that was a full foot taller than Marek, with grey skin covered in white tattoos. Gaune was dressed and equipped just like Marek was. Muscle rippled under his skin with every movement.

The paladin hid his displeasure and steeled himself. He'd fought bigger foes and won. Granted, he hadn't been essentially unarmed during those fights, but by that token, he hadn't had any unarmed training back then, either.

"Sovereigns and Six…", Marek sighed as Gaune cracked his knuckles and smirked.

"Fighters! Begin!" The announcer commanded.

The crowd roared as Gaune immediately charged, throwing a punch with a melon sized fist.

The avalanche doesn't stop for anything, no matter how unyielding it might be. If it can't crush it or smash it aside, the avalanche buries it. If you can't crush them or smash them aside, bury them.

Novashtai's instructions. Marek smiled in spite of himself as he dodged the punch. He knew bringing this brute down with a few heavy blows was out of the question. So, the paladin got inside Gaune's reach. One, two, three, his fists hammered into the goliath's ribs in rapid succession. It felt like punching a mountainside. Then Marek brought his arms up and was rocked back as a blocked another thundering blow. The impact jarred up Marek's left arm and into his shoulder. By Dol Dorn's whetstone, this son of a bitch could hit.

Marek backed away, measuring his opponent. Gaune didn't give him much of a chance, advancing at once, throwing a wide haymaker. Marek raised his forearm, sticking it in the crook of Gaune's elbow to stop the incoming blow, then riposted with a fist to Gaune's face. The goliath recoiled only slightly, but that instant let Marek slam two more quick punches into his gut.

Marek had made the unfortunate mistake of forgetting this wasn't really a formal fight with formal rules just because it was an arena setting. Rather than try to punch again, Gaune gripped Marek's skull and headbutted the paladin. The crowd gasped as Marek stumbled back, blood pouring from his now split brow. Stars were in his vision and it was all he could do to raise a renewed defense against the giant.

The avalanche begins up high, but its course most often takes it low.

Marek ducked another punch, suddenly darting for Gaune's legs. He got a grip behind the bigger man's knees and lifted. The goliath levered over backwards, slamming into the stone floor. Marek pinned him and started raining down punches into his face, neck, and throat. It was Gaune's turn to be on the defensive now.

Gaune managed to blindly belt Marek in the side of the head. The paladin fell to the side, but Gaune could not capitalize. One of his eyes was rapidly swelling shut, his lips shredded by his own teeth, his nose broken and bleeding. Both fighters struggled towards their feet, but Marek was faster. He caught Gaune with a knee to the ribs as the goliath was pushing himself up. Gaune actually groaned in pain. Marek felt ribs break under the impact and kept after him, punching in that same spot several times. Eventually, Gaune's legs simply gave out and he spilled to the floor.

Marek stood over the goliath, but not so near that he could be tripped. "Yield." Marek demanded. "You can't win." This was why the Gladiatorium often had deaths. There was no ten count, no referee. One fought until they yielded, were knocked out, or death.

Gaune did not yield. Slowly, painfully, he tried to push himself to a sitting position. Marek aimed a kick at his opponent's temple. The impact jarred up Marek's leg. Gaune's eyes rolled back and he flopped back onto the floor, motionless.

Marek did not know what constituted a knockout. He looked up at the roaring crowd, waiting.

In what was a decidedly bad system of judgement, the announcer finally said, "well, it seems Granite Gaune has had enough! That means our winner is: MAREEEK IZAAAROOO!"

Marek didn't raise his fist in triumph. He knelt down and placed a hand on Gaune's shoulder, willing healing magic through his fingertips. The goliath's bloody lips and swollen face started to heal. His eyes opened.

"Hm…wh-...wha-...?" Gaune grunted.

"It's over. You fought well. Best of luck to you." Marek told his opponent, standing up and walking away, using the rest of his healing magic on himself. He half expected an attack from behind, but no such thing happened.


Marek had cleaned himself up in the Gladiatorum's locker room, collected the winnings from the fight, and left that wretched place. It wasn't exactly hidden, but its entrance was covered by a dilapidated warehouse in a part of Fairhaven that was not frequently traveled. Bribes were the greater shield against the law than secrecy for the fighting pit, was Marek's understanding. Marek would like to see the place closed for good, but he had neither the time nor the means at the moment.

Fairhaven may have been a bastion of the arts and learning, but it was not free from the same issues that every other city faced. A block away from the Gladiatorium began a poor neighborhood of densely packed shanties and hovels populated by the Aundairan capital's working poor. Stray dogs wandered and barked. Somewhere, a baby cried. A bit further, two voices shouted in argument. Marek walked past three children dressed in clothing that was barely a step above being rags. They were playing some incomprehensible game with rocks of various sizes.

Just thinking about how much coin was changing hands over bloodsport a stone's throw away made Marek even more sullen over the whole affair. He looked past the children to the hovel behind them. A woman, aged before her time, was seated just outside the door of the sparse dwelling, watching over the children. She was lean, the look of a mother skipping meals so her young ones didn't have to. The woman locked eyes with Marek and for a moment the paladin expected her to demand that he leave.

Walking past the children, Marek approached the exhausted mother and placed something in her hand before she could really react.

"Boldrei's blessing on your hearth, ma'am." Marek said, knowing how he looked. He'd healed himself, but there were still fresh bruises on his face.

The mother blinked, looking at Marek's face, then to the holy symbol of Dol Dorn around his neck, and finally at the hefty pouch of gold she'd just been handed.

"Th-...Thank you…", she murmured.

Nodding his head, Marek left and kept walking. He felt lighter, both literally and figuratively, for giving up his winnings to a good cause.


"Your form was sloppy. I'm amazed you still have a head attached to your shoulders." Novashtai admonished.

Marek looked to his left to glower at the tiefling woman, who was innocently taking a drink of beer. The Orison's ground team were gathered around a table in the mess hall aboard the airship.

"You'll be pleased to know we got what we were there for", the half-elf said.

"Rusting edge, I hope so." Marek said, massaging his aching skull. The fight had been entirely secondary to what they were doing at the Gladiatorum. Elusene claiming to be a sponsor was much more believable when she was literally doing just that.

"Yes. I got to talking with Lord Renkirk and Rishgek managed to slip a bit of charm potion into his wine. His people are working out of a warehouse on the riverfront, but he couldn't give me an exact location on the source of the relics. I couldn't ask a direct enough question. If we're going to find out where those artifacts are coming from, our best bet is this warehouse." Elusene said.

"We should go tonight", Rishgek suggested.

"Agreed. I was already denied one chance for a fight tonight." Novashtai said, cracking her knuckles.

"Can't relate." Marek grumbled into his ale.

Elusene and Novashtai both laughed, the half-elf saying, "and I'd like to get this done before Swift arrives."

Marek didn't share their mirth. He hoped this warehouse really would yield results. "Swift's coming? You didn't mention that."

"I only just got their Sivis post when we returned to the ship. They'll be arriving in Fairhaven by lightning rail tonight." Elusene said, looking giddy, her brown eyes twinkling.

It had been a few days ago when Captain Thrast had been approached by a Sentinel-Marshal, Casavir Deneith, one of the law enforcement agents employed by House Deneith. The Marshal had shown Thrast a small figurine made of bone and explained it had been in the possession of a usually peaceful farmer who had suddenly gone berserk. The farmer had attacked and killed his neighbor out of the blue. This was followed by a member of Fairhaven's city watch going into a cell full of drunken disorderlies and massacring the lot with a sword. The guard also had one of these figurines on his person.

Some detective work on Elusene and Rishgek's parts had revealed that both killers had ties to one Lord Renkirk ir'Borus. The farmer's daughter was a maid in the Lord's house, while the city guard had formerly been in the personal employ of the ir'Borus family as a house guard. It was a tenuous link at best. It was all they had to go off of. Elusene's best guess was they had acquired the figurines from someone who they knew that still worked for Renkirk. The questions remained; who was this supplier, and why would they suddenly risk a profitable business of selling artifacts on the side with activity like this?

"No more time to waste. Let's get ready." Elusene said, leaving the mess hall to go gather her gear. Rishgek followed after her.

Novashtai was about to leave as well when she paused, looking back at Marek. "Are…Are you alright, Rek? You seem…I don't know…like something's wrong."

Fighting down a blithe remark about how obvious that should have been, Marek instead answered, "no, Nova. I'm not particularly alright tonight. But we've got a job to do. I'll be fine enough to get it done." He got up to head for his room.

Novashtai's palm against his chest stopped Marek before he could exit. The tiefling's bright eyes were narrowed.

"Tell me, Marek. Please. You can trust me." The tiefling said softly.

Marek looked down at the hand on his chest. Without really thinking about it, he grasped it in his own. Novashtai drew a breath in through her nose, surprised, but she threaded her fingers with his.

"Almost beating someone to death for the entertainment of a bunch of rich assholes, only to have to leave the arena through a neighborhood of the poorest people in Aundair. Just reminded me how pointless the Last War was and how little any of it meant." Marek finally said. "Everything's exactly the same as it was before the war, there's just fewer people and a lot more trauma to spread around. I know I had to be in the fight tonight because we needed a good cover and we're trying to save lives. It's just…Goldhammer was my entire life, and it never really meant anything, did it?"

"They were your family, Marek." Novashtai said, giving his hand a squeeze. "You didn't fight for any country, but you still fought for a cause. The cause was Goldhammer. I'm…not sure what to say about the Last War. It wasn't really my war, to be honest. But I don't think it meant nothing for you. You wouldn't be who you are today without Commander Bastiene and Goldhammer Company." She looked up at him and smiled. "And I'm very glad that this is who you are."

Sovereign Host, there was that smile again. Marek felt a tightness in his chest and had to look away, closing his eyes to keep tears from suddenly welling up. "Rusting edge…I'm not sure I deserve to be around you, Nova."

A warm hand lightly took Marek's chin and turned his gaze until he was facing Novashtai. She raised up slightly on her toes and kissed his lips. Marek had been worried the kiss they'd shared after their date had been a one time occurrence. He was pleased to see that wasn't the case.

"Still not sure?" Novashtai asked with a smirk, though there was a slight tremor of excitement in her voice.

"Might need some more persuasion, honestly." Marek said quietly, returning her smirk.

Novashtai's tail flicked back and forth and she released his hand. "Light of il-Yannah…Y-You were right. We do have a job to do. Let's go do it." She turned on her heel and scuttled out of the mess hall.

Marek nodded once to himself, his spirit buoyed. It was time to focus on the task ahead.


The three-story warehouse was right on the Aundair River. It had its own dock for loading and unloading cargo from barges. There was a fence around the warehouse, but it wasn't an imposing one, about ten feet in height and constructed of vertical wooden planks. There were no obvious guards, either. The most security to be seen was a chain and padlock holding a gate in the fence closed. The fence covered the waterside of the property, as well, another gate leading into the ground from there.

The Orison's ground team was gathered in an alley near the target building, all of them wearing dark cloaks over their usual gear. Well, except for Rishgek; he would probably die if he went out in public without wearing dark colors on a normal day, let alone during an infiltration like this.

When they were sure a City Watch patrol would not spot them, the team moved out of cover, following behind Rishgek. They threaded between the everburn lanterns that chased darkness away from large circular patches in the street. The goblin scouted ahead, up to the fence. He waved the rest of them forward. Marik boosted Rishgek up, followed by Elusene. Novashtai clambered up the wall on her own with ease. The tiefling paused on top of the fence and held a hand down to Marek, hauling him up so he could climb over with them.

"By the Light, no more trips to Parahunacari for you." Novashtai grunted quietly.

Marek made a face at her as he crested the fence. Novashtai winked before dropping down. The paladin followed after her.

The yard around the outside of the warehouse was full of the expected crates and barrels. They were covered in tarps to keep the elements off of them. What the team was looking for would almost certainly not be in any of those containers. They crossed the open yard to the warehouse itself. As was common with such buildings, there was a set of larger doors for wagons to go into. Rishgek led them around the warehouse, between the building and the waterside fence. There, Rishgek found a side door, which the goblin began lockpicking his way through.

Marek was feeling antsy. He was resisting the urge to use his ability to visually detect good and evil already. There was a feeling in the air, a certain charged quality that had him on edge. It was like when he'd sensed Fulaac, the half-orc follower of Dol Dorn, aboard the Midnight Flyer. Except, this feeling was on the opposite end of the spectrum. It was not divine. No…far from it.

"We're in the right place." Marek whispered.

Elusene looked at him. "What makes you say that?"

"Evil on the air. Be ready." Marek replied. It was the best way he could explain it without going into detail.

It spoke for a certain level of trust that the rest of the team took Marek at his word without prying any further on the subject.

Rishgek unlocked the door and pushed it open. The space they entered appeared, at first, like it was going to be yet more stored cargo. Looking past the few wooden crates on the edge of the room revealed that the space was, for the most part, open. What took up the open space made Marek swear under his breath.

Dried blood painted the floorboards of the warehouse. Five ritual circles, each one five feet across, were arranged in a pentagonal pattern around a central, larger circle that was three times the size of the others. The sigils painted inside each circle were blasphemous things, foul to look at. They made Marek's stomach churn, not because of some inherent power, but because of what they represented.

"Lords of the Host." Elusene murmured, making a holy warding symbol across her chest.

"How could such a thing go undetected?" Novashtai asked, flabbergasted. Her chakrams were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were pink.

Rishgek fielded the question. "It's not as if the city guard is being invited in for inspections. A bribe here or there to keep out other officials or inspectors, use beggars or other overlooked people for the blood…not difficult."

"We still have a job to do, everyone. We need to find proof of where those artifacts were coming from before someone else gets an unwanted berserker rage." Marek said. He hung his hammer across his back and took up his myrnaxe, using the spear pommel to pry open the nearest crate.

It was full of sand.

"This is going to take a while, isn't it?" Marek asked no one in particular as he poked through the sand with his myrnaxe.

"Hold a moment. I brought something for this." Elusene said, digging around in a satchel to produce a pair of pince-nez spectacles. They had three different lenses on small hinges before both of her eyes. "Let's see. These are clearly Infernal sigils, hm, demonic rather than devilish…hm…", she flipped the lenses until she found a configuration that was to her liking. "Interesting…" Elusene approached the ritual circles.

Marek hung his myrnaxe back on his hip, feeling Frostfall's comforting weight in his hands as he took the hammer from his back. He looked around the room. It bothered him that there was no one present. A few everburn lanterns hanging from posts illuminated the ritual space, but beyond these the room was quite dark. They wouldn't really leave something like this utterly unguarded save for a few locks on gates and doors, would they? Furthermore, who exactly were "they?"

Elusene was talking to herself, inspecting the nearest smaller ritual circle and saying. "This circle…this is for binding. All five of these smaller ones are. For binding demons; guecubu, specifically."

"You just made that word up." Novashtai mused. She was inspecting a desk that was against one wall, flipping through ledgers.

"No. Guecubu are from a lesser known demonic subtype, the loumara. They are adept at possession. It doesn't matter if it is objects or people. Guecubu possess people and use their bodies to commit murder. It fits the bill of what is happening here in Fairhaven exactly, which means the figurines are not the cause, but the vector of possession."

"What would they gain from random murders? The ones doing the binding, I mean." Novashtai asked.

"Demon cults don't need a reason as long as it spreads chaos and bloodshed." Marek said. He channeled divine power into his eyes. It ended up being pointless. The room was blanketed in an aura of evil. Or was it pointless? There were some areas where the hazy redness was more prominent than others. Marek started looking for where the aura was thickest.

"So…they were binding these…guecubu things into the figurines." Novashtai said, looking up from the desk. "What about the big circle in the middle?"

"Unless I miss my guess, this is a summoning circle." Elusene reasoned as she looked at it.

"For what?" Novshtai asked.

Marek followed the visual trail up to the ceiling.

"Shadow demons." The paladin said in an uneven voice.

"Ah, yes, that's what I was going to…", Elusene began. She paused, her mouth dropping open. "Oh no."

The human-sized shapes had detached themselves from the ceiling, flitting out of the darkness that had concealed them with eerie silence. The demons had leathery skin the color of soot, each with two horns, fanged teeth, and severe claws. They fell in a dark flock upon the adventurers below.

"On me! Eyes up!" Marek barked, hefting Frostfall as one of the demons swooped right at him. Marek stepped into the diving attack and swung the hammer around, slugging the demon in the face and snapping off one of its horns in a spray of ichor.

Novashtai vaulted over a stack of crates, acrobatically flipping through the air, her crysteel chakrams whipping out in a tight circle around her. The sliced into the demons that tried to take her out of the air and the tiefling landed next Marek in the center of the summoning circle. Novashtai was already in the circle, loading her sling with a bomb, while Rishgek readied his shortswords. The winged demons circled them, vague shapes of inky black against the darkness. They destroyed the lanterns, the heatless flames going in. Unnerving silence was replaced with taunting words of Abyssal. Novashtai said something back at them in Infernal but they didn't seem to understand.

Marek's dragonmark glowed brightly, working in synergy with divine magic. "Dol Dorn, grant us the strength of steel! We stand unbroken!"

The shadow demons came in as one, seeking to overwhelm the adventurers. They slammed into a dome of white light, rebuffed by the magic barrier. Marek clenched his teeth with the effort of maintaining the shield.

"Elu, light. They hate light!" Marek said quickly. He could not see the demons except when they came close, within the bluish light exuded by Frostfall. The others all had the ability to see in the dark.

"I had gathered as much through context clues, thank you, Marek!" The half-elf replied as she frantically produced a few vials and started mixing them together. "Lower the shield on my command, then close your eyes." Elusene corked the large vial in her hand and started shaking the liquid within. It started bubbling. She loaded the vial into her sling, swinging it overhead and shouting, "now!"

Marek dropped the shield, trusting in Elusene and squeezing his eyes shut.

Something flared brightly against Marek's eyelids. Slowly, he cracked them open. There was a globe of oscillating light hanging in the air, like a star pulled down from the heavens. The shadow demons broke away from it in a panic, screaming as if it burned them.

Grabbing a throwing axe, Marek channeled a smite through the weapon and hurled it up into the swarm. One shadow demon fell from the ranks and to the floor, scuffing the main ritual circle where it landed. Marek ran up on the fiend and crushed its skull.

The battle began in earnest. Novashtai's chakrams orbited around her head, lashing out each time one of the shadow demons tried to swoop down to take Elusene out, who was preparing another flare bomb. Bodies and pieces of demons started to pile up around the two of them. Marek lost sight of Rishgek, only to see the goblin riding on a struggling demon's back through the air. Rishgek spiked one shortsword through the base of its skull, leaping out from the falling demon to cut the throat of another on the fly.

With no real ranged capability, Marek waited until one of the demons got past Novashtai's chakrams. The paladin stepped in the demon's way, braced himself, and summoned his shield of faith, using Frostfall's haft to intercept the demon. It slashed at him but the fiend's claws scraped off magic and steel with no effect. Shadow demons were quite physically weak, so Marek reached out, grabbing the demon by the throat. Its hellish cries were choked off as the paladin slammed the demon into the floor, then stomped its throat and ground his heel into it. The trapped demon could do nothing but twitch uselessly as Frostfall finished it off.

Another light burned to life as the first flare bomb started to fade. Elusene, wisely, did not resort to her usual alchemist's fire bombs inside the warehouse. She hurled a stun bomb into a pack of shadow demons that were trying to coordinate and overwhelm the adventurers, disrupting them, causing one to veer off course and crash through a stack of crates, spilling them to the floor.

The extended exposure to light started to cause the demons to smoke and char. They thrashed against the walls and ceiling, sprawling on the floor and becoming easy targets. The party finished the demons off and, when it was done, Marek did not feel triumphant. He should have. Destroying demons with the holy power of the Host was about the most paladin sort of thing a person could do. But this had been too easy. And that's when it dawned him, while everyone was catching their breath.

"These demons were weak." Marek said as the bodies started to break down and dissolve into smoke. They would return to whichever realm of Khyber they had spawned from, reforming over the course of millenia. "They've been stuck here for some time, not feeding or being given power to sustain them. I'm sure of it."

"No complaints here." Novashtai mused. She looked down at her vest, the hem of which had become the sole casualty of the demons' claws. "Elu, can I get a mending cantrip over here? This is my favorite vest."

"If it's your favorite, why are you wearing it when we are expecting a fight?" Elusene sighed, approaching the tiefling.

"It's a good luck charm." Novashtai said.

Marek let them keep talking. He saw Rishgek was knelt over by the stack of crates that had been knocked over by one of the shadow demons. As with the first crate, most of them had been full of sand. However, the one that Rishgek was standing before had spilled out small, white objects. Marek approached as well, picking one up. It had no aura of good or evil upon it. It was a cylindrical object about the size of Marek's thumb.

Because it was just a thumb, he realized. These were all bones taken from humanoid fingers.

Rishgek's voice rasped low from behind his half mask. "So. The bones were brought here, carved, bound with guecubu. The shadow demons were summoned to guard the place while the cultists were away. But, the guardian demons were neglected and security was lacking. It makes me think…"

"...think what, Gek?" Marek asked.

The goblin looked back at him, his eyes glinting dangerously in the light of the failing flare bomb. "We need to leave. Now."

Marek wanted to ask why, wanted to search for more evidence. He did not. Trusting these three had yet to steer him wrong.

"Nova, Elu, let's get moving. Hurry." Marek urged them.

The ground team fled out of the door they had entered through. Rishgek led them away away from the direction they had come from initially, toward the back side of the warehouse. Unless Marek missed his guess, he was sure he could hear voices back in the other direction. They scaled the fence and entered the grounds of a neighboring fishery. Rishgek broke them into the main building, then left to go see who was around the warehouse. The goblin returned in less than five minutes, finding his companions hiding among piles of netting and rope.

"City guards responding to the commotion of the fight." Rishgek revealed.

Elusene picked up the line of logic. "Precisely what was supposed to happen. They would come in and see us standing among the ritual circles. The demon corpses would be dissipated. We would have been arrested, probably even if they saw us fighting the demons."

"This was all a setup." Rishgek said, nodding to Elusene. "We were the target."

"Which means we need to go have a conversation with Casavir Deneith." Marek concluded. He had never heard of Casavir before all of this. The Dragonmarked families were so large that it was impossible for anyone, even Baron Breven d'Deneith, to know all its members. This Casavir could have even joined the House through marriage rather than blood.

"Was Captain Thrast told where we were supposed to meet Casavir after the job?" Rishgek asked Elusene.

"Yes. Casavir was, supposedly, directing several investigations from a rented townhouse in the Maisllon District." Elusene revealed.

"I don't know about all of you, but I sure don't want to give the son of a bitch a chance to figure out we slipped out of his trap." Novashtai decided, her tail lashing angrily behind her.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Nova." Elu suggested. "Regardless, going to speak to Casavir would be a wise option for our next move. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Rishgek confirmed.

"Agreed. Let's go." Marek said


After getting a good distance away from the waterfront, the ground team ditched their dark cloaks. The Orison was only somewhat out of their way, so they went there to update Captain Thrast before heading out again.

There was no curfew in most of Fairhaven, and Maisllon was just a stone's throw away from an entertainment district meant to cater to upper-middle class folk that would be able to afford such townhouses. The townhouses themselves would not have been considered large out in the countryside somewhere. They were narrow, two-story affairs sandwiched in with several of their fellows on either side. Each one had a small balcony on their second story that faced the street. The structures were in good shape and the surrounding neighborhood was clean and mostly free of crime, that being said.

The Orison's ground team stood out in the cobbled street before the address indicated to them by Captain Thrast. They were an intimidating quartet of people, though there were few pedestrians to see it at this hour to be intimidated. Yet, Marek felt unprepared and blind. He looked up. Five of Eberron's twelve moons joined the golden light of the Ring of Siberys and the stars to illuminate the street around them.

"I don't see any lights on." Elusene noted.

"It's late." Rishgek said.

"True. I guess I supposed Casavir would still be awake if he's so busy." The half-elf scratched her head.

"Not everyone forces themself to stay awake until their projects are done, Elu. Some of us are sane." Novashtai said with a snicker.

Elusene rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

"Dol Dorn, may we prove to be overprepared." Marek prayed. It wasn't one of the Catechisms that he preferred, just a phrase he'd heard once.

Marek approached the front door of the townhouse, his friends moving up to wait on the sidewalk at the foot of the short set of stairs leading up to the door. The paladin rapped on the door, taking a deep breath, and hoped this was all just a misunderstanding.

A moment later, he realized that was not the case.

"Bulwark!" The paladin suddenly cried out, much to the shock of his comrades. The spectral shield emerged in the small space between Marek and the front door of the townhouse an instant before the door exploded outward in a torrent of splinters and shattered boards. Marek was launched back by the force, over the heads of his friends landing on his back in the street. Novashtai, Elusene, and Rishgek moved back, the former of the three helping the paladin back to his feet. The four of them prepared for a fight. Frostfall was now glowing in Marek's hands.

A man emerged from the shattered door. He wore a simple black doublet and breeches. At first glance, once might look at his chestnut hair and beard and blue eyes, joined with the general structure of his face, and think he looked an awful lot like Marek.

"Hello again, cousin." Said the man. He smiled a crooked, cruel smile. The former commander of the Blackshields had his arms behind his back as he looked down upon the Orison's ground team. The man's right eye was an exposed, gnarled mass of scar tissue.

"Austav", Marek growled as the oathbreaker descended the stairs to the sidewalk.

"Ah, I can't begin to tell you how much I've been looking forward to this, Marek." Austav said. He smiled again. It was unhinged. Mad.

"We beat you once. And now you don't have an army to do the fighting for you." Marek reminded his cousin.

"True, very true. But, you see, I'm not quite alone." Austav pointed out.

The door to the balcony opened. A thin man in a Sentinel-Marshal's uniform emerged. Marek was about to address the one he thought was Casavir when the "Marshal's" face blurred and changed, becoming pure white, with featureless white eyes.

"Veracity!" Novashtai and Elusene snapped at almost exactly the same time.

"A good and proper reunion happening out here now." Veracity giggled, which suddenly stopped and became a hiss, "and a premature one at that, you oaf!" Her open mouth revealed false, silver teeth.

"Shut your mouth, chalkface. There's no point in waiting. I'm ending this on my terms. You're welcome to fuck off and leave this to me." Austav growled at the changeling.

"Well, it's too late now, anyway. We'd better make the best of this." Veracity dismissed Austav, leaping down from the balcony and producing a wand.

"You're still outnumbered, Austav. Don't do something you're going to regret." Marek warned.

"Regret?" Austav repeated, filling the street with spiteful, barking laughter. "Regret. Regret. The only regret I have now, cousin, is the fact that I haven't killed you yet. That's going to change tonight."

"The Mockery is nothing compared to Dol Dorn. It will not save you here. I'm warning you, Austav. Surrender at once." Marek raised his voice. In truth, he was alarmed. Austav was not carrying any weapons, nor wearing any armor, yet he had utter confidence. Marek knew Rishgek would be looking around for ambushers or concealed marksmen hoping to take a cheap shot. It was plain that Austav expected to be able to take on the Orison's ground team with no one but Veracity to aid him.

More laughter from Austav, then, "oh, but you're absolutely right, Marek. The Mockery is nothing. Dol Dorn is nothing. They're all nothing. I know this because I've found a new master."

An icy stab of panic caused Marek's eyes to widen. "No…"

"Dol Dorn, the Lord of Strength and Steel, Sovereign of War, is too hidebound, too shackled morality." Austav recounted. "The Mockery, cast out Dol Azur, is a coward, a conniver; a god of war too afraid of open battle. So I've found a new patron of war, one greater than all the rest by leagues and leagues."

"Austav…!" Marek spluttered, like he could will this horrible reality away.

"That is why I have embraced my new master, Marek, and I can see in your eyes you know of whom I speak…", the oathbreaker was saying.

Austav's flesh was rent apart as thick, dark plates of bloody armor ripped free, shifting and locking into place across his body. The oathbreaker roared in pain, but with the pain was exultation, wordless praise to a blasphemous being older than Eberron itself. When the process was done, Austav was covered from head to toe in dark, imposing armor. A spiked shield tore from his left arm, a jagged sword pierced out of his right palm.

"...now, witness the power of Rak Tulkhesh, the Rage of War!"

Austav walked forward. It was worse than if he'd charged. The oathbreaker's stride was purposeful, giving one the impression that he would keep moving even if a stone wall stood in his way.

Marek did not walk. He went ahead, full bore, Frostfall shining, to meet his fiend-sworn cousin weapon to weapon. Fire erupted along the length of Austav's sword as the two clashed together. Steam hissed as metal rang. Austav struck with the shield but Marek stepped aside, only to be forced to parry the burning sword with the haft of his hammer. The impact drove Marek back several steps. His enemy was strong. Stronger than he had any right to be.

Novashtai's chakrams buzzed in, one rebounding off Austav's armor, the other off the oathbreaker's shield. Austav swung his sword in the tiefling's direction, an arc of flame jetting from it. Novashtai yelped and flipped backward, the fire passing beneath her.

Marek attacked Austav again at the same time as Rishgek. Austav met both of their attacks, blow for blow, turning with shield, sword, and armor every strike that came for him. Marek knew if he could just land a solid hit with Frostfall he could change the flow of this fight…

Austav's shield swung out like a door being slammed on its hinges. The blow struck an unexpecting Rishgek in the face, shattering his mask into pieces, sending the goblin tumbling backwards to fall upon the cobbles.

Marek did not relent, attacking with even more ferocity. Austav kept up with him, not even needing to move his feet to maintain his defense.

"You're going to lose, cousin." Austav assured him.

Marek deflected a thrust aimed at his face, uppercutting with Frostfall. Austav leaned to the side, twisting his sword and cutting downward. The jagged blade carved through Marek's armor and burned him as it passed down his left side. With a wide sweep, Marek warded Austav off, taking a few steps back.

"Dol Dorn, stand with your warrior against this servant of darkness." Marek prayed, healing himself. He had already used magic against the shadow demons and the battle agaist Gaune. The former had been part of Austav's plan as well, perhaps?

"Yes, Marek, good! Pray to your weakling god! It will only show you how powerless he really is!" Austav taunted at him.

While all this was happening, Elusene was thrown across the street by a blast of force from Veracity, slamming into and everbright lamp post. The changeling dodged between Novashtai's chakrams and cast a spell at the tiefling. A cascade of scintillating colors washed over Novashtai and she faltered, dazed and unbalanced. Veracity spat another spell with an arrogant laugh and violet light crowned Novashtai's head for a moment. She screamed as the psionic attack needled into her skull and dropped to her knees. By now, Elusene was painfully getting up again, as was Rishgek.

By now, a small crowd of onlookers was gathering. Others watched from windows. Someone was calling for the city watch. The combatants paid their spectators little heed. Marek wanted to go help Novashtai but he didn't dare turn his back on Austav.

Rishgek circled Austav, his shortswords held close. The goblin's exposed face bled profusely and his cheek had been torn.

"Cast adrift from one master to another. You are nothing, demon worshipper; a tool in the hands of an Overlord. Gath'muut! Gath'atcha!" Rishgek admonished. Those last two words, "without duty" and "without honor", were spoken with more hatred, more vitriol, more passion than everything else Marek had ever heard Rishgek say combined.

"I'm well aware, slave of Dhakaan." Austav scoffed. "I simply don't care anymore."

Austav stomped his foot. A column of fire fell from the sky directly over Rishgek. The goblin tried to leap aside but was half caught in the torrent of heat. Rishgek fell, curling in on himself and writhing in pain.

"Damn you, Austav!" Marek roared as he made to strike his cousin down, righteous fury driving him on.

The oathbreaker's shield parried Frostfall. The sword ran Marek through. One, two. A textbook combat move taught to the greenest recruits.

Frostfall slipped through Marek's fingers and clatter to the street as pain surged through him. He could feel the burning sword cooking his insides. The paladin screamed, unable to bear the pain.

Austav ripped the blade free, causing Marek to fall back, the last of his magic expended just to keep himself from dying. It wasn't enough to close the wound through his stomach. Marek then saw Austav raise a metal clad foot and stomp down, smashing Marek's face and rebounding the paladin's head off the cobbles.

"I want you to know before I kill you, Marek, that there are more fingerbone totems in Fairhaven. More demons waiting to possess people, more death awaiting unsuspecting citizens." Austav leaned down over Marek, his eyes burning red behind his visor. "I want you to go to Dolurrh with the thought fresh in your mind, cousin, that this never would have happened if you hadn't interfered in Brightglade. Or, of course, if you had managed to kill me there. The blood of your team here, and the people of Fairhaven, is all on your hands."

Austav saw that Marek was trying to reach for his myrnaxe. The oathbreaker stomped on the offending hand. Marek's gauntlet saved any bones from being broken, but the paladin's right arm was locked in place.

"Just kill him, Austav." Veracity snapped.

"Shut your mouth or you're next!" Austav snarled at her, then glanced back down at Marek. "I am going to kill you, cousin. But, I'll tell you what. For old times' sake, if you renounce Dol Dorn and swear your soul to Rak Tulkhesh, I'll spare your friends."

Marek couldn't summon the strength to look over at his friends. He knew Austav's offer was a lie. Regret seeded deeply in Marek's heart, but he would not give Austav the satisfaction. Marek remained silent and outwardly stoic. Nearby, he could here Elusene's crying out in pain as Veracity berated her and, presumably, kicked her on the ground repeatedly. A distant, detached part of Marek's brain found it rather hypocritical that Veracity was drawing out Elusene's death but berating Austav for doing the same.

"Fair enough." Austav feigned a regretful sigh as he raised his sword to cut off Marek's head.

Veracity yelped. A moment later, a flash of silver struck Austav in the flank. The fiend-sworn warrior hissed a breath, turning to look at the source of the shot.

A figure soared in on wings of rainbow feathers, clad in glittering chainmail. Swift kept firing arrow after arrow, sticking Veracity with a second arrow beside the first through the changeling's right collar bone. The changeling tried to cast a psionic attack against Swift, but the aasimar shook it off, putting a third arrow through Veracity's left thigh. The changeling dropped with a groan.

Austav's sword launched an arc of flame at the flying cleric. Swift swooped downward beneath the arc, nocking two arrows on the string of their bow and firing at almost point blank range as they soared over Austav's head. Austav raised his shield and blocked the arrows, looking as though he was about to attempt another fire projectile. However, two crossbow bolts struck the fiend-sworn in the back, one of them sticking. Austav barely grunted, looking to see a squad of Fairhaven City Watch in blue and white coming down the street with halberds and crossbows at the ready.

"I guess we'll have to finish this another time, cousin." Austav growled.

Something ripped from Austav's back. It was a pair of wings, but unlike the feathers propelling Swift, the oathbreaker's were made of dozens of overlapping dagger blades. With a rattling flap, Austav left the ground, skimming low over the street to scoop Veracity up and take off into the darkness. He outpaced Swift and, though chased by crossbow shots the entire way, quickly disappeared into the darkness.

Marek let his head fall back against the street as Swift alighted among the fallen adventurers. He wished the pain and trauma to his head would allow him to black out. For once, he remained altogether too awake.

--=--

Austav Karling d'Deneith's head snapped to the side as a crimson, taloned hand backhanded him across the face.

"You idiot! You damned fool! Do you have any idea how much planning you just ruined?!" Inaroth roared at him. The cambion's wings flared out behind him. His hand flexed; Inaroth was considering summoning his infernal scimitar. Austav knew that, if the half-demon drew the blade, that would be it. There was nothing the oathbreaker could do.

This "meeting" was taking place in Inaroth's hidden chamber beneath Fairhaven. The cambion, it turned out, had many of these safehouses in the sewers and forgotten corners of Khorvaire. The room was small, lit by traditional torches, and covered in thick carpets and cushions. Two barely clad succubi were languidly laid out upon a chais behind the infuriated cambion, who himself wore little more than a robe.

"You don't understand the rage that was boiling in my blood." Austav argued. Even then, he could feel it simmering just under the surface, telling him to draw his own blade and behead this cambion. It would not work. The urge was there.

Inaroth's laughter was mocking in the utmost. Any illusion of him wanting to help Austav had vanished back in the manifest zone near Brightglade. Once Austav had drunk from the silver pool, Inaroth had watched Austav manifest the agonizing armor for the first time, then taken command of the fallen paladin without room for argument. Austav had tried to rebel a few times. It had always ended up being a painful lesson in why that was a bad idea.

"You think I, chosen of Mordakhesh, don't understand rage?" Inaroth asked rhetorically. "I have known this fury in the days before Karrn the Conqueror first set foot on this pathetic continent. I have known it more intimately than you have ever known anything in your hilariously brief and pitiful existence. You", his claw actually pierced an inch or two through Austav's breastplate, "failed to control yourself. Thanks to that, you sprang the trap early. Veracity had no chance to ambush them with magic. You have not drawn the true enemy out. You have failed, Austav. How do you think I feel about failure? Hm?"

Austav scowled. "It won't happen again, my lord."

"No. It had better not. You are lucky that this situation is salvageable." Inaroth said, calming a bit. "Yes, yes, all is not lost. Our enemy may look elsewhere thanks to this. It was far too rash compared to normal operations." He pulled his talon from Austav's armor. "If I have to report to Mordakhesh that we failed to draw the agents of the Chamber out, you know how he will react. The Shadowsword is even less forgiving than I am. He'll have all our heads." Inaroth gave a dismissive flick of his hand. "Begone. Get out of my sight."

Austav bowed. "My lord." He then turned his back on Inaroth and left. The oathbreaker should have felt good. He'd finally beaten Marek. He'd smashed that backstabbing bastard into the street. Except, there was no satisfaction. There was only the anger. Marek was still alive. If Austav had not given into the rage, Marek would almost certainly be dead.

It would not happen again.


7th Rhaan (Late-Summer), 998YK

Fairhaven, Aundair

Marek drifted through the next few days. All four members of the ground team were terribly injured and required extended care in a House Jorasco office. All through this, City Watch officials were in and out, interrogating them about the fight in the street, as well as trying to glean any information about the fingerbone totems they could get. Luckily, there was nothing linking the Orison's crew to the actual distribution and creation of the totems, thanks to the ground team escaping the demon infested warehouse undetected. The guards wouldn't tell Marek anything directly, but he could read the newspapers that came into the office each day. Several murders happened across Fairhaven. Each new report of random violence was like a blade being twisted in Marek's guts.

Of course, members of the the Orison's crew came and visited every day. Nuir brought things she had baked. Thrast checked on the four of them at least twice a day. Hushalm served as a librarian, ferrying books to and from the Orison's library. Javelin and Anzeletto remained back on the Orison, watching the ship to make sure no harm came to it.

Marek was actually managing some fitful sleep one night when he was awoken by the sound of the window to his room opening. He was too sluggish to wake up and respond to a potential threat, and he if he was honest with himself, at that moment he didn't really care to respond quickly. The room was small. It wasn't like he could run or maneuver or fight in there in his current state.

Since he wasn't immediately run through with a blade or shot by something, Marek slowly woke up to see someone sitting in a visitor's chair at the foot of his bed, staring at him. It was a feline shifter in dark leathers, a look of concern across her face.

"Hey, Goldie." Fiy…or rather, Rasa, said sadly.

Marek stared disbelieving at her. "Am I still asleep?" His voice was hoarse.

"No. You're awake." Rasa assured him. "How…are you feeling?"

"You're not seriously asking me that question right now." Marek muttered. Courtesy was in short supply.

Rasa's frown deepened, her ears lying flat. "I guess that was a dumb question, wasn't it? Look, I…", she bit her lower lip, then sighed before continuing, "you deserve an explanation. You've been caught up in something a lot bigger than the grudge between you and your cousin. You all have, Austav and Veracity included."

"I saw the warehouse." Marek said. "Austav was trying to draw us out."

"No. The one giving Austav his orders was trying to draw me out." Rasa corrected.

Marek blinked at her.

"His name is Inaroth. He's a cambion. I only found out about him recently, but he is one of the chosen of Mordakhesh the Shadowsword; the representative of Rak Tulkhesh on Eberron." Rasa explained. "Inaroth knew I had a connection to you four thanks to the battle for Brightglade and guessed, correctly, that targeting you would bring me out. If Austav hadn't botched the assassination attempt, the trap might have worked on me, too." The changeling shook her head.

"How do you know all this?" Marek asked. "And how are you in a position to be opposed to someone apparently so powerful?"

Rasa couldn't meet Marek's eyes. "I wasn't…entirely open with you back in Brightglade. You know that. The people I serve have given me permission to reveal something to you, in hopes that you'll help us. I serve the Chamber; an organization who uses the Draconic Prophecy to disrupt attempts to bring the Overlords back into our world. Our greatest foe is the Lords of Dust, powerful servants of the Overlords, among whom Mordakhesh is included. Both sides have soldiers, scholars, all sorts of people with various levels of knowledge of this shadow war's existence. It's rare for someone to be told so directly like I am right now but you deserve to know. A lot of people in this war have no idea they're fighting it."

"Good fucking job you did. How many people have been killed by the fingerbone totems?" Marek growled.

Rasa looked hurt, and Marek immediately regretted his insult.

"I would think that you, especially after the fight against Austav, would understand the concept of not winning all the battles you get into." Rasa retorted acidly.

Marek closed his eyes and forced down another angry response. "Rasa, I'm tired. I'm burnt out. I don't want any part of your…shadow war. I want all of us to heal up, get back on the Orison, and fly as far away from this stupid city as possible."

Rasa shook her head. "You've been involved ever since you fought for Brightglade, Marek. The Draconic Prophecy is what actually led me there that day. We believed a servant of the Overlords was going to attack the village."

"He didn't become a servant of the Overlords until after he lost at Brightglade." Marek pointed out.

"He needed to be stopped all the same. We failed to kill him, and that has clearly cost us. Again, I'm sorry. The Lords of Dust will be targeting you now, Marek. Austav will be targeting you. If you agree to help the Chamber, we can offer you protection." Rasa said.

"It's not my choice. I'm not the one in charge of the Orison." Marek said.

"Please. Don't insult my intelligence. You may not be the captain of that ship, but they all look to you. You're a leader. It's what you do. You didn't become Captain Goldie by looking good. If the war had continued, we both know you would have made Commander of Goldhammer." Rasa said, pointing between the two of them. "The Chamber can offer you all protection, direction, and rewards. Our reach is far but an asset like the Orison and its crew is not something you get the chance to recruit every day."

"I'm not sure I'm buying it, Rasa." Marek told her. "You're asking me to take an awful lot at your word; a word, I should add, that you've given me pretty good reason not to take for truth."

"I know, Marek. I know. I've been told that if you need additional assurance, I can arrange a meeting between you and the person in the Chamber that I answer to. I'm just going to assume that's what we need to do next since you clearly aren't planning on giving me a response right now." Rasa decided.

"Good thinking." Marek murmured.

"Discuss it with the others. Think it over. I'll come to you on the Orison when it's time." Rasa said, rising from her chair. She fished into a pouch on her belt and produced a bottle that was the soft pink-red of a healing potion. Rasa set the potion on the nightstand beside Marek's head. "Something to help you along. I'll see you soon, Goldie."

Marek did not give Rasa a reply as she returned to the window, levered herself out, and closed it behind her.

The paladin sat in silence for a couple of minutes. He quickly realized this reunion with Rasa was far more than he was going to be able to process on his own right then and there. The Chamber. The Lords of Dust. What did any of it really mean? Obviously, Marek knew there were cults out there in service to dark powers, collectively called Cults of the Dragon Below. Who was to say there was not also a secret organization dedicated to fighting those cults?

It was a problem for another day. Marek threw back his blankets. He was shirtless, a bandage wrapped around his torso. Sliding his feet into the slippers on the ground beside his bed, Marek got up. The room got unsteady; he hadn't been on his feet very much over the past few days. The paladin didn't bother putting on a shirt. He simply grabbed the healing potion from the nightstand and an everbright lantern from a hook on th wall. He went out the door of his room.

The hallway Marek emerged into was lined with more doors leading to rooms much like his own. It was probably quite against regulations, but Marek opened the door directly across from his and entered the room. The layout beyond was the exact same layout as his own, just inverted. His eyes fell on the inert figure in the bed.

Elusene had suffered the worst of all four members of the team. Veracity had brutalized the unfortunate artificer with even more thoroughness than Austav had paid to Marek. The paladin's hands clenched and shook as he saw his friend, still battered and bruised. There was only so much magic could do, even House Jorasco's, unless one was willing to pay a king's ransom to the halflings of the Mark of Healing. Marek would help with his own magic, but he had not had the strength to coalesce it each day as he normally did, in either body or mind.

Elusene was not alone. Swift was sitting beside her bed. The cleric had traded their armor for a long, sleeveless tunic that fell to their knees. The rainbow feathers on their head lacked their usual luster. Swift had been dedicating their healing magic to everyone in the hospital, something the nurses didn't care about but the Jorasco healers certainly did. After all; they couldn't charge if someone was doing it for free. Still, they didn't stop Swift. The Jorascos at least had to maintain a veneer of caring about their patients.

"Marek. You should be resting." Swift said, closing the book they were reading.

"I know. A friend just gave me something. Fiy. You remember her." Marek revealed, handing the healing potion over.

"Fiy? Here? You're sure?" Swift asked, quirking up a downy eyebrow, but accepting the potion all the same.

"Yeah. It's weird, I know. I'll tell you about it later when I tell the others." Marek said. He tilted his head toward Elusene. "How's she doing?"

Swift frowned, looking down at their girlfriend. "Better every day." They sighed. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you all, Marek."

"There's enough people taking enough blame for plenty of shit right now." Marek said with a wan chuckle, putting a hand on the aasimar's shoulder. "You just take care of her right now, Swift. She needs it."

Swift met his eyes and nodded. "I will."

Marek left Elusene's room. He went to the next one to the right, opening it. The window ajar. The lump in the bed was just bundled bedsheets under a blanket. Rishgek was patrolling the perimeter again. Marek had thought his use of the window to be strange but after Rasa had invaded his room, maybe the paladin had misjudged.

Closing that door, Marek turned around and went to the door right next to his own room. After making sure his room was closed, he pushed into the one he stood before.

Novashtai was curled up on her side, facing away from the door. She didn't stir as Marek closed the door behind him. He set the everbright lantern on the floor and cross over to Novashtai's bed. After a moment of pause, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

The tiefling stirred. Marek gave her time, not wanting to startle her. Novashtai eventually looked back to see Marek sitting there.

"Rek? Is everything alright?" She asked, rolling to her other side and propping herself up on an elbow.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine." Marek assured her unconvincingly. "I just wanted to see you. I'm sorry. I should let you sleep."

Novashtai pursed her lips. "Try again, and this time be honest with me."

Marek's eyes fell to the floor. He inhaled to speak, but let the breath out a moment later. Then, he opened his mouth, only to close it a second later. Marek stared sightlessly at his feet. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to talk about the guilt crushing him? The shame of being defeated by a servant of the Overlords? The doubts that he was truly worthy to carry Dol Dorn's power? It was all falling on him at once and Marek didn't know how to…

Pat.

Something had dropped between Marek's slippered feet. He focused on it. It looked like a droplet of water.

Pat.

Another joined the first, merging with it.

Pat pat.

Two more. It was only then Marek registered they had just come from his eyes and dripped off his nose.

"Marek?" Novashtai asked, moving gingerly up to her knees.

"Nova…I…", Marek tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat. More tears were streaking down his face now and the paladin found he was unable to make them stop.

Novashtai gasped softly. "Oh, Marek. By the Light, come here. Come here." The tiefling threw her arms around him from behind, her cheek resting on top of his head.

"I'm sorry. I'll…I'll go back to my room if you want…", Marek apologized, hearing the unsteadiness in his own words only serving to make him cry harder. He felt like an idiot for saying it. Novashtai's warmth against his back was a sort of haptic balm in that moment that would never be matched. She was suffering, too, though. She didn't need to see him like this, didn't need another burden.

"That is the last thing I want right now, suraja." Novashtai cooed. "I'm here for you. You don't have to be strong right now." She laughed, a reluctant and bittersweet sound. She was crying, as well. "You didn't think I only kept you around for coffee dates and beating your ass in sparring, did you?"

Marek found himself involuntarily laughing through his tears. The paladin had no idea what "suraja" meant, but he decided that didn't really matter at the moment.

Marek reached up to his chest, taking Novashtai's hands in his own. For some time, Marek wept, unsure of how long.

"I'm sorry", he said again at some point.

"Never be sorry for this." Novashtai whispered.

That night was deeper and darker than any he'd been through in a long time, but at least, Marek could say to himself, it wasn't lonely.