Shadows From the Fire

Part 3

She was dead – she knew that she had died. Mephistopheles had drained all the energy from her body without even lifting a finger…and yet if she was dead, why wasn't she with her sworn deity? This was not Torm's realm; in fact, it looked an awful lot like that of the Reaper's. The light mist, the electric hiss of the portals and the acrid smell of something other worldly was a dead (literally) give away that heaven, or where ever she went, was just not an option at the present. There was something more Mercutia had to do.

She stared pensively at the shifting, mystical designs of the ceiling, wondering what was keeping her from reaching oblivion. There were so many dynamics about cheating death or being kept on to finish her work that it made the paladin tired. The Reaper had said that he could capture her spirit before she died, but what if on the trip she somehow passed away? What if she was trapped then, in limbo, to wander the planes for all time as a lost soul? Would she just drop down and die once she did what she needed to do?

It was…Mephistopheles's fault that all of this had happened. Kill him, and she'd get her answers.

Slowly Mercutia rose to her feet and surveyed the Reaper on its platform. Her armor, jewelry and weapons were gone. A side effect of being directly transported into his realm, no doubt.

"Hail the dead," it greeted her.

"Hello, yourself," she replied softly. Warily, she eyed the imposing door behind the Reaper. Every time she came to its realm - and that was not often - she always inquired of the electric portal. She caught brief glimpses of ice and ash behind the veil, but it was nothing to base her judgement on and the Reaper's answers were vague at best. This was her extension of the demi-plane: that door meant something to her, to the future maybe. She would ask again and soon.

Mercutia gracefully ascended the steps of the dais. She had become accustomed to the constant weight of her armor, so walking without it was like gliding on air. Also free of Frostblade's encumbering size, she had the ability to spin and twist and stretch to her full height. Naturally, this was comparatively small when she stood next to the Reaper. The Reaper was a tall, emaciated figure and it towered above her several feet. There was nothing menacing about its stance, but the unknown was always swirling about it and set the hairs on the back of Mercutia's neck on end.

"How may I serve you, Sojourner?" asked the Reaper, its voice echoing faintly beneath its cowl.

Mercutia peered up curiously. "I have died and wish to return to where I fell."

"I am sorry, Sojourner," the Reaper almost…sighed. "You are now barred from the world of Toril. I cannot comply."

"No," the paladin said firmly. "You will do as I ask. Return me to Toril. Now."

"You are barred from returning to that world by the command of Mephistopheles." The Reaper bowed its head in respect to her. "I am sorry, Sojourner. It is Mephistopheles who rules here, and so can he command me."

Mercutia gave a bitter laugh. "So you worked for Mephistopheles all along. I might have known."

"The archdevil uses me as he uses all things, such is his nature. I was not always his subject... but once he learned of my True Name I was his forever." The Reaper shrugged his shoulders, a very human like gesture. "All beings have a True Name that is the definition of their personal essence, their very existence. Should another learn your True Name and speak it to you, they then rule all that you are."

The half-elf was puzzled. "But how did he discover your True Name, Reaper?"

The Reaper was quiet for a moment. When it spoke, the metallic ring of its voice had a sad tone to it. "Mephistopheles discovered my True Name long ago, though I know not how. Only he knows it, so he alone commands me despite whatever I might wish." It paused. "Mephistopheles used you, as well, creating a devil's deal that you were unaware of. A bond was formed with him the moment you discovered his relic, and upon killing the one who held him captive you took his place and he yours."

"He took my place?" Though Mercutia was not one to anger quickly, her frustration at the Devil's antics was clearly becoming known. "What do you mean, Reaper, and make it quick!"

"He traded your freedom for his chains. Once he was bound to the planar realm of Cania but, through his trickery and deceit, he has escaped through the bond he formed with you. So are you now bound to Cania as he once was." The Reaper explained.

"Why is it always me?!" the paladin rubbed the bridge of her nose, a headache forming. "Could you please," she hissed through gritted teeth, "tell me were Cania is and how in the Nine Hells I get out of here?"

"Cania is the Eighth Hell of Baator, the Frozen Wastes and the Dreaded Depths." The Reaper gestured to the door behind itself. "Here Mephistopheles is Lord of all and prisoner both... or he was, until he slipped his chains and placed them unto you. That path leads to Cania as it always has, as it has been a part of you since the bond was created. It is no longer barred to your passing." It quieted.

"And what of my friends?" asked the paladin. "Where are they?"

The Reaper paused for a moment, gazing out into the distance to search for the answer. "They are dead, Sojourner. That is, however, merely a transitory state as you are well aware. The Spirits of the Dead can end up in many places, as their will dictates. The outer planes are infinite in their variety and who can say where a soul will go?"

"You said to me once that this plane touches all others," Mercutia circled about the Reaper slowly, "and if death is a transitory state then you can reach them."

"I am able to," agreed the Reaper.

"Then you will bring me…" she paused, not knowing who to pick first. What if there was a limit? "Summon forth Valen."

The reaper stretched out a gray hand. "Consent is given. His spirit travels the gates now, hurtling towards us, and flesh is now forming...your companion returns to you."

Valen's body appeared where Mercutia had first awoken. He stood quickly, bewildered, and upon seeing the paladin on the dais he raced for her. "Mercutia!"

"Valen," she smiled at him and braced herself for the impact.

The tiefling leapt up the steps and engulfed the paladin in a tight embrace, spinning her about. His hands splayed possessively over her back and he burrowed his face in her neck. He breathed deeply of her scent, his eyes closing in familiar comfort, and grinned with joy. "You are not dead, my lady!" He pulled back suddenly, concern replacing his elation in record time. His hands patted down her body for injuries, fingers gliding gently over her tunic. "Are you hurt?"

Mercutia shook her head. "No, I'm fine." She noted that his armor and weapons were gone too. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Valen wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled the paladin close to him. He rested his forehead on hers and with his other hand caressed her neck. "Besides the fact that I failed both you and the Seer?" He stroked an errant lock of white-gold hair and seeing that she was about to comment, laid two fingers upon her lips. "Please, my lady, let me speak." He traced her bottom lip with a finger, his eyes following its curve. It was a worthy distraction so that he would not have to look her in the eyes. "I am ashamed to say that the kobold, Nathyrra and myself all fell by the arch-devil's hand before we had a chance to attack. You were taken from the battle and at the command of the Seer we did our best to follow your trail. I scaled the walls of the fortress with the bard clinging to my back. I do not know how Nathyrra entered."

"You climbed the Valsharess's fortress for me?" she laughed happily, eyes sparkling. "With Deekin?" She threaded her fingers in Valen's hair and threw her head back, "that's wonderful!"

"Mercutia," implored the tiefling, "allow me to finish. Upon breaking through a window, I decided to find the pinnacle of the fortress. I did not make it that far, for when I reached the nearest corridor I encountered Mephistopheles. He was waiting for us. Nathyrra lay on the ground at his feet. I knew I could not win but I rushed at him anyway. I do not think I moved very far before death took me." His fingers gripped her waist in a desperate hold. "I am glad that you called me back."

"Where did you go?" Mercutia asked softly.

"Where do you think?" responded Valen with a dry smile.

"No," Mercutia shook her head, "I should have known."

"Luckily, I am there no longer, my lady," he caught Mercutia's 'wandering' hand and brought it to his lips. "We are to be thankful for that," he whispered.

"I am," replied Mercutia shyly. "You shouldn't feel ashamed about dying at the hands of Mephistopheles. I hadn't even been able to open my mouth to respond to him before I fell."

"The Arch Devil spoke with you?" Valen raised an eyebrow. "What did he say?"

The paladin gave a soft laugh. "I'll tell you the story once everybody gets here, you know I like a big audience for my tales."

"That does not surprise me, my lady, though I had hoped you would be more…forthcoming with your tale," Valen's startling blue eyes became large and glistening.

"V-Valen!" Mercutia turned a stare of surprise on him, "are those…Deekin eyes you're trying to pull?"

The tiefling let loose a peal of laughter. "Heh. If it worked for the kobold…"

Mercutia laid her head on his shoulder. "I would tell it to you now, was not time of the essence. The sooner out of Cania we are, the sooner the Arch Devil will stop wreaking his havoc on my home plane."

"You are right as always, my lady." Valen held her for a few moments longer, savoring her cool form, before he reluctantly broke their embrace so that the half-elf could return to the business of summoning her companions.

"Reaper," said the paladin, "bring me Deekin."

"Must you?" muttered Valen.

"Valen!" chided Mercutia as the kobold materialized.

- - - - - - -

Cania was bitterly cold.

The moment the three adventurers had set foot on the plane they began to feel the bone chilling air seep through their armor and clothes. There was no protection against this wasteland of despair. The place was called the City of Lost Souls; it was where the traitors and betrayers of lives past clung to nothing but their fading memories and threadbare tents. Once or twice these spirits disappeared in flashes of light: energy for Mephistopheles they told her. He was feeding on their souls, banishing them into nothingness, so that he could raise an army more powerful than ever seen before.

His actions reminded the half-elf of a story she had read about Torm while training with Master Drogan. During the Time of Troubles, he had absorbed the souls of his worshipers so that he might defeat Bane. Torm's worshipers had willingly given their lives for their deity and he had rewarded their sacrifice by granting their children divine bravery and will. Mephistopheles gave his subjects nothing but a void existence. They were to be forgotten, cast away into nothingness beyond call of any deity…

She shivered from more than just the wind.

Slowly they trudged on. Valen seemed unaffected by the chill, but the icy winds and powdery snow pained Deekin and Mercutia. Frostblade, however, thrived in this realm of Baator and greedily ate up the frigid touch of the elements. The sword's normally blue glow had become a blinding white glare off the metal's edge. The tiefling had watched it with an avid interest as they stumbled through the snowdrifts, leading the Scrivener they had acquired by the Gate. He had a suspicion that the sword was not blessed by some goodly deity like Mercutia had assumed. Her sire had found it long ago in an ice dragon's lair? Tales often change from their retelling. Had it been a dragon…or something else?

The party stopped at yet another stone pillar. The Scrivener had demanded to be taken to various ones across the frosted landscape. The first had been 'Treason' and then followed 'Dimension.' This pillar was located outside a temple of sorts.

"In-infinity," read Mercutia aloud. She had become quite proficient at reading the Scrivener's pictures. "Is this where you'd like to go?" She wrapped her arms tightly about herself, though with her armor on it did little.

The Scrivener gave an excited whine and a jolt of blue light flew from its small mouth into the nearby ice wall. The words it carved were clear to see: Aribeth de Tylmarande.

Mercutia knew who she was. Paladin of Tyr…Betrayer of Neverwinter. Oh yes, she knew all about Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande.

"No m-m-more g-game?" asked Deekin, watching the Scrivener trot back to the cave it had been posted at happily.

"N-no, D-Deek," the half-elf shivered and examined her blue fingers, "no m-m-ore game." She quickly looked about, the wind whipping up her hair and tying it into knots.

"D-D-Deekin think h-he saw t-t-tavern b-b-back there b-boss. L-let's g-go?" asked the kobold.

Mercutia numbly shook her head. "You g-g-go on ahead. I n-n-need to l-l-look in on Ari-b-beth. I'll f-f-follow shortly." Mercutia waved Deekin away though she could no longer feel her fingers. He scampered off to the smoking building in the distance gratefully. Aribeth was the last person she wanted to deal with in Hell, but knowing that everything happened for a reason she decided to seek out the fallen paladin. She took a few steps back to the ice cave before collapsing to her knees in the snow. Her legs refused to support her. "H-h-help!" she cried.

She needn't have bothered calling. Valen watched her fall to the snow and was upon her in an instant, scooping her up in his arms for warmth and away from the frosty ground. His eyes scanned the surroundings with determination as he searched for shelter. There was a campfire glowing not too far away. There was little he could do in present conditions but use his body as a shield from the wind until he could get to the tarp covered camp.

As Valen neared, he saw that the respite was covered on three sides by paper-thin material and that the fire was a small one. But it was warm and offered more protection than he could. It was already starting to serve its purpose as he felt the paladin's limp fingers twitch against his neck. There was a single, low sitting bench facing him across the fire and Valen ducked under the tarp and towards it. He awkwardly sat Mercutia on his lap, his fingers fumbling with the strap that tied Frostblade to her back and succeeded in opening it, throwing the sword into a forgotten corner. She hissed at him in disapproval and he hissed right back.

A gust of frosty wind circled the small camp with a purpose, buffeting the roof and walls while sucking the warmth out of even the fire. It left behind a hair-raising chill. In this land, the elements had a mind of their own. They were bent on totally sapping the hope of Cania's inhabitants and visitors…as the wind faded away, so too did Valen's morale. Not only had it robbed him of the fire's comfort, it was destroying Mercutia's chance of survival. He watched the paladin's skin turn a deathly white, matching the color of the snow at his feet.

The wind had come to carry away her soul.

The paladin's chest labored up and down, her throat making soundless gasps as she tried to suck air into her frozen lungs. Her arm fell limply to hang by the side of his leg.

"No!" growled Valen, grasping desperately to her body. His fingers dug painfully into her frosty armor, bruising both his fingertips and the skin underneath the covering. "You can't die now. You have to fight it, my lady!" He shook her. "Wake up, Mercutia! Wake up!"

The paladin gave an involuntary shiver. Her lips tinged blue.

"WAKE UP, MERCUTIA!" he slapped her. Hard. It didn't even make a mark on her. "WAKE UP!" If he could make her angry, spark the fire he knew was within her, perhaps she'd make it out alive. "You stupid half-breed! Wake up!" he tried shaking her again. "WAKE UP!" He was frantic now, his tail whipping in the snow at alarming speed. "Would you give in so easy? You coward! YOU COWARD! WAKE UP, FRAIL MORTAL! WAKE UP!!!"

The frost traced intricate patterns on the paladin's eyelashes.

"No," the tiefling whispered. "No, do not die. Not now, my lady. Not when I have come to realize the truth. Not when I have found you after so long." His hand cupped her face gently. He missed her lively smile. "This will be the second time I call you back from death, Mercutia. Do not keep asking this of me for I can stand it no longer." Valen felt a burning sensation in his eyes. "I've come to feel close to you, my lady. Don't leave me here in these wastelands. Not like she did before you."

A droplet of moisture splattered onto the half-elf's face. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lashes as the tear froze on her features.

"I did not tell you this in the Seer's camp, Mercutia," Valen's tears continued to roll down his cheeks, "and I am regretful for the lost time. I will make it up to you. I promise." He traced the tip of her ear and reverently brushed his fingers across her skin. "I used to believe," his fingers stroked down her cheek and over her lips, "that gaining my humanity was the most I could aspire to. I had never dreamed that I could feel so alive and have a…a purpose, my lady. I was resigned to living my life in a constant struggle with my blood and being sworn to duty." He touched each of the frozen tear splatters. "I do not feel that way anymore. I never thought it could be this way again. You are beautiful, Mercutia," he found her hair and touched it gently, "but you are not frail and you are not weak. You are bright; you are my beacon when my blood becomes too much and I would be yours to drive away the shadows you will not share with me.

"Please understand…please…" There was a lump in his throat that he could not swallow, but if he didn't say it now, he never would. "I love you, my lady. I love you with all my heart. I will love you until I die and continue to do so even when I am placed in the darkest hells below you." He lowered his face to hers and touched their lips together, sealing the vow between them. It was not coaxing or desperate, instead it was the bittersweet kiss of a confession come too late. He shut his eyes tight, desperately wanting to wake up and find this a dream. Her lips were unresponsive and tasted of a lonely future set in ice. "Please come back to me, Mercutia!" There was no hell worse than this.

The warmth of Valen's kiss spread throughout the half-elf's body, thawing the ice that was thickening her blood. She felt the heat build in the pit of her belly and then expand all the way to the tips of her toes and fingers. It was like waking up in a warm bed on a cold morning – it was delicious in every sense. The paladin was no longer feeling the icy touches of Cania and she sighed at the blessed heat of the fire and the tiefling's presence.

Valen watched in awe as a rosy flush spread across her skin. This was not the same silver he had seen in the Underdark, but a healthier, more vibrant glow. It spread to the roots of her hair, coloring the white strands into a shade of yellow he had never seen before and filtered to her eyes where, when she opened them at him with a smile, they shone blue. The armor seemed too big, the eyes too inexperienced…but when he blinked she was just as he remembered her from their first meeting.

She said nothing; instead just stared at him with her eyes full of trust, surprise and some other emotion…love. It was not love at first sight; it was a love that had grown out of a mutual attraction and service to the Seer. It had blossomed from something very private into something extraordinarily beautiful. Mercutia stretched a hand forward and pulled Valen's face back to hers. "I love you too." She had never seen him cry.

"It is more than I could have hoped for that you might return my feelings, my lady. Nothing could make me happier," he whispered to her before closing the distance between their lips. He threaded his fingers in her hair and closed his eyes. For a few blissful moments, it was just Valen and Mercutia: no Cania, no demon blood and no Mephistopheles. He cradled her body in his arms and didn't fear that he would hurt her or that his tanar'ri self would take control. He was at peace. Love was saving and drowning him all at once.

With a gentle push of her hand, it was Mercutia who broke the kiss. She laughed breathlessly as she mopped her brow. She had heated up considerably under her armor. "Now that's one way to keep warm. I wish we had done this earlier." She pulled herself closer to Valen and maneuvered herself onto the bench next to him. Getting so close was not a problem with her armor on.

Valen didn't respond, instead he just took one of her hands in his and stroked it gently.

"Where do we go from here?" the paladin asked. It was not so much that she was afraid of the church's scorn or the concern from friends like Mischa or Dorna, she was much more concerned on how well Valen could adjust. All her doubts and fears had been left behind in the Shadow Plane. She just wanted to know where his thoughts lay. Marriage? Children? Plane walking?

The tiefling looked away to the distant tavern. When he turned back, he was grinning. "I do not know, truly." He brushed her cheek with his lips. "All I know is that you are the most amazing woman I have ever encountered. Any future we have is enough for me. I will stay by your side forever, my love, and fight the Hells to know that you are safe. You are my purpose, my life, and I am yours forever, of this I am certain and I swear it to you now."

Mercutia smiled broadly and kissed him. She would need the warmth for their trek to find Aribeth.

- - - - - - -

Her sensitive instincts alerted Mercutia that was amiss when she entered the heavily crowded tavern. There was no danger, she didn't sense that at all, but something made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end…something was going to happen and soon. She closed her eyes and concentrated, attuning herself to the rhythm of the crowds and the energy of Cania. She quieted her panic in the blackness behind her eyes and focused on the pinpricks of light forming around her. Time in the Shadow Plane had greatly attuned her senses to those things paranormal. Skill with a blade was valuable on the Prime, but a strong gut instinct and accurate danger sense was worth a thousand times more in the shadows. It was intuition that guided her strokes in battle now. Frostblade was also very helpful, suspiciously knowing which enemy she was going to strike at next.

This wasn't a 'Detect Evil' spell, it went beyond Torm's control. She sagged against the doorway, her brow beading with sweat as she concentrated, feeling the pull of one light…

"This is not the place to sleep, my lady," whispered Valen in her ear. He guided her forward with a hand placed on her lower back.

"I wasn't sleeping," she replied, more than a little irritated. She quieted Frostblade's whispers in her mind. The sword was humming merrily in Cania and was beginning to show some peculiar behavior. Typically she was very well behaved, for the sword was female, and quiet. As of late, she had been bold enough to start giving advice to Mercutia or put forth her opinion on things at hand. Naturally, it was not a voiced opinion; instead it was a combination of feelings and pictures. Frostblade did not like the setting but it did like the cold weather. It also did not appreciate being separated from her mistress for long periods of time and for that Mercutia was touched. Frostblade looked out for her well being just as much as she cared for the sword.

Cania was also doing a number on the paladin, though she didn't want to admit it. Except for on rare occasions where she forgot who she was and where she was, Mercutia was a very polite, sympathetic individual. Of course she had her off days, snapping at her companions or doing charity with a haughty sneer on her face. Sure she had snapped at Deekin for walking too far behind and had thrown a tantrum at the Seer for being vague, but it must have been the stress. How would she like it if she'd been woken up at some ungodly hour from a rather…pleasant…dream to hear an estimation of the current situation?

Saving the world was not an easy job!

"Do you wants to hear the Doom Song?"

The paladin pushed past a few slaadi to find the source of the voice. There, chatting amicably with an elderly tiefling, was Deekin. No doubt he was learning some new songs and spreading on his own creations. Bards were like that, always picking up new things and spreading their legacy. But she didn't like the look of this man and wasn't about to let her companion get himself into a bind.

The Erinyes workers grumbled as she shoved them aside without apology. A shiver ran down her spine as the door to the tavern opened again, but the only thing Mercutia wanted to do was get to the kobold. Frostblade, however, wanted her to go to the bartender and get something warm to drink. Mercutia told the sword that all she had to do was kiss Valen to get heated up again. The sword returned her thoughts with a feeling of horror and disgust. If Frostblade could have shuddered, she would have. The paladin told her to shut up.

A single, clear voice rose over the din of the tavern. "Valen!" it called. "Valen!" It sounded a bit frantic to the half-elf's ear.

The tiefling stopped, his head swiveling back and forth quickly to scan the room. It couldn't be…could it? It was! It was her! The raven hair, honey skin, earthen eyes…a ghost, but it was her reflection nonetheless. "Lanari?" he whispered. He should have been rooted to the floor in shock, but instead he was moving towards her and she to him; a magnetic attraction drawing the former lovers closer.

"Lanari?" Mercutia's face twisted in confusion. Her sensitive hearing had caught the name – Valen had never mentioned it before. Unless it was…no, but she had died. Hadn't she? It was that slave girl, the one who was killed…it wasn't her. It couldn't be her. Why would she be in the hell reserved for traitors and betrayers? She strained to follow Valen's path through the crowd but lost him behind some burly quarry workers. It would be wrong for her to spy on him and yet…

That table, there, by Deekin – it would afford her a nice view of the tavern but she would still be able to crouch low enough so that Valen would not notice her. She knew he'd be very angry at her invasion of his privacy, but Mercutia was not a woman to share. Her move through the crowd was now more violent, bashing her armored elbows into various body parts for the other patrons to make way. She motioned at Deekin to keep quiet and climbed slowly on the table, ignoring the angry look the old tiefling shot her.

Maneuvering her way into a half-crouch, she found the perfect vantage to view Valen and his 'friend.' Her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched into fists – she could hear Frostblade's laughter in her mind. Why was he touching her!? Why did she touch him!? She had missed their introduction…what if she had…had kissed him? She felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. If Valen was as good as his word…

Slightly paranoid and very, very angry, Mercutia attuned her elven hearing on Valen's voice. He had better be on his behavior…but what she heard did not sound promising…

"Lanari…but how?" Valen gripped her arms firmly, she was solid and yet...not. It was an odd sensation. "You died. Why are you here? Are you one of the Lost?"

The spirit looked back at him with deep, bottomless eyes. "I was sold here, Valen. It has been so long…I do not remember though I know I was part of a bargain. I am one of the Lost, yes. I was bound to this place…but you are here now," she smiled at him, "and that is all that matters to me." Her cool hands cupped his face. "I have not forgotten."

Valen brought her into a close hug, spirit or no, her body felt real to him. "Nor have I, Lanari."

…the muscles in Mercutia's face twitched again and her blood had gone beyond its boiling point. No one played with her possessions! She was about ready to use her 'Turn Undead' ability on the spirit. If it worked on specters and wraiths, why not on the Lost…

"You are blessedly warm," Lanari buried her face in his neck. She was impervious to the spikes of his armor. "As you always have been. Have the years been kind to you?"

"Only recently," he murmured. "I strive to gain back my humanity."

"Your humanity?" Lanari pulled back to peer into his face. She studied it curiously, seeing the boy that had grown into a handsome man. She placed a kiss on his forehead. "You will. I can see it in your eyes already."

Valen blushed. "I could never have made it this far without the help of others, Lanari." Suddenly, he remembered Mercutia. "Come with me, there is someone I wish you to meet."

"Really?" the spirit seemed surprised. "Lead on, my love."

Mercutia was quick to scramble down, falling to the floor in the process. She hit her head on the edge of the table.

"That going to leave mark, Boss," commented Deekin, inches away from her face.

The paladin ruefully rubbed the back of her head, feeling an egg shaped lump forming. Despite the pain, Deekin's breath and the dizziness, she stood. There was a very important matter to be settled. "So, Deekin, tell me what you've been up to the past few hours…"

Deekin was quick to answer and she pretended to look deeply enthralled with what the Kobold had to say. She had been speaking to him the entire time and not been spying on Valen one bit. Nope, not Mercutia. Frostblade helped her façade by making her keenly aware of Valen's nearing presence. The paladin turned when he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"My lady," he greeted her softly.

"Valen," Mercutia leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Take that.

"Mercutia," Valen took her hand in his. The spirit did not miss the gesture. "This is Lanari. She, uhh…" How was he supposed to say this? "She was the girl I told you of." He watched for her reaction and inwardly flinched as he saw her typically warm eyes frost over.

The paladin sapped some resolve from Frostblade. The sword was obliged to help. "Ah yes," she nodded her head. "I…I remember." She prayed that her voice sounded collected and even – she did not feel that way.

"Lanari," his voice was low with emotion, "this is Mercutia Frostblade. She is a…" he searched for the correct word, "dear friend and has helped me achieve more than I could ever have dreamed possible."

Mercutia hoped her smile looked genuine though her heart was aching with jealousy, rage and anguish. DEAR FRIEND!? What game are you playing, Shadowbreath? You can't have your cake and eat it. She was so angry, she didn't know what she was going to do but whatever it was…it wasn't going to be pretty.

Frostblade tried soothing over the pain with images of Hilltop in springtime. The paladin thanked the sword for its effort, but asked her not to interfere in her life where Valen was concerned.

"My greetings." Lanari inclined her head forward in respect.

"Torm's blessing be upon you," responded the half-elf. What was she supposed to say to her…competition? Never had Mercutia felt so possessive or jealous over another's attention.

"Thank you for taking care of him," Lanari patted Valen's arm. "He is happier now than before. I can sense it."

Mercutia did not like Lanari. Was even leaning towards hating her with a passion. She was supposed to be dead, forgotten…and here she was conveniently romping through Cania. Not to mention that she was making claims on Valen who deserved a flesh and blood – key words there – woman and not some flimsy ghost! Frostblade added her own displeasure to the sentiment and Mercutia swore that if she did not explode in a ball of fire, then her eyes were even redder than Valen's. "I think he took care of me more than anything." Torm forgive her, she wanted to see just what type of provocation it took to get the ghost bothered.

"You do not look the type to need careful watching," replied Lanari quietly.

"Well, when you've cheated death with this man as many times as I have," Mercutia patted Valen's side lovingly, "you begin to forget your own mortality."

"Valen has always been a very good fighter," conceded Lanari softly.

The tiefling looked mildly uncomfortable trapped between the two women's animosity.

Mercutia nodded her head. "He has always been my most valuable asset. So brave in fighting the darkness inside of him…an inspiration to any paladin, really."

The ghost gave the paladin a polite look of interest. "Again, I say you do not look the type to need anyone to control your behavior."

Mercutia's brain was quick to process the words. So Lanari was not as stupid as she looked with her large, cow eyes and innocent expression. The ghost was responding by both flattering Valen and herself, assuming to win this conflict by default because of demure approach. Damn it all, Lanari would win.

"You do not know Boss very well!" piped in Deekin, totally unaware what he was getting himself into.

Mercutia was about to give the kobold a short kick to the head when several shrieks from about the room cut through the air. The Spirits of the Lost were being devoured. Lanari looked very alarmed and Valen placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The spirit was shaken about the idea of having her soul destroyed.

"Is there no way we can stop this?" questioned Valen to the paladin.

Mercutia could have happily left Lanari to be devoured by Mephistopheles, but as a paladin and one of Torm's chosen she could not allow herself to be so petty. If the church found out… She sighed and shook her head in resignation. She hated being the black sheep of the family. "I don't know. I can only think of one thing: the Gate House." Life could have been so much easier if she were just a nastier person. Alas! she did not have the constitution for it.

Frostblade offered to help her with that. Mercutia kept the proposal in mind.

"The Gate House?" Lanari's features seemed troubled. "The home of the Reaper?"

The paladin nodded. "Yes. He can't take you anywhere, but at least there you might be safe. It's the only thing that might work." Mercutia stole a glance at Valen. He was looking at her strangely. "I can't think of anything else. You should probably go there now, I think. Best you get there too soon then too late, right? Valen will escort you."

The tiefling nodded, surprised.

"Stay there with her, Valen. I'm sure…" Mercutia's voice faltered. "I'm sure you have much to catch up on. Deekin and I will go to the temple. Why don't you send Nathyrra or Aribeth out to meet us there."

Valen's brow furrowed. "My lady, I think - "

Mercutia held up a hand. "I don't care what you think. Go on, before it's too late." Before she changed her mind and decided to use 'Turn Undead.' Oh it was so tempting with the look of 'innocent' triumph Lanari shot her when Valen wasn't looking.

The tiefling gave her an angry glance and was about to growl a response, but thought better of it. Instead he ushered the spirit away and into the cold. The door shut loudly behind them.

The paladin placed a hand on her remaining companion's shoulder. "Let's race, shall we?" Perhaps a little competition might liven her spirits. Torm knew that if she thought about Lanari any longer, her head really would explode.

The kobold gave a toothy grin. The Boss always knew how to make even the most mundane things fun. He had already started for the door; Mercutia close at his heels.