Everyone is guilty of something. This is a view adopted by a well-known Daurosian faction that boasts of having the best and most highly sought-after law enforcement paladins and fighting monks in the whole of Ardania. Ironically, it is also the view held by most of the citizens of Centuria, the largest city of vice and crime in Ardania. The difference was that with the Centurians, it was completely true.

The man sweeping the streets could be guilty of being an informant for the largest, most powerful rogues' guild in the city, selling his spyings and secrets to the highest bidder, not necessarily to his patron guild. Or he could be guilty of possessing and intaking Dragon-eye Elfweed, an illegal, highly addictive (and occasionally fatal) drug during his time off.

In Tomas's case, the street sweeper he had questioned was guilty of both. The small packet of Dragon-eye he had traded with the sweeper was worth many, many times its weight in gold. But so was the information that Tomas had received in exchange.

And so later that night, Tomas found himself walking casually among the large wooden crates in an unmarked warehouse next to the city harbour. A lot of trade goods went through Centuria's harbour. It was a well-known fact that a number of those goods went under a different label to escape the scrutiny of the Sovereign's Customs officers in other cities. But with the sheer volume of moving crates, locating them was like finding a needle in a strangleweed stack.

Unless one knew what he was looking for.

Tomas emerged from the shadow of two towering crates and into the flickering light of nearby torches. Those torches were being held by a couple of large, heavy-set men. Next to them, three other men stood around, one of them inspecting a list.

"Evening, Malvon," said Tomas casually, his hands in his tunic pockets.

Immediately, the man reading the list snapped his head up, shock registering in his scarred face. The two other men with him drew out crossbows while the two holding the torches moved menacingly towards Tomas, their torches held out like clubs.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, boys," remarked Tomas as he watched the two thugs approach him. "Otherwise your guild master will not be too happy about what will happen next."

"Tomas." Malvon spat out the name as if it were acid. "It has been a long time." The Centurian Rogue's Guild master was a medium-built man with pale hair. Due to a rare skin condition, his skin was constantly covered with dry flakes. Tomas heard it once commented that the man looked like he was shredding his skin like a snake. Given the nature of the man, and the way he could move in a knife-fight, it was not the only attribute he shared with the scaly reptiles.

It was in one such knife-fight where Malvon received his long scar along the side of his face; a knife-fight with Tomas himself. The man had twisted in an almost impossible angle, receiving a disfiguring cut on the face instead of what Tomas had intended, which was a more fatal cut on the throat. Tomas could still remember that fight even after fifteen years. Now, looking at the way Malvon glared at him, it was obvious that Malvon could as well.

Seeing that the two thugs were not slowing their advance, Tomas took one hand out from his pocket and held it up. There was a hissing noise and like magic, one of the wooden crates behind him exploded into splinters, its contents shattering as they hit the ground. Small vials of purplish liquid smashed and spilt on the warehouse floor.

Malvon's eyes seemed like they could not bulge any further but they did. "Stop!" he barked at his two men. The two torch-wielding thugs did, glaring at Tomas who stood no more than six feet away.

Tomas gave them a small nod. "Good. Now that I have your attention, Malvon, there are a few things we can discuss."

"There is nothing I need to discuss with you, Tomas," growled Malvon. "Apart from the order you want me to remove your fingers."

Tomas gave Malvon a grim smile. "Still charmingly brutal, I see. Unfortunately, you are right. It is in your best interest to ensure that I do not discuss anything. Particularly to the White Orchid guild over how you're short changing their iperculiad/i shipment. Secreting away a crate or two for yourself and replacing them with fakes? I think they would find it very distressing, especially since they've paid you a hefty sum to ensure that the shipment arrives at their destination in perfect condition."

Everyone is guilty of something. In Centuria, Tomas knew that the trick was to find what it was and use it as leverage.

Compared to the rest of the old structures in Necroselleum, the Temple of Krypta's library was a more recent addition. The city walls had been constructed back during the horrific Necrolyte wars, as well as the old palace, the barracks and the Temple of Krypta itself. It was only during the years of uneasy peace after the wars that the library extension was made to the already-huge temple, along with the rest of the surrounding buildings that would eventually form the Convent. At the present day, the library possessed an impressive number of old scrolls, books, archives, parchments, letters, chronicles and gospels, more than enough to rival even the Royal Library in the Sovereign's city of Valmorgen.

But for now, the only possession of the library that Lydith cared about was its view from the roof. The library extension of the Temple rose a full fifty feet from the ground, giving a roof-top observer an almost uninhibited view of the city and even a glimpse over the city walls. On a good day, Lydith could even see the peaks of the distant mountains over the walls.

The library roof had become one of Lydith's favourite places in the Convent of Krypta. Finding places of solitude where she could simply sit and think seemed to be an in-grown habit in her. Back in Thistlewood, her childhood village, the Big Oak had been one such place of solitude. Lydith once mused to herself over no matter how much things changed in her life, some things still remained the same. Her surroundings, for example, were different. The Convent of Krypta was definately a completely different environment compared to Thistlewood. Her maroon Acolyte's dress was different, and so were her daily chores. Even the times she woke up and retired to bed had changed.

Yet at the same time, some things were still the same. Back in Thistlewood, Lydith was a lonesome child with very few, but close, friends. Here, it was the same; aside from Karyn, there were few others whom Lydith could consider friends. And, of course, her need to retire to places of solitude was still the same.

Aside from the splendid view, the roof of the library also offered one additional benefit. It allowed Lydith to see the comings and goings of anyone from the Temple gates. Most of the time, these were worshippers of Krypta, priestesses and sometimes temple servants although the latter normally used their own servant's gate located near to the servant's quarters of the Convent. Today, however, Lydith spied one unusual visitor to the Temple; a man dressed in royal blue robes with gold trimmings, the uniform of an official for the Sovereign. iA royal messenger, perhaps/i she thought. iOr an over-dressed royal scribe/i

"Lydith? Lydith! Where are you?"

Lydith snapped out of her musings and leaned over to look down at the balcony directly below her. Karyn stood at the balcony and spotted her immediately. "I thought you'd be up here again! You're mad, you know, climbing up there on your own! One day, you're going to end up as messy splat on the library steps!"

Lydith grinned down at her. "Well, I would bring you up here with me if someone wasn't so afraid of heights! And spiders. And mice. And anyone speaking to her in a stern voice."

Karyn snorted in reply. "At least I don't sit around on the roof all day like a skinny gargoyle!" She winced up at Lydith, the sun in her face. "Come down, Lydith, or we'll be late. Sister Fallowmoon has requested all new Acolytes to meet her at the vaults at once." She brightened up at a thought. "Maybe she wants to give us a special tour of the vaults! We've never been allowed in there!"

Lydith made her way towards the roof edge above the balcony. "Most likely she has a special chore for us, like cleaning out the vault. I must say, being an Acolyte seems to give us the priviledge of more chores, not less."

Despite her saying it, Lydith knew that that was not strictly true. After being in the Convent for over a year, Lydith, Karyn and several other Initiates had been promoted to the position of Acolytes. Traditionally, this meant that they were to start on their formal training as priestesses. This also meant that they were exempt from certain chores, in order to give them more time to study the Ways of Krypta. Lydith, for one, was glad never to have to clean the temple furnaces again.

Lydith jumped down next to Karyn who glanced critically at Lydith's Acolyte robe. "You've already scraped it above your knees," she accused.

Lydith shrugged. "It keeps getting in the way when I climb up. I think I still prefer my old shorter robe."

"Huh, if you wore that any longer, it would have eventually fallen into pieces when you sneeze. Come on, better not to keep Sister Fallowmoon waiting. You know how seriously she takes everything."

"The Sovereign cannot be serious."

Sister Shadowlife's incredulous statement echoed Daedra's thought. The Royal Messenger stood firmly in front of the three priestesses inside the Convent Mother's darkwood study. Given his audience, Daedra was impressed by the man's resolve. There were not many who could stand so steadily in the presense of the Convent Mother, and Sister Shadowlife, one of the most legendary priestesses in present day Ardania, and Daedra who had no small reputation herself. iHe is either has nerves of steel/i thought Daedra. iOr brains of lead./i Given that Royal Messengers were normally chosen among the elite of the Sovereign's Royal Guard, Daedra gave the former opinion the benefit of the doubt.

The Royal Messenger gave Sister Shadowlife a critical look. "My message comes directly from the Soveriegn himself. This is a very serious situation, sister. The matters of the Sovereign should always take precedence over any petty religious disagreements you might have."

iBrains of lead, then./i

Before Sister Shadowlife fire back with a scalding reply, the Convent Mother leaned forward from her polished desk to speak. "I am certain that the Sovereign has taken into account all of our 'petty religious disagreements' as you say, messenger. You may inform His Majesty that we will make the suitable preparations for his request."

Regardless of the metallic constitution of his brain, the Royal Messenger understood the hint that he was being dismissed and saluted smartly at the Convent Mother. Turning a rigid back, the man strode out of the small study. Aunt Daedra followed him up to the study door and closed it behind him.

Sister Shadowlife's face was livid. However, she still remembered whose presence she was in and spoke with forced formality. "Please excuse my blatant ness, dread mother. But I cannot believe that even the Sovereign can understand the magnitude of what he is requesting."

The Convent Mother leaned back on her chair. "The Sovereign sees things as they are, Sister Shadowlife. He sees two cities, both with armed forces, and has mustered them to his cause. Still, the Sovereign is no fool. Of course he understands the implications of his request. If not him, then his advisors would. The situation must be dire for him to make such a decision."

Aunt Daedra returned to the study desk. "But a joint campaign with the Daurosians against a goblin horde? It is unheard of in all of history."

The Convent Mother inclined her head. "Remember, Sister Daedra, that history is written by men with prejudices and ideals. Men who would not consider it a bane if history omitted certain events."

"Are you saying that there was a time once when the forces of Krypta and Dauros worked together?" asked Sister Shadowlife.

"Saying little saves you from making rash statements, Sister Shadowlife," replied the Convent Mother firmly. The other two priestesses instinctively knew that this was all the Convent Mother would say on the matter.

Aunt Daedra thought over the brief interview. "Saying little seems to have given the Sovereign's messenger the impression that we will accept the Sovereign's request."

The Convent Mother nodded. "Yes, Sister Daedra. I am pleased you, for one, picked that up."

Sister Shadowlife frowned. "I beg your pardon, Convent Mother?"

"We never made any commitments to support the Sovereign's request, Sister Shadowlife."

"But we said-"

"We said that we would make the isuitable preparations/i for his request," enlightened the Convent Mother.

Sister Shadowlife nodded, finally understanding. "So, are we going to side with the Sovereign's campaign against the goblin horde?"

The Convent Mother looked up at her. "The followers of Krypta never take anyone's side, Sister Shadowlife. Only our own."