Calen scowled down at the spidery script spread before him in the flickering candlelight. The answers were here somewhere, he knew it. They had to be! And yet, it looked like another long day of research was proving to be ultimately fruitless. Months ago, there had been a dull gleam at the end of a long and thankless tunnel, but that fool Merra had thrown it away with his idiotic grandstanding. There were always other roads though, mused Calen. The Brotherhood of the Bound Ones did not give up easily.

A small, fanatical cult who existed to serve Promathia, the Brotherhood of the Bound Ones kept themselves to strictest secrecy. After all, there were very few indeed who would willingly harbor adherents to the god of Twilight. This tiny safehouse-turned-library was one of their few sanctuaries left as numbers dwindled and new recruits grew hard to come by. Calen redoubled his scowl and returned to his reading. The Brotherhood had endured hardships in the past. It would weather this one also.

A soft rapping on the door interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention. Was it suppertime already? So hard to mark the passage of time in these enclosed, sheltered rooms... Well, he was due a break anyhow. Calen rubbed his eyes and said "Come in," before glancing back over the scattered manuscripts spread upon his desk. Silence. "Come in," he repeated, a little irritated. Perhaps they'd left it at the doorstep, knowing Calen's dark moods when he was interrupted. The Hume man sighed and stood.

Boots making a measured cadence upon the wooden floor, Calen made for the doorway and stopped, frowning just in front of it. One who'd delved into the arcane arts for a number of years sometimes developed a sixth sense about things, and this situation seemed wrong somehow... Exactly how was answered for him in the next moment.

Time seemed to slow to an agonizing pace as a crunching, tearing noise announced the door's latch being torn forcibly from the wall. It flew inwards, striking Calen full in the face and sending him toppling backwards to the floor. A rushing, leathery noise like the sound of a riding-cloak in the breeze greeted his ears, curiously loud. Then a burst of light as his head struck the floor and an unfamiliar weight settled to his chest. Senses spinning, Calen realized he'd closed his eyes. They opened to blearily focus on an Elvaan man, one armored foot upon Calen's chest. That explained the weight at least, he thought groggily.

"Hello my friend," intoned the man solemnly. "We've a few things to discuss, you and I. Loosen your tongue willingly and we will both be spared all manner of unpleasantness. I may even grant you your life, if you behave."

"Who," spluttered Calen, enraged and frightened.

"Names are unimportant," the Elvaan said smoothly. "As are a good many other things. I will ask questions, and you will answer them. I do hope I'm keeping this simple enough," he smiled disarmingly.

"How did you find this place?" Calen glared, mentally scrabbling for names of those who might have betrayed him. He came up with several, but none were clever or resourceful enough to set dogs upon him, least of all to get past the safeguards and precautions taken. Who, then...?

The Elvaan shook his head sadly. "Perhaps I have not made myself sufficiently clear." He unstrapped a massive cermet lance from his back that seemed to radiate an uncomfortable coldness and leveled the tip at Calen's chin. "I will ask questions. You will answer them. Nod if you understand."

Furious and humiliated, Calen nodded.

"Some time ago, there was a little matter with a certain Hume woman. I believe an accomplice of yours, Merra, oversaw the issue?" Nod. "A certain injury was inflicted upon the woman's at the incident's conclusion. You know what I refer to?"

So that's what he was after. Merra had insisted on personally overseeing the entire matter with the woman and her amulet, and in typical Elvaan fashion grossly overestimated his own abilities and fallen prey to the very same person he'd hoped to ensnare. Calen snorted mentally in disgust.

Just in case the plan had fallen through, purely out of spite, Merra had put a powerful curse upon his blades, linked to the subtle fluctuations of energies in the Crystal Line. That, in combination with the woman's unique bloodline, would act both as a safeguard against fulfilling her purpose and as a means of vengeance. Merra left a fitting gift in his passage, but a fat lot of good that did the Brotherhood of the Bound Ones. Vengeance or no, all their plans still came to a dead end when the woman and her child had walked free.

Suddenly, it all struck Calen as terribly funny. Months later, when the curse had already well advanced beyond reversibility, comes this man. Kicking down his door and demanding answers. Alright, then. Let him have his answers. Calen began to laugh, but wheezed painfully as the armored foot asserted its weight.

"I know why you're here. And it's pointless. You've put the pieces together, and now you see the puzzle and pat yourself on the back. Well, here's the last piece. I hope you choke on it and die, just like that woman and her damned whelp—Ah!" he gasped as the lance-head lowered and brushed his skin. It WAS cold! Chillingly so.

"It's in the blood! The thing that makes her what she is has been twisted! Now any fluctuation in the flow of energies in the Crystal Line will set it off. She's a dead woman already, if things are bad enough to make you hunt me down here!"

"I suppose you'd better think of remedies then. And quickly," growled the Elvaan.

"There are none," spat Calen. "Not unless you can make her something other than what she is! Don't you know, you fool! She's a scion of the ancients! The curse is irreversible."

Calen shuddered and lay back, closing his eyes. He was probably going to be killed for that. So what. It was the truth, and couldn't be told in plainer terms. He waited for the lance to fall. It never did. Instead, the weight lifted from his chest. Calen opened his eyes in wonder, finding the tall stranger strolling away casually, down the hallway.

"Aren't you going to kill me, you fool? I'll set the entire Brotherhood upon you! We won't stand for this insult!"

"I am a man of my word," said the Elvaan, half-turning. "I said I'd not kill you if you behaved. And so you have. However, know this. I have the means to track down each and every last wretched one of your pathetic little order. I will do so, until I am given the answer that I seek. If I am not..." He shrugged. "I will cease to be so merciful. And Vana'Diel will be spared another blight. Should you wish to find me however, tell your friends to inquire of Verence Leif Monveaux. Tell them I will be waiting. I shouldn't be too difficult to find." With that, Verence turned and began walking away.

Calen's mouth dried. To speak with such assured bravado, he had to know how thinly-stretched the Brotherhood was. There was no way they could spare enough resources to present a serious threat just now. This had to be dealt with now. Calen rose and began murmuring the words to an ancient spell.

A blue flash crossed his vision, accompanied by the sound of a rippling cloak... No. Wings. Calen gasped and sagged as his throat was torn from his body. He heard one last thing before everything turned black.

"Ah, Lumiere. It seems he did not wish to behave."