Chapter 13: Desperate
Dancing lights.
The world was a blur of colours—greens, golds, and greys streaked through an ebon sky in which millions of stars twinkled. Yet it seemed an endless expanse of gloom—and the dancing lights of the stars seemed all but diminished within the deep darkness.
All was silent—save for the echoing drip, drip, dripping of liquid substance upon what seemed a hard, stone ground.
Where could he be?
Drip; drip; drip.
How could it be that he did not ache much?
Drip; drip; drip.
Should he not be dead?
Drip; drip; drip.
Where was the pain?
Saul lay still for several long seconds. He did not think it prudent to move—or to attempt any form of shifting, at present. Perhaps his body had merely been numbed to the pain—for with injuries such as his, pain was inevitable. And yet, to his utter surprise, he felt little, to no pain. And it brought a new sense of dread to his heart, freezing the very insides of his soul.
Am I paralysed?
He swallowed hard, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. For some reason, he felt as if he were a little boy all over again—one afraid of pain and death. The thought half amused him—and with this newfound strength, he attempted to wiggle the biggest toe of his right foot.
It moved with ease.
Saul heaved a low sigh of relief. Then, holding his breath, he set about methodically moving, gently, the other parts of his body. To his surprise, he found that he could shift both his legs without much difficulty; and though the muscles were sore, slight discomfort was naught compared to what he'd expected. Slowly, Saul lifted his right arm—then flexed his fingers.
No pain.
A gentle, ticking sensation upon his side tugged at his attention; and Saul allowed his eyes to flutter, slowly open. He felt somewhat awakened now; and it was with rather less caution that he'd attempted to move his left arm.
He gasped, clasping his good hand over his mouth to stiffle the cry of pain within his throat; it felt as if hundreds and thousands of ice-cold knives had pierced the very insides of his shoulder. And just then, the events that had taken place not several hours ago flooded his mind; and with a soft, almost feral groan, the druid cursed his forgetfulness.
The dull thump of a lifeless limb at his side. The harsh ringing of steel against his side.
Minutes passed in which Saul merely lay still; his breath came in harsh and quick rasps, for the pain within his shoulder and side had not yet begun to subside. It seemed hours later before the throbbing began to dissipate into rather duller aches. Saul had noticed, then, that his broken arm was bound in a tight cast.
Who could have bound his arm? Surely Cordelia would not have had the strength?
Half a second passed in silence before the thought hit him as a thunderbolt would; he bolted upright, suddenly ignorant of the protesting twinge within his shoulder, and gasped—"Cordy!"
"Hush!"
It happened in all the time of a single second; the murmured tones of a woman's voice reverberated within his ears, and a slender-fingered hand pushed him, though not unkindly, into his prior position. Saul inhaled sharply—then began to struggle, in futile attempts, to rise.
"Be quiet. I am not going to hurt you." The words were spoken in soft, quietened hisses; a voice that he was sure did not belong to Cordelia.
Saul growled—and flung his good arm out in an attempt to push the hand from his chest. To his dismay; the hand did not budge, nor did its hold of him falter. He stiffened slightly—and anxiety began to creep into his being.
He swallowed—and with a frown, ceased to struggle; for the stabbing pain of his injuries were beginning to resurface. "Who are you?" He began—and it was in rather a roughened baritone that he'd spoken. Nonetheless, the touch of the hand upon his chest softened—and its owner spoke again.
"I am going to let you up. But please—don't try to get away. You will only inflict more pain upon yourself." It was in a low and husky burr that the other spoke; almost as if she were a cat of some sort. Every syllable was spoken lightly—in almost a temperate, carefree manner. Yet, Saul found that he could detect slight traces of a force within these words—as though they were but a façade to shield true emotions from exposure.
Perhaps he was very much wrong—but was it fear within the whispered depths of the woman's voice?
"You haven't answered my question." Saul began—then grunted heavily as he pushed himself, with one arm, into a seating position. Clearly, his right arm was not as strong as he'd guessed. The woman lifted her hand, and he could only suppose that she'd stepped away. He blinked the weariness from his eyes, then squinted into the gloomy darkness. "Who are you?"
Within the encompassing darkness of the dimly-lit chamber, the druid found that he could see no further than beyond the length of his outstretched fingertips. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly—somehow, it seemed careless; almost stupid to submit to trust thus easily. Who was this woman? And where was Cordelia?
It was as though she could read his mind. Saul thought he could see the faint outlines of a rather curvacious figure; her arms were crossed over her chest, and her stiff-backed stance suggested her to be one of cautious nature. She seemed to consider his question—then, clearing her throat softly, stepped backwards into the one weak light-source of the room; a dimunitive candelabra wrought of pewter and steel that the druid had not noticed until that point.
She was tall, and rather slender, though her womanly curves were more than unusually prominent. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a severe chignon, exposing a graceful, swan-like neck, a high, aristocratic forehead and flawless complexion, which, cast within the pale-gold light of the candelabra, was almost deathly pale. Large, almond-shaped eyes of deepest jade, delicately flecked with traces of gold and grey, rested on either side of her pointed nose; and though her stance was guarded, and her expression tense, these eyes betrayed deeper emotions—anxiety and apprehension.
She watched him for several short moments—then inclined her head in what seemed to the druid a vague greeting. "You may call me Veriannyth."
"Who are you?" Saul repeated his question, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly; somehow, it did not quite feel as if a mere name were a sufficient answer.
She lifted a thin, dark eyebrow—and for several long moments, naught but silence passed between them. Then, with something of a wry smile—"I've already answered your question, druid; I am known as Veriannyth. And you needn't be wary of my presence. I mean you no harm." She lifted a hand to scratch idly at the tip of her nose. "Might I enquire as to who you are, then? I have introduced myself; and it would be rude for you to not return the favour."
Saul frowned—he was in no temper to discuss common courtesey. "Call me Saul." He muttered, somewhat grudgingly. And then, with something of a bite in his tone—"What business have you in this monastery, woman?"
"I understand that my name is rather a long one. If you wish, you may call me Ria, as opposed to woman." A trace of grim amusement; and perhaps the just the slightest bit of prideful disdain flashed across the depths of her eyes. And then, again, as though she could read his mind—"I don't care if you should place your trust in me. But for my efforts of restoring your health, I deserve, at the very least, respect."
Cordelia.
"Have you seen my comrade?" Saul interjected, his tone grave; the game of wit and words would have to wait. For now, he required what news he could hear of Cordelia. Was she safe? Could she be lying, perhaps dead, upon the ground?
A slight tremor made its way slowly up the druid's spine—he shuddered at the sensation, then fixed his deep grey orbs upon the woman before him once more.
He was only mildly aware that he'd somehow insulted her; yet he could not care much at present—not when anxiety weighed thus heavily upon his rather sore shoulders. "She fell near to me, but I am unsure of the extent to which she may have suffered."
She watched him once more—and for a moment or two, Saul would have believed her to have been considering him; his intentions and the concern he bore for his companion. Then, nodding curtly, she murmured—"She is safe."
Saul lifted a brow in slight apprehension. So short and brief an answer deserved disbelief; yet he wished, with every fibre of his soul, that she had spoken the truth. He pursed his lips slightly, then pushed himself, rather haphazardly, to his feet.
The sharp, prickling sensation returned almost instantly to his side; and this time, he felt every single seconds' worth of it.
He released, rather involuntarily, a low grunt; and the hand of his good arm found its way to the afflicted side, gripping the flesh with a wild sort of desperation. The pain had come—when he'd least expected and least desired it to. But, he did not return to his makeshift bedding—and with yet another grunt, his eyes watering ever so slightly, the druid straightened, shifting his footing uneasily as he did so.
"Be careful." A frown had begun to crease the woman's forehead—and it was rather a concerned gaze that she fixed upon him. "I did not have enough potion, nor had I the expertise to completely heal your wounds. They will need proper care when you return to your stronghold, especially your arm. The bone is broken from the inside. I cannot heal it."
"Cordelia." Saul muttered through gritted teeth. He could see a slight flash of apprehension within the woman's eyes; but he chose to ignore it. "Where is she?"
The woman pursed her lips vaguely—and with a pang within the very depths of his stomach, Saul recognised the look as one which often graced his youngest sister's face; Seirra looked as the woman did when slightly annoyed. She had rather brittle strength when it came to patience—and it was, as Akara regularly reminded him, a family trait.
"I assure you—she is quite safe. But be quiet, for heaven's sake." She said, waspishly. "Do you want to awaken all forms of darkness within these barracks?" She narrowed her eyes just a touch, then gestured impatiently towards a corner of the room. "She is over there, and she was, and is in far better condition than you are now—but she has exhausted her source of energy. She is resting now."
Saul glanced stiffly towards the corner—then heaved a faint sigh of mingled relief and gratitude.
Cordelia had been lain upon a makeshift bedding of several wooden crates—these were placed together to create a flat, strong surface. Her cloak had been placed upon the wood beneath her, and her pack had been transformed into a temporary head-rest. She appeared at peace—she could have been sleeping.
"Thank you." He murmured; and the words were uttered without that deep, grudging disdain he'd held previously within his voice. The sight of the sleeping red-head calmed him somewhat; it was both inexplicable and odd. He paused a moment; then spoke once more. "Where did you come from?"
The woman took a deep breath. She seemed just a touch troubled; yet when she spoke, her words were light, and held almost a careless quality within them. "Kurast, to the East."
Saul blinked. "How did you get here? As I understand it, the mountain pass through to the east is—" He frowned slightly, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his head. "—blocked."
She gave him a vague, rather enigmatic smile—and in all of a single split second, understanding came to him.
"I have been here before." She began, dryly. "Therefore, I was able to make quick use of the waypoints—I arrived here not two days ago."
Saul nodded stiffly—then pressed on. Unanswered questions were clouding his head; and he had every intention of being free of them before the day was quite over. "Why are you here?"
She gave him a hard look; and for a moment or two, he thought he saw a hint of impatience deep within the depths of her eyes. But he blinked—and it was gone. She shrugged. "You do not pretend, at the very least, to trust me. I do not see the need to—ah—return your favour."
He pursed his lips; the woman was beginning to annoy him.
Truth be told, Saul had not expected much of a straight answer from one such as her; the people of Kurast were known for their wit. Questions in Kurast had no real answers—only endless sentences made of naught but rubbish words. The jungle of jade was well known for its mystique, and the brilliance of those who bent the elements to their will within the shaded groves. But it was no longer the case.
A rumour had arisen even within the shades of Entsteig—the Sanctuary was threatened, and greatly so. The rogues were not the sole victims of the rising shadow; not would they be the last.
"I am going to be honest with you." Saul began; and he knew his tone to be both tight and grim. "It is true that I do not trust you. But that is because you have given me no reason to trust you. You say that you are from Kurast; and you say that you have been here before. Yet you give no reason as to why you have returned." He paused; she had paled just a touch, and her eyes were slightly narrowed. "You feign indifference and suffer the harshness of my words—yet your voice betrays you. Something troubles you; it eats at your insides, and refuses you rest. You are desperate. But for what reason—"
Saul paused once more; he fixed his deep grey gaze upon that of hers—and in her eyes, in her face, and in the slight twitching of her lips was desperation. He lowered his gaze slightly; then murmured. "—I do not know. That is for you to tell me."
She lifted an eyebrow, and for several short moments, Saul half thought that she would begin to shout at him. But when she spoke once more, her voice was low—somewhat wearied. "My home is threatened."
Saul nodded slightly. "That seems to be the case with many homes these days."
She gave him a look; and Saul fell silent once more. Life with four sisters had taught him that it was best to allow women the freedom of speech when they gave one such look. "The Zakarum high priests have—abandoned their duties. They drove our people from the greater parts of the city—the Travincal and Upper Kurast. Even as I speak to you, the last of our men fight for control of the Kurast Bazaar. It will not be much longer before we are forced as far back as the Dockside."
"Why—" Saul began; but she held a hand up to silence him.
"We believe that the Zakarum have been infilterated from deep within their souls. They are corrupted now—nothing more than empty shells, mere shadows of their former glory. They do Hell's bidding now." Her eyes were narrowed ever so slightly; and almost as if it were a subconscious habit, she began to pace the chamber, her hands clasped over her lap. "Our defenses are failing, and if we don't do something quick, all of Kurast will fall to darkness. And all hope there ever was of restoring the glorious good of the Travincal will disappear forever."
Saul frowned slightly—a deep and somewhat dark pit had appeared within the chasms of his belly; his spine tingled with tremors that had nothing to do with the pain of his injuries. He inhaled sharply. "Veriannyth."
The use of her name seemed to bolster her; for, with rather a faint smile, she'd lifted her gaze to his, and nodded. "Aye, Saul."
"What is it that you seek here?" He tilted his head slightly; a somewhat gentle gesture. "I do not ask because I wish to thwart your plans. I ask because—if there is anything at all that I can do for you—" Here, he paused for several short seconds—and his voice trailed away into silence.
She bowed her head slightly—and for a moment or two, Saul thought he'd imagined the burning patches of red upon her cheeks. "A month ago, it was discovered that the protective enchantment upon the Kurast Dockside had been weakened. If the last of our warriors should fail to retain control of the Bazaar, and of Lower Kurast, we shall be forced into the safety of the Dockside. Safety, however, is relative to the strength of the enchantment—and as of now, the enchantment has almost been destroyed."
"There is a fabled hammer, widely known even amongst the lore of my people: the Mah'dhurr. I believe, in your tongue, it is called the Horadric Malus. We need the power within this hammer—the power to imbue items with magical properties beyond the ordinary."
"Why is that?" Saul frowned slightly. The idea seemed, to him, somewhat ludicrous—how would a mere hammer, regardless of its magical properties, aid in the protection of an entire culture?
"The Kurast Dockside is protected by an ancient magic practiced only by a clan of powerful mages—the Gadnuri Bhet. The Gadnuri practice magic of a different kind that you may know of—they are object benders, and often are able to summon the very spirits from within various kinds of substances. Steel is one of them. Few reside still within the Sanctuary; many have departed from our world to traverse realms beyond our imaginations combined. But one resides, still in Kurast; and he is called Ormus."
"So—why do you need the Malus?" Saul lifted both his eyebrows; but almost instantly was obliged to fall silent once more. Here, now, was yet another woman who reminded him of the rogues' captain; for with a faint scowl, she'd motioned him into silence.
"The protection upon our dockside is an enchantment cast long ago. The elders of the Gadnuri Bhet invoked the power of a holy Skatsimi blade: the Gidbinn, and afterwards placed it within a sacred chamber of the great Kurast Tower, where the spirit within the blade long protected our dockside and lands from the foul corruption of hell's minions—and at first, we thought that the magic would be able to withstand the darkness. But slowly, our defenses began to crumble—and we are left with naught but ruined homes. The demon-flayers have stolen the Gidbinn, and we do not know where it is now."
Saul nodded slowly. Pieces of an uncomplete puzzle were beginning to form within his head, but he felt somewhat less confused. "Shall I suppose that you require the Malus to craft a blade worthy of the Gidbinn's magic? That you seek to replace the Gidbinn with a new blade?
"That—" Veriannyth crooked a wry smile. "—is correct. But we seem to have encountered a dead end. Even the best of our smiths were unable to correctly harness the Malus's power to craft the replacement blade."
"So you returned."
"Aye, Saul." She gnashed her teeth together in frustration. Then, with rather a great sigh, she strode towards the druid, and leaned back against the wall beside him. "I returned. The elder mages used the last of their magic to teleport me here the first time. And as such, I am now able to command the use of the waypoints. But what use is that if I cannot reveal the secret of the Malus?"
Saul released a low, hollow chuckle. Then, tilting his head slightly to catch her eye—"The magic within the Horadric Malus can only be harnessed by the one to whom it was entrusted; Valdamyr Carcoumb, and his descendents. It does not matter how greatly skilled your smiths are. If the Malus does not recognise the blood of its master, it will not allow use of its magic. Instead, it becomes itself in its truest form—a mere hammer."
Veriannyth blinked. A look of greatest horror had penetrated her face; her eyes were widened, and her mouth had fallen agape. For a moment or two, she merely stared at him—unblinking, and silent.
"You needn't fear." Saul quirked a small smile, then lifted his good hand to scratch at his nose. "My family are of the Carcoumb line—and my cousin is the current heir of the Malus. I am quite sure that she would not refuse your request—and if I know her at all, I know that she would gladly craft your replacement blade for you. But our offer extends on one condition."
Her eyes widened just a touch; and she clasped one hand over her neck. Then, in a soft whisper of a voice—"Name it."
"You must return the Malus to my cousin. There is no question of that—it is a family heirloom." Saul said; and he was only vaguely aware of the slight conviction in his tone. "Do we have a deal?"
She blinked once, and then twice; for several short moments, Saul thought that she was going to refuse—or at the very least, protest. And yet, when she spoke, it was in a rather relieved cadence—and she sounded as if she were younger at heart, and stronger in spirit. "Deal."
Saul smiled slightly—then nodded. "Alright, then."
At length, they both fell silent, each choosing quiet retreats into the back of their minds. From time to time, the druid would chance a gaze towards the sleeping sorceress; and he would smile, for the mere sight of her was somehow soothing. Yet, he found that he could not gaze upon her sleeping form for long—for both guilt and longing tugged upon his heart, each opposing the force on the other side. Many times, he found himself longing for the gentle warmth of her smile, and the capricious cheer of her laughter. Yet to love her, and to be loved by her meant the splitting of his being—the carving of his soul into two.
Was it possible to share himself between the two longings? Could he remain true to both Cordelia, and Nature?
"Saul—" Veriannyth was tugging at his sleeve; and upon her face was a look of grim amusement. She motioned towards the sleeping sorceress.
Saul blinked several times—then released a series of quiet chuckles.
The sorceress was murmuring in her sleep.
And even as Saul struggled to silence his amusement, she rolled over, one arm draped delicately over her middle, and sighed softly—"Please.. don't steal my cow, Kashya."
"Hello, darling. How's your cow?"
Cordelia ripped several blades of grass from upon the ground—then threw a dirty glare towards the druid. "Don't call me that, you traitor. I wish to goodness you'd have had the common sense to wake me."
Saul grinned. He rubbed gently at the top of her head with his good hand, then sank stiffly onto the ground beside her. "How was I to know that you would begin murmuring in your sleep?"
She pushed his hand away. "How was I to know that I would begin murmuring in my sleep?"
"Well—yes, I suppose I do know you better than you know yourself."
"You halfwit cow!" She flung her handful of grass at him.
He laughed. "At least I know you'll protect me from Kashya, then."
Cordelia scowled, then leaned forward to hug her legs to her chest. She leaned her chin upon her knees; and drew a long, deep breath.
It had been several long hours since they'd returned from the monastery with the woman from Kurast; Veriannyth. Cordelia found her somewhat intriguing—though she was not folly enough to trust her thus soon. Indeed, it seemed as if all but Saul watched her with wary eyes. Kashya had been especially harsh—and her words were as cruel, as they were biting. And yet, the woman bore the insults with considerable grace. Not once did she show displeasure, nor did she retort in likeness; yet all this served only to infuriate the captain, who had, since then refused to acknowledge her existence.
Cordelia sighed softly—then blew dully at a crimson lock upon her forehead. Across the fiery coals of the bonfire-clearing, Deckard Cain stood deep in conversation with a severe-looking Liene; Cordelia thought she looked somewhat bored and annoyed. The notion brought a faint smile to her face, and quite involuntarily, she chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Saul tilted his head slightly towards her, lifting a dark brow.
She glanced towards him, then turned away with renewed huffiness; she was not quite finished being angry with him. "Nothing."
He chuckled softly—and with a low grunt, shifted closer towards her.
Cordelia was only mildly aware of her nostrils flaring—she turned towards him, and narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." Saul chuckled softly, then rolled his shoulders backwards into a would-be shrug; but before he'd managed to actually shrug, all the colour drained from his face—and with a softened yelp of pain, he doubled over onto the grass, clutching hard upon his left shoulder. "Oww!"
Cordelia made a rather impatient sound from between her teeth; then moved to kneel beside the druid. She clasped a hand over his shoulder. "Does it hurt that much?"
She thought she could see a genuine flash of pain within those deep grey orbs as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. But he smiled—albeit it was rather a weak one. "I'm fine. I should remember not to stretch, is all."
"What did Akara say?" She rubbed gently at his shoulder, her brows knitted together ever so slightly. "About your shoulder—how long will the wound take to heal?"
He made a face, then pushed himself upright. "About a week or two. Don't worry."
"I'm not worried. I just don't want you to—"
"Ahem."
The soft, low cough caught her attention as easily as thunder and lightning would—Cordelia whipped about, lifting her brows; she thought she knew the person to which the cough belonged. She was not disappointed.
In relative terms, the captain of the rogues was rather a tall woman. She stood at a height far greater than most of the rogues, and towered over the sorceress by a foot or so. Yet, to find the woman looming over her kneeling form, brought the sorceress to a new level of fear. Saul had not, apparently, failed to notice this—and it was with rather a small chuckle of amusement that he'd shook his head, and looked away.
Cordelia released a faint laugh—and, all too late, came to notice the touch of the druid's bare shoulder beneath her hand. With a soft gasp of shock, she drew her hand back, then offered a small, rather sheepishly smile towards the captain.
Kashya's eyes were narrowed; and for a moment or two of sheer silence, Cordelia could have sworn that there rested a throbbing vein within her temple. But several seconds passed in which she merely studied the sorceress. Finally, she spoke, and it was in a tone both chilling and cold—"I came to speak to Saul. Privately."
Saul blinked once in slight surprise. "Me? What have you to say to me that cannot be said aloud?"
Cordelia flinched slightly; then gazed upon the green grass, for the captain had thrown her a scowl of greatly spiteful proportions. "Perhaps I should leave."
"Yes, perhaps you should." Kashya said, stiffly.
Cordelia pursed her lips slightly. Shrugging mildly, she got to her feet, and began to brush the grass from her robes. For a moment or two, she caught Saul's eye—and he was frowning in slight distaste. It was a look unlike any he'd previously worn; and somehow, it rather interested her. She gave him a weak smile which he did not return.
"There's no need for you to go, Cordy." He said—and in his voice was an odd severity.
She frowned—then gazed between the captain and the druid. The former looked murderous; a bright fire, no doubt fueled by anger and jealousy burned within her steely teal orbs. "It's—better if I go." Cordelia coughed softly; she rather despised confrontation.
And yet, even as she'd made to stride away, a hand—a rather warm hand, reached forward to grasp hers tightly; Saul, too, had gotten to his feet. He gave her a look, then released his hold of her hand and turned to face the captain. "Your speech will have to wait, I'm afraid. There are things that I must attend to."
And with that, he turned, and strode away.
Cordelia swallowed—then glanced aside towards Kashya; and to her greatest relief, the captain did not remark. Instead, with rather a contemptuous snarl, she turned on her heels—and in all her fury strode away towards the Northern end of the Encampment.
"She's got quite a temper, that Captain."
Cordelia blinked once—then turned around to meet the newcomer's gaze.
The woman from Kurast stood at rather a comfortable height—and she was of the same build as the sorceress. Her hair, which had previously been pulled into a chignon of severe proportions, fell loose about her waist. Cordelia noted absently that it was, in fact, not as dark as supposed—in between tresses of a rich, deep brown were locks of fair gold. She stood in a stiff-backed manner, her chin worn slightly higher than that of most others. Cordelia rather envied her posture, for it spoke volumes of elegance and grace.
The woman offered a rather lazy smile. "You are.. Cordelia. Is that right?"
"Yes. And you're Veriannyth." Cordelia replied, somewhat lamely. It seemed the right thing to say—and yet, sounded immensely dense when spoken. She flushed slightly at the thought, but returned the smile.
"So—" Veriannyth lifted her arms languidly; then crossed them over her chest. "—what did you do to her?"
Cordelia made a noise rather like an angry cat; then, rather too defensively, cried—"Nothing!"
Veriannyth released a soft, polite chuckle. "Alas. I, at least, was given a reason for her treatment of me."
"What did she say?" Cordelia tilted her head slightly to watch the other.
"The fact that I live, breathe, and tread upon the soil of her—" Here, Veriannyth paused, to create an appropriate effect; and she was smiling, despite the treatment of her. "—encampment irks her. Apparently many things within the encampment require her attention. If she frequently suffers the sight of my face within these walls, she has every right to detest me. Or, at least, that was about as much as she'd said to me."
"And what did you say?"
"I asked her a question."
"What—was it?" Cordelia wasn't quite sure she wanted the answer—but the amused smile upon the other's face was quite enough to draw her curiousity.
Veriannyth chuckled softly. "Then what good are you?"
It was at that precise moment that Cordelia decided; she rather liked the woman from Kurast.
Author's Note: Aaaaaand here it is! A new chapter! I'm aware that it came after a much longer delay than usual; my apologies for it. Also, this is the last chapter I will be posting, at least, until mid-December. Reason being, I'm having a major exam starting the 19th of November, through to the 3rd of December. Therefore, my writing time will be squished into studying time. I'm sorry, but I do hope y'all KEEP READING.
Meanwhile, y'all can amuse yourselves with my Deviantart gallery. I've got some pretty good (hopefully..) sketches there of Saul and Cordy, along with some comic strips involving Saul, and Ophelion's Nyhl (from Bowslingers!). Watch out for them, yeah?
Next up! Many hundreds and thousands of thanks to Ophelion for the kind, kind reviews! Also, thank you to Luna for the second review—I actually giggled when I read it!
Also, many thanks go to Innerfire for the author alert! Thank you thank you thank you!
And! Thanks and chocolates go to LadyElfDragon/Virali, who's… wow, made me giggle the entire day with a sudden whole-bunch of reviews! Thank you SO much, and I hope you keep reading and enjoying!
Thanks again, dears. Remember, readers, read and review! I'll give you all chocolates! …and cake! XD