Chapter 30: Tears and Duty

It was cold that night, as it was every other night. The streets were slick from the rare drizzle that had, mere hours ago, made its presence known upon the Jewel City.

Cold, dark, wet.

Saul sat alone upon the dockside steps. Solitude was something to be appreciated at present; their return had been greeted by a tirade of roaring trumpets and elated townsfolk. The sun had risen once more, if only to set.

He watched as the ocean tides swept against the city's cliffside walls. Overhead, somewhere, beyond the borders of his sight, a hawk cried out, its voice echoing shrilly through the relative silence of the night.

And then there was silence once more.

Only at the muffled sound of soft-slippered feet upon stone did he shift. The footsteps silenced themselves, and the approaching figure halted, as though considering him.

He knew very well who it was.

Cordelia was quiet as she sank onto the steps beside him. One hand came to rest upon the ground between them, and for a moment or two, he considered reaching for it.

"Cold night." She muttered.

Saul managed a wry smile. "Quite." He agreed, mildly.

"Did you—?" She finished with a rather obscure gesture; yet he caught the meaning of her words.

"Yes. Fara helped me. I am better now." He paused, turning to study her briefly. Face, enshrouded within wisps hair that had escaped her loose and thick braid. Shoulders, bare beneath the straps of her loose and airy dress. Arms. Abdomen. Feet. No new injuries—no new scars. "You are well, also, I trust?"

"Atma." Cordelia offered, as if the name were answer enough.

He nodded once. The awkwardness was beginning to settle; he could feel it, and he was sure she felt the same. "So." He began.

"So." She echoed.

"Good weather today." Saul cleared his throat quietly. Inwardly, he cursed himself—to discuss the weather, of all things, was something he had never had to resort to.

She chuckled faintly, as though she, too, had noticed this lack of conversation between them. "We didn't use to talk about the weather all the time, you know. Now it seems it is all we speak of."

At the sound of her laugh, he relaxed. He found himself smiling, in spite of himself. "We haven't had time to discuss anything else."

"We have time now. So tell me, how are you?"

He took a moment to think, then rolled his shoulders in a brisk shrug. "I'm good. We won a big battle today, and came back wealthier than we were when we left."

"Oh, yes. Found anything interesting in your spoils?" Cordelia turned towards him, arching a quizzical, crimson brow. She was grinning now. "You are a grave-robber now, eh."

He laughed. "Some interesting weapons, which I should be glad to test out. Some jewels, some gems, all of which can be sold. Some chests of coin which I am sure will come in handy one of these days."

"What on earth would you possibly buy with so much gold?" She cocked her head slightly.

Saul shrugged again. "I wasn't planning on using my share any time soon. You should come by the inn sometime, collect your share of it."

Cordelia thinned her lips briefly, though she looked amused, if anything. "What on earth would I possibly buy with so much gold?"

"Oh, many things. A new gown or two, some jewelry, I'm sure you'll think of something. Perhaps for your wedding—"

He kicked himself. Spoken without thought.

"Hm." She supplied, carelessly, as though she had not heard him. Perhaps she was pretending.

"…are you fine with this?" Saul braved, quietly. "…be honest. If you are, this is the last you will hear of it from me. Are you really, truly, willing to accept Jerhyn's hand?"

She turned to face him squarely, her eyes upon his. For a moment or two, she was merely silent, her posture rigidly upright as she regarded him. Her voice was firm and steady as she spoke. "I'm fine with this."

He nodded once, perhaps with more conviction than he would have believed himself to possess at present. "Then I wish you every happiness, Cordelia."

Cordelia merely gave him a sparse smile. He thought he could see the faint twitching of her lip as she brushed her crimson braid aside over her shoulder. The golden ribbons that were woven into the braid glinted, briefly, in the moonlight.

And then, quite without warning, she leaned over, the tip of her nose brushing against his. Her lips grazed his own—tenderly, at first, as though she were afraid.

Then harder, closer, she clung onto him, kissing him deeply, whilst her hands found their way to the back of his head, fingers tangling within locks of his hair.

Her cheeks were flushed as she pulled away. Her lashes trembled upon her cheek; her eyes were shut. Saul found himself speechless, though it lasted but a second. Yet when he opened his mouth to speak, she lifted a finger, pressing it quickly against his lips to silence him. Blue fell upon grey as she met his gaze.

"That." She murmured, smiling weakly. "That will always be yours, and yours, alone. I have to do what duty calls me to do, Saul. I am going to marry Jerhyn, and I'm going to give him me, my whole self. But I couldn't do it without telling you, first—the answer to your question, the one you asked of me in the desert—"

Would you have loved me in different circumstances? If you were free, Cordelia, could you have loved me?

He frowned a little, but she shook her head, as though to silence him once more. "Yes. That is my answer."

She pulled her hand from his lips, but he caught her fingers to kiss them, however briefly. Her hand trembled just a touch, though she was smiling, still. Even as she pushed herself to her feet, he felt the lump within his throat go colder. She took some steps from him, sank into a graceful court-curtsey.

Her voice and demeanor held within it an odd sort of finality—the beginning, yet the end. "Good-night, Saul."

Then she turned, and, skirts drifting in her wake, strode away into the night.

It was several long moments before Saul could find the will to move. His legs were numb from the cold, as were his hands, but he could not care.

She loves me.

It took some time for this new concept to make sense. When it did, however, he found he was not alone—he could not ponder it further. Meshif stoof at the deck of his ship, his gaze affixed upon the streets, where Saul could just barely make out the blurred outline of a woman in stride. The glint of platinum hair, the messy, windswept silhouette of the rough-hewn locks, were evidence enough as to who she was.

Meshif turned towards him, a brief smile touching his lips beneath the dark hairs of his beard. He inclined his head.

Saul sighed deeply. "You too?" He mouthed—then signed the words, motioning carelessly towards where the amazon had disappeared.

He could have sworn that the smallest traces of amusement had made its way into Meshif's face. But the Captain simply nodded; and in several short steps, came to rest upon ground beside him. "Me, too."

Love is pain.

Saul glanced aside towards Meshif, but the other was silent, deep in solemn thought. Overhead, the hawk cried out once more. This time, he saw the flash of outstretched wings, and the familiar rustling of feathers as clawed feet landed upon the ground beside him.

Love is pain, and you, druid, are doomed to suffer it forever. She offered, blandly.

Even as he reached to stroke the top of the bird's head, Saul found himself smiling. She rustled her feathers again, then nipped affectionately at his fingers.

Thanks, Ceres. Much appreciated.

It was near noon, the following day, when Jerhyn came for her. The sun, newly restored to his throne of glory at the center of the sky blazed bright, and many a tavern-patron complained of the heat. They were seated within the narrow deck that encased their building; Atma, leaning into an old rattan armchair with Kei enclosed within her arms, and Mia, who ran to and fro in spirited persuit of a flightless pigeon.

And then her own person, who sat, rigid, amongst the family; an outsider, yet not an outsider.

Cordelia watched, in silence, as Mia ran, first, this way, and then that. The child was young, still—so young, yet so touched, so broken by the war. Its effects were evident in the slight slump of her rounded, childlike shoulders; the way she cocked her head, her eyes soft, silent, and sad, whenever they fell upon the body that held what remained of her brother and playmate. The way she kissed his cheek, and, with stubby little fingers, stroked at his forehead whilst their mother sang songs of happier days.

The sight of such would have broken the heart of any who cared to look. Few cared to look any more.

Rather, few could bear to look.

Jerhyn was silent as he approached. His own gaze traveled first from Cordelia—to whom he dipped his head gently—and then towards Atma. To her, he smiled, a bare and solemn thing. His gaze lingered but seconds upon Kei, but he said nothing to acknowledge that he had noticed the boy's lacklustre appearance.

"Jerhyn." Cordelia inclined her head ever so slightly in a manner of greeting. "Do you not hold council today?"

The prince shook his head, though he did not respond with any great urgency. "We do." He said, slowly. "I came to fetch you. There have been some recent developments in your… absence."

Cordelia pursed her lips. She knew that tone, and she knew the look in his eyes. Bitterness. Anxiety. Wariness. All of which had melded to form some new, unnamed emotion. But any fool could tell that he held, still, disapproval, if not contempt, against her for having left against his request.

For her part, she realised, she did feel guilt for having caused him to worry.

"New developments?" She said, very carefully schooling her expression and tone into one of complete neutrality. "What nature of new developments do you speak of?"

He considered her briefly, as though attempting to gauge her intentions. "Drognan has been working hard at his research as of late. He believes that he has discovered something that will enable us to see, perhaps, the end of this darkness. If his hypothesis is correct, we may well be on our way to destroying this darkness. It is for this very reason that I have summoned the court to council."

"I see." Cordelia said, slowly. "And the court is summoned to council at which hour?"

"This coming one. If you will be so kind as to accompany me, Cordelia, I should be glad to escort you." Jerhyn extended his arm in one practiced gesture; she noted, grimly, that he did not smile in the slightest.

Nodding once, she took his hand, and, waving to bid silent farewells to Atma and the children, descended tavern-deck stairs to walk the streets.

The journey to the palace was but a 10-minute stroll, but it felt ages longer. Townsfolk paused to bow and curtsey as they passed, and customary greetings were exchanged with lesser barons, who, being among those not summoned to council, felt it their need to greet their prince as he passed their homes. Jerhyn spoke little, save to enquire upon her health and that of Atma and the children, and there hung an air of awkwardness between the two.

Cordelia found herself grateful beyond relief when at last they found themselves before the palace. The guard, silent and stony-faced, ushered them in, and, dutiful Prince and bethrothed that he was, Jerhyn offered his hand.

Wordlessly, she took it, and together, they entered into the council hall.

The dignitaries were seated around a great oval table—it took up near half of the hall, set, as it was, into the very center—all bore traces of grim defeat within their worry-lined faces. All were prepared for the worst. Some exchanged anxious glances, whilst others kept their eyes affixed upon the prince.

Jerhyn led the way to the seat of honour at the front of the table. She bit her lip as he gestured her into a high chair, carved to match his own, and polished the same brown hue. It was set at his right hand—yet Cordelia could not help but notice that it had been pushed further back. Chiding herself silently, she sank onto the offered seat, and felt her pride burn.

"Well then. Now that we are all here, shall we begin by gathering what courage we shall need to weather the coming storm?"

A few nervous chuckles sounded within the hall. Jerhyn paused a moment, looking first to his left, and then to his right, his expression stern, yet proud.

"Not yet?" He asked, simply—silence followed in the wake of his words—then he nodded, and, clasping his hands together, took his seat. "I hereby call this meeting to order. Let us begin. Drognan?"

Cordelia leaned into the cushioned back of her chair as Drognan rose to his feet. The men who were seated closest to Jerhyn were unknown to her, save but a few. Strong-featured Greiz Ulthar, whom she had heard of from Atma, mercenary leader that he was. Yahjrein Kamma, grey-bearded and wise, the secretary of state. He had served Jerhyn's father long before the prince had been born. Tall and handsome Baridth Azarni, young, though vastly experienced in matters of war, the Lut Gholein General. Valiff, Freiya, Jaridda—the Najta triplets, born to the sister of Lut Gholein's previous king. Cousins to the current prince, they walked the streets well-respected, for few could claim superiority over them for knowledge in the art of tactical war. Then there was the dark-haired head of the treasury officials, Durmach Boissevant, who possessed sharp eyes to match an equally sharp tongue.

Further along the table, the lesser dignitaries held reverent silences. Drognan cleared his throat whilst wrinkled hands unravelled the thick vellum scroll set before him.

He had not yet begun to speak, however, when the doors were once again flung open. Cordelia thought the guard looked distinctly ruffled, and bit back a short laugh as Deckard Cain hobbled into the hall, the sound of his walking-stick against the marble-tiled floors resounding within the alcoved walls. Behind him strode Saul and Araeya. Both inclined their heads respectfully towards Jerhyn as they entered, though she thought she saw the former's eyes flicker towards her for the briefest of moments.

She glanced away; the memory of their previous encounter stung at her.

If he was aware of it, Jerhyn did not show his displeasure; he simply lifted a casual hand, and motioned for the three to join them at the table. Only when all were seated did he speak again. "Drognan, if you please."

The elder magus nodded. "Well, then." His words were crisp, yet slowly spoken, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "For the benefit of our foreign companions, I shall begin by reciting some very ancient lore. Those of you who have lived your entire lives here will know them—I must bid you be patient."

A few nods of agreement followed before he spoke once more. "The great magus, Horazon, is not an uncommon name. Even now, so many years since his disappearance into sand and shadow, we remember the things he is said to have studied. We remember the age-old whispers describing public demonstrations of demons enslaved, unspeakable evils bent to his will. We recognise ideas and theories as are born from his writings, and we caution ourselves against seeking that which he sought—dominion over the minions of hell." Here, he paused, but only briefly, whilst his gaze traveling across his gathered company. "He was, of course, driven from the city for the darkness of his deeds and the filth of his studies. It is said that he had then built a sanctuary within which he could study in peace. Within this sanctuary, his gaze could travel between realms; he could look into our world, and at the same time, peek into the hellgrounds. This realm of his, this sanctuary, I believe, is a bridge between the hellgrounds and our own world."

"He kept demons as slaves. For a long time, he was able to contain them, but his strength soon weakened. I believe his demons regained control of their own minds and limbs, and only the Gods can know what they would have done to him. If, indeed, his Arcane Sanctuary exists, it is likely overrun by hellspawn, but I have…" Drognan paused once more, looking towards Jerhyn as he did. The prince nodded, once, and signalled for him to continue. "…I have reason to believe that the Arcane Sanctuary does exist. It has been many ages since this fact was disputed, and it is now mostly accepted as a myth, a womens' tale to remind us all to never chase such evil as Horazon did. However, recent developments…"

Here, he trailed off, his eyes turning once more towards Jerhyn. This time, the prince, taking his cue, spoke. "There are scrolls and writings within the palace walls that I have… recently, found the need to peruse. I discovered some new information, and, knowing myself less wise than Drognan, shared them with him. Together, we have come to conclude that Horazon's Arcane Sanctuary, if, indeed, it exists, is built directly beneath the foundations of this city."

"Horazon studied, also, the basis of the magics that were used to bind the Lord of Destruction, Baal, to the magus Tal Rasha. Together, they are hidden away deep within the desert in an eternal struggle; Baal, to gain his freedom, and Tal Rasha, to keep him from it. You will all remember the wanderer who passed our city not too long ago—I regret what I must say, that—" The prince paused, then glanced about the room. "I believe he is Diablo, himself. The Lord of Terror walks the Sanctuary to free his brother."

Someone released a low and long whistle; then the dignitaries all began to speak at the same time. It did not matter if the words of their cries went unheard; it was as if they were unified in simply making chaos. Some proclaimed their prince's belief to be folly. Others declared madness was at work. Yet even more cursed the name of Horazon and called to the Gods. Surrounded by such behaviour, Cordelia watched, and saw only that Saul was unperturbed. He remained seated, one slender eyebrow arched—was it in disgust, or amusement?—as he watched the men about him. Araeya, similarly, was silent, though she looked rather annoyed.

"Silence!"

The hall went quiet. All eyes shifted to rest upon the secretary of state. Yahjrein stood. Despite the limitations of his age, his voice was strong, and his countenance demanded deference. "Do you have no respect for your prince? No respect for the state of the city? If you refuse to believe, if you are simply too scared to want to believe that this great evil is knocking at your door, then by all means, you are welcome to leave."

A few rose to their feet, and then some more. In single file, silent as sullen children in disgrace, they exited.

"Better." Yahjrein grunted, then sank back into his chair.

Cordelia took a quick count in her head. Those who had remained were few—Yahjrein and Greiz, Baridth, the Triplets, Durmach, and Drognan. There were few others, five, who had, she recalled, remained seated in grim, yet determined silence throughout the chaos. Saul, also, remained, as did Araeya and Deckard Cain.

"Well, then." Jerhyn remarked, dryly. "That was not unexpected. Those of you who remain, remain so for loyalty to your city. For that, I thank you."

"Rather, our mother would have our heads if we abandoned you in your time of need." Freiya supplied good-naturedly. His brothers laughed, and nodded their agreement.

"I thank my aunt, then." Jerhyn gave them a bare smile, then nodded once more. "It is of utmost importance, however, that we now decide our next course of action. I have…" He paused. The coming words seemed difficult for him to speak, but he gripped the edges of the table, hard, and continued. "There has, as of late, been much activity within the lower levels of the palace. We thought, at first, that demons from the sewers may have tunneled through the sands to break into the city. But we have recently discovered otherwise—there is no tunnel connecting the underground palace rooms and the sewers. We have checked, and checked again. I can only conclude that there is a direct entrance into some hellspawn realm deep within the cellars. It may, or may not be the Arcane Sanctuary. If it is so, we shall likely find more information on the whereabouts of Tal Rasha's tomb within." Here, he paused again. "We can only hope we find it before Diablo does."

Cordelia bit her lip as she looked towards the others. Yahjrein drummed time-roughened fingertips upon the table, whilst Baridth let out a long and low breath. The triplets simply glanced between themselves. Durmach kept both eyes affixed upon the prince, though he said nothing, and made no movement beyond the slight flaring of his nostrils. Further along the table, Saul cleared his throat, then looked away. She thought she could hear the quiet, yet slightly disgruntled muttering of a quick "Oi."

Jerhyn held his stance. "I vote to gather a team of fighters. We must delve into the palace cellars if we are to make safe our city. What men we have are few, and they are battle-weary. Over eight-tenths of Baridth's men are out in the desert outposts, and we are in dire need of seasoned warriors. I ask this of you because you are people of the Sanctuary—all of you, and even if Lut Gholein is not your world, it is a part of your world." Here, he looked towards Saul and Araeya. "If it would please you to join in our battle, it shall please me, also."

Araeya released a loud and somewhat brusque snort. "I, of course, am ready. But what of you men of Lut Gholein? Your city requires your service; do you not offer yourselves?"

"My men and I, at least, are paid for it," Greiz shrugged one large shoulder, his posture heavy. "I will obey orders, and that is all."

"We shall save this city from ruin, or die defending it," Baridth added. Cordelia noted the lightness of his tone; here was a man who had long since, despite his young years, made peace with the frailty of human life. "I shall assemble a team of elites, and we will storm the cellars. If all goes well, we should be able to clear it out in a day."

Jerhyn nodded. "That is well. The sooner we do this, the better."

Baridth quirked a half-smile. "Tomorrow."

"Good," The prince said. His manner, now, was brisk. There was, after all, much to be done. "Greiz, keep your men as they are. Protect the city and the people, but keep a group near the palace in case all goes badly. Baridth, choose your men wisely; I should think a group of eight, including our good friends here, should be enough. The rest are to remain in the desert outposts, to keep the demons at bay."

"What of us?" Freiya flexed his fingers carefully. "We three cannot sit motionless whilst good men battle for the safety of our city."

Valiff nodded his agreement. "It would be unfeeling, and heartless of us."

"Not to mention vastly unpatriotic," Jaridda added. "The people will talk, and we shall be laughed out of town. I demand some occupation, Jerhyn."

The prince laughed, however short-lived it was. "Our men in the desert need leaders. The dunes are not yet completely cleared of hellspawn, and we must ensure that they are safe for travel, if there comes a need for evacuation. Valiff, you must ride to the Lost City of Schezirith. The men have set up camp in the Valley of Snakes; you are to lead them. Remain in the area, and keep it clear of demons. When you no longer find hellspawn roaming the sands, and confirm it is so for three days, pack up camp, and return to the city. Take care to check the ancient tunnels beneath Schezirith. When you are certain they are clear, bolt the entrances, and hide them. And collapse the entrance into the Claw Vipers' temple. No one need ever venture in there, again."

Valiff nodded smartly. "And my brothers?"

"Freiya, you must keep the Far Oasis of Khamundarabdi clear. There may or may not be a band of grave-robbers out there; I am told the leader of one such band went free. If you find him, you are to apprehend him, but do not hurt him otherwise. He shall face justice in ways that are not his death-and-die. Jaridda, the Dry Hills are yours to make safe. Check the mausoleum, the Halls of the Dead, and be sure to disturb no more than is absolutely necessary. The good people resting within that tomb have been kept awake in their death long enough."

The triplets nodded in unison even as Jerhyn shifted his gaze towards Saul. For a moment or two, there was silence in the hall. They looked one another in the eye, as though they were fighters in a ring, enemies in opposing sides of a battlefield, each daring the other to make the first move.

Then Saul, tone dry and posture slackened, muttered his inclusion. "I'll go with Baridth and Araeya."

Cordelia, fingers gripping the arms of her chair hard, felt her throat go dry. Moments later, she heard herself say, "I will go, also. You will have need of a mage; there are things in the netherrealms that even the hardiest of metals cannot touch."

Jerhyn took his time to respond. He did not turn to gaze at her, nor did his voice change in the least. "You must not, Cordelia. Indeed, you cannot."

She arched an eyebrow, though she held her silence at present. The others, no doubt sensing the coming of a storm, had begun to rise, and were slowly filing out of the chamber. The five, who had hitherto been silent, exited, almost unnoticed. They were followed closely by Durmach and Greiz, the triplets, and Baridth. Yahjrein, loyal as always to his sovereign, ushered Deckard Cain from the chamber.

And even as Saul made to exit at Araeya's heels, Cordelia thought she saw him shake his head, ever so gently, towards her.

And then they were alone.

Cordelia watched as the heavy double doors swung slowly into position, then cleared her throat as they clicked shut. "And why, may I ask, must I stay?"

Jerhyn straightened, then turned to meet her gaze. His eyes were narrowed, and his voice crisp as he spoke. "Because it is your duty to remain by my side, safe and sound."

Cordelia counted to ten before responding; she did not quite trust herself to speak without calming her senses, first. "And what good is that if the city is lost? Think, Jerhyn, think. What good will I be by your side then?"

"You will be safe, nonetheless, and your mother and father will be glad to hear of it."

"Heaven forbid they believe I am meek enough to sit and wait when there are people fighting a war around me. They taught me better than that, they know me better than that," Cordelia rose to her feet, then took a step forward, so that she could look the prince in the eye. "Please, Jerhyn. Let me help."

Jerhyn considered her briefly. His gaze was searching, cold, even. "No." His answer was curt; clearly, he did not need much thought to decide upon the subject. "You are to be a princess of Lut Gholein. Queen, someday, if we all live that long. You should start behaving like one."

"Has it ever occurred to you, that maybe, just naybe, I don't want to be one?" The words escaped her mouth long before she found the will to stop herself; they startled even her own person. But the damage was done.

"Well, then." Jerhyn said, when he found his voice several long seconds' worth of silence, later. "I suppose the both of us will have to become accustomed to the concept of compromise."

Cordelia forced herself to bite back a scoff, as well as the words that were lingering upon the tip of her tongue—and it was just as well. For, just then, the double doors into the chamber swung open once more, and she found herself turning to face the sight of her family; Oberon the Medjai, Arlene the Seer. Asha, Medjai de asurthi-aldyn, and Estarra, Medjai de bayu-aldyn.

"It appears I have come not a moment too soon," Oberon observed, mildly. His pale-blue eyes were Cordelia's, though these were narrowed in obvious displeasure. "Greetings."

Author's Note: You may all now throw stones at me, and shout at me for all you're worth. I swear I didn't mean to take that long of a hiatus!

I promise I'm not giving up on this fic, as I've promised time and again, but it was like pulling teeth to get this chapter out. I think, part of it is because I've been very busy with university, and assignments, and generally, a lot of other things involving my social life.

I'm on holiday again, though! But I've got an internship coming up (details as to where pending), and I intend to enjoy it. I'll try to slip in writing time from time to time, so don't forget to check back every once in a while. I've also gotten Diablo II re-installed in my lappie, so there is a high chance I may get more and more motivated to write. Hold steady, and look forward to my next chapter, "Private Tragedies"!

Thanks go out to:

Ophelion, for putting up with me and my many mood-swings, and for never losing sight of our true goal and vision when it comes to DII story-writing and fan-fic'ing. Thanks a bunch, this one's for you.

Skopde, Fallen Dragonfly, Luna; told you guys I wouldn't ever forget this story. Here's hoping you've enjoyed this chapter!

Rasbash, Ruzio, Ablated Crayon, mephisteron, JupponGatana, Twilight Bunny and SeltzerBaby, thanks so much for the support, advice, and ever continuing patience for my chapters! (keep reading!)

To the people who fav'd this fic: Ruzio, Uppgreyyedd, Syntium, Cinnamon Toasties, Fallen Messiah, The Runefang, Ogoobu, thanks for it. I don't deserve it, but I appreciate the love!

To the people who fav'd author'd me: Ruzio, Syntium, Cinnamon Toasties, thanks again!

And to the rest of you who alert'd this fic; Ruzio, Ablated Crayon, Syntium, Cinnamon Toasties, ThatLurker, Ogoobu, thanks!

(Yes, I'm very much aware that I've repeated names here. Extra thanks! 8D)

Well, then, it's Emmy signing off for now, until next time!