Gellawyn takes a spot on the floor, removing the small pouch from her jacket. Opening it she pulls out a small folded piece of cloth that she lays out on the floor giving her a place to lay out the cards. She begins to shuffle the cards lost in thought as she considers which card to use as the focus for this reading. She spreads out the cards looking for the one she has decided upon. She places the Queen of Swords in the center of the cloth as she begins to breathe deeply and call on the gift within her.

Let us see what unfolds......

Gellawyn
You lay out the cards, humming a tune that carries with it forgotten memories of a time before. Instinct pushes you away from your tradition Cross, to a simpler four part reading with you in the center.

The problem resides within The Hermit, Lancelot in Exile. Reversed it weaves a story of fear and suspicion of the outside world preventing worthwhile interactions. An unwillingness to explore new ideas.

For two years Lancelot remained in the sanctuary of the woods, running with the animals and feeding on berries. The Knights of the Round Table searched for their friend to no avail. The search for self knowledge has been hampered by brooding and depression. Dismissing sound advice.

The path you walk upon is the Six of Wands and the story of the Return of Ambrosius. The Uncle of Arthur, he waged a violent war against his father Vortigern. It is said that he was betrayed by his companions and poisoned in a battle against Vortigern's son by incest.

A trusted friend's betrayal, brings about the fall of the mighty.

The challenge you face is the Nine of Swords, Elain, the Lily Maid of Astolat. She spends her days weaving, watching over the sacred shield of Lancelot. Her love and unwillingness to face the truth results in her death. She is seen laying in a boat floating into Camelot.

Your enemy stands upon THE TOWER, Vortigern's Fortress.
The father of Uther built his keep upon the backs of two dragons. While they fought, the castle would be destroyed each night. One finally killed the other, proving that the two could not exist eternally. The story is one of adversity, calamity, and disgrace.

Unsuspecting, Vortigern believed he must sacrifice innocent blood to calm the warring factions, but nothing he did would keep the two from fighting. Finally when they were released and allowed to war upon each other openly, the unrest was eased.

You sit in gentle contemplation of the cards as the sun slowly works its way to the western horizon.

Edana
Snooping around the house, you find it a simple dichotomy to a man who is extremely private but uncomfortable living alone. There is minimal correspondance or evidence of connection to the outside world, but looking through the fridge, you notice that Bishop always cooked for two as if expecting company.

Just before sunset, the spirit returns with Kane. The dog brushes against you and goes to lay down on a large pillow in the corner of the kitchen.

"My task is complete," and with that, the spirit dissipates.

Continuing your search, you notice a case sticking out from beneath Bishop's bed and find yourself engrossed in pictures, army fatigues, and relics of a life that Michael was runnig from but could never leave behind. There are pictures of him and his family in Boston, dated twelve years ago. Other pictures are in the Black Forest with a burning village in the background and him covered in dirt and grime.

A small shoebox within the case reads "mementos."

Edana sits on the edge of Bishop's bed, lost in his memories. She pores over the photos and the letters and the other bits of physical memory, her curiosity rising as she gets a glimpse inside the man who never talked about himself. Who may never talk again. Who is he? Why have we come together? What could I possibly owe him that I risk my life?

A small box labeled 'mementos' catches her eye. She starts to open it and stops, the veil of privacy thickening over her friends belongings. She feels faintly dirty and closes the of the box. She swallows, thinking that maybe, just maybe, inside that box were keys to her future. Her safe future. It wasn't so much voyeurism as survival.

Herne chortles in a corner of Edana's mind as feels her thoughts buzzing against him while he makes loops around the environs scouting for his mistress.

She opens the box...

***

She stows everything neatly in the case and puts it away, troubled and even more curious about the man's sketchy past than before. Who was he cooking for? Not Kane... She brushes a stray braid behind her ear, looking at the edge of the bed, and the shadow that hides Bishop's past. She sighs and turns, coming abruptly face to face with the spirit she had summoned. She yelps and blushes.

Regaining her composure somewhat, she thanks the spirit, Sorry about that. I couldn't get away. She smiles apologetically and looks at Kane whose head is resting on his paws. He's a good looking mutt, eh?

Herne puffs out his chest, lifting his head regally, thinking Edana's words were about him. But as she turns her head back to dismiss the spirit, it has vanished leaving a vague smell of burnt coffee.

Her nose crinkles at the smell. She goes over to Kane, "Heya pal, have fun at the park?" She checks him over, his paws his legs. "You miss JT?" Her faces falls ...and now Bishop... as she scratches behind the dog's ears, "Me too. Wanna come with me?"

Behind her Herne makes a rumbling noise. Have you considered that the this dog's two prior owners are now as good as dead?

She snaps her head around to look at Herne and looks back at Kane. Kane lifts his head, ears forward. His jaws crack and a pink tongue lolls out between gleaming teeth - the essence of uh, dog-ness.

How could he have anything to do with this? He's just a dog. A cool dog, but just a dog all the same. Edana's scratching on Kane slows distractedly as she considers. She shakes her head.

Herne, you're making me paranoid.

I'm thinking only of you, Sturmdottir. And of my food dish.

But you don't eat dog food.

Hey, I could start.

Edana puts her head back and focuses her vision heavenward, Save me.

Gellawyn looks up from the cards to Kraxus. "This card here.." She lays a finger on the Hermit. "..could be the man we hunt or the one from before that was hunted, her friend. I am inclined to think it refers to her friend since I have never met the other man. The next card, the Six of Wands, speaks of betrayal and lose of station." She reaches out to mental link to her partner.

There are possible threads of a traitor in this one but I can not say for certain who.

"The Nine of Swords tells of an unwillingness to face the truth, of self denial of knowledge that leads to death."

It also symbols a deluded guardian who has failed in their task, we must be more careful in the days ahead. There is something we are missing in this puzzle.

"The last card is the The Tower which I think refers to our target. There are elements of strife and conflict, of a never ending struggle at play. Perhaps a weakness of his we can exploit? Some diversion within himself that could be used to our advantage." She sighs and collects the cards up to place back in the small pouch. "I am sorry I could not be more helpful but the cards are rarely as clear as we wish them to be. I will try again later if something changes that may alter the flow of the events around us. Until then we should keep this in the back of our minds and proceed along more mundane routes. How do you want to track her as she moves about?"

The Apartment:
Your conspicuously-inconspicuous troll decker continues plodding along through the matrix and you see the Trideo feed that his deck is relaying information to segment into smaller pieces. The primary section is still a video feed of the front of the hotel with tertiary feeds of other blocks, probably to cover the additional exits from the parking garage.

"Crash thinks if we put cameras on people we can watch everybody as they move around. That way Crash can watch what happens and tell elf-people when bad man is ready to do something. But we can only watch outside, unless bad man leaves and little elf-man put cameras inside. Then Crash can call everyone and tell them to get ready.

"Can you see pictures in your head? Well only kinda in your head, like I can see a big Pagliacci pizza with everything on it when I start to get hungry, but I can also see people when I talk to them on the phone. Sometimes they don't want me to see them, so I only get the pictures that are really in my head, but other times like when I talk to the pizza guy, I can see them in that part of my head that sees computer stuff and smartlinks."

One of the tertiary windows sub-divides and pulls up a low-end bulletin board system designed by script-kiddies and no-name deckers. There the image localizes in on a specific posting listing the date and time for your meeting with Bishop.

"White hat brigade seeks Gray hat to deal with fallen knights in Black hats. Arrive at listed address for more information."

Kraxus scans the posting and nods. "That was our address. Crash, can you get any information at all on who posted it, or at least a time and date?"

Thank you for the reading...Could the betrayal have already happened, and could it have been a member of our party that is no longer present? Downtown, Nightcrawler, or even Bishop himself?"

"If you think we can do it with camera's, I'm willing to use that. I'm also going to get magical surveillance on her as well. Any additional ideas, Gellawyn?"

Edana
Inside the box is an ecclectic mix of jewelry and personal effects that have little direct bearing on Bishop that you can think of immediately. An ivory rosary, a woman's diamond ring, a sliver of wood floating in oil. Beneath these are photos of three men--two appear to be teenagers sitting with a young priest in his twenties. If you peel away the years of violence and bitter solitude, you think one of the boys could be an innocent Michael Walker.

The picture was taken in the foyer of a large house with dark woods and a mirror catches a half-glimpse of the photographer.

Beneath the photo lay further mementos--an old-fashioned stainless steel docwagon bracelet, a bullet shell, and a folded piece of paper with an address and a lock of hair tucked in the fold.

The Apartment
"Crash will try and find out."

The screen pans back to show Crash's icon dressed in the fedora and trenchcoat of a Noir Pulp private eye. He begins to search through the area around the board.

Edana's long thin fingers brush the pages and pictures taking her further, deeper into Bishop's past. The artifacts are pale and dusty. She sympathizes. She looks at each item wondering what it may have once meant to the closed man. She looks at the priest's face, wondering if it was this man that put Bishop and his brother on their path to 'righteousness.' She feels her chest tighten at the clear brow and eyes of an untroubled, unscarred Michael.

She turns the ring over in her hand, the stone sends tiny rainbows skittering across her palm. She peers inside the band to see if there's an inscription. Cooking for two... a private sorrow... a diamond ring... Edana rifles through the box to see if there are pictures of any women. Of THE woman. She finds a letter and a lock of hair, skimming quickly down she looks for the signature before returning to the top to read again. All thoughts of guilt at her intrusion on Michael's privacy fall away as ghosts float forward with clues to unlocking the man's secrets. The Huntress' eyes grow keen and she reads the letter. She shifts on the bed and the box slips, she catches it and an object thunks into the corner.

Her breath catches as she sees the splinter set in oil that she recognizes from Kraxus' report of that Ulick's room. She swallows and folds the letter absently. It will keep. She reaches out to touch the splinter-in-oil and stops to examine it with other eyes. She unfocuses herself in the world of flesh and reorients herself to observe the object more closely.

Gellawyn pauses to think over the question. "I am hestitant to trail her without knowing more about this Templar's competence but perhaps we could place a tracking device on her to at least keep a tab on her location as she moves through the city. One of us could set up to keep an eye on his place of residence to at least get a better feel for his routine though Crash may give us the best way to do that without him becoming aware of us. I would say bug her for now."

Edana
The sliver of wood shimmers with power in the astral, laced with the intensity and feelings that the vast angelic spirit wielded last night. Blood, pain and sacrifice push out against your mind.

Recoiling back, you close your eyes against the light and pull your senses back into your body. Opening your eyes, they once again fall upon the ring. It reminds you very much of your mother's ring, they never found it after the accident.

Edana flinches back, her senses recoiling back as the power of the focus beats at her. I'm okay, , she thinks at Herne before he can inquire. Her brow furrows. Memory stirs. Mother's ring was like this. She looks at the ring again and picks up the letter to continue reading.

With a sudden switch in topics, Gellawyn turns to Crash. "You had said early that bad people and programs wear black hats then I noticed you wore a white hat in the matrix. Who else wears white hats and grey hats?"

Edana
The letter is from your mother. She and your father speak with great excitement about an upcoming meeting with Michael. Dr. Rothenburg had spoken very highly of Michael's gift and they hoped that he was well. Their own daughter Edana was showing signs of a possibly great future as well, but it would be a few years before she was sure.

You read on how your mother comforted Michael with words that she never told you about the strength of will it took to keep one's mind clear while stepping beyond the world of the living into the higher realms where only consciousness driven by purpose resides. Both of your parents would be flying out to see Michael and look into the possibility of bringing him back to attend the same school you went to.

Gellawyn
"White hats are for people who help Crash. Grey hats are what most of the people wear. They don't hurt Crash and don't help him. Crash watched a gray hat turn into a white hat once, when bunch of black hats came running down and tried to stop him. Grey hats changed to white ones while the Grey Hats helped Crash but when they left, the hats went back to grey."

Edana's throat grows tight as she reads the letter. Her eyes go in and out of focus as she reads. Remembers.

It was raining. As it should have been. Edana watched the priest standing by the two dark holes in the green, green turf. His voice was a backdrop drone to Edana's flatlined thoughts. Black-clad folk crowded close to the coffins, umbrellas shedding the light rain in fat, cold drops onto the shoulders of others. Herne was there. And Craig. And John. Edana stared blankly at a leaf that had blown up against the priest's well-polished shoes. They were very nice shoes.

Tears welled in Edana's eyes and gathered in her pale lashes.

The coffins had been carved from a sketch her father had done after waking in a sweat one night many years ago. Edana had been very young. She heard the door to his studio creak and had crept out of her room to watch him sketch. He seemed possessed and worked without stopping for hours. Edana fell asleep watching from the door. She woke when he lifted her up to carry her back to bed and over his shoulder she glimpse what he had been sketching. A knot of flame and bone and feather, it might have been a monster. Or simply a symbol. Whatever it was it frightened the young girl and she refused to go to sleep insisting on sleeping in her parents bed. Her father left her in the dark, alone, haunted by the frightening image.

Michael Walker had been a Templar. And the Templars hunted and murdered people. People who were unfit in the eyes of their wrathful God.

She clenched her teeth. No. Herne appeared at her side, hound form falling away as Edana's grief and shock summoned his True Form to her. He stood over her protectively, clawed hands opening and closing, baleful eyes casting about for something to destroy to ease her pain.

She crumpled the letter in her hand and hastily smoothed it flat again, strands of her mothers hair fanned out across the page. No. How could he do this? Why? She was shaking her head, eyes blurred with tears. She hastily put the mementos back, save the ring, and the letter. She slipped the ring on... how could they be so excited... and stood slamming the case shut... about meeting Michael... she folded the letter... who the hell was he to them... and put it in her pocket... I spent years working for them... she stalked into the kitchen, swiping at the tears that ran down her cheeks... for their... her thoughts seized as she reached out with her frustration at the focus coiled around her. It surged with a malevolent grace to the lash of her thoughts. She pulled it out, loops of black leather whickered across the floor at her feet. With a practiced hand she gathered it into loose coils and squeezed the sides together in one hand. She slammed the bundled whip on to the counter, silverware rattled in the drawers. Again. And again. And again. Again. Her vision was red-clouded as she brought the bundled whip down over and over.

A sound registered in her ears. Kane whimpered from his bed in the livingroom. She stopped, rage and grief parting as the mournful, frightened sound reached her. She panted. Herne put his head back and howled a wild terrible howl. The anger was falling away.

Bishop... she squinted... you have some explaining to do.

Edana banked her anger and paced around the house until her breathing and thinking were back to a semblance of normal. She rummaged through cabinets until she found everything that seemed like it was for Kane and stowed it in the Brumby. She grabbed clothes for Herne out of the SUV and brought them inside, chucking them at Herne who shifted into his human form as he caught them.

I'm driving, then?

Yes.

Where to?

Home.

Then?

You know.

She walked over to Kane, whose hackles rose and fell as she stooped next to him. "Want to go for a ride, pal?"

Gellawyn nods as Crash relates his tale. "What were you doing when the Grey Hats helped you and turned to white?"

Gellawyn
"Crash was fighting black hats. Black hats wanted to hurt Crash for asking questions."

His large hands continue to smoothly glide across the controls, with the grace that only comes to him when Crash isn't looking at the cyberdeck.

Edana
Kane shies away from you as you approach but hearing your voice and the semblance of calm inflections that you put on to speak to him, he rises and heads for the door.

Herne slowly dresses himself with the air of someone putting on clothes simply to abide a quaint social norm rather than any real need for them. The spirit draws his sunglasses out of the pocket of his camos and follows you to the vehicle.

"Very well Sturmdottir. I do hope you have a plan for how you will speak to the Betrayer."

He drives along the outer edge of what you would normally consider an acceptable speed. The calm of countless ages weighs within him against the bloodlust and anger that constantly inundates the bond between you.

Arriving at home, he waits with the Brumby idling knowing that you will not be inside for very long.

Edana leads Kane into her apartment, arms full of his bed, bowls, food and various other things. She puts his bed in a corner, it would be in the way, but there really wasn't anywhere else to put it. She fills the dog's bowls, one food one water, and puts them down by the bed. She looks at Kane. He looks at her. Expectantly.

"Do you need to, uh, go out?"

Kane's ears fold back and stand back up, he shifts on his feet, tail giving a half-wag. "I take it that's a 'yes.'"Edana shakes her head and grabs the leash, Man, I'm never complaining about Herne again.

I'll be sure to remember you said that.

Outside Edana takes downstairs and is walking him alongside her building. Kane walks tight to her left side, all business. I must be giving him cues or something. "Go on boy... it's alright, do your, uh, business."

Kane's ears flip back and forth again as he looks up at Edana, puzzled by her tone and her handsignals. In the end, with plenty of urging, he lifts his leg to feebly mark a sapling. Edana sighs. "That's it?"

Kane looks at her, cocking his head. "Alright, let's go back."

***

Edana pulls up to a stoplight, glowering over her knuckles on the steering wheel, past the hood and to the red light holding her in check. "I'm not a dog person, I think."

Herne speaks - rare when it is just he and Edana - his deep voice rumbling, "Bite your tongue, Sturmdottir."

She parks the car several blocks from the 'hospital' and hops out, locking the doors. Herne, materialized, was getting out and his momentum checks him up against the door. He fades, the camo suit drops into the seat and slips through the door resuming hound form. In astral space the ghostly animal lifts his head.

Edana opens herself to the wash of Herne's keen senses, including his distaste for the focus that never leaves her side. She sends a prickling scent back at him. He snorts and leaps off, to flush out her prey. The hospital is warded, though, and it takes Edana several minutes to walk the distance between she and her waiting spirit.

Gellawyn keeps her voice even and warm. "What questions were you asking Crash?" As she speaks to the odd decker she reaches out once again to Kraxus.

We should speak to HIM soon and see if blessings can be given. There are gifts I could use for this hunt but I will need HIS help to acquire them. Are you of like mind?

I am of like mind. Contact HIM and make the preparations, I will explain to Crash and Edana.

He turns to Crash, waiting patiently for the odd decker to respond to the question.

The Apartment
"Crash was asking questions about computers and people. Crash wanted to know why people don't help other people who are hungry. Computer people have access to money, and Crash thinks they should help. Then he asked about horses and Knights, and people get upset and tried to hurt Crash."

The display continues to subdivide, adding new feeds from around Seattle to the Gridguide display and reconaissance. It appears as if the decker was laying down a broad net to catch Ulick in case he tries to slip away.

Edana moves purposefully down the street, her astral form shedding bolts and the ozone reek of her anger. She schools her face to stillness as she enters the clinic, stopping at the reception desk to get directions to Bishop's room.

Herne peels off, loping away into astral space as she steps inside, I will remain out here, Sturmdottir, vigilant as always. His formality crackles with the same intensity of the tension in his mistress.

"I'm sorry, I can't give out that information," the attendant at the desk says.

Edana's pale face flushes with the gray storms that flow and flicker on her skin, gathering at pulsepoints and in her cheeks. "I'm sure you can make an exception," she blinks hard at the woman, barely able to keep her teeth from grinding.

Edana
The nurse flinches back as storms and lightning crackles beneath your skin. She turns the flat display towards you as she tries to stay out of range from your touch, fearful that the lightning is as real as it appears.

Bishop is listed in critical but stable condition. He is on the second floor, room 23.

Gellawyn
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that the display on the cyberdeck is different than what is being shown on the large trid for you and Kraxus. Connections seem to be forming one after another, from satellite grid to earthbound location and back as if to negotiate a connection which is untraceable. At least the web of interconnected data streams seems horribly complex to you...

Edana flinches herself, the woman's sudden movement startling her. Her brow furrows momentarily at the scared reaction, she blinks several times rapidly at the receptionist and then shakes her head. Second floor, Room 23. She smiles, "Uh, thank you," the storm flush eases, she wasn't sure she'd get in to see Bishop at all. She looks up at the elevator bank and then at a set of stairs that curled around the elvevators. She nods at the woman and walks quickly to the stairs taking them a couple at a time. Signage directs her to the right and then the right hand side.

She looks up and down the hallway. A nurse rolls into view on a wheeled desk chair at the far end of the hall. She is talking quietly into a boom mic at her cheek. She is looking right at Edana and the young huntress swallows before smiling at the nurse and knocking lightly on Bishop's door, as if he were expecting her.

"Hey, I'm here." She swallows again. To drag some answers out of you. She opens the door and steps in. It closes automatically behind her. The stone of her mother's ring digs into her palm as Edana's fist tightens. Low bleats and mechanical whickering accompany the various devices hooked up to the former Templar. She feels the wrath filling her chest again as she looks at the man she'd considered a friend.

Taking over the converastion to allow Gellawyn to contact him, Kraxus tries to word the sentences along the same structure as Crashs', hoping to avoid any miscommunications.

"Who were the knights and horses Crash was asking about?"

Edana
Looking at Bishop's broken and beaten form, it's hard to see any threat coming from this man. But you also remember him in full vitality, laughing quietly, the haunted look in his eye when he saw a sign of the church.

He had told you once that he was being hunted and drawn you and several people out where the Templars would see you.

The hiss and rattle of mechanical breathing fills the room as you continue to watch him.

"...Eda......I--....Sorr--...."

Bishop's voice cracks as he tries to talk, his eyes still closed.

The Apartment
The big troll keeps most of his attention on the trid display as he talks to himself and you.

"Crash don't know. Crash saw posting about them several months ago, and when he asked if he could ride one of the horses and have knights help him, they got upset. Remembers it was near Christmas time."

Gellawyn
From what you can see on the display screen, it is similar to placing a phone call but vastly more complex than you have ever seen. You've heard of deckers laying down intricate networks to give themselves extra time if a trace happens. It could be he is hiding your tracks or placing a phone call that he doesn't want traced back.

Edana slips through the door, wondering if she heard the man correctly. She had understood that he was comatose, that speech wasn't possible. She had come prepared to enter astral space and hunt the man's psyche from there - clearly his spirit had left his body.

She was not prepared for a speaking foe. Nor a repentant one. A few long strides bring her up to the bedside. She glares down at him, anger and pity and fear battling inside her, churning her guy nicely.

Images of her parents' funeral flood into her mind. And of looking up into Bishop's kind, haunted eyes as he held her in the snow, the both of them covered with blood. Did he look down at my mother like that?

Her teeth grind and she holds her mother's ring in Michael's face, "Wake up you bastard, wake up and explain this."

Edana
You can almost feel the mana surge like a whip crack as you check your voice just short of screaming at Michael. The warm supple leather supports your left hand as you thrust your right hand forward with the ring.

Soon all of this would be over--the pain, the suffering, it would all end when you bent the false Bishop to your will and made Michael answer for his crimes.

"Answer me!" The words creep out of your mouth in a low hiss without you realizing you spoke them.

The body laying before you jerks up for a second and then collapses back down, the instruments jumping to and fro as vitals register up and down.

"It--it wasn't my fault." His voice cracks from a dry throat. Still unconscious, he swallows and continues. "I had orders. I didn't want to do it, but I had to. They were close, so close to an answer that only we could have. He told me that I must. The cardinal said it was God's will--who was I to question that.

"And so it was, for God gave me the strength to kill them. He helped me, helped Janus. Janus could not use his gift unless God ordained it. His touch was death.

"I, I didn't want to hurt her. But she would have called for help. I had to slit her throat to keep her from calling out. The brothers mended the dead flesh after we finished. They drove the car out, brought the fire.

"She was so beautiful. Under the thorns and curses you bear, I can see her in you. Such beauty wasted on one who will never understand..."

The whip slithers down, uncoiling, waiting.

"Kill me. Give me back to my master, let me embrace the hell before me that I earned thinking I served Heaven. I'm sorry Edana. Forgive me, please..."

Shaking her head as if clearing it off sleep. "I need to go and begin tracking Edana or at least get her wired for watching. I will let you know when I have that done." She moves to grab her jacket giving a nod to the others in the room.

I will make arrangements to see HIM and will let you know when we can do so. Be safe.

She heads out the door, as she closes it behind her she mentally accesses her phone list and selects Koge. As she makes her way downstairs she waits for him to pick up.

Gellawyn
There is a series of short beeps and clicks as you move through the building and into the lobby. Shortly after the elevator doors open, Koge answers in the same electronically modulated voice as always.

"I'll contact you in thirty seconds." The line goes dead.

You have never met the paranoid hacker but have some experience with his eccentricities. There are enough layers of secrecy surrounding everything he does to give HIM a run for his money.

Exactly thirty seconds later, your phone rings with the AR overlay of a 97 year old woman.

"This line should be secure enough for a brief period. What do you need?"

"I'm looking to track down this woman" She quickly uploads the image capture from her cbyer eyes memory. "I have reason to believe she is in the Seattle area, she may be connected to this gentleman." She sends over the image of Bishop. "He is probably at a shadow or grey clinic, last time I saw him he was in fairly bad shape. The last item of business is some discrete info on a decker, a troll that goes by Crash." She sends the last image of the decker and waits for his reply.

Gellawyn:
"Standard rates will apply, how hard am I looking and when do you need the data?"

It's apparent that Koge is routing the call through a different conversation as the words still come out in the modulated voice and don't synch up with the woman's mouth.

"I need the woman located ASAP but I can wait a little while on the background for the troll. Let me know when I hit a 5k bill before going deeper."

Gellawyn:
The AR window shows the old woman smiling while she picks up a small tortoise shell cat and strokes it lovingly.

"I will be in touch when I have the information you need."

The line goes dead again with the fading image of the woman and her cat.

Shaking her head mostly to herself, Gellawyn moves down the street and begins to hail down a cab.

Gellawyn
The cab driver gives you a second look when you tell him the address you want to be dropped off at.

"Yes ma'am. But just to warn you, there are some dangerous people out there. It's not a safe neighborhood, I'd really recommend making sure you are out of there before sunset."

With that, the cabbie is fairly quiet on the ride over. You watch the predatorial instincts that come from days of living in caves and crude huts slowly take over the cityscape as you leave the world of shining dreams and disparate nightmares. The same cruel heart lives in downtown as it does in Puyallup or the Barrens, but the barbed dagger is replaced by a primal hunger.

After paying the cabbie, you walk the last few blocks towards the safehouse where Dorian lives. This place is different. Here you can feel the calm serenity of endless time. It is said that he stood watch in the great court, watched from the land of dreams as his queen and his fellow subjects submitted to the Rite of Thorns. He has never denied the claim, but simply asked how a man such as he would be capable of living for all those years.

Welcome home, daughter. You have questions which you believe require my tutelage. Come to my chambers and we will speak at length.

Edana
At Bishop's call for death, you take half a step forward unknowingly. The whip slithers and jerks with minor flicks of your wrist.

"Sturm-dottir." Herne's voice echoes in your mind breaking the quiet reverie that had enveloped you while you listened to the betrayer.

"There are several men coming towards the hospital upon motorcycles. They smell of sickness and rot, as well as the hunt."

Through his eyes, you can see four men identically dressed riding motorcycles. They move with the same seamless motion of a pack of wolves. Here they all know their part.

Pulling into the parking lot, the group dismounts and walks towards the clinic.

"Be gone mutt. This place is not for your kind."

They stride into the hospital, passing through the ward without a ripple as if they had all been attuned to it.

The Apartment
The enigma known as Crash continues to run surveillance of the hotel where Ulick is staying. After a few moments, the screen on the cyberdeck flickers to a different image--this time matching the front door of the hotel and the valet. The big troll's hands are constantly moving over the switches as he watches the various feeds on the trid. He settles into a pattern of maintaining actions to keep the various trid feeds up to date.

"Yo, Crash man, you take your coffee black, or sweet."

Downtown walked through the door and tossed the trolls key's to him.

"I stopped off at Sunbucks and got us some liquid refreshment."

Sitting the coffee tray down on the bar the ork scratched at his arms. "Okay, I am going to go take a shower, then we'll go over what I found."

Danny slipped into the back rooom, the sound of running water soon followed.

Kraxus nods to Downtown as he focuses his will into the crystal clear state necessary to gather together the loose threads of consciousness that permeate the astral plane.

He draws them and weaves them like a master artisan, the entire process taking mere moments of concentration, of remembering his dedication to Him and their cause. The hollow, wispy forms of the watcher spirits coalesced. They appeared vaguely elven, even though popular teaching gave them no more personality and substance then the latest pop-slam-thrash-syth metal band, his personal theory had always placed them as the surviving substance of the souls of elves before him that had been dedicated to the same cause, to saving the race. It made sense to him that the disparate threads would be drawn to his summoning, to serving his cause.

But who or what the spirits were made of made no difference in the moment, because they came when he called and they served obediently, and that was all the mattered in the short term.

His directions to the hotel were punctuated with vision-thoughts of location derived from emotional residue, and landmarks that only made sense when viewed from the astral. The spirits would understand though, being made of the stuff of the plane itself. When his instructions to watch Ulik and report were complete, the four shades bowed in unison and disappeared, fleeting ghosts moving at the speed of thought to serve the cause once more. Or so he liked to think.

That taken care of, he settled down to wait for Downtown to arrive, to fill the Orc in on what had been decided in his abscence.

Downtown emerged from the room a new man. Clean, pressed khaki's and a crisp dark shirt covered his body armor, and an old black military cut jacket hid his guns.

"Ok so the hotel is pretty hi-tech, the odds of us getting to him there are slim at best. Whats the word on this front?"

After Fenris filled him in on whats been going on.

"So you meen Edana is just out there, with no backup? Does she have any way to signal us if shes in trouble?"

Edana chokes back tears. She backs away from the bed, shaking her head. Afraid that she wanted to kill the man before her, to wrap the eager whip around his throat and hold him until she could draw his last breath into her own nostrils.

Alarm rebounds and recoils along the link made raw by high emotion running between spirit and human. She shakes her head at the dying man. "I will not become a murderer." She says it to Bishop as much as to herself.

"Not by action or inaction."

Herne, find their vehicles... The emotional relay spikes for a moment as Edana retreats into the more swift communication of thought and feeling. Herne is to find their vehicles and, if it is safe to do so, he will …rerarrange them.

When you are finished, come to me.

A calm falls over the Huntress. One that would turn her stomach if she could fully fathom it. Timelessness stretches out before her, within her, the strength of ages flowing down her frail limbs.

Edana bends her will to summoning help for the fight she anticipates.

Looking around at their small space Gellawyn seems satisified with her preparations. She fishes out her small phone and dials Kraxus and sends a simple line of text.

HE is ready as am I, return home when you can.

The normally stoic ork seemed incredibly unhappy with the Edana out there with no back up, even if she could take care of herself. He spent the next little while laying out all his guns. Once they were out he got a clean rag and hit them all with a light coat of oil.

Kraxus himself seems equally troubled by the situation.

"I would be the last to suggest it, but she chose her path, and we must know what resources he has in the city. It's imperative to strike at the head of this snake, as itwere. With both Crash and I monitoring Ulik, however, we will know as soon as there is trouble, and when Gellawyn and I have completed our current task, Gellawyn will be physically following her as well.

I shall return shortly. Contact me if we find either Ulik's contacts or if there is trouble."

Heading downstairs and hailing a cab, he extends a little extra nuyen for the unfortunately dangerous destination.

Kraxus let his fingers lightly brush against the plants that filled the hollowed out space of Doren’s sanctuary. The warehouse sized space looked like a dozen different burned out apartments from the outside, but the Lord had converted the interior to something as much like his home in the Tir as could be achieved in the Barrens.

The clearing was already prepared for the ceremony, flickering candlelight dancing on the trees and plants around the space as he moved to join Gellawyn in the center. Surrounded by runes and symbols that diverged from his own teachings, the circle was a thing purely of Doren’s own magic, crafted from the knowledge of a dozen different paths and traditions, decipherable only to another that walked the Path of Kings. He glanced at Gellawyn only once, and a surge of concern welled up inside him. Doren’s gifts were always accompanied by suffering, his blessings laced with pain. His face fell smooth and emotionless as he brutally suppressed the reaction, willing to let nothing of his feelings intrude on the moment and in this space. Even glimmerings were dangerous around one such as Doren.

Gellawyn looked just once to Kraxus as he entered the sanctuary. She read the tightness there and the concern. Just as quickly as it was there it disappeared, to be replaced by the smooth serenity of his face prepared for the ritual. She nodded, satisified, they knew the risks but would not waver from their path or purpose. What joy they found in this life would be few and fleeting.
Almost on queue, their Lord strode into the light of clearing, regalia draped over his form to shame the kings and emperors of the mightiest kingdoms any Age had seen. He stepped into the circle, touching each of the kneeling figures lightly on the tops of their heads, and stepped back as they looked up. He nodded, indicating that the ritual was to begin, and they allowed their vision to settle into the astral, preparing for the ceremony. Kraxus heard Gellawyn gasp beside him as he swallowed his own response, for Doren was no longer concealing his true presence, and the sight was, as always, overwhelming.

Doren’s physical presence displayed only the slim form of an elf, younger then some, older then most, but in no way exceptional for that age. The keen observer would notice something amiss, something slightly off about the elf’s appearance, a certain solidarity or timelessness about his features. Those sensitive to the ebb and flow of the Weave around them would sense both the depth and height of a soaring redwood in the elves spirit.

In the astral, Doren’s form was almost painful to look upon. Swathed in power gained over the duration of countless centuries and the cycle of many Ages, Doren defied assessment or definition. Cloaked and warded in the magics of every known tradition of magic, and some that still remain unknown, Doren’s astral form glowed with an infinite power that would drive the Great Wyrm’s themselves to their knees in supplication.

“What do you Seek?” The question was simple, quiet in the material plane, but in the astral it resonated with power and the will that contained it.

“We Seek the Blessings of our Lord.” They both answered in unison without hesitation, the response and the ceremony both second nature.

“And who are you that Seek these Blessings?”

“We are the Sword,” Gellawyn spoke, “, and the Shield.” Finished Kraxus. In unison, they continued, “We are the hunters and the guardians of the elves, and the lands of their birth. We are the power tempered by wisdom that sets elves alone apart from the other races. We are the loyal servants of our Lord and the Tir.”

The oath contained security and freedom, knowledge that they served a great and noble purpose larger then themselves. For Kraxus, it was also chains that bound, for the oath dictated the only recipients of his loyalty. Always Doren and the Tirs must come first, and never would he be free to seek the freedom of his own opinions, feelings, or desire.

Satisfied with their response, Doren nodded formally.

“And what Blessings do you Seek?”

Gellawyn looked up and responded first, as was also customary. “I seek the Sight, to pierce the veil of this world and see the worlds beyond. To ride the currents of Time and have the shadows of the past open to me. Open my eyes to the greater Truths.”

Doren strode forward, the current of power flowing through him. She could feel the hairs on her arms rise from the charge in the air. She reached into herself for that place that would not be touched by the pain that would follow her request. To seek a gift always entailed a cost to her in flesh and soul. He stopped before her, his eyes locking with hers. It happened as it always did; the torrent of power that flooded through her mind. She could feel him tasting every thought and feeling she had. He searched and examined her, if he found a flaw, a weakness, she would not leave this circle alive. She held herself firm to her task, baring all of herself to his scrutiny. As quickly as it started he stopped. A soft smile came across his face.

“You are found worthy. Receive my blessing.” He took his hand and placing a finger against each eye thrust them forward. She strangled back the scream as the pain raced down her nerves and the world was swallowed by blood then darkness. As she struggled to remain conscious she felt the changes moving through her spirit. He shaped her like an artist would clay making the needed changes to open her to the worlds just beneath the surface. As he withdrew his fingers, she felt the heat and the pulse of mana as he healed the damage to her eyes. She gasped with their removal. He marked her brow with his sigil drawn in her own blood. She allowed herself to slump to the ground and fight the bile rising up in the back of her throat. It was done.

Kraxus shuddered as he watched Gellawyn slump to the ground. Each time it was worse. With each new gift, the price grew higher. Seeing her willing sacrifice, for their people, for their purpose, he steeled himself, drawing strength, as he always did, from her resolve. He ruthlessly scoured himself of the weaker feelings, preparing himself for the onslaught as Doren stepped over to him.

“What Blessings do you Seek?”

Kraxus looked up, his resolve plain on his features as he spoke. “I Seek to control the flows of mana. I seek to control the lingering remnants left behind, to smooth and correct the imbalances. I seek to draw that energy into myself, to use the threads of my enemies against them as they intended to do to me. Open my senses to the true Nature of mana.”
Even prepared as he was, Doren’s probe was an onslaught, washing away all sense of self and will until he was let, bare and exposed before his Lord’s sight. His touch reached every part of him, leaving nothing hidden, concealed, or controlled. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, he stopped. The briefest flicker, a flash of something crossed Doren’s face before he smiled down at Kraxus.

“You are found worthy. Receive my Blessing.”

Kraxus’s world disappeared, obliterated in a tightly woven cocoon of pain and misery. The hatred, fear, and hurt of a million unhappy people pressed in on him, forcing blackness through every fiber of his being. He felt the pressure as it pressed against him, squeezing him until he could not breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel…and then abruptly, forced down into the very center of his being. He felt it rush through him, all the blackness, despair, and torment of a thousand murdered souls, a million slandered wives and neglected children, a billion souls that lost their lives to the violence of their fellow humans. The flood rushed into him, through him, and abruptly out.

Doren reached forward and touched his forehead lightly, seeming to gather something from the very thread of magic itself as he moved. His touch, as he scribed his symbol into Kraxus’s flesh, burned like the flame of a thousand bonfires as it seared the skin beneath his touch. He dropped to the ground near Gellawyn, gasping for breath as air rushed into his lungs and he remembered that a world outside of misery and despair existed.

Edana
You move to stand behind Michael. Awareness of the enforcers pushing into the building and their awakened status floods across the link from Herne.

"Mistress, we must leave this place. There are more of them than can be dealt with. The betrayer was safe here before, he should continue to be safe here for some time longer."

Downtown
The act of stripping and cleaning your guns settles your mind on some levels. Properly cared for, they would see you through the mission. Crash continues his quiet muttering and the words seem to ebb and flow in a steady beat that you can hear but not quite makeout without trying.

Slowly the words accelerate as the caffeine from the coffee takes it's grip within the troll but only the tempo increases while the pattern remains the same.

Elves
Doren's majesty and the life that he brings with him to fill the room begins to fade as he leaves you to recover.

"The rite of thorns was once undertaken by our people to keep them safe from the Horrors. Often times, individuals will lock onto the largest threat and not realize that they can fall prey to smaller enemies.

"Go to the girl, she is in need of aid."

Gellawyn cursed under her breath as she struggled to her feet and run with unacustomed difficulty to where she had shed the things of this Age in preparation for the ritual. She snatched up the cell phone and quickly dialed the number the woman had left behind to reach her.

With his weapons clean and ready to go, Danny made himself ready. A short boxing routine to limber himself up. Then he made sure all his armor was in place. Once he was outfited he flopped on the big couch, put his feet up and cat napped.

Clawing his way to just feet, Kraxus stumbled along behind Gellawyn, his normally preternatural grace having deserted him for the moment.

He struggles to gather his things as she calls, slipping into the armor that served the dual purpose of function and a mark of his station among the Order.

Herne’s urging lashed her spirit. Get out of there, Sturmdottir. Out. She senses the men through him and tastes their purpose, their implacable, chilling, identical determination like wet stone. They ripple through the ward. The young woman gasps and she remembers the nurse at her station down the hall.

The woman had been on the phone. Edana assumed that it was to the desk attendant downstairs, but it could have been to The Men. Her thoughts race, without thought she slips her mother’s ring onto her finger. Where are they? Are they watching... do they know? Her breath grow quick and shallow, hands tingling with over-oxygenation. She looks around the room, Bishop has lapsed into silence again. They won’t touch him. She pretends it is just because she wants to protect a life, but the truth is much, much more complicated than that. They won’t.

Very deep a dark thought coiled around her core. Not before me. If he dies it will be by my hands. Her conscious mind barely registers it, but her hand twitches and the whip focus hisses as it slithers across the floor. Get out, Sturmdottir. Soon, it will be too late. On the small trid in the upper corner of the room brilliant turquoise water washes a white sandy beach spotted with sun bathers, backed by a steep green-clad mountain.

...Out. The Bahamas...

She bites her lip, I can’t leave him, but this is not accomplishing what Townshend needs. But they’ll kill him. She looks at Bishop, muttering to himself. Michael. His crisis is now hers. His tormentors, her own. His death hers to prevent or allow.

...I could sell the focus...

She pulls the p-sec out of her pocket. She opens it and her mind blanks, Or they could be here for me. Fear makes her stomach lurch and she closes her eyes. And then I have to fight. Or I will become... him. She looks at the inert man, prone and helpless. Michael. She places it on the bedside table and coils the whip into a neat loop in the chair.

...Live out my days drinking daiquiris out of a coconut...

She pushes thin braids behind her ears and sits in the chair on the whip, freeing the end to rest in her lap. Or they aren’t here for me, but by staying I make myself a target. She shakes her head as she toggles the recording option on and takes a deep breath.

...Umbrella optional...

She closes her eyes, throat hurting, a lump that won’t leave. And a gaping hole where the grief from her parents’ death had been ripped wide open, raw and ragged. And if I leave I might as well be a murderer. And if I stay, I will probably be caught with this focus. Prison. Her stomach lurches again. I have to get rid of this thing.

...Leave all this...

Edana leans back and reaches a hand out to rest on Bishop’s arm. What am I doing? She smiles inwardly, blackly, I need to stop doing things that beg that question. But she was out of good options. And while not innocent, Michael Walker wouldn’t be murdered if she had anything to say about it.

...Behind...

The hearth spirit floated over her shoulder, its countenance unfathomable, strange to her senses, so used to Herne’s expressiveness. Or maybe it was that she had learned Herne’s ways.

But not to take my advice.

She swallows again, stomach uneasy and takes a deep breath, ready to defend herself and this man. She lets herself relax and begins to loosen her spirit’s hold on her body. Strand by strand the ties are found and stripped away. One strand remains, silence and focus are nearly whole. Nearly complete and…

RING!

Edana shouts and sits forward, consciousness slamming her heart into her throat. She chokes as she answers, it comes out sounding something like ‘hello.’

Gellawyn nods to Kraxus as she hears the answer on the other end of the phone. "It's me, where are you?" As she asks the question she moves to a small basin of water and wipes the bloody sigil from her forehead and cleans the rest of her face. "I know you're in a fix so let me help, ok?" She moves to the oustide of Doren's sanctuary and gestures to the gangers lounging outside.