===================================
Part I    A Thief with A Conscience
===================================

Late evening, Montford.  A cool night, few clouds, twinkling stars.

Lane, or more correctly Kaelen Lane, knelt quietly in the shadows of the
side street, watching as the merchant finished packing up his shop.

A few more minutes and the merchant would be off home, and he would be
able to enter without fear of confrontation, help himself to a small
amount of money, and leave.

Loosening up his limbs underneath the dark grey leather armour he wore,
the dark haired young man in his mid twenties checked his equipment.
Shortsword, ok, brace of daggers, ok, hidden daggers ok, lock picking
tools ok, bow - no, no bow, it had been broken when he'd parried the
guards sword with it back in the last town he'd been in..

Sudden commotion brought Lane's attention back to the merchant, and he
narrowed his hard grey eyes at what he saw.

The merchant was surrounded by a group of three street toughs.  As Lane
watched, one of them pinned the merchants arms behind his back as
another stuffed a rag into his mouth.  The last searched the man's
pockets until the keys were found.

"Damn ..." muttered Lane, preparing to move away to find another place
to use his skills.

Suddenly the sound of laughing came from the struggling men, and Lane
looked back in curiosity.  Whilst the first two men had the merchant
pinned with the gag in his mouth, the third, who wore bits of chain mail
armour underneath his ragged clothes, had drawn a shortsword, and
prepared to run the defenceless merchant through !

Looking back to the security and anonymity of the shadows, Lane sighed
in exasperation.

"Damn it," he said underneath his breath, "why now, why me ?"

Squaring his shoulders resolutely he loosened his sword, and wandered
out into the street whistling, causing the three slummers to pause and
the merchant to stare at him in desperation and hope.

[Third Tough (with Shortsword)]
"Oy, perky," said the slummer with the shortsword in one large hand,
"get lost if'n ya know wot's good for ya."

[Lane]
Smiling benignly at the three 'thieves' (and Lane only held back the
grimace at calling them that - it put a smirch on his own profession),
Lane kept walking forward, keeping his arms well away from his weapons
belt.

"Perky ?" he asked amusingly, "my oh my, what an interesting insult,
Porky."

His smile confused the toughs at first, until his words managed to
penetrate through their thick skulls.

['Porky']
Indicating that the 1st Tough keep hold of the merchant, he stepped
forward, the 2nd Tough stepping behind him and drawing a large knotted
cudgel with an evil grin.

"Listen up, you little piece o'crap," he said, weaving the shortsword
around and showing he had at least a little bit of training with it -
ex-army perhaps ? "I'm gonna carve you up and feed you to the freakin
pigs, get it ?"

[Lane]
"Of course I 'get it' Porky," grinned Lane, somehow the grin not
matching his eyes which slowly hardened as he continued forwards, "I
understand that in your own Porky-witted way you are seeking to dissuade
me from aiding the innocent merchant, by threatening me with physical
violence if I do not desist.  Is that correct, you excuse for a bipedal
four legged mammal from which comes pork ?"

[Porky]
After a moments interpretation of Lanes rhetoric, the man stepped
forward, blood suffusing his face in anger, the 2nd Tough swift to join
him.

"Why you -"

'Porky's' voice abruptly changed to a squeal much like a pig as he
started to swing his shortsword, for suddenly a dagger's hilt protruded
from his groin.  

His companion had seen the lightning-quick flicker of wrist that sent
the weapon, yet he was not quick enough to evade the other dagger that
buried itself deep in the muscle of the arm that he held his cudgel
with.  Dropping the cudgel with a cry of pain, he ran off, Porky
staggering after him, the trail of blood behind him strangely vanishing
when he was five feet away from it ...

[Lane]
Stepping forward, Lane grinned at the last slummer and wriggled his
fingers at his in a wave as if to say 'good bye'.  After one quick
glance at his erstwhile companions, the slummer turned tail and ran,
dropping the merchant who sat down on the floor with a thump.

Stepping forward to help the merchant up, Lane also surreptitiously
picked up the keys and hid them in the hollow heel of his boot...

================================
Part II     Introduced As A Hero
================================
[Malin the Shop Keeper]
"My boy, my boy !" crowed the middle aged man as Lane helped him up,
"you are a marvel.  Thank you, thank you !  You have saved my life, and
by all that's holy I'll not forget it !"

Pounding on the side of his rescuer's arm with glee, Malin looked around
the floor.

"Ah, my boy, it's a sad town at the moment," he said, beginning to frown
as he peered around his feet, "Oh my, these thieves, they have stolen my
keys !"

[Lane]
"Not matter sir," Lane replied, after joining the shopkeeper in a quick
search, "I'm sure that if you tell a member of whatever passes for this
town's militia, they will find the culprits and retrieve your keys."

*Fat chance of that* he thought privately, making sure he didn't project
his thoughts, *he was so scared that with just a #little# change - ah
yes, that's it - he won't even be able to remember their faces*

Focusing back on the shopkeepers face, Lane smiled after his small
psionic mind-change.

[Malin]
"No no, my boy, no no no," Malin answered, shaking his head in shock,
"you must come with me to meet them, to be recognised for doing such
good !  -  Who knows, my boy, they might even invite you to join them !"

[Lane]
"Oh (sickly smile) goody".  Lane followed the little man, or was
actually dragged down the street as Malin had hold of his sleeve, until
a group of horsemen wearing the uniform of the Town Watch came into
view.

[Malin]
"Hoi !" shouted Malin, taking his hand from Lane's arm to wave at the
mounted Night Watch as it approached, "I have something to report !"

[Lane]
Briefly considering leaving, quickly, when the shop keepers hand was
taken from him, Lane realised the folly of that idea and tried to act
natural as the horsemen approached.

[Malin]
As the horsemen approached, Malin bobbed his head.

"I wish to report that someone tried to kill me !  Only the intervention
of this man saved my life !"
-- 
Danny

[Part 2]

[Tlianne/Night Watch patrol]
Clouds obscured the half moon floating across the sky, leaving Montfort 
in darkness. Her eyes glowed infra-red from under her hood. The new
Guard robes she'd been issued were not quite her size, but adequate for
a Night Watch member. She kept to the middle of the group of riders as
the patrol cantered through the streets on silenced horseshoes.
 
Despite the watchful, muscular guards around her, she did not feel safe
at all.

[Kaelen Lane & Shopkeeper]
Stepping out into the street, Malin the shopkeeper drags Lane's sleeve
along with him;
Lane is obviously forced to go with him, towards the mounted horsemen of
the Night
Watch.

[Malin]
"Hoi !" shouted Malin, taking his hand from Lane's arm to wave at the 
mounted Night Watch as it approached, "I have something to report !"

[Lane]
Briefly considering leaving, quickly, when the shop keepers hand was 
taken from him, Lane realised the folly of that idea and tried to act 
natural as the horsemen approached.

[Malin]
As the horsemen drew up in front of him, Malin bobbed his head.

"I wish to report that someone tried to kill me !  Only the intervention 
of this man saved my life !"

[Night Watch Officer]
"Indeed?" The officer shifted in his saddle to study Lane curiously. 
"Good work citizen. The city needs more like you around."

"This person who attacked you, do you have a description we could use?"

[Part 3]

[Lane]
"Unfortunatley not, officer," Lane replied with an apologetic shrug to
the mounted watch officer, "to be honest, it was a little dark at the
time, and I was too busy trying to dodge shortswords and cudgels."

Pausing as if to think for a moment, Lane looked back up.

"I do believe that the ringleader had dark hair, was about 6'2", and had
a large build.  To be honest, as I said, I wasn't really concentrating
on his face, I was too busy trying to stay alive."

Smiling in a self-modest way, Lane hoped he sounded convincing - but,
then again, he didn't recognise any faces from Jord, so why shouldn't
they believe him ?

[Tlianne]
While the Lieutenant talked to the merchant, skillfully asking questions
that might help refine the description, she watched the young man with a
curious smile lighting her lavender eyes. Restless, her horse danced a
few steps along.

She pulled back, and kept a better control on the gelding this time.

The Lieutenant walked his horse back to the young man. Tlianne looked
away and picked up the conversation. The Lieutenant was asking for the
young man's address in case they found a suspect. She listened intently,
having an interest in the man herself.

[Lane]
Answering the Lt.'s questions with vague descriptions, keeping his face
apologetic, Lane glanced over at Tlianne, his eyes brightening slightly
at the curves he could barely make out beneath her cloak and uniform.
Turning back to the senior officer, he blinked as he realised the man
was asking him a question for the second time.

"Actually officer, I don't have a place of residence yet.  I only
arrived a short while ago, and was wandering around trying to find an
inn when I happened across the merchant, here."

Turning to look at Tlianne, he nodded his head slightly,
"Perhaps you would be kind enough to direct me to the inn called 'The
Dragons Inn' ?  I hear tell they can prepare some fine meals, and
because of the wide range of clientele, they have an astonishing wide
range of wines.  I shall be staying for at least a month, possibly more
as the fancy takes me."

Stretching, Lane smiled,
"I must tell you that I am looking forward to a long bath, and then
perhaps a light supper and a glass of aired Borollo Classico from Italia
in front of the fire."

Smiling again, Kaelen Lane looked around,

"I'd be grateful if you could direct me ?"

[Tlianne]
"We should be passing the Inn on our patrol. If you've travelled far
today perhaps you could ride with us until we pass it?" Tlianne smiled at
Lane, surely the Lt would let him ride double with one of them, and hers
*was* the obvious horse, being the only female and thus carrying a much
lighter load.

[Night Watch Officer]
"Do you have a job offer lined up then in Montfort? The Watch can always
use more men."

[Lane]
Smiling at Tlianne with a pleased glint to his eye, he none-the-less
answered the officer first.

"I have no job lined up here, at the moment Officer," he advised with a
slight shrug, "I have sufficient funds to just relax for a while, a
month or more before I need to find a job.  But as a citizen of Montford
I will of course help the Watch as I can, and as I have always liked to
take strolls at night time, I will do again what I did tonight if I
must."

Turning next to Tlianne, he bowed slightly with a smile.
"Yes, I have travelled quite a way today.  I would very much like to
ride with you to the inn, but I have as you see no horse, only 'Shanks
Pony' as the saying goes."

"However," and making a show of looking at the other members of the
Night Watch, which are all of greater stature than Tlianne at whom he
smiles again, "if you wouldn't mind, perhaps I could ride double with
you."

Walking smoothly forward, he reaches the horses side and vaults smoothly
upwards with a touch of psionic 'oomph', to land gently behind Tlianne.
Placing his hands gently on her waist, he leans forward slightly to
speak, loudly enough to be heard, but obviously with words meant only
for her.

"With the lady's permission ?" he asks somewhat belatedly, delighted at
the scent of spring rain and flowers he can breathe now that he is
closer to her.

[Tlianne]
Tlianne did not answer his question, instead the patrol began moving off
into the night and Tlianne with them.

"I have heard that Montfort can be very dangerous at night for lone
travelers. Do you travel alone?" she asked quietly, turning her head a
fraction towards his while her slim, cape enshrouded form leaned back
casually.

[Lane - innuendo ...<G>]
His pulse quickening as the slight form of the lady leaned back to rest
against his chest, Lane smiled with a hint of amusement in his eyes, his
face only a few inches from her own now that she had turned her head
towards him.

"Yes, I am alone," answering her question more directly than she had
asked it.

Suddenly speaking as if the idea had only just occurred to him, instead
of before he had even mounted her horse, he spoke in a wondering tone.

"Perhaps you would care to join me after your patrol is over, for
perhaps a light breakfast ?  Or maybe an evening meal and stroll around
Montford before your next patrol ?"

Lane had to admit that he was enjoying himself  -  he hadn't been this
attracted to anyone since Nehayla in Jord.  Before the assassins had
come...

But this lady looked like she could definitely give as good as she could
get.  She also looked able to take care of herself...

[Tlianne]
'Dangerous' she thought, not realizing she had murmured her thoughts to
the night wind. She turned her attention back ostensibly to the riders
ahead of her, noticing they had fallen slightly behind. "Should I find
myself near the inn on the morrow, what do you think the innkeep will
serve?"

The Lieutenants horse passed a low pile of rubble that had once been a
townhouse perhaps. A few beams stood upright still, but after a cursory
glance the Lieutenant gestured the patrol to continue on.

Tlianne followed them around the corner of the next building where the Lt
had stopped them all. With hand gestures he motioned for silence. A jerk
of his thumb and one of the riders slid from his horse without a sound
and crept back the way they had come. He peered around the edge
carefully, holding his palm up for continued silence.

Tlianne looked back at Kaelan and then the scout. One finger. Two. Three,
then two once more. He looked back and nodded an affirmative to the Lt.
The Lt spat on the blackened cobblestones. "Thieves..." and spurred his
horse into a charge.

Tlianne followed suit, holding back in case her magic was needed. Two
people were dragging a third warm body across the street. One saw the
riders and pushed the other to hurry. He gestured, and faint snatches of
sonorous words reached Tlianne's ears just before the spark in his hands
rocketed for the patrol as a fireball.

Tlianne dropped the reins, guiding with her knees and casting. The
Lieutenant's horse took the fireball in the chest, the Lieutenant already
dropping to the cobblestone street.

[Part 4]

[Blackthorne]
  After the trials had been completed, Blackthorne had left to fetch his
  horse from the inn to the stables at the barracks.  He was leading the
  beast when he heard the sound of an explosion.  Racing around the
  corner, he saw a patrol under attack up ahead.  As the lead horse was
  immoliated by a spell, he pulled his bow.  A loud shrieking was clearly
  audible over the din of battle as the arrow flew straight.
  Suddenly the spell-casting looter twitched as a black-fletched arrow
  pierced his shoulder.  Before he could react, another arrow struck him
  in the other shoulder, rendering him unable to cast spells or fight.
  Blackthorne turned and started looking for the other.
  
  [Tlianne]
  She released her web spell at the mage, covering him in a fragile cocoon
  of immobility.
  
  [Escaping Looter]
  The other had a warm body slung over its shoulder as it fled into a
  stone building that miraculously was semi-intact. The Lieutenant rammed
  his shoulder into the door in an attempt to break it down, with no
  success.
  
  He quickly waved most of  the patrol to split up and go around the
  building to seek another entrance. Tlainne and the rest he summoned with
  another quick hand gesture.
  
  She galloped to him and slid from her horse, knowing it would not be
  going anywhere without her. She stared at the door for a moment, looking
  for wardings and started another spell. At the end of it she slapped the
  door hard with the flat of her hand. The door opened and the Lieutenant
  immediately lept inside.
  
  [Lane]
  Shaking himself from where he had sat immobile on Tlianne's horse,
  holding to the back of her saddle so as not to impede her spell casting,
  Lane shrugged off the struggle within himself.
  
  Here was his opportunity, he could just slip off the horse and disappear
  into the darkness, leave Montford, travel to yet another town or city.
  Yet, perhaps the chance that, with this patrol of guardsmen, he could
  regain something of his former life, before the time.. the time that...
  
  Shaking his head violently, dismissing the mental images of the
  assassin's swords as they hacked his lover to bloody death, he slid off
  of the horse and spared one quick glance to the shadows.  Then turned
  forwards, his mind made up.
  
  As Lt. rushed through the door, Lane felt the briefest mental thread of
  satisfaction from within the building...
  
  "ROLL !" he shouted at the Lt., then turned to Tlainne.
  
  "There are others inside," he said quickly, already knowing what he
  would do, "I don't know how many.  So keep your fingers crossed for me."
  
  Winking at Tlainne, Lane suddenly Faded from view, both with illusion
  and psionic blurring.   Then he ran straight at the buildings wall,
  hardly slowing as he sped up the half-ruined building to a window-less
  window-frame.
  
  Still invisible and mind-blurred, he entered, dagger in hand.
  
  [Blackthorne]
  Blackthorne ran towards the ruined building.  He slung his bow back over
  his shoulder as he ran.  As he neared the building, he veered into an
  alley.  He quickly found a large cracked panel.  Grasping the edges of
  the wall, he pulled himself into the room on the other side.  A figure
  stood quietly waiting armed with a strange wavy-bladed shortsword.  The
  blade whistled as it came towards his face.  Blackthorne quickly brought
  up his right hand and caught his assailant's blade with his hand.  He
  grabbed the blade and held it as his left hand shot forward heel down.
  He caught the attacker on the bridge of the nose and, with a sudden
  crunching sound, the figure fell limply to the ground and moved no more.
  He crouched over the prone body, and searched for more assailants.
  
  [Lane]
  It was almost too easy.  The man that was carefully taking aim at
  Tlianne with a crossbow took his hand from the trigger to swipe at what
  he thought was a fly - and quickly wished that he could (fly).
  
  With a push, Lane pushed the man out, and watched him fall.  Then he in
  turn was pushed, not by a hand, but by the power of another crossbow
  bolt as it hit him in the shoulder, sending him staggering to crash into
  the wall next to the now-empty window.
  
  *I have got to remember* he thought, *that attacking dispels my illusion
  of invisibility - and that a mind-blur only works on those with average
  intelligence..*
  
  Turning back from the wall with a groan, willing himself to stand
  upright, Lane felt his mouth drop open.
  
  "Oh damn..."
  
  [Hired Thugs and Blackthorne]
  Blackthorne looks up from the fallen body of the thug and notes the
  approach of three new assailants.  They had justed crested the stairs
  just ten paces away.  Of the three, the leader stood out from the rest.
  He wore the samnite armor of the gladiator and upon his fist were cesti
  crowned furiously with jagged spikes.  The leader was flanked by two
  crossbowmen.
  
  The gladiator smiled.
  
  Devron sought combat the way merchants sought gold.  The employers or
  their missions never mattered, just the challenge they represented.
  However, the mission was over and the hostage had been delivered.
  
  The bowman that stood before him was an added bonus.
  
  Devron was upon Blackthorne in an instant, the gladiator's smile vaguley
  present through the gilded cage of the helm he wore.  He threw a cross
  at the bowman's midsection, but at the last second rolled the blow into
  a back-handed jab to Blackthorne's face.  Thin ribbons of blood appeared
  upon his face.
  
  Devron launched into a storm of combinations, each one blocked by the
  skillful blocks of the bowman.  Then the gladiator stood back to allow
  Blackthorne the chance to behold the bloodied mess his hands had become.
  Devron crossed his cesti enshrouded hands before him for accent.
  
  "Pankration, the mother of all martial arts!" the gladiator roared.  "I
  am DEVRON, reaver of the PIT!"
  
  Devron dropped into a defensive crouch; one hand before chest and head,
  the other covering his groin.  Poised to leap if the bowman should
  go for his bow.
  
  "Dance with ME!"
  
  Behind the gladiator the others waited with crossbows cocked and
  readied.

[Part 5]

[Blackthorne]
  He looked at the cuts on his hands.  They were little more than nicks,
  but they bled.  His blood, thick and midnight black, also welled up on
  his face.
  
  Slowly, he removed his bow and set it down along with his quiver.
  "I'll dance with you.  But first..." He sprang with uncanny speed
  flipping over the gladiator and landing in front of the first thug.  As
  the other fired at him, he grabbed the man's arms and spun him around.
  The bolt made a sicking thunk as it embedded itself in the thug.  He
  pulled the man's arms up and over his head.  Twisting his prisoner's
  arms while the other reloaded, Blackthorne fired the crossbow.  The
  second thug gasped and fell backwards, a crossbowbolt embedded in his
  left eye.  Blackthorne dropped the dead man he was holding, and turned
  to face the true warrior.
  
  As he spoke, his glamour faded.  "I am Blackthorne," his ears enlongated
  to points, "...of Clan Brandubh..." his hair became darker, shimmering
  in the dim light, "...Knight of the Black Rose..." his skin puckered,
  covering him completely, "...Warrior of the Unseelie Court."
  
  Then thorns punctured the skin.  Midnight black thorns, wet with dark
  red blood, covered him.  The Unseelie stood in a defensive stance of his
  own.  Large thorns in place of the other man's spikes. "So, human, let
  us dance."
  
  [Evil Priest and Lane]
  Lane's mouth dropped open with good reason.  In the dim half-light of
  the room stood a man who seemed comfortable in the darkness.  Before him
  stood a warrior in studded leather armor, furiously reloading his
  crossbow.
  
  "Your grasssp has exceeded it's reach, " the dark enshrouded man spoke
  in a hissing voice.  Lane could see now that the man wore a green, scaly
  robe that covered all of his body.  In his hand was a staff that ended
  in a clenched, taloned fist.
  
  "Now, pay the price for your avarice!"  The man pointed his staff at
  Lane and in response the fist on his staff opened.  Spell energy
  collected as the priest began his unholy litany.
  
  [Lane]
  Smiling sickly, Lane cast around in his thoughts for a plan - any plan !
  
  This one ?  No
  That one ?  No, definitely *not*.
  Then,
  
  Concentrating, Lane suddenly pushed his mind out to the warrior who had
  finally loaded his crossbow, and was beginning to aim it.
  
  "And so it shall devour thee !" shouted Lane suddenly at the priest, and
  the warrior risked a swift glimpse over his shoulder, to see ...
  
  The priest was apparently fighting his cloak.  With a curse he clawed
  the cloak off and through it on the ground, but it grew, took shape into
  a large bipedal lizard with six inch fangs and even larger claws.  It
  stood directly between the warrior and the evil priest, and it's back
  was wide enough to completely hide the evil priest.
  
  One shot couldn't possibly miss...
  
  Grunting in pain, Lane levered himself to the side, and cold sweat
  sprang from his every poor as he pulled the stubby crossbow quarrel
  through, blood dripping from the wound to stain his clothes.
  
  He knew the evil priest could see him - now if only he would say "what
  are you doing ? shoot him !" or something similar, Lane was sure the
  warrior would actually shoot the 'lizard' instead.  And then find out
  the 'lizard' was actually an illusion and he'd just used the priest as a
  pin-cushion.
  
  Concentrating one last time, Lane cast next an illusion of himself
  laying on his side where he was, then crawled invisibly into the corner
  of the room, and fell unconscious.
  
  [Blackthorne and the Gladiator]
    "What in the Nine Hells?" Devron stuttered as he shuffled back
  uncertainly.
  
  Realization broke over his face.  He had seen this creature before in
  the drug induced dreams of opium.  In the dreams, this creature stood
  over his broken body yelling triumph to the heavens.
  
  Devron smiled darkly, regaining confidence.  Those were only dreams.
  
  The gladiator fell upon the fey creature, toppling the both of them over
  the stairs and into the pitch darkness below.  As they fell, Devron
  clenched Blackthorne in a headlock and began to apply pressure to the
  vertebrae there.
  
  The fey's thorns bit deep into the man's bicep, drawing forth generous
  amounts of blood.
  
  "Devron fears you not, creature!"
  
  The two warriors tumbled to the foot of the stairs.
  
  [Blackthorne]
  Blackthorne struggled as they rolled down the stairs.  The touch of the
  cold iron spikes was more painfull than the pressure of his enemy's
  headlock.  He drove his elbow back into Devron's gut, but the
  gladiator's grip remained firm.  He slammed the warrior's body with his
  elbow again and again.  His vision began to blur.  He shifted and pushed
  himself to his feet.  Standing, he ran towards the wall.  At the last
  moment, he turned and Devron hit the wall with Blackthorne's thorns
  impaling him.  The force of the blow dislodged the gladiator and
  Blackthorne rolled away.  The two stood facing each other again.  The
  unseelie warrior leaped and kicked out striking the other warrior
  in the shoulder.  As Devron regained his footing, Blackthorne stood
  ready.
  
  [Lane, Crossbowman, and Priest]
  The priest knew he had been had and so at the last second redirected his
  spell at the crossbowman.
  
  They fired upon each other at the same time.
  
  A jet of flame from the open plam of the staff struck the crossbowman,
  catching the warrior on fire.  He ran around the room in agony, a human
  pillar of fire.
  
  The crossbow quarrel caught the priest in the stomach and flew
  unhindered out of his back and into the wall beyond.  He fell to his
  knees, clutching the wound.  Through squinted eyes, he scanned the room
  for the illusionist in futility.
  
  "Either invisible or has fled, " sputtered the dark priest to himself.
  He stood weakly and decided that the time had come for him to disappear
  as well.
  
  [Night Watch]
  Drawn by the screams the first Night Watchman burst into the small room.
  The blazing figure that had once been a man was collapsed shaking on the
  scarred flooring.
  
  He narrowed his eyes, there was the human, Lane, and in another corner
  was a mild, moving heat source disappearing into a wall panel. He leapt
  across the room to the door.
  
 [Tlainne]
  Tlainne ran inside the squat little building that had once been a
  merchants shop and ducked aside to gauge what was going on. Her eyes
  widened at the combat of Unseelie and Samnite fighting in the cellar.
  The other Night Watchmen had disposed of several bodies on their sweep
  through the room.
  
  Across the cluttered ruin of a showroom, a piece of wall cracked and
  disgorged a short figure, only mildly radiating heat. "Halt!" she
  commanded, leaping the counter in pursuit of the figure as it ducked
  behind a fallen group of shelves.
  
  Three Watchmen emerged from the wall after the cleric.
  
  [Cleric of Draconis]
  The cleric turned at bay on the warriors pursuing it, hatred gleaming in
  its slitted ochre eyes. A wall of fire sprang up as it swung its clawed
  staff in an arc, releasing one of the preset magical traps.
  
  It kicked open the trap door in the floor and turned back to the enemies
  in the room. "Motis nom pacifa tal non." he hissed between clenched
  teeth. "Vrwhera!"
  
  [Tlainne]
  Tlainne, cloaked from the fire, rolled through quickly and threw the now
  smoldering cloak to the side. Two Guardsmen with her continued forward,
  their momentum slamming their armored bodies into the cleric. Sticky
  white blood squelched from the clerc across their armor as they fought
  to hold the cleric down.
  
  Tlainne crawled forward with her dagger and stabbed at one leg half held
  by the warrior sitting on it. The other stabbed the cleric in the throat
  thrice before its eyes rolled up in its strangely flattened head.
  
  Tlainne scrambled to her feet still holding the sticky dagger in her
  gloved hand. She raised it to sniff the white viscous fluid seeping
  through.
  
  "Don't let the blood touch you girl." said the nearer warrior. "The
  thing was a southern lizard breed, an Ashkenazim, and its blood is a
  slow toxin to your kind."
  
  Tlainne hastily pulled her glove off and threw it into a far corner. The
  two warriors thrust their blades into the corpse and started down the
  trap door in military fashion.
  
  Tlainne stumbled back to the wall opening and up the hidden stairs that
  emerged into a closet. "Lane!" Where are you!"
  
  [Lane]
  Darkness, lassitude, the pain couldn't hurt him here.  Pain ?
  Sluggishly, his mind triedto firm on that point, but his sub-concious
  pushed the thought away.  Only if he was to admit to it, could it hurt
  him.
  
  But, stubbornly, the thought persisted.  Pain, magic, the crossbow...
  
  Sighing, Lane let himself be drawn into consciousness, and then felt the
  pain of the crossbow bolt that had left the hole in his shoulder, the
  barbed head had lodged in the bone, causing a fair amount of damage as
  he had pulled it out earlier to roll from where he had fallen, the
  adrenaline had let him ignore some of the pain.  Then.
  
  Trying to move his arm, he nearly lost consciousness again.  He could
  feel his ring starting to work, a warmth around the wound, but the blood
  still dripped, and his strength was going with it...
  
  Concentrating, he caused pressure to form around the wound, pressing the
  sides together with 'solid air'.
  
  Now, if he could just lay here, nice and quiet, let the ring of
  regeneration work for him over the next 5 miutes of so...
  
  "Lane! Where are you!"
  
  <FALSH>  The assassin's, swords red, his lover holding up one hand in
  supplication as she stared around, already dying.. "Lane !  Where are
  you ?!  Help me...."
  
  Blinking to forget the image, the thief moved his arm with a snarl,
  piercing the remembered horror of that night, and coming back to the
  present.
  
  "Here," he murmured, and then again, slightly louder as he levered
  himself upright, feeling cold sweat suddenly upon his brow from the
  effort, "I am here !"
  
  [Tlainne]
  "Where! I don't see you." She hesitated in the doorway, discounting the 
  smoldering corpse the room was empty but for his voice.
  
[Blackthorne]
The fight raged between the thorn-shrouded Unseelie and the Gladiator.
Blows were blocked and parried, some hitting true.  The two battered each
other relentlessly.  Blackthorne's magic, heritage of his blood, cried out to
him to end the fight.  He felt the power ready and waiting to extinguish his
foe, but he did not.  He could not break his vow.  

Blackthorne ducked a haymaker, and kicked out with his right foot. He caught
Devron in the belly, and knocked him backwards.  He pounced on the man's
prone form and grabbed his facemask.  The iron burned his fingers as he
lifted and then  pounded the gladiator's helm into the ground.  

[Devron]
"Gods be damned!" the gladiator roared in defiance.  Desperately he
struggled, for he could feel his consciouness slipping.

[Blackthorne]
He continued hammering the helmet until the man lay still, his breath shallow
and ragged.

[Devron]
The darkness of unconsciouness came for him.  Devron had been defeated but a
tiny, faltering voice continued to roar in defiance.

[Blackthorne]
Blackthorne focused and calmed himself.  He restored his glamour, but his
clothes were tattered.  He shrugged and hoped that the nature of his battle
would explain that.  Moving slowly, he started to climb the stairs.  His body
ached from the amount of cold iron that had touched him in that fight.  As he
reached the top of the stairs, he saw that the watch had secured the area.

He found his quiver and bow and returned them to his belt.  He surveyed the
damage and waited for his strength to return.

[Devron]
i have been defeated

NEVER!!!!

With a roar, Devron stood!  His body ravaged by countless wounds, his life's
blood covering him in a thin red sheet.  None of this mattered.  All that
mattered was the battle and he knew were to find his opponent.

"SLUAGH!" He crossed four steps of the stairs.  "Warrior of the UNSEELIE!"
He crossed four more.  "BLACKTHORNE by name!"  The gladiator stood at the
top of the stairs.  "Let us NOW finish this thing between us!"

[Blackthorne]
He turned to see the gladiator standing at the top of the stairs.  Still
glamoured, Blackthorne dropped into a fighting stance.  "Devron!  I have no
wish to kill you.  Yield and surrender, or die."  He reached back and drew his
sword.  It was black crystal, not steel.  He steadied himself for the
gladiator's attack.  He knew the other wouldn't stop, but he had tried
anyway.  Now it was for the fates to decide.