Benedict shuffled out his Trump of Gerard. This shouldn't take long, he thought to himself, I just hope he's alright… He concentrated on the Trump, and waited for Gerard to answer. After a few moments, his brother didn't answer, and it felt like there was some sort of interference. Ben's brow knitted as he concentrated hard, to cut through the "line noise" as it were. Finally, it started to clear up, and Benedict could tell it was from something within Gerard…an imbalance. He started to get a hazy image of his brother, but Gerard wasn't focusing on him at all. Gerard was covered in sweat and shredded clothing, and it looked like he was throwing a carriage of some sort.

It wasn't good. The longer Ben watched, the more Benedict was sure Gerard didn't feel Ben's presence in his mind. Tenatively, he asked, "Gerard?" There was no response from his brother. Benedict then probed gently into his brother's mind, awkward in this arena. He was used to battle with a sword, not with his mind. Still, his cautions paid off, and Gerard didn't notice him one bit. The bad news was that it didn't seem like Gerard was home at all…his mind was strangely vacant, yet filled with chaos. The paradox made Ben's mind hurt.

Benedict switched his mental gaze from Gerard's mind to his surroundings, looking through Gerard's eyes. He seemed to be in a Victorian type setting, with gas lamps and cobbled streets. People were running from him, as though the Devil was on their tails. There were constables about, trying to stop the carnage Gerard was dealing out.

Benedict felt around desparately in Gerard's mind, trying to look for a way to 'shut him off' or something. He scrabbled mentally at the locks on Gerard's automatic functions, trying to break a way in, all to no avail. I can't do this alone, but I can't let the Trump contact go! he thought to himself. There was only one solution then, grab Gerard and pull himself to where his brother was. Ben braced himself, then reached out through the connection, gripping onto his brother's arm. It was like touching an electrical current-the first thing that Ben felt was pain shooting throughout his leg, upwards from his foot. He let go and moved quickly to one side, favoring his right foot over his left. Broken…I think, toes maybe…I was wearing steel-toed boots! Pain laced through him, but he forced it away, and blinked his surroundings back into focus. Shouts in French surrounded him, and Benedict felt lucky in that regard at least-he knew French. There was a slight lull in the madness around him as he locked eyes with Gerard. There was no sign of recognition in his brother's eyes, and as Ben wasn't attacking him, Gerard turned and started making his way down the street again, throwing anyone out of his path.

The next thought that Benedict had was to get these damn people out of here. Enough blood had been shed already. He glanced about, and spotted what looked like the head constable. Benedict approached the man, knowing how strange he must look. After all, this seemed to be in the mid-1800's roughly, and he was dressed in jeans, a tshirt, a checkered flannel shirt, and dented combat boots, with a sword drawn.

"Ah, excuse me, sir.." Benedict said in French, with a lousy accent, "I know this man you're seeking to capture, and I can take care of it for you."

The constable looked at him quite strangely, and Ben didn't blame him. "British?" Benedict nodded, "I've been chasing this man for a long time. You must trust me, sir, in that nothing you can do will stop him, or even slow him down. I can take care of him…but you need to clear the streets." He made sure to keep his voice calm and even, and used his 'commander's' voice to do so. It was easier to sink into the patterns he knew. The officer or constable wasn't buying it at all, and the two stared at each other for a few long moments. He's heading to the Eiffel Tower, Benedict thought to himself offhandedly, Or at least where it should be in this Shadow.

The constable frowned and finally nodded, blowing his whistle four times. "Thank you," Benedict said, and rushed off after Gerard without a further word to the man. Instead, he shouted for the civilians to get off the streets, and away from this place. Like most people, they had come to stare at the spectacle, and were slow to move. Thank the Unicorn, the constable had his head together, and got his men together to herd them off the streets. With that out of the way, Benedict turned his full attention to his brother.

It took a few long and agonizing moments to catch up with him. "Gerard!" Benedict shouted in Thari. Gerard stopped and looked around, as if trying to discern where the voice was coming from. There was still no look of recognition on his face. There were no other people around at the moment, except for a group of drunks, who looked passed out. Well enough, Ben thought.

He approached Gerard carefully, waiting for an attack. "Gerard? Are you alright?" He changed his voice to one that a person would use to calm an animal. Gerard focused in on him and stared, unblinkingly. After a few seconds, Gerard turned and continued walking down the street. Benedict cursed to himself and considered popping him upside the head. It didn't seem feasible-Gerard was bigger than he remembered from just a few short days ago. He shelved the thought to puzzle out later, and concentrated instead on figuring a way to get them both out of here. Shadow shifting? he thought, No…that'd take too much concentration, and there's no way I'd be able to do that and keep up with him, not at the pace he's setting. Indeed, already Gerard had outpaced him again, even with Benedict hoofing it fast as he dared, lest he make his foot worse off than it already was. I need help.

He racked his mind thinking for someone who would be accesible and able to help him subdue his brother. Several thoughts came to mind, but the one he finally selected was Bleys. Benedict paused in his stride to shuffle out Bleys' card, and concentrated on it. His concentration was broken momentarily as a figure rising in the air before him drew his attention. Gerard had leaped at least seventy or eighty feat in the air. Benedict blinked a couple of times, disbelieving what he just saw. Finally, he focused back on Bleys' card, trying to force the connection quickly, lest he lose Gerard completely while the Trump grew cold.

When the connection became clear, Bleys didn't even have a chance to greet him. "Bleys. Grab your sword." He extended his hand to his surprised sibling, and pulled him through once Bleys gripped it. He nodded down the street, "This way…we need to subdue Gerard without hurting him. His mind's gone."

Bleys didn't hardly lose a second in reacting, and was striding down the street alongside Benedict. "I know. I had problems with him earlier. Flat side only then?"

Benedict barely kept his tongue in check, though he did frown, indicating his disapproval. Of course, Bleys! What did you think I meant to do? Aloud, he said, "Yes. Flat side only." He put away his Trump, and quickened his pace after their brother.

It was moments later, just about when they were to lose sight of him, when Gerard leapt through the air again. Both their heads were drawn up in a freaky kind of awe, as this leap should have cleared at least a hundred feet. Both brothers cursed, and Bleys wiped his arm over his eyes quickly, as if not believing what he just saw. Benedict glanced at him and saw that he was dressed totally inapropriately as well, in jeans, tshirt, boots and a long blue cloak. At least he can draw his cloak closed if it comes down to that, he thought wryly to himself. Not that he thought it would-the streets seemed to be deserted now.

They continued a bit further, having lost track of Gerard completely after that last leap. They both stopped and glanced around. Bleys asked, "Quick summary?"

Ben shook his head, "I don't know. Trumped him, though his mind was in chaos. Got through, and I saw carnage. I managed to convince the police to back off, so as to minimalize casualties, but…" He shook his head again, "He's heading for the Eiffel Tower." They started moving again. Benedict cursed to himself-his foot was killing him, and making it difficult to walk.

Bleys hopped over a bit of rubble, "Should I try to hold him with a Trump?"

Benedict shook his head, "When I Trumped him before…" and here he swerved around a pothole, "…he didn't even seem to notice my presence. If you can perhaps calm his mind down.." He glanced over to Bleys, "You'd have to Trump him yourself to see. I don't have words to describe it." They approached a large hole in the middle of the cobbled streets. It seemed to be Gerard's last impact point, and there wasn't any evidence of him coming out. Both stared at it for a few moments.

Bleys spoke up again, "I've Trumped him before, but could only hold the connect for a few seconds, but if I attacked, it might be able to slow him down." They stood in silence for a second or two before Bleys offered, "I could investigate down here, you up here. I don't think he's going to be very stealthy."

Benedict grunted noncommittally, glancing upwards from the hole. He squinted his eyes against the morning sun, frowning. What in the hell happened to you, Gerard?

"I think he's below-there'd be screams or something from up here, if he was still on top." Benedict sheathed his sword, grimacing. This is going to hurt like a bitch.

"Agreed," Bleys said, looking down. "Age before beauty?" Ben's brother smiled slightly. Benedict grunted again in agreement, and lowered himself to sit on the edge, before dropping down into the darkness. The tunnel was about twenty feet deep, and Ben landed with a jarring thud, after sinking through a couple inches of mud at the very bottom. He gritted his teeth as pain flared in his foot again. He had tried to favor his right as much as he could without breaking the other leg…but it was worthless. His left was a screaming symphony of agony at the moment, and he shuffled out of the way, lest Bleys fall on top of him. At least I didn't cry out, he thought to himself as he watched Bleys land neatly.

They followed Gerard's path, there being just enough light down here to track him by. The footprints in the soft mud were quite evident, and they had no problems with it, even though the large tunnels were twisty and treacherous looking.

About ten minutes passed before Benedict noticed a change in the wind. It smelled wrong down here…smelled like a predator, a wolf maybe. Or something very like it. He choose to keep his mouth shut, lest he alarm Bleys or alert the wolf of his knowledge of it. He already knew something lived down here…the side paths were raked clean, as if from covering tracks. He hoped it didn't come down to a fight; they didn't have the time.

"Trouble," Bleys said quietly. Took him long enough, Benedict thought as he nodded. He'd been working out strategies already, and figured the best way to defend against attackers here, though he was sure this wolf was alone. When he knew it was there, and where it was roughly, a voice rang out, "Be you friend or foe?"

Benedict replied in French, "That depends upon your intent. We're after someone." He saw no sense in lying to whatever it was.

"You are with the Destroyer from above?"

"Depends," Bleys replied, also in French.

"We're trying to restrain him," Benedict clarified.

"Much blood has he shed, today."

Benedict gritted his teeth in frustration. "I know," he muttered through them, a note of urgency coming through his voice.

"Retribution, must be dealt."

Bleys sighed, and Benedict glanced to him, then back to where the voice was coming from. He understood how Bleys felt-they couldn't afford this delay! "Do you have him?" Bleys asked.

"You two are his kin. Though of different breeds." A slip of the shadow moved aside like a cloak, revealing a man/wolf, complete with fangs, a muzzle, and golden eyes, that shone like a beacon. Different breeds? What does he mean by that?

Aloud, he said, "It's not his fault-his mind's not right. We simply want to return him to his home."

"Through our lands he has passed. My children, my followers, has he slain, our fees, he has ignored. Worse than most of those, from above." The man/wolf paused slightly, considering the two brothers. "We do not have him."

Bleys asked, "Well then, may we continue our hunt? "

"He is moving through the pathways, moving for something. " The man/wolf paused then, and said in a steely voice, "Our losses…they must be addressed."

"Perhaps," Bleys said, looking impatient, "But not is hardly the time. The trail grows cold."

Benedict frowned. He had a feeling of what the man/wolf wanted-reassurance that Gerard's debt would be paid no matter what. He spoke up, "Whatever you're retributions are, I'll make them in his stead, long as we're allowed to continue our journey and bring him home."

"Bring me his ear, and your path shall be unhindered."

Benedict shook his head, "No. I won't hurt my brother. As I said, I'll make your reparations myself, but after we've found him. You've my word on this." He really didn't think his word would be doubted…he always kept his promises.

"Blood must be paid in blood. His or yours, we shall collect." With those omnious words, the wolf/man's cloak moved around him again, and he was lost from sight. Benedict's ears strained-he could hear him moved-and deduced it was not in the direction they were heading. A good sign. He nodded to Bleys, who spit upon the ground, mostly likely in disgust. They moved forward, Benedict looking and feeling particulary grim.

They contineud onward, seeing evidence of Gerard as they went along. After a time travelling, they came upon a brick wall, with a humanoid shape in it, roughly Gerard-sized. He had just walked through the wall, as if it wasn't even there. Benedict took a moment to shudder, then passed through the hole, fitting easily within it's confines. He noted bits of blood and skin on the rough edges of the stonework, and shuddered again. Bleys followed, muttering, "Poor bastard."

They walked in silence for another four miles or so, hearing soft growls from behind them from time to time. They were being followed, yes, but it seems that this enemy was scared of them. More likely scared of Gerard, but it was still reassuring to know that they stayed way behind the two brothers.

Soon enough, the stone walls turned to marble, and they entered into a vast tunnel. Soon after that, the floors and walls seemed made of a metal, and a soft glow began to encompass them. Squinting a touch against it, Benedict and Bleys entered into a huge hall made of gold and silver. Any other time, Benedict would have stopped to admire the view, but as it was, he merely searched for Gerard's trail, as there were multiple ways to leave this magnificient looking place.

Bleys cast his gaze around, "I don't like this."

Benedict nodded, "Nor do I." The last evidence of Gerard's passing was a broken brass machine, laying crumpled on the floor. It kept muttering in French, "Halt. Halt. Halt. Halt. Halt." He sighed and took a breath, "Have we a choice, though?"

Bleys inclined his head, "Not really, no." Benedict merely started forward again, determined to chase their other brother down. As he stepped more fully into the room, Benedict felt a peculiar sensation…like this was a bit of Amber in Shadow. It seemed Real, or at least Realer than any other place in Shadow he'd been to. It didn't seem to affect Bleys that much, though he did pause and consider his surroundings a bit more closely.

For the next mile or so, the path was completely clear. If that mangled machine hadn't of been there, Benedict would have absolutely no other clues to follow. There were trivial devices, designed to hold lesser men back from whatever was at the end of this tunnel..but not Amberites. Bleys and he avoided them easily, and as they encroached upon the end of the tunnel, sounds of battle beckoned them. The end of the tunnel was sheathed in a bright light, making Benedict wish he hadn't left his Ray-Bans in Amber. Who'd know that he'd need sunglasses to hunt down Gerard?

The gateway, at the very edge of the light, was decorated with the body of two demonic beings….raksasha's…though these dead bodies had energy within them. One had it's spine sticking out of it's back, and the other looked…well, it looked drawn and quartered almost. It was a revolting sight. Not the most revolting he'd ever seen, but bad enough. The entrance led into a huge room, taller and wider than the one before this. In the middle was a chasm that seemed to go downwards into a foggy blacked, and stretched even under the walls. It was a nifty optical illusion, but the largeness of it was hard for Ben to really understand. He got the feeling his mind allowed that much, and that much only…but not that he cared. His attention was riveted upon the several foot wide bridge that spanned the middle. Upon it was Gerard, his feet coated in some sort of living gelatin, intent upon devoring him. Gerard was battling another demonic looking creature, it's features coated in a slick red, talons and teeth gnashing at his brother. He practically leapt forward, sword sliding easily out of it's sheath. Dimly, he recognized that there was some sort of altar on the other side, with a golden Unicorn embossed on it. That must be what Gerard was trying to get to.

To his left, he heard Bleys mutter quietly, "I'll handle the Balrog." He rolled his eyes, thinking ungraciously, Jeez. Thanks Bleys. However, it made sense…in a weird sort of way. Bleys must have thought he'd have something to do against the slime, even though hardly an idea came to mind.

As they both started forward, two beings rose out of the chasm to intercept them. The first had pale skin, and was dressed in black armor, with gnashing teeth upon it. It had a topknot, silver in color, upon it's otherwise bald head. The second…the second made Benedict recoil, his lip curling up in distaste.

It was himself. But not as he was here and now…young and healthy. It looked dead, or rather he looked dead, and was dressed in armor the color of blood, the same gnashing teeth set upon it. Bleys uttered some nonsense as Ben was gaping at himself. It was a shock, to say the least. He'd only run into one Shadow of himself. This was, needless to say, worse. He reached down and withdrew his boot dagger, to parry with. This was going to be a gruesome fight.

Bleys and the other threw some energies at each other, each canceling their powers. Benedict cautiously approached his double, sizing him up…and finding no apparent weakness. That scared him, even as his mind started working overtime, constructing strategies to throw against him.

His double opened it's mouth and rasped in a voice eerily like his own, "Greetings, brother."

"No brother of mine," Benedict said, deadpan. He wasn't giving any indication of the disgust he felt, lest he give it an advantage.

He…it…nodded, as a pair of black blades shot out from it's…his…wrists, hands catching them. They were standard hand and half blades, each in one hand. It looked somewhat awkward, but Ben had used hand and a half blades himself at one time. However, his sword was not that long…it was only a longsword. Chalk up another disadvantage-the thing had better reach than he did.

Benedict approached, circling his opponent. It was hard to size him up…it was like fighting himself, and at a huge disadvantage at that. What would I do? Let him make the first move…great… he thought, as he glanced over at Gerard, the slime being halfway up his waist by now, I don't have time for this! Benedict instead moved to engage, sending out testing blows, to judge reaction time. It was quick, damn quick, but he thought he was faster. Chalk one up for Ben. It was definitely as strong as he was though, a bad sign.

At this point, Benedict saw a bright flash out of the corner of his eye. Bleys and the other being had vanished. Dammit! Ben swore mentally. It was up to him to save Gerard now.

The fight began in earnest, Benedict using his dagger to parry the other's blows. It was hard and fast, and got Ben's heart racing. He hadn't had a challenge like this in years! In a few short moments, he started enjoying himself, puzzling out the other's style, so like his own. It was just a touch different though, and that led to another advantage. Soon, Benedict started seeking out an opening, trying to lead his opponent to leave himself open.

The ploy soon paid off, and an opening was left on his double's right side. Seizing the chance, Benedict feinted, and struck home, feeling his blade bite deep. Even as he sunk his sword into the dead and rotting flesh, he realized his error…he left his swordarm open to it's armor, and it's gnashing teeth drew a chunk of flesh out of his arm. There was a wet ripping sound as Ben forced his arm away and danced back out of range. The wound in his arm burned like a bitch, but didn't bleed that much. The mouths must secrete some sort of acid, which cauterized it instantly. He switched arms, using his right to parry now.

"I do believe you've hurt my feelings there, brother," the thing rasped as the armor began repairing itself. The flesh on the inside didn't seem to be, but it was hard to tell.

"I seem to have hurt something else of yours as well," Benedict pointed out wryly.

"Oh, it was a worthy sacrifice. Watch this." Benedict frowned, then scowled at the armor wasn't being repaired…it was being replaced, by his own flesh that was ripped from him. Benedict felt like retching watching it.

They engaged again, Benedict trying for a head shot this time, looking for a clean decapitation. There was no clean shot; it was all a trap to sucker him in further. So, Benedict feinted at the head, switching to lop off his twin's hand. The double rolled out of the way, repositioning itself at the entrance to the bridge.

"Very good. Though I don't think it matters much anymore." Benedict glanced behind his twin, and saw that the Balrog was gone, but Gerard was nearly encased by the goo. He swore under his breath again, looking back at the double and determined to get past him.

It spoke again, "Well, it appears my job here is done for today. You taste quite lovely, brother. Another time." Benedict growled, intent upon demolishing this thing, but the thing jumped back into the chasm. So, he turned and followed after Gerard instead, trying to catch up to his brother. The goo covering him started to glow, then exploded off of the Gerard. Ben flinched automatically, covering his head with his wounded arm.

When he looked up again, Gerard was then glowing, a lovely golden color. The bridge was practically melting under Gerard's feet. Benedict scrambled to follow, avoiding the places where Gerard stepped, and calling out his brother's name.

To his surprise, Gerard stopped and turned about. Recognition glimmered in his eyes, "Benedict? You're alive?"

Benedict nearly babbled in his relief, thinking, He's ok! He wasn't before, but he is now! Aloud, the words rolled over each other, "Gerard, yes, I'm alive. Come back to Amber with me." He still approached, but slowed his pace to walking now.

"Good. I'm so glad. I wasn't too late then. There is still time." Benedict's heart wrenched as he heard that, and his hopes shattered when the look of familiarity slid off of Gerard's face, being replaced with rage.

"Gerard! Stop!" he screamed, but it was too late. His brother had reached the altar and took a sculpture upon it. It was in the shape of a dragon, and the ground began to shake beneath his feet. No…that wasn't right…it was the altar, and it was making the ground shake. The air buzzed with energy, and the glow around Gerard intensified, so that it hurt to look directly at him.

Benedict pushed forward as energy started to come from…everywhere, arcing to hit the dragon. Benedict fumbled with his sword, swinging it up to knock the sculpture out of Gerard's hand, and was promply shot backwards, hitting the ground in an undignified heap. A flurry of feelings went through him, and he tried to sort it out as he sat up. He felt…something touch him, the essence of him, and reject him. However, his blade was another story. A gift from Father, and it was in essence…just steel now. It's power was gone, taken somehow.

Another bright flash filled the room as Benedict stood. After the flash was gone, the ground stopped shaking, and the silence was thundering. He blinked, but Gerard was gone, statue and all. The room looked…and felt…empty, and in more ways than one. He drew out his Trump of Gerard and concentrated, getting nothing in return. He swore, then turned around, heading for the Paris sewers once again, seeing nothing, and hearing nothing but his own accusing thoughts. My fault! Nothing but mine! Ye gods, Gerard, what have I done? I wasn't fast enough…I should have been. His trip was filled with nothing but self accusations and loathing, as well as his grief for a brother lost, possibly dead.

As he hit the sewers, the silence hit him. There were people here, the wolf people. But he didn't hear them now. After a bit of searching, he found the leader, his once magicked cloak the same as Benedict's sword. The wolf/man was lying there, as if sleeping. Ben tried to shake him awake, but to no avail. He seemed…dead yet living. In a coma. Benedict only had the slightest idea of what happened, and thought that there was nothing he could do for him.

Benedict almost went past, then stopped. I still owe a debt… He glanced down at the wolf/man, and sighed. He then stooped to pick the unconscious wolfling up, intent upon taking him back to Amber. Maybe the Hundred will know something.

He glanced about, taking in his situation, before Trumping back to Amber. Ben turned his gaze upwards, to the sky, and judged the time that had passed. All that traveling, and barely minutes-if that!-had gone by. He flagged down a soldier and gave instructions for one of the Hundred to come at his request to a guest room which he specified. The guard nodded and scurried off. He went to the guest room and laid the wolf/man down on the bed. He searched the "guest" over for wounds and found none, so he set about to cleaning and binding his own. The arm was a pain, and hurt like a bitch, but it was fairly easy to wrap, even with his left. It was a good thing he was ambidextrous. His foot, on the other hand, he had to pry out of his boot as the metal toe was bent downwards, trapping the foot inside. It was excruciating, but it had to be done.

After those tasks were over, he settled himself down in the chair, intent on taking a quick nap. There wasn't much more he could do for himself, or for the man/wolf. However, it was not to be. As soon as he closed his eyes, there was a knock upon the door.

"Enter," he called out, rising to his feet.

A large minotaur, dressed in hard leather armor, entered, bowing his head so that his horns would clear the door. "Your guardsman requested an audience with the Hundred, Captain Benedict?"

Benedict nodded, "There's some questions I have. I need your expertise." He gestured towards the bed, then walked over to stand beside it. The minotaur followed, and studied the creature there. Ben found himself telling the whole troublesome tale, taking great care to put every detail he could remember in the telling. One could never tell what a magician found useful to know.

After he had finished, the representative of the Hundred asked to see his blade. Benedict drew it, and handed it over. The mage held it carefully in his hands, "Fine work. Did you build it yourself?"

Benedict shook his head, "It was a gift."

"Dworkin or another?"

"Father, though I'm sure it came from Dworkin originally." Ben closed his eyes briefly, remembering that day…it was the day after he awoke from nearly dying on the Pattern. Father had been anxious the entire time he was unconscious, so the servants told him, and had the gift crafted especially for him. Perhaps it was inappropriate, considering Ben's elder brothers and their gifts for war, but…oh, he loved it so! It was one of the first times he could clearly remember Father paying attention to him and only him, and the blade itself was a happy momento of that feeling.

"The power within came from Dworkin, but I do believe Oberon forged this himself. He has not done that in years." Benedict blinked, and frowned a touch. He hadn't known that, and the thought made him uncomfortable. What if we never see him again? The thought dismayed him.

The minotaur caught onto his mood, "My apologies Captain. I know this is a trying time for you all. The blade has been drained of most of it's primal energy. Normally to recharge it, there would be much involved. However, the Pattern, in it's current wild state, will most likely serve as a sufficient battery."

Benedict nodded, "And what of the wolfman?"

"I doubt he'd survive such an encounter with the Pattern."

Ben frowned slightly, "What can be done for him?"

"Sorry, my mind wandered about the possibilities. Hmm. I am a battle mage, and the arts of smithing such weapons of metal and magick are known to me. The proper treatment for the living however, in the arts of healing when the soul have been taken, that I do not know."

His soul?? Benedict thought to himself, growing more nervous. "If there's anything the Hundred can do, I would appreciate it." He fell silent, then added, "From what I saw, the rest of his people were like this as well." Benedict ground his teeth as quietly as he could, And it's all my fault too. If I had just been fast enough…if I would have caught Gerard, or been able to defeat that demon in time…

His thoughts were broken by the mage's next question, "Just sentients or everything?"

"Everything," he said without hesistation, then added, "I didn't check aboveground, but it was reasonable to assume it was the same."

"I would hazard then that Gerard is a few levels more powerful than he was a few hours ago."

Tell me something I don't know, Benedict griped silently. Aloud, he said by way of explanation, "Time moves faster there."

"Ah. Either way, you understand my meaning, correct?"

Benedict simply nodded-it would be thrice as hard to catch Gerard now, if not more. If I had just been able to earlier!

The mage went on to explain the situation more fully, "It appears he has drained a Shadow of it's power. Something will be needed to stabilize it, so that it doesn't collapse on itself. The Hundred shall deal with that, though you shall be needed to guide us to it." The mage paused, adding as an afterthought, "As for your wolf here, I doubt he'll recover. A new soul in his body we can place, but the being you knew is no longer within."

Damn! Benedict swore to himself, while trying to restrain himself from pacing. He grunted, not happy with this situation, "When you're ready, I'll show you the way."

"It will take time, to ready something. A day, maybe three, though…if time moves that much faster, it may already be too late."

Benedict took the bad news as stoically as he could. He glanced down to the man/wolf, "Do what you can for him then, as well. New soul or not." He grunted again, running a hand through his hair absently. A debt is a debt is a debt. It must be paid somehow.

"I shall take him then?"

Ben nodded, "If you will. Please."

The minotaur hefted the unconscious man/wolf up, staring at the wolf's cloak as he did so. "This is an interesting item. Amberian, for certain."

That's interesting.. Benedict thought. He frowned a touch, "Can you recognize who made it by the handiwork?"

"Before my time. Not any of the Hundred I recognize, though none of us have met all of us, or so it seems at times."

"Hmm. If you could find out who made it, it'd be appreciated." He paused for a moment, then added quietly, "Thank you."

"Your will be done, Captain." The minotaur paused, and looked down at Ben. "Stryzax."

Benedict blinked, and the mage hastened to add, "My name. Stryzax."

Feeling rather dense, Benedict amended, "Thank you, Stryzax."

"Good day, Captain."

"To you as well."

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page