Camille Larenya noticed none of this. It had been a month - only a month - since her husband had fallen to a Wraith, yet still she grieved. For over a thousand years, she had served Lothlomendil, the Goddess of Life. Now the life that had made her whole, the life that had made her more than just a woman, was gone. Snuffed out by a Wraith.

She had determined thus far that it was the work of a Mage who had released the Wraith, possibly with the aid of some vastly powerful, and probably very evil, gem. That same Mage had sent Avians to kill her. Avians...a name she had learned only yesterday. Only the power of Light and Holiness could harm them.

And so she wept, if silently, in a corner of the cathedral. And she prayed, if in hushed whispers, to Lothlomendil.

"Please, Goddess. I beg of you, give me your strength. I cannot do this alone. So long, my husband and I were wed. So long...and now he is taken from me. Should he not have helped Argyle Damascus? The man crawled from Hell to be where he was when we found him and sent him on his way. Should we not have helped him? Should I not have healed him? Is this my pennance, and my husband's? Please, Lothlomendil, I beg of you. Help me to get through this. I need you, now more than ever. Please - give me the strength to go on..."

One thing was for certain. She would not die without first destroying the Mage Talek Finton. He had an Apprentice - Jaxon something-or-other. Creed, maybe. Yes, that was it. Creed. Jaxon Creed. She would have to go through him to get to Talek. That much was certain. She would have his head. The tears running down the pale flesh of her beautiful face as she sat there hugging herself on the bench were not only of grief, you see - but of anger, as well, and of hatred. She would see Talek Finton dead, and she would make him suffer.

Terebenior felt himself tense up as he approached the cathedral, for posted at each side of the door were holy warriors, raimed in white, and girtled in burnished armour of plates, and long skirts of chain mail. He felt their vigilant eyes fall on him, and saw their hands shift on their spears.

Terebenior had reason to feel apprehension, for it could only be imagined what name should be given to his queer make-up. For his heavy-set hooves, fringed with shaggy fetlocks of gray hair, were attached to vastly muscular horse-like legs. He wore only a kilt, liquorice green, belted with thongs of woven leather. At his hip hung a great fan of copper-blue feathers, each carefully notched. Above the waist, his torso, arms and head were that of a man, though in place of skin he was kept warm by the tiniest ash-gray feathers imaginable. Behind his unusually deep chest and shoulders were pinioned great wings, eagle wings. Within the temple was what was drawing him, far from his home. He had travelled an entire month, by wing and hoof. He was driven with more urgency by the day.

He was incapable of controlling it, but his crest feathers stood up as he approached the door-wardens of the cathedral, just waiting for them to bar the way with their glinting pole-arms. Their captain stood in Terebeniors' way for just a moment, long enough to look into his eyes, and hold his gaze. Terebenior was afraid the captain would perceive the strange force that drew him, but after a long while he stepped aside, and Terebenior entered the cathedral in a state of awe.

The first thing that occurred to him was the tumult of emotions in the place. Not just reverence. But anger, even rage. He felt what was calling him. He turned his head in the direction he felt it pouring away from, able to turn it, owl-like, almost facing backwards. He felt the pressure of a prayer, like the memory of a wind, but which has no shape to blow. That is how it is with prayers, only the gods have the power to give prayers a shape.

Terebenior perceived a shadow upon the woman, it reminded him of the black-breath of a wraith. Like a thread leading away from her. So it was with the wraiths, so it was that many soon became their puppets. Terebenior without realising it, had walked to stand before her. Deep inside his chest his flight-heart had fired into life, so that his body was strained to bursting point with the blood that enabled him to fly. His chest redoubled in size, as the dormant flight muscles were suddenly engorged, and his neck and shoulders burgeoned. His wings, of their own volition, beat a great stoke.

"Lady. I have come to be of help if I can."

Lost in her grief for her late husband, she knew nothing of the patrons around her. Camille was completely oblivious. Finally, however, she began to gather herself up. This was no way for an adult to behave. A child, perhaps, but certainly not an adult. And yet, she had every right to grieve. Her husband of over a thousand years was now dead, if gone a month. A month was too short a time to grieve. But she began to compose herself. If not an adult, then this was no way for a lady to behave. She began to notice things around her as she composed herself, including a voice coming from behind her. It took her a moment to realize that the voice was directed at her. As she stood and turned, she saw a Hippogryph. They really were quite amazing creatures, though she had not seen one in a very long time. Perhaps they, like the Dragon Lords and their Elven brethren, the Draconic Quendi, were dying out. Her own parents had been Draconic Quendi, as had those of her husband. She had been born a combination of powers, and was thus as powerful in Draconic form as the Dragon Lords themselves, yet as beautiful, as alluring, graceful, and as immortal as the Elves themselves in her human form. She addressed the Hippogryph with a small, friendly smile and a kind look in her knowing silver eyes.

"Thank you, kind Hippogryph, but my pain is something that cannot be remedied. My pain lies within, and is deeper than most can imagine. But I do thank, and very much so, for your great compassion."

Camille paused for a moment, pondering, and then turned her attention back to the Hippogryph with a smile.

Actually...I could use some company. Would you like to have lunch?"

It was romance she was after, of course. She just wanted the company. Hopefully, he would distract her for a short time.

Terebeniors' grave concerns for the lady eased, as he perceived that she composed herself with an iron will. The thread that linked her to the wraith was perhaps not dispelled, but it could hold no sway over her while she had a will like that.
Her demeanour was something almost royal, the way she was inclined to turn her back as she thought, or to hold a long silence without saying something like "umm..." which anyone else would do. Despite her terrible beauty, there was assuredly something more terrible, yet to be revealed, within. It was betrayed ever so slightly in her eyes. Deep as ages. Filled with confidence that had nothing to do with arrogance.
He looked closely at her, stooping into a half-bow. "Honoured lady." He intoned. This was more than an elf. This was something far older, perhaps as old as Terebenior himself. But while he was a thing of the ancient wilds; of moon-light revelry, and drinking and shouting; of terrible feud, and selfless service; she appeared more a being of unfathomable patience, and deep skill. "I will play my fan-of-feathers, the Waiathir, for you."

[lead the way to lunch Camille, I cant imagine where you're taking me]

Camille smiled at the Hippogryph. He was pure of heart, compassionate, kind and gentle. He was more an artist, perhaps a poet or a lyricist, than anything else. She could sense this from him, and the deep sense of nature and the deep connection to nature that ran like a strong river, a powerful force through him, body and soul. He could be a friend of undying loyalty and devotion if he so desired, and Camile did not doubt that he was as committed to his friends and allies as she had been - and still was, in many ways - to her now-dead husband. Her troubles could wait. Right now, she just wanted to have a little peace before she set out on her deadly quest for vengeance. She knew this should not be the way, but the man that she sought was pure evil from all that she had heard told of him. This, perhaps, did not justify it - but the lives that she might prevent suffering the same fate as her husband and the sorrow that she now felt at his loss would make it more than worth it. But for now, the day - though she might not enjoy it so much - was beautiful, the weather cool and sunny.

"There are fruit trees in the courtyard outside this place. Why don't we go out there and feast? Hm? I hear the pears are particularly juicy this season. But first, please stand. I am no queen to be served, no goddess to be worshipped."

Her smile then was one of laughter, but not unfriendly laughter. Yes, it was amusing the way he displayed himself, but she was not an unkind one. Daughter of two Draconic Quendi, she had been raised to be kind to all and cruel to none. That was why it was so difficult for her, even now, to hate someone - and yet it came so easily. But she would try to forget about that for now, if only for just a little bit.

((It's here.))

Xiaou entered the Grand Cathedral, seeing many praying to the God of life, praying that they could have their family members back. A feeling of happiness
overcame Xiaou, as this was where she was born into this world, her family exiled
from the heavens. Yet, a feeling of depression also overcame her, saddened by
the men and women who have lost their spouse, or perhaps another members of
the family. Folding up her wings, Xiaou went over to what seemed like an Ent,
yes it was an Ent. Tugging him on one of his roots so gently, just catching his attention.

"Hello mr ent" Xiaou said in such a tranquil tone of voice, her mind
now cleared of all things evil. The ent slowly turned its head around, looking down upon Xiaou. "Hello" it said in a cheerful voice and lifted Xiaou up onto its shoulders.