The sign of a roving boar could be seen in the deep loam of the woods, and the scent of recent rain was still in the air. Curin moved easily through the woods as one who has spent long years in the wild.

In his mind he witnessed the flashback memory of his sudden dismissal from the Army of Light; for which he still had no real explanation. He lived his life in a quiet way, building all his deeds up to a single end: his commanding officer had sent him away with extra gold, and good wishes, and a serious expression,: "You, Curin, beloved of Lothlomendil, dare not delve into the depth of yourself, to find within what you are made of. Farmers' son or not, you are who you make yourself. You decide the measure of yourself. And, before we allow you to ascend amongst us a step further, or to even remain a day longer amongst us, we must see certain proofs of your genuine motivations: after all there are those that will seek to take advantage of your full potential against your will, to bring ruin to us all. For that reason, you can not stay here. not until you have seized your fate yourself. Until that day, you are relieved of active duty. We hope you return quickly."

Curins extended exile was completely self inflicted, but then, he had no idea what could possibly prove his allegiance to the lady of life. He was as one swept up by a flood, and felt no semblance of control over his life. All he wanted, was to be a soldier, and to carry out his orders.

Instead he was constantly alone. With no advice but his own.

And in the darkening days he had no idea who was friend or foe.

The setting sun cast deep-slanting shadows into the woods. Nightfall would come swiftly, Curin put his mind to the need of fire, but he had sensed the presence of someone else nearby, not necessarily an evil presence. But not either an obviously good one. He couldn't be sure. He stooped to the earth, and pressed his ear against it, in the hope of catching the rumor of footsteps, for what it was worth.

He didn't realize how close they had come, for indeed they were in sight of him. Perhaps they could already see him.

Pit stood still some ten or fifteen meters away. His bow was strung, and there was an arrow drawn, ready to be fired. Though this person did not at all look like, evil, one could never tell. Pit stood unmoving, looking at his target which was a moderate distance away from him. The arrow which was in his finger tips was feathered lightly, and would surely hit it's target. However, there was always the possibility of miss, and if there was one then Pit would be ready to fire off another arrow should he need to. Then again, he wasn't even sure should he have to attack yet. This person may very well be good.

His wings fluttered slightly and subconsciously, him having no real control over them. He made sure to get the other's attention. "What is your alignment," he asked. Though it sounded more like a command than a question, Pit's young and immature voice was hard as a stone.

He wondered how he had gotten to be here in the first place. One moment Pit was walking through the woods in his desperation to get to the secret Haven of the Angels, and the next his bow was strung and he was ready for battle. Perhaps he was just too eager to fight, as there was no reason to handle the situation like he was. But Pit was a young angel, and immature to everything. He only knew that he was supposed to vanquish the forces of evil.

What better way to find if one is evil than to ask? Pit looked on at his foe-- or possible ally. He looked rather smart and cunning, and Pit thought him to be sharp minded. All the better to stay quick on his feet.

A very slight gust of wind blew by him, tossing his hair and his white gown. It was strange really, being able to feel things now. Before, he had never had to experience pain or real emotions of any kind. Now however, he was feeling all sorts of things, and it was very awkward and strange for him. He didn't know if he liked it. Getting back to the task at hand, he concentrated on the person before him, ready to release the arrow should he have to.

Twilight, the time of half-darkness. It always felt better seeing the sun set as it's light filtered through the trees. Knowing that somewhere the darkness was growing stronger or leaving their hole to wreak their havoc, it was all so relaxing. Even the woods began to take on a more sinister air in the darkness even in this half-light, the birds fell silent as he passed as if they could sense his aura. Perhaps they could even see the swirling dark energy shifting around Sam.

Looking around in the clearing he threw his tired feet down, and rested his aching back against a proud oak tree. He lifted a particularly heavy and deep pocket from his black robes and went through his latest loot. hmmm... femur, carpels, vertebra, skull, ribs, all precious loot and soon I will start my fun Sam thought to himself. He proceeded to get out his bone knife and began to carve, starting with one of the femurs.

Sound drifted through the trees, each tree absorbing it as it went, yet there was still enough to disceren, "...is your alignment...!?" Finished with one particularly sharp bone he tested it on the makeshift throwing knife on a tree nearest to the sound. A deep thump responded and he got up to retrieve the manufactured bone knife.

When he retireved the object he looked around the tree to find a person being confronted by an Archangel with a bow. Fear gripped his throat and he froze in place willing the angel to not turn around.

Curin got slowly to his feet, holding his hands, palms to the sky, in front of him. A young archangel, perhaps only recently incarnated, had confronted him with bow drawn, ready to kill. Its wings fluttered of their own volition, showing the archangels agitation and confusion.

"Nay Master. I am not evil. If I have no alignment, it is because I have been cast out for a time."

Knowing the Angel would not attack him, if he had known the sacred palms-up salute of the Angelic Hoardes, Curin returned his attention to the thought of fire. He flinched, hearing a queer thud nearby. He looked about. That was a throwing knife! There could be no mistake.

Curin saw the necromancer behind the angel, whose face had gone as white as a sheet, at the sight of the juvenile-archangel. The necromancers expression was begging fate that the Angel would not turn around.

Curin tried to give the necromancer an imperceptible nod. Then he turned and tried to draw away the attention of the angel. "The sun sets swiftly Master Angel. I am about to kindle a fire, I am meeting someone here. A necromancer to tell the truth." He tried to catch the necromancers' eyes.

"Under a truce, you understand? ForI need a moments help and advice, if from out of the dark. Will you join me? I have trapped a hare, and a few quails for roasting."

The Archangel stood unmoving, his bow up. Then the other did the palms up salute, making Pit sure that there was no threat. Still, anyone could do the salute and it didn't make them good nor evil. He brought down his bow so it was pointed to the ground. However, he kept his arrow in the string, ready to fire in a second should he have the need.

Pit was still unsure. Though he believed him for the most part, he could still heavily detect the presence of evil. It was thicker than before and was now very strong. Pit nodded now, understand that if there was a necromancer, a large amount of evil would be radiated off of it.

The things was though, Pit was ordered to destroy anything evil. There was only good and evil in Pit's eyes, and there was no altering that. There could never be a 'reformed' necromancer or a 'neutral' being. There was goo. There was evil. Light and Dark. Two perfect contrasts, where Pit was a warrior for the light. Pit would just have to wait for the necromancer to appear.

"What name shall I address thee by," he said, now calming down much more and being able to take a few steps towards him. Though Pit never did make friends, he did not see any trouble with making a temporary ally. Pit did sense evil, yes, but not from this one. Not so much anyway.

"I am Curin son of Thelion." He stooped, and put flint to the tinder, and in a few practised movements he had kindled a bright flame amongst the tinder. That done he began dressing down the hare, peeling away the skin with little movements of his finest boning knife. The quails were trickier, carefully de-boning them of all but their tiny drumsticks. "Master Angel. Will you respect the truce of this fire? I know your kindred are bound by strong oaths. But this is my fire, and my camp. I do not want the necromancer I hope to meet coming to any harm on account of me."

Already deepening shadow had stretched between the trees into a darkness covering all but the area of the little fire. A fine roasting smell was already beginning to come away from the camp. Curins breath began to show in the air, as what little warmth that the sun had provided was altogether lost.

He marvelled at the Angel. They were surely the most incredible beings imaginable. So filled with life. This one seemed very young indeed, and jumpier than most. But then, Curin acknowledged, Angels could sense things better than mortals. Perhaps he knew something that Curin didn't.

It had been quite a long time since Silva had seen so much prey in one spot. A Celestial, a Necromancer, and a Woodsman by his appearance. A meaningless catch in most eyes, but at the moment, Silva would take anything. He hadn't seen real combat in quite a long time, and was tired of slaying these petty wolves and bears for sport. It was high time Silva's blade tasted human blood. Smirking, Silva pushed his cloak up, unsheathing his sword from his waist. For something that killed almost daily, the blade was expertly cleaned and gave a soft shink sound as it was drawn from it's scabbard.

Sitting upon a sturdy branch a ways away from the camp that the two were settled in, and the Necromancer was making his way towards, Silva studied the group. The woodsman had some experience with handling both food and fire, for his skinned his prey with agile precision, and his camp was refined, despite only being just made. The angel seemed to be natural attuned to his surroundings, as well as his bow, but was young and confused, which would give Silva the edge. The Necromancer, in short, was a coward, growing stiff and frightened at the mere sight of a child with wings. Angels could be killed just like Humans, and Silva would prove that tonight.

Brandishing his sword at his side, and letting his tattered black cloak cover the rest of him, Silva seemed to blend in with the forbidding darkness of the forest. He'd wait this one out for a while, just to make sure everyone was comfortable. And then, when the timing was perfect, he'd strike, slaying them all in quick strokes of his sword. He wouldn't even give them a chance to react. That's just the type of person Silva was. He ended fights fast and struck to kill. He showed no mercy in battle and had no intention of ever doing so in the future. A murderer at heart, and a worshiper of the darkness, Silva would soon make a name for himself in the land of Arda.

Once more in trouble, indeed, there seemed to be always a problem when Sam meddled with his element. No harm done, at least there was no chaotics within this encounter. There was a sharp metal sound above him, a sword, the other two preoccupied with each other probably had not even heard the sound even his agile ears, from years of loneliness had honed, hardly picked up. There was a third person to contend with, again he did not care death was his element, death and his soon to be reincarnation as a lich.

It was all to soon yet, and he barely even had a defense. Ah well, nothing to do but pray to the lord Raku that this third person does not feast on the souls of the dark.

"Ah there you are Curin, I have been looking for you." Sam said out loud and stepped forward, keeping his distance from that creature of light, he stepped out and stood next to the woodsman. He shifted his irisless eyes to the angel and back, knowing full well that those arrow, arrows of light, could kill one as himself in a matter of seconds, the light would infect him like a plague.

((Sorry about the unreasonably long wait guys. I totally didn't know it was my turn! My bad!))

Pit's ears perked up. Movement. He quickly turned around to see someone step out from low ground. Obviously the Necromancer. The Archangel watched with sharp eyes as the Necromancer made his way past him and went over to the campfire. He greeted the woodsman in a friendly manner, and even by name. But if the necromancer had been spying upon them the entire time, then he would have easily learned it when Curin had introduced himself. Pit then looked to Curin, who seemed like a genuine man of honor and courtesy. This was his campfire, and should Pit wish to join them, he would have to agree not to fight. This was hard to do for Pit, a Necromancer being so close. However, Pit decided that perhaps this could be for the best.

"Very well," he told them, putting down his bow completely and returning an arrow back to it's quiver. "You have my word as a Celestial, that I shall not harm you, nor the Necromancer."

And Angels never went back on their word.

The boy with wings slowly approached them, getting closer. It seemed that there was a log quite near the fire. Slowly he sat down, making himself as comfortable as he could on such a log. Pit's wings stayed motionless at his back, only moving slight so as not to get squashed as he sat. Pit made sure that he was directly across from the Necromancer so that he could see him at all times.

"Thine name is Pit," he introduced himself. "It is my mission to destroy and be rid of all things evil." He couldn't help but give the Necromancer a hard look.

Curin winced at the Archangels' words, and passed an apologetic glance at the Necromancer. "I thank you brother Pit." He diligently turned the quails over the fire, tending them with a dagger in each hand. He sliced off the crisped edges, and passed them to each of those about the fire, turning his head.

"Any of you hear something?" He wondered aloud, and nodded to the Angel to pick up his bow. "Or rather, anyone noticed there's not enough noise?"

He stared into the woods. Only trees and shadows, but he had the queer feeling of eyes boring into his back. "I would usually encourage you to relax, but there is something out there. A threat under shadow. Keep wary."

He looked at the Necromancer, it seemed to Curin that he was blurry at the edges. The eyes seemed to want to fall off him. He tended to the hare, while the others looked out warily into the gloom. He deftly turned the meat away from the skin, and stuffed newly foraged herbs against it, wrapping the entire bundle in vine-leaves he'd found in passing, and put the bundle at the edge of the embers.

"Brother Necromancer. What would you ask of me to cast my future? Do you think I will ever make it back to Neiruthaun, my home? Will I ever be taken back into the army? No, don't answer. Maybe I shouldn't ask, not at night at any rate." He turned the hare, knowing that inside the bundle it was being rapidly steamed, and would be ready quite soon. "Maybe I should ask you if you can see in the dark. I can feel something, feel its' eyes on me like a cold draught, but I can't for the life of me see it."

((Crap! Sorry, didn't know it was my post. And Curin, Pit, this topic'll be after each of our individual ones, so that is why Silva's behavior has changed. Just a heads up))

Silva's eyes never left the fire, constantly watching it's orange being flicker and dance amongst the black of it's surroundings. Even from this distance, Silva could capture the full warmth of the camp and the smell of roasted meat drifted to his nose. It was at this time that Silva noticed the emptiness of his stomach. No, that was a physical distraction. He needed to be focused for this. Swift, silent, and ready. That's how an assassin dealt with his prey.

With a burst of realization, Silva recognized two of the three men sitting at the fire. The light of the flame helped bring their features out, giving Silva a better impression of them. He had fought the Angel before. It had went by the name of Pit, and had been quite a poor opponent. However, he has spirit and willpower unlike anything he had ever seen, and endangered his life countless times just to get a stab at Silva.

The other was the woodsman from the Neiruthaun clan, aces of axes. They had brawled as well, and his skill had been much stronger than Pit's. Yes, this man, Curin, was the one who changed it all. It was back when Silva was still an arrogant man with a sword, who'd burst in front of his opponents and lash off at the tongue, taunting and boasting. If it had not been for the sour defeat that Curin had handed to him, Silva would still be the same simpleton.

Yes, skill and power is important, but it should never control you and cloud your better senses. That's what it had done to Silva, and with the fog of pride and arrogance cleared, Silva was back to being known as Silva The Swift. Not because of his invisible speed, but because of how fast he ended fights. No longer did he draw things out. No, he always went for the kill with each and ever stroke. Words were useless in battle, Silva realized, and never left his lips in the heat of combat.

Sliding back into consciousness of his surroundings, Silva noticed that Curin had alerted the others of his presence. He was as sharp as ever, that woodsman. The bane of his existence, to be honest. Just a few more moments was all he needed. The Necromancer was giving him a clean shot at his throat, and if he moved just a little, Silva would strike out and end one of the three men right there.

The darkness was being held at bay from the fire, its perpetual dance being played out before his eyes. Sam knew that Pit was giving him a hard look, he just made sure that he was looking at the fire and making sure that his body took no physical notice of the look. "I am sure you are very good at that, however, in my line of expertise, not everything is as they appear."

He look out into the darkness, mournful of the sacrifice that will come soon. "It is wise not to cast the fates in such a place." He said crypticly, then pointed at the angel, "And you should mind yourself boy, someday evil might conquer you." He grinned.

The trees stood behind him menecingly, the sun had been gone from the sky for awhile now. All the woodling creatures that lived by day were most likely asleep and the hunters were now probably waking up to search for food. However there seemed that nothing moved past the camp, afriad of someother darkness much like his own but possibly deadlier, considering that he does not deal death but grants undeath for the fortunate few.

Sam lowered his head and look around the forest floor, and bent closer to Curin whispering only loudly enough so that Pit may hear, "There is something stalking us, it has blade that is sharpened regularly, this thing wants to kill something. Most likely myself."

The young Archangel ten gave a disturbed glance at the dead quail. The poor bird. In Pit's travels, he had found out that some people actually ate animals. The thought had appalled Pit, him only eating vegetation. As the wilderness man offered the food to him, Pit held up his hands and declined. "No, kind Mortal. I shalln't eat something that had once been living. Not something with a soul." Pit's tone was not as hostile as it was when he was speaking of destroying things of evil, but he made his point clear. As of late, Pit had been rather bitter in copi ng with his emotions and constant mood swings. He was, after all becoming a teenager of sorts despite him being Angelic.

He listened to the words of the Necromancer, only disregarding them as tough speak. As Pit sat there, he felt an odd, familiar feeling, which was followed by a sharp wince of pain in his shoulder. The wound was completely healed up now, thanks to a traveling White Mage, but he remembered well who had given him the wound. He shook his head. It couldn't be. But it would explain the sudden increase of evil influence that he had been feeling, and would explain why Curin told them softly that there was danger near. Pit was a Celestial, and being so was greatly aware of his surroundings. His Sapphire blue eyes scanned the trees for a moment.

Pit could not go for his bow. Such a large action would obviously make the spy aware. Instead, Curin looked directly at Curin and the Necromancer, addressing them with his eyes. Then, without moving much at all, his head and eyes motioned towards a dark patch within the woods. The Archangel still did not know his exact location, bu Pit could make out the general area. The Archangel boy's attuned ears heard virtually nothing, all hearing being drowned out by the crackle of the fire. He only hoped that Curin and the Necromancer had understood his silent message. Pit waited, trusting the Woodsman to be the ring leader, waiting for him to make a move first, if anything; Pit would follow.

In the mean time Curin had been blowing at the base of the fire, until the bed of embers there was a glowering tempest of white-hot timbers. He caught Pits tiny guesture of the eyes, effectively pointing out where the menace was hidden, and when to act.

Curin took the water-pot in one hand, and the lid in the other. Then, in one orchestrated movement, he signalled everyone to move. He threw the water over the fire, and an angry cloud of steam filled the camp-sight, and with the other hand he scooped up half of the embers, and threw them burning bright as molten lava, through the air in the direction of the menace, anything they touched was scorched and singed.

Curin leapt over the fire, and tumbled as far from the menace as he could, hurling himself heavily against the root of a tree, which knocked his breath out of him, and left his right shoulder numbed. He left his great-axe where it had fallen, and brandished the lesser-axe in his good hand.

The camp-sight was filled with noise, and billowing steam, through which the Angels eyes would surely see with ease, and scroching motes of black smoke, which would likely serve the necromancer very well. Curin edged away, struggling to master himself over the pain in his shoulder, feeling the colour drain out of his face, and his strength failing him.

He had been discovered. Just when the necromancer had exposed his neck, as well. It didn't matter, they were sure to see him sooner or later. It was time to move. He quickly darted from the tree, falling furiously and fast, his cloak billowing against him like the being of a phantom. He lashed out with his empty hand, grasping another branch and causing him to flip around, before jumping high into the air. Wind rushed past and blew his hood off his cloak, revealing it feathery blond hair is a vivid sweep.

Below, he heard the hiss of a dying flame, and watched the woodsman throw embers up at him. Most hardly met his height, but the ones that did had been extremely cooled by the night air, and Silva merely swatted them away with the tail of his cloak. Deciding to act now, before the smoke condensed and made looking into the area impossible, Silva tipped his body weight downward and began his descent.

His sword at the ready, he plunged it into the hot sand of the once proud fire and flipped over, landing firmly on his feet while pulling his sword out at the same time. Only then could he survive such a monstrous height drop. Curin had already rushed to the safety of the forest, but the others were still surely confused about the whole ordeal, especially with the inky darkness washing over the area. With nothing more evident against the shadows than his seemingly glowing blue eyes, Silva rushed forth.

He raised his blade, catching a faint glimmer of the moon's rays, before making a horizontal sweep towards the necromancer's neck. He'd hope to sever tissue and flesh and end his primary target first. Some may have found it quite unsatisfactory, but as an assassin, it was his job to eliminate the weakest ones first, before worrying about the more durable quarry. This slaying would be no different.

Sam, the mighty necromancer had seen the blade arc towards him far before he actually did, being grandchild to a seer had its benefits he supposed, even it only helped in mundane situtions. For once, however, it may have saved his life. The blade swept forth and sam leaned back, the blade made a glancing blow on his neck. Blood squirted on the killer but the superficial wound was already healing itself as Sam spoke the nessacary words.

He lifted his own staff using the thickening soot to give him cover and swung at his opponent's feet, while running towards him with a well sharpened femur. He stabbed at his chest, while simultaneously bringing the staff up and continued running on into the darkness, his black robes hopefully hiding him from view.

In the relative darkness he stopped the dark healing magic with a single whispered word, and checked himself, everything was there, only a red mark where his neck had almost cut off. He looked back at the campsite, sounds of chaos coming forth. Having left a note inside Curin's pocket while he had not been looking he ran on to escape his early death.

Pit leaped into the air the second their enemy made his appearence. As expected. The swift and cunning Necross. The least time they had been joined into battle, Pit had been forced to flee. The young Archangel was a strong opponent, and he wondered if even the entire party could bring him down. Three to one, the odds were in their favor, but this man was simply a cold killer. Efficient and smooth, Pit felt that he was only being toyed with at the Sanctuary. Sanctuary. the name meant nothing to Silva. Pit drew an arrow in the air, flapping his few times only to hover and get a clear shot, before firing the arrow and falling to the ground once more. It wasn't a precise shot, and Pit didn't even expect it to hit. It was simply an arrow sent towards Silva to try and send him back. Should they get able to see him without him having to constantly win, they could at least fight him off.

Seeing Silva's blade sent a cold shiver down Pit's spine. The memory returned of it piercing his body, and the Angel boy felt as if he could feel the blade going through his shoulder again. No. Pit wouldn't let Silva get the last laugh in. Though Pit wanted to rush in an fight Silva with blaring rage, he kept himself calm and cool. He landed on the ground, going to one knee because he landed harder than he wanted to. Pit looked directly to the Woodman, wondering what he was doing. If the three of them were to get through this, team work was so essential. If the three of them tried to fight independently, the speedy Silva could hop between the three of them and slowly slice away at them before jumping to another place and repeating the process. Pit might even shoot the wrong person.

"We should form a line!"

That way, they could all face Silva and not be able to attack their own, and they could work together. Better yet, if they formed a small triangle and got back-to-back, they could even protect each other's backsides. Their defenses would be enormous, and the cold-hearted killer couldn't flank them. It would be nearly impossible to get through their defense then. But if he did... somehow get through to the center of the triangle; they would be as good as dead.

Curin tasted blood in his mouth, raising a hand to his face, and felt the dizzy thrill of realising he had hurt himself terribly. He beheld the blazing expression of the angel, and understood full well what Pit was asking of him, in that one look, but Curin could feel a rattle in his lungs. He had torn something. He was bleeding on the inside!

He staggered back, dropping the axes that his people had wrought for him, and, despite his terrible condition, faded into the shadows. He could only be traced by one who was willing to search painstakingly for the drops of blood that fell in his path.

He walked to the end of his strength, then lay down on his side, and let the blood run out of his mouth, and rattle in his chest, forcing himself to be content with the tiny bit of breath he could manage without starting a coughing fit.

Any trace of thought faded from him, he felt no cold, he was warm and at peace. Slowly he closed his eyes.

((Sorry guys, Character Change, so Silva will be out from here on.))

Silva watched as the Necromancer dodged his blow, and threw a lethal bone towards him, but his swift reflexes allowed him to cut the said skeletal extraction into halves, which hit the ground harmlessly. There he stood, in all his glory. Curin was currently gone, the clever bastard had made a ruse, before departing, and now he was left with the Angel. He was tired of fighting this small child and would end things in one swift blow. Until...something came over him. A terrible tingling feeling. No! This was impossible! It could only mean one thing! He...had returned...

"I will deal with you later, child!" Silva called, before jumping into the woods and departing post haste.