The training arena was uncommonly busy for the time of day. Down cast eyes and shuffling feet moved people towards the stands, which seemed to be accumulating with more and more observers. The masses whispered softly to each other on the event they came to observe. It was no tournament, no battle, not even an influential training session, though some would approach it as such. The trials for those wishing to join Phedre’s elite were being held today. There were no signs posted or banners up to claim so, but word of mouth travels fast. It was rare to witness the dark mistress wield her swords without being at personal risk. The commoners took advantage of such luxury today. There was a rough wooden table near the entrance to the training ring, adorned with a single sheet of paper and the large, black boots of Sabien, one of the commanders of the Elite. One of the table legs was crippled, and caused the surface to wobble as each recruit wrote their name on the piece of paper before entering the main flat of the training ground.

Leaning against the stand stood the other Elite as well as Phedre and her hellhound. The stands surrounding them were cautiously clear of any observers and a faint smell of charred wood wafted past them as the hellhound leaned against their front. A long wooden table stood before them, this one sturdy and laden with a series of heavy weaponry. None of the elite were armed, their weapons joining Phedre’s on the table. Phedre watched each recruit as they entered the training flat, her eyes dark and scrutinizing. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her hair charcoal hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. She glanced over each of their apparent weapons and let out a sigh. They would need to be inspected before the physical trial.

Diocletian stood beside Phedre in much the same stance though his figure was covered in a rather thick cloak, with the hood pulled up securely. His vampiric nature made day trials rather trying. Beneath the shadow of the hood his eyes glowed an eerie red, tracing the path of each recruit as they passed. Kronos tucked himself under the stands, covered in a similar heavy cloak, but his eyes were closed and the low rumble of a snore could be heard to those passing by. He did not bother to try to be effective at daylight. Thayet leaned against the stands in silent concentration. In one hand she pinched the wings of a butterfly, her dark eyes glittering in enjoyment as she watched it writhe and struggle against her grip. The other hand moved towards the flailing legs of the insect, slowly removing each one with torturous delight. Norse leaned against the weapon-laden table and yawned, staring at his shoes. So far none of the recruits appeared impressive, and so his attentions were decidedly better focused on his boots and the dirt beneath them. As more members entered the training area, he lifted his head for only a brief moment to shout an order, “Line up!”

The hellhound trotted playfully towards Sabien and the sign in table, his jaws open and fiery tongue lolling about. He sat at the man’s feet, mouth still agape, waiting. The man pulled out another sheet of parchment and scribbled across the top: latecomers sign in, before snatching up the current sign up sheet and handing it to the hellhound. The late sheet was laid in its place as the beast trotted back to Phedre, handing her the sheet, careful not to burn it. The lady assassin unfolded it and glanced down the names, her eyes moving from the list to the line formed before her. Letting out a sigh she pulled herself from against the stands and walked forward. “Let us begin.”

Phoenix had been on his way to Lómëdor when he had heard the news from a rather odd looking pair of elves he happened to pass on the road. Though he wasn't quite as close to the city itself there seemed to be alot of people out and about today. Most of the traffic seemed to be going in the direction of the Outdoor Training Arena. People of all kinds seemed to be going, from small children barely able to know which end of the sword to hold to the elderly who looked as if their time had already come and passed. If the rumors were true however, and Phedre herself was there a small detour to the training fields would be in order. Something like this isn't a thing you could just pass up or leave behind.

From these two rather talkative elves he was able to gather as much, that Phedre was holding some sort of open tryouts for a group she called her elite. Rumors were that she and her elite would be there to evaluate the many people that would sure to come flocking to this place in the hopes of being trained my someone so powerful. He new better, or at least he believed he did. As he looked around him at the people not many looked as if they were up to the task. Sure several of them were a big and buff and looked like they could cause some major damage, but that wasn't quite the point he was sure.

In the past he had been involved in several skirmish around Ondolond that had been under Phedre's command. Though he hadn't been under direct orders from Phedre herself, just a common grunt he had heard plenty about her from others who had been higher up in the ranks. From these men the most common thing he heard was that of all the things loyalty wasn't lightly taken. It was in part why he was going as well, even to this day he still held onto that loyalty strongly. Though their views may differ at times he couldn't forget those days nor did he wish to.

Before he realized it he found himself before the training grounds. He had been so lost in thought about the past he had not realized he had kept walking. The place seemed like a zoo for he had never before seen the place this packed with people. He had no idea how he was to find where he was spoused to go yet alone get through all these people. Making sure he had his equipment he made sure to keep a watchful eye upon them out of fear of them being stolen in such a dense crowd. A single thief among these people would find it an easy task to take what they please. He wouldn't become one of it's victims.

Making his way through the crowds he soon came upon the training ring itself. There was a rough wooden table near the entrance with a single sheet of paper on it. He only assumed that it was some sort of sign in sheet for the tryouts. There was already a rather long line in front of it. Though not exactly straight or a line for that fact, more like clumps of people here and there standing in somewhat of a line. Behind the table sat a man, or at least what looked to be one. He was no doubt one of Phedre's Elite. Moving to the back of the line he waited.

Checking his equipment once more he was relived to find that nothing had been taken. As he took a closer look around he could see Phedre and her other elite's. Leaning against the stand stood another elite as well as Phedre and a hellhound, before them stood yet another table, this one with weapons upon them. A closer look at the group reviled that none of the elite were armed. From his count he could see only four of them. The rumors spoke of five. As the line continued to move slowly several thoughts crossed his mind. Most of which he found himself remembering his past. Shacking it from his head however he new it wasn't good to dwell upon it. The past was just that the past. He needed to worry about the now.

With a quick shout from one the elite the line straightened up, it wouldn't be long now. And as he found himself finally at the front of the line a new sheet was placed before him. perhaps the first was filled he thought as he signed his name. As he did this he began to think about what sort of trials he had just signed up for.

Night had come and gone, and with its leave the whole world seemed just a little less bleak. The dull grays and blacks the world had turned to in the absence of the sun were washed away, the light illuminating Ea brilliantly. A few stubborn shadows still clung to life in crevices, and certain areas were impenetrable, but here in the grasslands only the most numb of fools would not feel the light upon their back. It was still early morning, and a crisp taste in the air spoke of the morning chills. A few webs held drops of dew, but this, like the cold, would give way to the more banal day. It was a wonder more people did not stay awake for sunrise just to notice these small details; a painter would no doubt be seduced by this breath of a moment. But the world was full of fools and ignorance, and many had more important things to do than watch the drops of water reveal silken, almost glowing strands of thread.

Today was no different. Not really, anyways. Many had gotten up early, had come as the glowing orange ball throbbed and nudged its way lazily out of bed. There were no children yet, no warriors here on a bet from their drunken friend. No, those here right now had come with purpose. Nathaniel was no different. His sleeping habits had been out of alignment lately, thrown off by all his journeys that had called for catching sleep whenever the chance arose; be it night or day. So, though he'd been tired, he'd also been restless when everything had calmed down and he'd once again been offered to sleep the whole night away. Even those who could be bought with a smile weren't enough to put him to sleep.

Last night had been the same. He'd awoken from sleeping in a cold sweat, no knowing why, and traveled from the room he rented at the inn to the lounge. There, he'd tried to buy some ale. Drink himself to sleep, or something of that kin. The pub had been deserted, with the few patrons there mostly those planning to stay the night. When he'd received his drink he began to look them over, judging them and memorizing faces and features-- until one sat down beside him, of course. The stranger had been dressed in a dark brown leather cloak, with patches of light brown or green here and there. His shoulders had been small, his head somewhat bowed; obscuring any face into the shadows of his hood. Faintly he thought he smelt lavender on the wind. "You are the one I'm looking for." The voice was slow, almost unreal. As if it knew not how to talk. "Go to Salquedor. There you will find what you seek."

Nathaniel took a long drink from his mug, then grinned at the stranger. Humoring him. "Will I, now? And just what am I looking for, again?" The figure leaned forward, and the scent of rotted flesh assaulted his nose, carcass meat never a pleasant smell. "You know." It whispered, then rose its arm. A hand slipped from the sleeve as it trailed up the arm, and a slender hand befitting a porcelain doll was revealed. Nathaniel eyed it in confusion, then looked back to the hood, eyes where he assumed the face was. Before he could ask just who the Raku it was and what it was doing here, it pulled back its hood. Long hair the colour of darkest night hung down. Once silky it was now frayed, the whole left side cut to chin length. Greasy seemed to clign to the coarse strands, and a number had fallen out. The face, once a picture of perfection, was missing eyes and had sunken cheeks that looked grey they were so hidden.

Nathaniel was shocked, frame trembling. Then he jumped back, tripping over the stool as it crashed behind him. From the chair he stared up at the figure, the once female laughing hysterically. Her jaw fell open and shut like a puppet's, as if a hand guided it. Quickly the laughter grew to a shrill, high-pitched noise, drowning out Nathaniel's yelling of fright.

"No!" A lunging up from the floor (bed? he was in a bed?) and suddenly, he wasn't in the lounge anymore. Back in his room, with the window tapping beat to the wind outside. The room was dark, almost eerily so, and the only light came from the moon shining down upon the floor. Carefully he peered around the room, dark eyes staring at dark crevices and blue-hued items as if they might come alive. An apparition? A ghost? No, a nightmare.

With muscles coiled and fright still trickling from him he rose, looking for his clothing. The last time he had dreamed of his mother had been when that Malboro had almost eaten him; when the lupine had intervened on his behalf. Though he'd been in all manner of trouble lately, he hadn't dreamed or even thought of her since then. So why now? Had his goals somehow upset the spirit of his mother? Perhaps that woman, Anika, had set her upon him as punishment for his noble crime. He'd thought she was more easily manipulated than that, but how was he to know what the cards had told her? He had only what she said to go by, and if she scammed pople regularly then it wouldn't be off to imagine she'd manipulated him as well.

If it was a nightmare (and it was. It was!), then it was likely a way of reminding himself of all the business he'd had in that area as of late. Hunting pebbles, fighting lupines, training with his partner. It held a lot of importance as of late. It wouldn't hurt to investigate, but if it was just some memory then he'd be wasting time. Time better spent... spent what? Trying to sleep?

With a long sigh he'd decided to go. It wouldn't hurt, and the cool night air would help clear his head. Plus, if it had been an apparition, it'd do no good to invoke the wrath of a spirit. Not when its request was as simple as this. So it was, he'd dressed and gotten his equipment (in case there was a beast or monster), then locked the door behind him and left for the Salquedor Grasslands.

Of course, when he first got there he felt like a moron. A mass of people seemed to be going one way, so he followed them. Where they went was the training grounds, and the sight of the place nearly knocked him off his feet. Already the line-up was decent, and a number of lounging figures spoke volumes of deadly personalities. The sight seemed to make something click though, and he recalled hearing of recruitment for Phedre's elite before. Likely at the bar, where he overheard many a conversation. So, his mind had thought to remind him, then? Well that was useful. It was possible the spirits had helped, but then he didn't believe in ghosts or the idea that his mother had anything but hatred for him.

Chirp-chirsp-chirp-chirp-CHRRP! A bird, somewhere, was calling out. Warning others of the approaching dawn. As it graced the land the whole place at once seemed brilliant, and the looming shadows dispersed to reveal the splendor of the area. This part was no different, and Nathaniel felt the blossoming of awe in his stomach.

The training building, some distance away, was huge. Its frame looked impervious, made of a dark, hard wood that looked as if it'd both withstood all manner of damage and been freshly built at once. It was huge, and no doubt many could retreat within to train if the need arose. The area they stood at had a simple table, made of a less sturdy wood (as evidenced by the prop at one of the legs) but no less pleasant to look at. Ahead was the training arena, and far off an archery range was composed. Seats were arranged so that mere commoners could sit and watch the activities, if they were too coward to join in.

It was a far cry from the area he'd trained in with Nobunaga, their ring splintered and old. The paint had been fading from years of use. Perhaps it had been another place around here, or he'd unknowingly entered that massive building while following his partner in silence? He hadn't been thinking about anything other than the tournament, and his whereabouts were lost on him when he was so deep in thought. The other possibility was that the elite did this, but he had a strong suspicion they weren't the kind of people to care about things like this. They'd have just as easily found a different area with which to recruit with.

Which brings us back to the present. With the sun warm on his armoured back, Nathaniel moved up in the line. Though his reading was poor at best, he could tell the scrawls of others were signatures. To sign up, to swear Phedre wasn't liable for any damage encountered, or even for autographs for the stands. He didn't know; he had no time to read the top. However, he signed it all the same, with his heavy hand and swooping letters. It was neater than one would expect from so base a literate, but he'd had a job that entailed signing things all day. In that time, he had perfected his signature.

Following the other men he entered the main flat of the arena, his body language revealing little more than trained indifference. The elite, or at least their leader, had appeared to scrutinize whoever walked past. For those new to this environment it would have been uncomfortable, perhaps even chilling. However, Nathaniel was more than used to such stares in the thirty odd years of his life, and like many others ignored such manners. It was to be expected they'd be watched, checked out, and more. Though the tests were more physical, visuals had a lot to do with it as well. Which was no doubt why a flaming dog, rather than one affixed with battle gear, was chosen to stay guard. Ironically, it seemed the most friendly of the whole bunch.

A female warrior. Imagine. His thoughts turned to Phedre, the dark haired female who wore armour as if she had been destined at birth to be a fighter. She held herself well for a woman, and though he usually had little faith in the opposite gender holding their own, he could make room for a few exceptions. Phedre was no doubt one of them, if she could hold control of those she'd brought with her today. The other female, clutching a butterfly in one hand and its squirming black legs in the other, was not so impressive. She looked sadistic, of course, and could likely put up a good fight. But she seemed no more skilled than a vampire, or other supernaturally blessed creature. The actions of one spoke volumes, and those who chose to torture usually did it because they fought their enemies best when their victim was bound.

There were the two men as well, but he wasn't as interested in watching them. Until midday rolled about of course, and flies buzzed about constantly. The stands were full of eager spectators, many of whom had children, and the group at the table was a singular mass without any order. Something about the sight appealed to him, and it was with great pleasure he watched the hectic fray of people banging into one another, shoving aside those beside them and even trying to elbow their way to the front. Such chaos was entertaining to watch, whether or not you were aligned to it. Of course, when the flaming dog trotted over his eyes fell to the canine (could it possible even be called such?), the dog taking the list and bringing it to the armoured female. With the hardiness that comes from battles both won and lost, she strode from her place against the stands and said simply, "Let us begin."

Such ominous words had never filled him with this amount of eagerness before.

The air was cool and clear, the perfect weather to do just about anything. Not a single cloud hung over the village. Sunlight beamed on Ea like a golden morning shower of heat. Birds along with more pesky creatures of air were alive and about. A few flies circled the slouching brown bag of food. With quick reflexes two fingers harshly flicked at the flying pests. Lying around the bag were arrows in neat piles from the archers favorite batch, to its least favorite batch. The woman in front of her pile crossed her legs as she faced her possessions. Her right arm propped upon her right knee to cup her cheek in her hand. No one below the building had noticed her on top of the flat roof. The lady in the black cloak enjoyed the silence of being out of eyesight. She didn’t care for the questions of, “What are you preparing for?” Such silly questions those were, and there was no time to answer them at all.

Finally she picked up one of her barbed arrows, and examined it accordingly. Just to judge on the fine craftsman, and her own little additions. Making barbed arrows were rather easy, yet she always tried to make them sharper without offsetting the balance of the flight. The lady nodded to herself as she took her pale left hand holding the arrow, and placed the weapon inside her quiver. “Hm,” she muttered as she took a rather large hand full of the barbed arrows and placed them all inside her quiver. Next without hesitating she dropped her piercing arrows inside as well. Then she randomly picked arrows out of each pile. There were only a few arrows that hadn’t been picked, but she deemed them very useless and old. The heavy armored books clinked as she moved and stood up strait.

On her left hip lay a sword in its sheath, inside the sheath it crackled with lighting very gently. To her right hip held tight bore a dark dagger engulfed with a shadow essence of poison. Finally it came to what bow she would take with her. She held up her two chooses, the demon bow with her disfigured face one it or take the razor bow. Both bows had excellent perks to them, yet taking both would make her slow. I wish I could merge these two bows and make them one, she thought to herself as she placed the demon bow down on the ground. With her right hand she covered her head with her hood as she wore the razor bow on her back. Using her feet she pushed the rest of her small belongings to a dark shadow on the roof.

Walking to the edge of the roof, she jumped down to one ledge half way down, and then she jumped to the ground. In front of her stood the black beauty that carried her to places she wished to go, most of the time. Taking her slim right hand, she grabbed the horse reins as her silver bangle shinned in the sun. Her face lifted up to the animal, locks of black fell away from her face. The horse turned away from his owner, and an annoyed look swept upon her face. “Don’t do this, not now,” she sternly spoke to the beast, remembering how stubborn the animal could be. Pacing slowly, the horse moved away from her while her right hand clasped tight on the reins. Thankfully he was going in the direction she wanted, but this type of behavior wasn’t acceptable. Her feet dug into the ground, as she used her right handed strength to hold the animal in place. “Shadow, this is your last warning-,” Right before she could finish her darkly toned sentence, the breast gave in; bowing his head down towards the direction he was walking. Grinning she climbed atop of her horse, knowing she won.

Word by mouth traveled rather fast in between many gossiping creatures. Hearing comments of Phedre holding a contest for elites was something that spread fast. Was there anyone who hadn’t heard of Phedre and her skills when it came to battle? Never had the lady riding the horse ever met the legend, but this opportunity was one that couldn’t be passed. As she came closer to the training arena, she got off of her horse, put kept a hold on his reins. Her emerald orbs spotted a post where she could tie him at. Reluctantly he walked towards the post, and his mast tied him there, but gave him some freedom to munch on grass.

In confidence she walked with her head held up level, but still wore her black hood. The deeper and closer she came to the arena, the more crowed it became. Ahead she saw a few people, all she didn’t recognize at all. Looking around the crowd she spotted a table where people were signing in. she stood strait in line as she ventured closer to the table. Finally she looked at the sign in sheet, and surrounded the pen in ink with her pale digits. Neatly she wrote her name: Aaris. After she finished, she placed the pen back, ready for the trials to come and face her.

Then her eyes raced to another face, who spoke, “Let us begin.” That instant she knew the woman was the lady assassin who she wished to work for.

In the moment before Curin-the-mortal ascended, becoming thereafter the God of Nature he was struck with a last moment of doubt. And in that moment, desiring only to appear amongst the Peers of Aman as one who is pure, and righteous, he delved with his Will into his soul, and tore asunder that which he deemed to be impure. That moment was the conception of the Shadow of Curin. Naked, bodiless, and awash in the vast timelessness of the ether in between life and death, the Shadow of Curin endured. In the ether it preyed upon other souls- as ever had Curin been the Mighty Hunter. Until, when the time was ripe, the shadow forced his way into the firmament.
As nature, thinking it had sensed the Arrival of its God wrapped its' searing powers around him, the Shadow tasted the vastness of what was his rightful inheritance. In that moment, as he Perceived and Held the entirety of Curins' Power he perceived many like him, who had never asked for life, but been given it, but with nothing, nothing but the loathing and hatred of the hypocrites that had called them into being. Even then it was that the powers of nature deemed The Shadow was not indeed Curin, and he was rejected again. The Powers withdrew, and where they had filled him, as a cathedral with the voices of a choir, they left him hollow.
How he raged, embodied in the perfect visage of Curin, but without any semblance of his rightful power; and when, at the gates of the Portal to Aman, the Archangels barred his way. Even then, before the unflinching faces of the Archangels, the Shadow of Curin took a sharp stone from the ground, and cut the hated face from his skull, and ground it beneath his bare foot into the dirt, and he spat upon it. And in mockery, he bound a crown of brambles and set it upon his brow.
But the mockery would last only as long as Curin held the sway of power. One day the Shadow would bear the true crown. One day he would throw down Curin, and take his rightful place. Baugrìn, he crowned himself that day, The Cruelcrown.

Baugrìn waited attentively, his fists clenching and unclenching. His memories were scattered. It was as if his muscles knew they could perform the elaborate dance of combat, but a link was missing between his muscle-memory and his mind. Aye, Baugrìn, truly you are mad. But there you have it, you beleive you can fight, so stand in your line here, and fight! And let us hope, if you are defeated, you suffer such a defeat that your very existence is snuffed out. He looked about himself, at the warriors and mages gathered. And he wondered at them, what, compared to his own, were the motives of these diverse beings. Some were clearly destined for glory, and he deemed it was these that he had come to battle, these would be his peers, and perhaps would be again, when he had thrown down the establishment of Aman. Perhaps even here were the members of the new heirarchy. But even as he mused over this Baugrìn did so only in the deepest caverns of his echoing soul. He knew little about the powers of mind-readers; but he knew enough to keep such outrageous thoughts private, very dark, and very private.
The Leader, one Phedre, seemed bored. As if amongst the crowd she could see none who stood out. Baugrìn smiled at her wisdom. the mightiest, the most cunning, and the deadliest will be those left standing... he mused, looking up so that the sunlight spilled into the empty ocular cavities of his skull. still early, with a long day ahead. Baugrìn had no need of his flesh-and blood eyes, he was a spirit and perceived the world thusly; but with no magic as yet in his control, he required his corporeal body to interact with other beings. He clenched and unclenched his fists again.
Uninterested in the gathering of the Elite, two warriors bouted with longswords, and such was their fervour that Baugrìn could not help but feel drawn to their sword-play. What little flesh he could not slice and claw off his face moved into a semblance of a smile, for even as he watched them, he felt the memories blossoming out of his soul, into the flesh, and into his mind. "Free-men." he called to them. "May I join your bout?"
The two turned to face him and -to their credit- they did not flich nor shy away from Baugrìns' appearance. In this, they gained another notch of respect in his mind. Here were seasoned warriors, who could not be frightened by some madman, for that is all Baugrìn must seem, who had slashed up his face."Aye skull-face, you may. It is why we come here, to test our skills against others."
Thusly Baugrìn stood in a ring against the two, he named them mentally, Left, and Right. Not quite as tall as either of them, but his heavily scarified and mutilated body held a rangy strength, as if beneath the pallid skin was corded wire. Curin of Neiruthaun had been built well; and the body of Baugrìn, half-suffused with the life-force of the God of Nature was a useful one, however much he loathed and hated it. His opponents adopted the typical phalanx-soldiers guard, hilt held low, sword-tip ready to stab or parry like lightening.
Baugrìn breathed deep, releasing some of the loathing -lest he forget that he was a spirit, and not merely a man- between himself and his body; and even then he felt the infuriating grace of his maker reaching for him, the Will of Curin reaching out for his lost essence, gently encouraging it to return, gently bestowing it with vigour and healing. Before the soldiers' eyes Baugrìn, who was enraged and infuriated by this very fact, would have appeared to heal slightly.

He channelled the anger into a sudden strike, kicking down at the Rights' knee with the full momentum of his body. Right came at him with an upward stab, then a high downward cut. Baugrìn cut against the sword to parry it, then releasing his spare hand from the hilt, Baugrìn wound his hilt under his opponents sword, then up and over the mans hands, taking hold of his hilt again with the spare hand, trapping his opponents hands and sword. Having looped the hilt of his longsword around his opponents grasp on his weapon Baugrin pulled him forward cruelly forcing him to either have his wrists broken, or drop the sword.
Having disarmed Right, sending him sprawling at his feet; Baugrìn addressed Left allowing his blade-tip to drop a half-spin until the pommel of the hilt had circled to point skywards; Left came at him with a neck-height slash. Baugrìn grabbed hold halfway down his own blade, took the blow, then again using the hilt, wound his hilt into the crook of Lefts elbow and wrenched the mans' guard open pulling down hard, so that simultaneously the man was forced into a stumbling crouch and Baugrìns' blade came whining from beneath towards the opponents throat. Baugrìn needed to only back-slash and he would have opened Lefts throat with the length of his blade.
The soldiers laughed, and shook their heads. "Never have I seen a man that grabs hold of his own blade, and fights seemingly with the hilt and pommel as much as the blade."
"Aye, but you can see how useful those skills would be against heavily armoured knights. said his companion, slowly getting up, rubbing as his wrists, "Hack and slash doesn't work against them; but with that... the soldier floundered for a name to call Baugrìns' sword-form,"blade-wrestling, you can always get your blade edge, or the tip edge at the throat."
"and in confined space too." Baugrìn found himself adding, though he could not quite discern where the knowledge had come from.
At this Baugrìn returned his attention to the Elite, where Phedre had seemingly waited as long as she was willing.

The moon was at it's peak. A twelve foot nine Lupine raced through a forest, a adult deer ran for it's life. The constint pounding of fear ran through the deer. Vahn swiped the deer from behind, Vahn dug his claws in and lunged at the deers neck. His strong jaw clamped down on the neck of the deer, it strugled but Vahn only tightened his grip. Blood flowed down the body of the dead deer, Vahn lay down and began to eat the deer. After several minutes, nothing except for the spine of the deer was left. Vahn transformed into his human form and walked several meteres down the dirt path. A scimitar and and axe hung holstered on his belt. Howling of a wolf made Vahn stop, He leaned against a tree, he had a big day ahead of him and he wanted rest before the Try-outs.

Suddenly a black wolf appeared several meters down the path. Vahn looked at the wolf, he closed his eyes. Vahn slept for hours, he woke early in the morning. Vahn didn't know what time it was but he gathered his gear and walked to the Training arena. Vahn wore his leather robes, his gray eyes scanned the people. Vahn tightened his axe and scimitar, he didn't want anyone stealing them. Vahn brushed his long brown hair out of his eyes. Word had travelled far, he had listened to a mans conversation to a fighter. He heard comments of Phedre holding a contest for elites, it had spread like butter on bread. Vahn stretched his muscles, he pushed through the crowd of people. "Move out of the way"
Vahn said. A man pushed him, Vahn pulled his scimitar out and on the mans neck. "I would back off If you want to see another day" Vahn said, his voice was cold and sounded deep. The man fell down to the ground, Vahn laughed and holstered his weapon.

Vahn finally made it through the crowd of people. He pulled back his hood with both hands. He stood tall, he was strong in both human and lupine form. Vahn studied the elite, there were four. Phedre stood by a hellhound, Vahn kept his eyes on them as he made his way over to the table. Vahn pulled and old pen, inside was ink, but it wasn't black ink. It was red, made from the blood of his victims. Vahn stopped at the table. He looked at the names on the list and clearly wrote his name: Vahn. The was sharp and the red made it stand out. Vahn shoved his pen back in his pocket. Vahn walked over to the line and stopped, he stood tall and waited for Phedre to begin.

The sun crawled higher in the sky, it’s deliberate and labored motion seeming to cause each minute to drag on. Violet orbs scanned the clot of recruits before her, searching for a specific two. Her eyes darted towards men of fair hair, white-blonde, flaxen and grey, but none bore a head of silver with brooding irises to match. At this disappointment she turned her search towards other features, dark hair, sanguine eyes, but those two were found lost in the crowd. She let out a sigh, shaking her head as her two sons found themselves absent at an event which they both proved interested in. Their insolence was beginning to grate on her nerves and would have to be seen to.

Many pairs of eyes watched her as sparring matches came to a halt and footsteps shuffled into line before her. The breeze had picked up, causing the flags to flap lazily about the training ground. The sky was dotted with immature clouds that drifted past with at a hesitant crawl. The turn out was greater than expected… in numbers at least. As her eye caught staggering men and gangly teens she felt the heaviness of a long day ahead, settle on her shoulders.

Slowly, she unrolled the parchment and glanced through the list of names. “Kiever Talsen!” Her voice carried easily across the group, ringing clear despite the fluttering flags. The four conscious members of the Elite shifted their stance to watch the recruit step forward. Sabien had left the sign in table and re-joined the other commanders, the hell hound leaving Phedre’s side to sit next to him.

Slowly a squat man pushed his way through the crowd, to the front. He inclined his head as a sign of respect and mumbled an incoherent greeting. Phedre’s eyes watched him in their severe judgment, her lips drawn to a tight line. “Talsen, you wish to become a member of an elite fighting force which is sworn to the loyalty of Phedre Vanway and fights under her guidance?” Norse’s voice was filled with annoyance. It was clear that the man’s presence did not intrigue him.

A silent answer was given, a simple nod. Norse continued, “you understand that, when sworn into its keep, the Elite bears hardship and dangers both spontaneous and laborious?” Again the man nodded. Phedre had already turned her gaze to other recruits, occasionally looking towards to the training flat’s entrance with the hopes of seeing her sons arriving.

Again Norse continued, “And to which unit would you wish to claim your training under?”

The man’s lips quivered and squirmed but no words came out, only unintelligible babbles. The strange sound pulled Phedre’s gaze back towards the recruit, her brows furrowed together in discontent. She watched his lips fumble over the formation of words and for a second, something flashed within his mouth. Three easy strides led the lady assassin within inches of the man. Without warning her hand shot forward, fingers tightening around his throat. The man coughed, staggering backward from the force. Three silver rings popped from his mouth to land on the dust earth below, their gems glistening in the sun, adorned by his saliva. Her hand still clutching at the man’s windpipe, Phedre politely addressed the crowd, “Who is missing their ring?”

The man’s face turned from a deep shade of maroon to a grotesque shade of eggplant, his face contorting under the strain of the assassin’s grip. A woman from the stands stood up, her face pale. “I am missing my wedding ring Lady Phedre, it is laden with rubies.” Thayet dropped the disfigured butterfly and retrieved the ring, vaulting into the stands to hand it to the woman. Slowly, two others, one of whom was another recruit, claimed their stolen items.

“When in the Elite, you are bound to each other as family. There is no room for selfish gains or disloyalty. When you steal from us, you steal from yourself.” Phedre threw the man towards Norse, who gripped him easily from behind. The man’s face returned to a more natural shade of red and his body relaxed in a state of relief. “Let an example be made,” Phedre continued, running her hand alongside the weapon laden table and removing a dagger, “of what happens to the selfish.”

She approached the captive thief, who now began to squirm against Norse’s firm grasp. Phedre’s eyes grew dark as she spoke, “open your mouth.” The man shook his head in a panic, air blowing rapidly through his nose as he made every effort to keep his lips sealed. He writhed in the grip, flailing with the hopes of freedom. Slowly, Phedre’s hand placed the hilt of the dagger in her mouth, freeing both hands. She pressed her fingers over his nose tightly, blocking off his air supply. Within a moment his lips blew open with a gasp for air. It was in this second that his tongue was retrieved by Phedre’s free hand, clamped tightly between her fingers. She drew it outward and reacquired the dagger. With one swift motion, she removed the man’s tongue, blood splattering down the front of her armor. The man’s screams echoed across the training ground, continuing even as Norse dragged him to the exit, and abandoned him on the ground.

“Now,” she said, drawing a section of cloth from a fold in her armor and cleaning the dagger with it, “let us continue.”

It seemed that a great number of recruits had backed up during the execution of thievish punishment, for the group appeared a good ten feet farther away than before. Phedre recovered the list of names and continued to read. The next three names were followed by silence, no one stepping forward. Letting out a sigh, she motioned for the approach of Diocletian and Thayet. “Point and question,” she said and resumed leaning against the table, prepared to listen to both interviews at a time.

Diocletian called first. A man with blonde hair (Phoenix), appearing human was summoned to step forward. Thayet summoned forth a tall man with black hair and blue eyes (Nathaniel). Immediately they began their questioning.

“What is your name?”
”Where do your loyalties lie?”
”How are you trained?” (Which weapons/ magic, what class, etc)
”Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?”
“Which section and commander do you wish to train under?”

OOC:: Ok guys! Phoenix and Nath are up first. Next will be Aaris and Baugrìn, and so on. Feel free to post reactions to the first interview (with the thief) and the current interviews even if you are not currently involved in them! It’ll keep the topic interesting and allow for greater insight into your char! Happy Posting!! :)

He had signed his name and was ready for whatever would come his way. He only wished he knew what exactly that would be. He often liked to go into a situation with all the relevant information. This time he was coming in with so little. He knew that Phedre was looking for those who she deemed worthy to become one of her elite. He didn't know how they were to be tested, he knew it wouldn't be as simple as signing your name. No there would be some sort of trials ahead for each of them.

After he signed his name he was directed toward another line. It seemed that there was two. One for signing in the other to wait for whatever was to happen next. He had arrived rather late though, and his spot in line showed that. He had nothing better to do but wait in line and think about what sort of thing they would put him through.

With all this time however he also was able to take a much closer look at some of the others who had shown up. After all if he was one of the lucky ones to become one of these elite he might be working with any of these others if they were accepted as well. He took a moment to look over a few in line with him. He did his best however to not seem like it. He didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to himself...yet.

The man behind him stood out from alot of the others in line. Standing taller then him with dark hair and dark blue eyes he also had a goatee upon his chin. He seemed the sort that could do well in this sort of thing. Another that stood out in the crowd was a rather frightful looking man, or what appeared to be a man. The trials hadn't even began and he was already starting something. He wasn't sure who it was but whatever it was it didn't seem to be living.

As the line slowly continued to move he attention was drawn to the very front of the line. It had appeared to be a somewhat normal interview at first, but no longer. As he watched the scene unfold along with everyone else it looked like the man had been stealing things from others in the arena. Had he not all ready thought of the dangers of thieves in such a busy area. But being caught by Phedre was something best avoided, something he would soon learn. Right before everyone she removed the mans tongue and his screams could be heard throughout the area. It was hard on his ears as he watched. He didn't know the man personally but he didn't believe that the crime warranted such cruel treatment. But he kept his mouth shut for more then one reason.

His thoughts on the thief were soon washed away however as he looked around. He had not noticed that close to everyone else had backup up close to a good ten feet from what they had just witnessed. He was too lost in thought to do so himself, he wasn't one to back down from anything but he had to wonder if he had been paying more attention to things outside his mind if he would have done so as well. Because of this it also appeared that he was now next in line. Though it seemed odd as he was late to this thing he took the chance when he saw an advance and stepped forward when he was called.

The man who had called him, one of the elite sat before him. He could not tell much of this mans appearance as he was heavily cloaked. Looking to the sky he wondered why he did so one such a nice day. It was neither too hot or cold yet he bundled himself up as if he was sitting in the middle of the Khelek Tundra! Under the cloak however he could she it's glowing red eyes keeping a watch on his every movement. It be honest it made him a but nervous though he willed himself not to show it. He didn't want to be seen as coward so he stepped forward not flinching in the least.

He stood there before him and waited for the first question as that is what the first trial appeared to be, a number of questions. It only took a moment or two for it to come.

"What is your name?"

Blunt and to the point. He now knew that there would be no pleasantries in this interview. His answers to the following questions would be just as blunt and to the point. "Phoenix Colonna" he stated and waited for the next question.

"Where do your loyalties lie?"

For a moment he thought about it. He knew where they lied tough he also had loyalty to the keepers as well. He knew it wouldn't looked well upon to hide something as important as that. "My loyalties lie with Phedre and the elite commanders, as well as any other accepted into the elite on this day or in the future. I also hold loyalties to he Keepers of the Sacred Deed as well as myself."

"How are you trained?"

This was a much more simple question as he thought back to his history and looked to his weapons on him. "I have focused in melee combat. I have been taught to duel wield and am a weapons master in training. I'm what most call a horizon walker as I do alot of traveling and I understand the land more then anything else. Though I don't focus much in other areas I have some skill with a bow if the need arise. However my spell weaving is rather limited."

"Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?"

Again another simple answer as he had chosen not to go into any detail about his serves under Phedre in the past. So what if he had served, it meant less then nothing at this point. He knew they weren't looking for those who brag about all the battles they have been in and such, words meant little they would want action. And he looked forward to proving himself. "Yes, I do!"

"Which section and commander do you wish to train under?"

As he thought about this in truth he knew little of each of the sections expect for the rumors of course. And after hearing all of them there was only one he wished to serve under. He looked at each of the commanders and his eyes stopped upon Norse Relic, the commander of the fifth company known as Ifrit’s Fury. Of what he had heard serving under him would be the most challenging and that is what he seeked. He also know that with this man his skills in melee combat would improve even further then they were today. And as he answered this question he looked directly at who he was speaking of "Fifth company known as Ifrit’s Fury under the command of Norse Relic."

He stood and waited for what he thought would be many more questions to come but none did. If that was all then he simply had to wait for the results.

As soon as Phedre had announced they would begin Nathaniel had straightened up as much as he could. The heat had been nice in the morning, but now it carried with it suffocating air. What little breeze there was could barely be felt, and even the flags were lax to move and offered only the smallest hints of life. The constantly buzzing flies were a nuisance as well, but at least Nathaniel had been able to glare at them in hopes of the insects bursting into flame. It didn't work, but it drew his attention while he waited for other recruits to be called forth. A short man was first, and he showed all the respect of a perfectly trained housewife. His dialect was hard to understand, though.

Until, of course, Phedre strode over to him and throttled him, producing three gleaming rings drenched in saliva. What a pitiful thief. Bad enough to come here of all placed to rob, but to have the audacity to try and join the elite as well? There was a morbid fascination as he watched the man proceed to recieve all the was coming to him; gripped by Norse, the leader of the group was able to severe his writhing pink tongue. Funny, he'd expected it to be black. The screaming man was released upon the ground, and distantly Rystoff wondered why he wasn't more thankful. Such things usually resulted in the removal of a hand, and with beings like these one would expect nothing short of a most gruesome death.

More intriguing still was how quick Thayet, the female who'd previously been vivisecting a butterfly, returned one of the rings to its rightful owner. Despite the harsh words spoken against this group, despite their appearances and gruff tones; they weren't evil. Not really, anyways. That was good, for it was one of the things he'd been uncertain about with these people. Though Nathaniel wasn't wholesome by any means, he wasn't evil either (not according to him, at least) and knew that to join an evil organization while also serving the Keepers would make life difficult.

The shrieking died out, the man dragged off, and once more questioning began. This time a blonde was called forth, and he didn't have time to analyze the other before he too was called aside. He could have sworn the fair skin and bright blue eyes were not stranger to him, but he wasn't certain. That and, well, this business required his full attention. Stepping forth he stood before the female of the group, her oddly coloured hair somehow matching her perfectly.

"What is your name?"

He didn't hesitate to answer. "Nathaniel Rystoff." Seamlessly he droped his middle name for the sake of keeping his words crisp. The paper marked his middle name as being Micheals, though that didn't appear to be on the torturer's person. Smoothly she continued. "Where do your loyalties lie?" The simplicity of these questions surprised them. So to the point, so quick. Clearly they wanted to do more than ask questions, and he was happy either way. Though his words were crisp they were worded well for someone so usually drunk. He'd acquired the skill of diplomacy a short while ago, which lended itself well to these situations where words did more than blades.

"My loyalties lie to Phedre, and myself. Any who would call themself ally to either also have my protection." Oddly, she wasn't that repulsive when she wasn't tearing apart creatures. Of course, then she had to ask, "How are you trained?" and he felt somewhat uncomfortable. Not because he was untrained; just the opposite, really. It was a long thing to explain though, and he wasn't eager to bore his prospective leader. Straightening his shoulders, he let his words fall past as quickly as he could without seeming like he was intentionally rushing it. "I am a warlock. I was trained all my life as a warrior, but in the past few years I have been training with magic. I am capable in both. I served in a private army for a time as a captain, controlling a good deal of men while recieving orders from those few above me. I was also captain of the city guard of Lomedor, and the chief interrogator."

Nathaniel took in a breath to steady himself, then continued. "I am primarily trained in melee combat with a large assortment of weapons, not the least of which is the blade." He gestured to the weapon hilted at his side. "I intend to train with the bow in some time. I am thoroughly trained in the human anatomy, and I am as capable killing a man quickly as I am prolonging his suffering. Naturally, I have quite a great deal of skill in using a variety of instruments in such cases. My training in magic is decent; I have the ability to inspire fear in some of the most sturdy opponents, and my concentration is like none others. I can resist having my mind read. I have a powerful version of healing magic, which is good when an ally or I is gravely wounded, or alternatively when a captive is taunted with death but never granted it."

More straightening, though it wasn't needed for he was already fully erect. "I can breath under water and I have protection from all water based attacks. When someone decides to use too much magic I can dispell individual bursts of their powers or release a field that encompasses a great area, negating any magic used within. My skills include bullying others into performing a desired effect or manipulation with words when subtelty is more important. You will also find I am sharp with my senses and surroundings, and I would like to claim it to be near impossible to sneak up on my person."

Nathaniel took a mouthful of air and remained silent a moment, to show he was finished and had nothing more to say. Thayet conitnued with her line of questioning. "Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?" Nathaniel gave a dip of his head, words gutteral but crisp. "Certainly." Finally 'Lady Anguish' came to her final question. "Which section and commander do you wish to train under?"

Initially, this would have been difficult to answer. Nathaniel wanted to see battle, but had no passion to train under vampires or ride creatures. He heard Norse recieved a strong amount of melee combat, but the man also enjoyed a dark sense of humor. Thayet had initially turned him off, but having seen her retrieve that ring for the one woman he was beginning to question his initial opinion of her. Without a gracing smile, for surely that would have only angered the other, he spoke the following words as if he'd been born letting them slide from his tongue; "Vanway's vengeance... yours. I believe my own training and abilities are best suited there, and I understand there is a decent amount of combat to be held there as well. If there would be somewhere I may serve better, I would of course be just as content to go there."

Silently he waited to see what would come next; if he would be ordered back in line, sent somewhere else to fight, or perhaps even end up like that thief if his answers weren't enjoyed. All he could do was keep a sturdy frame and exhale slowly, dark eyes determined and set.

The beams of the sun peered from the horizon like a man awakening from the deepest web of sleep. She was born, a pale gold, greeting her companion, the sky with a brilliant smile like she did each morning. She was divine. Her stellar luster rose to its peak as her warmth grazed the innocence of rustling leaves that were previously roused by dawn’s fluid breath. It was here where birds chirped with merriment and mares neighed in a stir that a young stable boy came to collect the mount of his first patron. Reins in hand, a short plump nobleman with a rich moustache stood before the lad with the strictest of orders.

“You will guard my steed with your life, understood?”

The wealthily clad aristocrat insisted with a smoke-burnished voice while Kaden, a child no taller than four and a half feet stared, head-lifted to the man’s jiggling second chin. It was quite a distracting sight. The man was wide, with much of his width almost exploding from his tightly clasped belt. It seemed like the leathery girth was latched with all intents of providing the illusion that the noble did have a waist when in fact he was draped with six layers of flab; a price paid likely with decades-worth of marriage.

“I would rather have you stolen than this beast.”

Unto the lad’s scruffy palms the reins were passed, a responsibility that left the boy with wait and a questioning gaze.

“Don’t look at me with a pair of beggar’s eyes.”

The lord barked.

”You will only be compensated upon my departure on the morrow.”

And with such as a final word, the large man departed with each heavily-weighed boot stomp leading to the tavern beyond. He seemed quite in a hurry for he was trotting briskly with a pair of rather eager pupils that almost penetrated the large doors for scantily clad females. Even at dawn, it seems that shrines of lust had never lost their frequent patrons.

Kaden stood, shaking his head as he proceeded to take his newly-acquired mare whose rich white coat shone more brightly than any other he had ever seen. She was a gallant beast, a sturdy warhorse with a lithe frame. She was of the purest white, almost mystical as a unicorn without its ivory horn. The boy was in awe in brief admiration, a trance that would soon be rudely interrupted.

“I will take that…”

A shadow of a gloved hand passed before the child’s view in a single stroke that would claim the steed’s fastenings from Kaden’s hold.

“But sir—“

“At ease now boy… it would just be the second horse that I would steal from you this week.”

A stranger guised in a cloak of elegant black insisted without having to look at the lad’s rather panicked reaction. He was an overpowering individual, the masked foreigner who hid behind his own cover of darkness. There, he lifted himself unto the beast, sturdy arms first. His dark mantle flowed gloriously in his trail, slicing through the wind like an ebon curtain. Now mounted, he brought his fashionably ebon-lathered soles beside the silvery triangle of the majestically studded saddle’s stirrup. He would not stand upon it like any other novice rider.

“And I nearly got caught the—“

“Shh… now tell me what is the name of the lord who passed unto you the service of this steed?”

The ominous man inquired with eyes at a flame of brilliant sapphire. His attention was far from persistent upon the young lad. He too was in a battle against time while he tugged at his gauntlets, a glistening black leather, before encircling in a single round, a short length of the mare’s cord around his hold.

“Lord Vespian of Friars sir but—“

“’Tis almost ten in the morning is it not?”

The rogue questioned, peering through the stable’s shadows as he viewed the sun’s height upon the heavens. The lady of the sky had already traveled far from her bed. He was clearly late.

“Almost but my horse sir—“

“She will murder me.”

He whispered unconsciously in an unrelated remark before yanking the reins towards his chest. The steed sang in protest as she rose majestically upon her hind legs. Unto the air, her hooves lifted alternately and her head thrust violently with her seemingly golden mane. She landed once more, dust scattering at the start of a raging stampede. He drummed the back of his soles upon her sides. Such was the time when it came in a toss, the golden radiance of coin. It was launched into the air in an accurate arc, swiveling as it traversed distance. Kaden sprung from his feet, taking his prize into his readily awaiting grasp.

“Purchase yourself and your mother a day’s meal. I will have your steed return in an hour.”

Almost immediately, the mare launched herself into a gallop. She was like wildfire that spread blazing past every tree and shrubbery. The world was at a blur around him like paint smeared upon a canvas. The hood of his disguise fell and the strands of his ebon hair weaved in an unruly display. As a seasoned horseman, he flailed the leathery expanse of his cord unto the beast’s hind like a whip, alternating from one side to the other with each successive stride as the pair ventured into the plains of Saquedor. Pillars of trees that rose towering into the canopy parted in revelation of a vast expanse of green, lush grass and a distant gathering. It was like a fair. Many a man, woman and child had come to witness a tournament held for a place upon a certain dark mercenary’s elite.

To this congregation of mortals he proceeded as a knight clad in anonymity, a valiant rider whose mantle flowed like a shroud of velvet against the torrents. Closely he leaned to his mount, his gloved touch placed lightly upon its flowing mane.

“I thank thee for thy services… now return to your master.”

With the last of his request already spoken, he swiftly lifted himself from the saddle, an ebon clad leg sweeping from its once straddled place. How his cloak fluttered in magnificence as he did so, a fearsome bloodletter of a foreign origin. In a heavy thud, his footing reunited with the grassy carpet of the earth. A flaming obsidian, he was not of this land, his features dictated so in the chiseled molding of the mask that shielded half of his face from view.

From his place, he did not pause. He moved through the crowd, weaving amongst spectators and mayhap competitors of every class, catching a glimpse of the final warrior who had just finished scribbling his name upon a sheet of parchment among others. The man’s departure revealed a certain commotion at a brew. A thief was being held down by one of the elite’s generals no less. And where there was a Norse, there was a Phedre inflicting her highly specialized art of torture. The struggle would not hinder him from approaching the stall. It was quite an advantage to have been immune to her ways for in several instances she had never faltered in threatening him of his life. The tip of her sword has become his friend, the eye of the needle upon which he must pass in order to receive a moment’s worth of gratification: a kiss, a kiss for his life. She was never one to offer a fair trade.

Soon he arrived before the desk of lists, forming a faint smirk as he briefly panned his gaze upon the female assassin and her newfound victim. He was in a state of frantic screaming. However, his high pitched cries of desperation fell merely upon deaf ears. This ominous stranger would not meddle with her matters just as she did not meddle with his. It was simply their way. Assassinations could be carried out without a speck of remorse and at the end of the day, when dusk had fallen upon the sky, they would return to their passionate entanglement as if bloodshed never were.

He shifted the attention of his orbs to the newly placed sheet where the words ‘late comers’ were lovingly inscribed. There he shifted his stance, anchoring himself upon the desk with three of his gloved fingertips.

She eviscerated the scoundrel’s tongue; a single practiced swipe that would send a spatter of blood and saliva upon his cheek. Just… perfect. He spat inwardly in sarcasm. The girl had always made his day. She was a sight to behold, provocative in spite of her… somewhat masculine attire. Ahh but what could such a man expect? The last time the girl wore a gown to mesmerize required him to purchase the dress itself… and watch her don it. Catching a glimpse of Phedre enswathe herself in a dress… truly, how could he complain? How could any man complain? She blessed him with such entertaining memories that proved entirely that she lacked finesse. He smirked.

“Let us continue.” She bade the rest of the crowd casually easing off the crimson stain upon her dagger.

From the well beside Sabien’s feet, he acquired a quill. He found himself in the act of writing but playful mockery of his thoughts would prove rather distracting. By this time she had returned to the place by his side if only to alert those who would be questioned. He would not turn. He merely paused in thought, recalling a certain pompous fool whose name he would sign in his place. A practiced trail of dark ink, a crisp formation of calligraphy would soon spell what would become his new identity: ‘Vespian of Friars.’

“I certainly hope victory includes provisions for bribery.”

He uttered daringly in reply to the captivating beauty of the tournament knowing fully well that he would alert Diocletian’s displeased attention. Finishing his insignia in a flourish—such impeccable penmanship indicatory of a learned man, he rose once more to leave but a fleeting gaze in secrecy upon his flame. He could have seduced her then. The desire was evident however he would simply dismiss such a playful thought through an amused smile and a glance of sapphire rapture. The man had always been the sort to charm.

He departed and thus at last his shadow allowed the sun to beam upon quill, parchment and a certain gift, the sole evidence of his arrival. He would leave for her to receive, the sole truthful manifestation of his sentiments, an exotic bloom of spring.

No one talked while Phedre or the five elites talked, and this was a rule that needn’t be said. Common since whispered to Aaris as the fingertips of light touched upon the ground. Her body stood strait yet the cloak’s appearance caused her to appear as if she buckled her knees and head. Not wanted to seem misunderstood to be disrespectful, her head lifted up to the sun, and the hood dropped down on her shoulders. Just as she did this, a name from the commander’s lips echoed in the arena. As the woman in the cloak kept her head strait, and her emerald orbs forward, a muffled sound of footsteps came closer. Finally a figure stood out from the lined up crowd, and questions began to shower on his presence. As the archer stood, and looked into the empty space that was in front of her, she noticed that the questions weren’t followed by answers, yet the questions continued.

Dark brushes of lashes met her bottom lashes as Aaris quickly closed, then opened her eyes that instantly were turned to the man in question. Her eyes stood still like an old pool of water that has been untouched with life. As she continued to gaze, a question that couldn’t be answered by a nod stated itself for the man. His reaction of meaningless babbled angered her, she wanted to walk right up to the man, punch him square in the stomach and say, speak already. Yet this wasn’t the time or the place to speak up, nor walk up, so she held her attitude. Quickly she found how wise she had been as she saw from the corner of her eye, Phedre quickly stride to the man to handle it her own way.

A look of fear came in the man’s eye as the commander had her hand around his throat within seconds. Shortly, three rings slobbered out dripping with his personal mouthy liquids. A distasteful look swept over the archer’s face, a thief she thought as the look disappeared as soon as it had appeared. How foolish it was to practice a trade that would in Aaris’s book be punished with having his right hand cut off. Instantly the man was punished, not by the removal of his hand, but the removal of his tongue in such a fast motion, those who blinked more then twice would miss it. Now as if nothing had happed, the commanded casually cleaned the blood off the dagger, and spoke, “let us continue.”

Interest galloped in her mind as the urge to join the elites increased. More names were spoken, but no one hurried to step up, and Aaris couldn’t blame them. Unless they had something to hide, they should be in fear. Rumors of the lady assassin were true; she was, in short, mighty. The archer kept calm and patient for her own name to be called out while standing her ground.

After three names had passed and missed, two of the elites walked towards two men, and began to question, no longer playing calling off the roster. Aaris tried to listen to both at once, but soon became unnecessary as one ended faster then the other. The reason this being was it sounded like the tall man with black hair answered the question on what he was trained in. He continued to go on and on, maybe he could become elite by selling yourself, and being proud on the many things he could do. She wasn’t sure of that, maybe the more he talked the deeper of a grave he built, so plans to wrap up her answers were in order as she listened on.

Finally the big last question came, “Which section and commander do you wish to train under?” Aaris thought of that, vaguely she tried to remember each commander and the section that was based on. She remembered there were at least two that was based on melee fighting, something she knew little of. There was one that had to do with riding beasts in battle, another thing she wasn’t familiar with. Another section based on stealth, spy like gathering, the first company, Phedre’s dogs had peaked her interest very well. That company was run by Diocletian Ruin. Aaris had been familiar with stealth and silent death before, which made her skill with the bow such a blessing for those long ranged targets.

One more company had also interested her, Second Company, Vanway's Vengeance, and if Aaris wasn’t mistaken, the commander Thayet Meage was the one speaking with the tall dark haired man. The lady in the cloak had experienced with torture, yet there was so much she wanted to know. So much she NEEDED to know; maybe this commander was the one who could teach her.

Aaris finished listening to the two interviews, and waited for her turn to come around, and the response from the two interviews. Maybe I’ll see another tongue cutting show, she coolly thought to herself as flaps from the flags rang in the distance.

Surrounded by the tumult of the Elite interviews, if such an expression was applicable, the Shadow of Curin did not resent himself the extent of discomfort he felt. In all it was disorienting; and the forced gravity of the situation induced a feeling akin to vertigo.
Thusly Baugrin allowed his brows to knit, willingly letting his confusion be plainly seen. He looked about his companions, those also in the many ranks and queues: not another one of them dared to let their honest feelings show. Masques of bravado; masques of capability and confidence. The reckless, selfless expressions of zealots.
Perhaps it was a trait he had inherited from the God of Nature; but even Baugrin could not deceive himself. He felt the extremes of discomfort in the temperature of his pulse, in the queer ice in his bowels, and the clamminess of hands and brow. The pressure was palpable. He would not deny it, nor seek to pretend it away.
Who was this Phedre to Baugrin? Here he was, it occurred to him, at the interview of her own hand-picked elite, so indeed, he posed the poignant question to himself again: who was Phedre to him? Who were these pompous Elite flouting how terribly dangerous they could be? Was it necessary for him to join their ranks?
Did he see himself exhibiting the same tired complacency towards all other living things? Certainly not.
Most certainly, assuredly not.
Baugrin was many corrupt and hateful things: but he still retained a large extent of his bond with nature: with none of the magic or manna; but most or all of the empathy. This, this was Baugrins' keenest weapon in the quest for success. With a little finesse, and a lot of empathy had he ever achieved the unimaginable.
Not that Baugrin held Raku in any regard at all; it was conceivable that this Phedre would provide something of a bridge to the Dark One, he mused, looking over at her from amongst the bobbing heads of all the other applicants.
Studying her, for all her perilousness, and obvious authority, Baugrin second guessed himself on that.
Indeed; unless Phedre required the passion and skill of Free Beings, Baugrin asked of himself: why would she be here? Rakus' power rested in a different domain, he deemed. Raku had little enough power in a world that was still free.
So: Baugrin posed the same keen thread of questioning to himself: through Phedres' victory, and thusly Raku; would this put Baugrin himself in a stronger position in his competition against Curin?
Baugrin had seen first-hand just how dangerous indeed Phedre was; but did it matter?
True power was not needing to use it, Baugrin deemed.
But he wondered if even this thought was not some shadow of his affinity with the God of Nature. He wondered if indeed even these thoughts were not the craft-weildy work of his maker.
Baugrin scowled, knowing his existence might be nothing but an experiment by the God of Nature: whom Baugrin knew was willing to subject himself to the most appalling extent of suffering and hardship so that he might better understand the dark side of the equilibrium -the denizens of which were every bit as much Curins' children and domain as the light-side.
Even so Baugrin brooded, questioning himself the things he had heard demanded of the others; and the truth was: he had no answer.
Not yet.
Certainly nothing prepared. And, Baugrin mused to himself: more is to the point: would I want to have some slick speech at hand?
Perhaps there were those who lived and breathed the kind of fervour that Phedre, and her Elite clearly exhibited. But Baugrin wondered if they had all begun like that? He wondered what (petty, or scarcely) horrific indignities had led them down their path? Those who genuinely experienced the worst atrocities were always dead. Baugrin looked forward to the day he could challenge them all to contest that notion.
He wondered, if they perceived what and who he was, if it would sway his favour, or his disfavour?
Baugrin deemed either way: from his perspective or that of the elite; there was equal risk involved. Equal potential for frustration of furtherment of their mutual causes. But, perhaps, unlike most of the Elite, Baugrin had time.
He would never, nor could ever die. Every time he was maimed or killed, the hand of his maker, the God of Nature himself was there to remake or ressurect him. Baugrin wondered if he should make that known, but decided against it.
If these Elite were not willing to take a risk with him, to take him on, and see; he was not willing to take the risk of aligning them them.
Afterall, he wondered with a shade of bitterness: what do they promise? So far he had perceived nothing on offer; nothing but the passing glory of the association with this Phedre, and through her, with Raku. But to what, Baugrin mused, and where would that truly lead?
Raku! Baugrin shook his head, almost wishing it to be noticed, almost wishing some mind-reader discerned his scornful thoughts.
Thusly, even as the gravely important questions were hammered out:
What is your name?”

"Where do your loyalties lie?”

"How are you trained?”

"Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?”

"Which section and commander do you wish to train under?”

the only answers Baugrin, the Shadow of Curin could provide, with the queer humility of his voice were:


"Baugrin.

"With myself, until you give cause to believe otherwise.

"To see and understand.

"Of course not. I have never heard of your caste 'til now; nor can I deem the fullness of your purpose until you have revealed it.

"I know not your members, not amongst them their commanders. If they would seek to utilise me, let them come to me.

[[Its going to be short cause I have Writers Block]]

The interviews had began and they were coming close to him. Vahn thought over the questions in his head. He had selected what unit he would like to bee in before he arrived here. Vahn looked his usual self, except the fact he was a lupine, if they were to battle, he would transform. Vahn would only do it when he needed, he didn't like it when humans ran away in fear, it pissed him off. It was Vahn's turn to answer the questions. “What is your name?”
”Where do your loyalties lie?”
”How are you trained?”
”Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?”
“Which section and commander do you wish to train under?”
Vahn thought about it for a second. "Vahn. My loyalties lie with myself and side of evil. How well I am I trained, well enough to take down an army. I am also trained in the ways of a Gladiator and Warrior. Yes I do. I wish to be in the section called Night's Children. I am a Bloodthirsty warrior like him, I am a Lupine and it is in my nature to kill and feast on the dead"
Vahn replied, he was happy with what he said and he hoped it brought him into the elite, he was a well known to be one of the strongest lupines and wanted to show his skills to the world.

From beneath his hood Diocletian watched the first recruit with a burning gaze, his blood red eyes almost alight amidst the shadow. The blonde man answered the question with ease and honesty was apparent in his articulation. The shadowed face gave no thought away as it dissected each syllable, eyes unblinking. His stance did not waver, it was as though a cloaked pillar stood before the group, cold and unmoving. The only answer he waited on was the last. The man did not intrigue the Elite member and thus his interest in the First Company would have been a silent discomfort. But at last the name of Norse Relic slid from his lips and he was free from the burden of the little ray of sunshine. His hair alone would hurt my eyes, he thought silently to himself. “Next!”

Thayet watched her recruit approach, intrigued with his posture and outward stance. Despite her peaking curiosity, her face remained unreadable, her lips parting only to speak the questions. Though her ears perked to hear the answers clearly and her eyes flashed in contentment for a breath of a moment after each answer. She could almost smell the ripeness in him. He would be a fine soldier to mould with teachings of torture and the dealings of the most exquisite forms of pain. He had leadership as well as battle experience in both melee and magic. She froze as he spoke the word, interrogator, the corners of her lips curling up in the slightest smile. This change was noted by Phedre who shot her a scowl which burned the gesture from her very lips. Now was not the time to be dwelling on such amusements. It was almost impossible for her to maintain her straight face when Nathaniel announced his wish of joining her company. He would make a brutal teammate, to be sure. After the questions drew to a close, she nodded in dismissal calling for her next recruit to interrogate.

Phedre stepped in, motioning for Thayet to return to the stands where the others stood and Kronos slept. The lady assassin wished to have her own involvement in the fun. Her eyes scanned the group with scrutiny, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. A flicker of movement caught her eye, coming from the entrance of the arena. Did they arrive yet? Her two foolish sons who take for granted their blood relation? But no, it was not them, but instead another whom she loved and also found devotion too. Phedre eyes held fast on his frame as he stooped to sign the sheet, resting the soft bloom of a flower on the desk as he passed. He was late, indeed, and although she had felt a sincere wave of annoyance before, it seemed to have vanished with the very coming of his being. From her side, Diocletian also followed his frame, his crimson eyes burning with silent fury. How he hated the man and his arrogant nature, his magic possession of Phedre, how he seemed to manipulate her as though a master of puppetry. Perhaps he wished to spar… perhaps the boiling blood could be resolved on the dusty floor of the arena. Perhaps… but unlikely it would be allowed before the watchful eyes of his lady commander. No, he would have to wait for a quiet time to launch his fierce revenge.

Phedre pulled her eyes from Melandro and returned them to the newest recruit who now stood before her. An eerie shadow of a man stood before her, if one could call him such. He was of but bone and shredded flesh, deep gouges and grooves adorned the exposed ivory of his being. He was indeed of an interesting make up though he stood with a strong aura about him. The lady assassin watched him closely as she offered forward her questions. He spoke his name. She did not recognize it. It was not surprising… but the second answer brought a stiffness to the assassin’s back and a snarl to curl at her upper lip. “It is not my interest to convince one to lay loyalties with me. If they waver on this notion they are not worthy of my time.” She nearly spat at his feet, arrogance was a flaw that boiled the lady’s blood and often lead to retribution. “We are not hear to beg for your arms. We are offering forth a gift. You will not be offered admission, you will ask for such. We do not require your arrogance and so, if you do not wish to change your means of approach, you may as well dismiss yourself here and now. There are no rich men or royalty here. You will not be favored.” She turned her eyes from him immediately and instead, examined the recruit that Diocletian had begun to question.

The man had a strange scent, Thayet covered her nose and scowled. A lupine, Phedre thought with a smile, interesting. The man addressed the questions with an air of absolution, though his answers regarding loyalties were bothersome. It seemed as though he too had an issue with arrogance, one which needed to be solved, perhaps through a physical trial with one of the elite. For one man, even a lupine, to claim to lay waste to an army… that was folly, and she knew it. Her eyes glanced across the group, hoping to catch site of Melandro, to see his expression, but he was out of sight. I’m sure they would have shared the same amusement. Diocletian simply sighed before growling, “Next.”

OOC:: I guess whomever is left can go. My life made this slow down unreasonably ( I Apologize! SO SORRY!), so we’ll finish the interviews this round and get right to the dueling afterwards. Post away!!

They hadn't quite understood what was going on, at least until LaPlace explained it a little more clearly. The reason for having been awakened at the unRakuly hour of sometime after daybreak. The city of Lomedor was already in full swing with merchants unveiling their wares, children busily being educated, the poor hassling for money and food. A source of life and capital, people gave the city life and in return the city gave them life. Only this time Triella's life dictated she go elsewhere. Of course the demonic rabbit-like demon wasn't a good representative of life, but he did play the role of a quiet voice nudging her to do things. this time he'd convinced them to sneak aboard a wagon full of supplies meant for some distant town or other. LaPlace had made himself unseen, so Triella was stuck with amusing herself until told otherwise.

Phedre's elites...

She had aspirations of joining the elite ranks of such warriors, but hadn't pursued such a career for her ties with Raku. As they mulled over the memories, they seemed a bit incorrect. Hadn't they actually once been in the Elite, but withdrew to pursue their own fortunes? Or had they simply been lost to the others in a swirling melee and was trapped by a particularity sadistic mage's workings. They closed their eyes and tried blocking out the myriad webs of tangled memories that never fit right, the only one that was close to the truth was an early desire to join the Elite, but hesitation to even think about it. Many things had changed overtime however, they'd grown and evolved from what they were originally and separately.

Things could very well be different this time around.

One way or the other, their life would be altered. That was the thought she clutched tightly as they crawled away from the wagon, looking up to find LaPlace standing still with a disapproving look on his whiskered face. He had taken to wearing horridly heavy black robes today, befitting a vampire who wished to hide from the sun, or someone hiding their appearance.

Triella went with her simple homespun clothing, figuring that ruining some white cotton shirt and brown pants wouldn't upset her to much. They couldn't remove every vestige of a regal upbringing however. She had still stubbornly worn a fine silk cape. The inner lining was of a forest green while the outside was coal-colored. The trimmings were a golden-wheat yellow, with the brooch keeping it tied around her neck was a pointed star, half covered up by a downward half-circle, the symbol of the Roscherwitz family.

LaPlace had taken a seat in the stands, not standing out too much compared to certain beings present. They however were with the other recruits who milled about, waiting for their chance. She'd muscled her way up, irritated at people standing still and watching a slight commotion. the screaming almost held her attention, but she needed to sign that paper.

Elbowing a small child in the face, or was it a hobbit? She paused to scrawl down a name. Did she really want to give her real name and declare that she may or may not be aligned with the collective still? It hadn't quite hit her that agents of said group might recognize her brooch thus making it pointless. Either way she jotted down the name that people called her by.

Alice

Her hand writing had made it a bit loopy and larger than normal, but compared to some of the chicken scratches on their, it was pretty good. Triella was a bit distracted by the glowering Diocletian. They hadn't done anything, and only gave a few quick glances his way before scurrying into the mass to bide their time for their turn.

While waiting, they were certain he looked at them, if only for a brief instant, before his gaze traveled to the others. Her face had twisted into a broad grin and she gave a slight wave, not noticing her upper teeth cutting their dry lips and making a slow trickle of blood. Before she knew it, the moment that lasted forever passed and his baleful sight had moved on, and they became aware of a distinct shift in LaPlace. He wasn't particularly pleased. Hurriedly she cleaned the side of her face on her wrist and tried to recompose herself...which...didn't go to well.

The others interviews hadn't interested her very much. There was a few rather smelly ones, some who didn't seem to belong, and some type of undead. Now, if one of them had...say...a skull perpetually burning a captured soul that screamed in agony, they might have paid more attention. Maybe she should have watched them closely, so she could kill each of them and leave her the only remaining candidate, thus the only choice. Where would she hide all the bodies was the most troubling question, Robyn-rin could only eat so much without getting fat!

One man started to try and raise his hand to get their attention from the back. He was a bit eager, naive looking. Much too young and annoying. With a swift leg she cracked him behind the kneecap and sent him to the ground in a fit of cursing. Without hesitating for the others to see what had happened, she started to shove her wave through the crowd waving wildly. Someone, or something grabbed her to probably clock her a good one and settle the slight commotion. With a half-garbled growling hiss she jerked free, ripping the cloak and leaving him with the fine garment in his grasp and nothing else.

Breaching the crowd, she slipped and tumbled and fell on her knees, catching herself with her hands and getting herself, fairly dirty. Looking up they pushed off of the ground with a sheepish grin at Diocletian before giving a mock salute with a pair of muddy fingers, leaving dirt on her forehead. Wiping her hands on their pants they got them...less dirty rather than clean.

She wasn't really certain of his expression or take on the little incident, but she was determined to answer his questions to the best of their ability.

“What is your name?”

Simple really, what was the point of that? They already had it. Unless...this was a lie detection test of some sort. Which of course she was fine, Alice was their name...just not by birth. Unless this lie-detector could tell if you were using your birth-name or not?

"Alice"

”Where do your loyalties lie?”

Where did her loyalties lie? It was no longer with her family or their friends. It most certainly wasn't to Lomedor. And...she wasn't devoted to Raku, but more of an nonpracticing worshiper. Was it with Robyn-rin? That was a Mother's love though...loyalty is to a cause or a group. Which she had none to any other, for now.

"My loyalties to the past have been severed leaving me with none in the present, but the future yearns for someone or something greater than myself. I would like the Elite to be that something if they would grace me with your acceptance."

”How are you trained?”

She wasn't a very good student of melee combat. They had learned things that kept them alive till today, but everything else was earned through sweat and much, much blood that more often than not was her own. While not a master, she wagered she'd be able to cut down some above average opponents.

"I am a close combat fighter, but I am not really trained extensively with a weapon or fighting style. I simply try and make the other persond ead through whatever means necessary."

”Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?”

They physically paused at this. A bad sign of wavering commitment, but this was a considerable life changing moment. Any who didn't were either crazy, stupid, or didn't get it. Triella didn't understand just what it would change and how, but she was willing to find out.

"The commitments and repercussions are beyond my grasp at the moment, but I am willing to do, so long as my children are not harmed."

It was true, her ultimate devotion was to Robyn, and not even the goddesses of Light could make her hurt the undead child. Granted she could jsut kill them both instantly and without effort, but Triella would be more than willing to die for the girl. And it was the same ehre, she would be willing to risk or even sacrifice her life, but so long as no harm came to Robyn.

“Which section and commander do you wish to train under?”

They had thought about this actually, so a response was swift and speedy, unlike the previous.

"My wish would be to train under Thayet. I have no special skills that would help me in this role, no deep well of cruelty or sadism, I simply think I'd be best in that section. However, if I am granted this honor, I would readily have myself placed according to where you think I would best be."

On the outside she had calmed down quite a bit, and if one looked past the shoddy clothing and filth. Beyond the odd-haircut and slight gleam of confusion in her eyes, they might notice a dignified stance of someone born to, or commonly around, nobility. Inside was a bit different. They were ecstatic to have gotten this far without dying. Even if rejected it'd have been a good day. To have actually seen the Elite up close, to have spoken to one of them! She'd probably be telling it over and over to Robyn for the next week while LaPlace quietly reminded them that the goddess of Balance did not show up and proceed to obliterate everyone while Triella heroically killed her with a gnome's potion. Details were unimportant to her anyways.

With a hesitant breath, she waited to be told what to do next. Which hopefully didn't involve being skewered...

Steadily she stood up in attention like she had been, waiting for her turn to come and arise. Some answers that the people gave came close to give Aaris a chuckle. Yet she kept her resolved as she waited. A faint smell entered her nose, it was horrible and she guessed it came from the dead looking fella away from her. Instantly she felt she was going to gag but tried to push the feeling down into her stomach. Such an abonation person answered the questions in a somewhat odd way. It was like he didn’t belong. Quickly she listened as the words, “Next”, rang inside her ears.

Quickly with grace she moved foreword as the one named Diocletian growled the words. With emerald jewels the woman looked strait in his eyes as she prepared for the questions. Her stance was upright to attention.

“What is your name?” He had answered. It was a simple question that could be answered with great ease. Unless it was a name that belonged to Phedre’s adversaries, there wasn’t much point to ask. It also helped to remember the person by the name, because there wasn’t anything in a name.

“Aaris,” she calmly said quick as lighting to the man.

”Where do your loyalties lie?” Was his next question without much of a pause. This was one of those questions if you gave the wrong answer you die. Yet she gave the answer that she believed in.

“In order, Phedre, her elites and those that are hers.” If any time at all the mistress’s family or friends needed assistance, she would offer a hand. If at any time her life was on the line to obey a command she would obey. Jump and ask how high.

The next question was one she had been pondering on how she would answer. She wanted to tell and explain on how she was talented in, without sounding too braggish. ”How are you trained?” It was the first question that it took her a second to pause at. She took a breath and replied calmly, “I am trained in the bow and arrow for many years. I can make swift and quiet attacks in a matter of seconds. My reflexes are great, and my endurance is toned. I’ve dappled in the arcane arts rather deep. My sword play needs some work, but I can hold my own if I ever some into a close encounter situation. There have been many assassinations that I have been part of, so I’m familiarly with the art.”

Then once more he had asked her another question.
”Do you understand the commitment of life and loyalty upon joining the elite and the repercussions it will have on your living from this day hence?” The woman made one slight nod, “All good things come with a price even if it is my life. I do.”

Then the last question was asked, and she was prepared at what answer she would give. She had hope that he would actually want to in his section.
“Which section and commander do you wish to train under?”
Her pale face was calm while she spoke, “The first company, Phedre’s dogs…Lead by you I believe.” Moving forward with her upper body, she bowed slightly and rose back up to await the response to her answers.

It was time. The day had arrived, and the location was set, all that he had to do now was wait. On the surface, today appeared like every other day; however, after only a few moments of study, any fool could see that something was happening. In the Salquedor Grasslands, a large mob of people were gathering for an event that was supposed to be thrilling. Phedre, the Lady of Darkness herself, was holding tryouts for an elite group of warriors who would follow her. This group would be a formidable fighting force, capable of fighting at any time of day, and any environment. the ones chosen for this group would be entering a class that would give them respect and fear from those around them. While it was certain that many of those who were trying out would be rejected, there would be those few gems that were worth the effort. Standing in the sunlight a stone's throw away from the training arena, Death allowed a chilling smile to come to his face.

With the sun high in the sky, Death stood out easily, a black shape that seemed to swallow the sunlight. Seemingly at ease, he strode towards the arena with a relaxed, almost arrogant saunter. He bore no visible weapons, but anyone who looked at him would wager that he had several hidden under his cloak. While he did indeed have weapons there, they were not the kind that most men would think. Oh, he had daggers and swords strapped to various places around his person, but his most potent weapon would only be found when he wanted it to. The air seemed to hang in place, a dry weight that would swiftly dehydrate an unprepared traveler. Moving around the small table and ignoring the sign up sheet, Death entered the cooler shadows of the entranceway, gazing at the crowd that had gathered. Just as he entered, he moved aside as a body was drug outside. From the trail of blood leading back to the crowd, he doubted that this fellow would be getting up anytime soon. He would simply be food for any scavengers that arrived in the night. Moving towards the crowd, he took up a position towards the back, where he could observe the proceedings.

Two at a time, people were called forward and asked a short series of questions. Questions about who they were and where they claimed their allegiances lay. Cocking his head slightly to one side, he listened as the ones be interviewed listed off their skills and where they would prefer to serve the Lady. Scoffing silently, Death tuned out the rest of the proceedings. Interviews held no interest for him, he had other plans that day. Letting his gaze wander, he saw a few people glancing his way. Perhaps they thought that he was here to try out for Phedre's Elites; well, he would soon disabuse them of that notion. The day he served under Phedre would be the day that he went into the temple of the Goddess of Life and gave her a kiss. Since the latter was never going to happen, neither was the former. Just for fun, he considered killing someone in the back. In such a crowd, it would soon be noticed, and that would stir them up a bit. But...that was not why he was here, and he had more important things to do than pluck the legs off of a butterfly. That was about as easy as it would be, and it would be just as useful.

On a sudden impulse, Death forged into the crowd, forcing his way through the people. Protests died on lips whenever someone saw who was doing the forcing. Even if they did not know who he was, they sensed something about him that meant it was better to just bite their tongues. In a matter of moments, he had made his way to the front of the mob. There, he stood relaxed and let his gaze wander over the captains of Phedre's Elites. The one completely enveloped was obviously a vampire, and despite this Phedre obviously still expected him to be there. Since the fool obviously didn't want to die, he was there. That Phedre ruled this group with iron discipline had never been doubted, and here was the proof of that. Ignoring the crowd behind him, Death locked his gaze onto the Lady of Darkness herself. His eyes shone from deep within the cowl of his cloak as they traveled over her. While he had never personally met her, Death had always known of her. "This will be an interesting meeting" he whispered, still retaining his relaxed pose. He would let her be the first one to say something.