Today was a special day for Seria Sentrandai. Yet another one of those annoying paladins fell before her. His name was unimportant, other than who he was attached to. The man was one of Avennian's old crusading buddies. Seria was an anti-paladin, and while she may have been a member of the paladinnic brotherhood naught more than two years ago, she was now trying to kill them. All of them. And to let Avennian know of her intentions, she had sent him a sweet letter detailing how she had captured the man, then tortured him for a day or two, left him to starve for a week, giving him only a daily ration of water. And today, he was going to die.

Erected in the great desert was Mazzer's holy symbol, for he was the patron deity of Paladins. It was made of wood, but the uppermost portions of it built of very sharpened steel. Next to it was a quick set of stairs Seria had built. She gave a slight smirk, mostly out of relish for the following events. The groan behind her ruined her relatively high spirits, and she turned to the dying man.

"Quiet, or I'll make you suffer longer." Seria said, an icy glare falling upon him. He, of course, didn't. Seria grabbed him off the cart she had commandeered roughly, and casually put him over her shoulder like a sack. With that, she walked up the stairs. They creaked and swayed as she strode up them, and the paladin only murmured weakly. She gripped his torso as she reached the top, and lifted him above her head. With that, she swung him forwards onto the bladed holy symbol. The blade pierced through his chest, and nearly ripped him in half. Blood streaked down the symbol, tainting it forever.

"I win, Paladin." Seria explained sweetly. She leaned forwards and gave the alive for another moment paladin a sweet kiss goodnight, leaving a trace of blue on his cheek. The demoness twisted her head at that moment to the sands, and saw a figure. A figure that would have struck fear into a lesser demon. Seria leapt over the side of the stairs, and landed on two feet below. Her eyes touched his blade, and she felt fear.

"So you acted, I thought you would. But it appears that my plans have gone slightly awry, so, may I interest you in an apology?" Seria said, and she gave him a cheeky grin. Her face did not betray the fear running through her at the sight of such a blade, but she felt it all the same. If he struck her with it, all of her earlier attacks would be healed, and when that was coupled with his already impressive healing abilities, it spelt doom for her. But she would try. With that she drew Ruin and Riot, knowing all to well of the impending battle. She swayed from side to side, and mildly casted a spell without triggering it. Too early and she would waste a precious few seconds.

After all, her angelic nature, well hidden as it was, dictated that she would not strike the first blow unless he was truly intent on fighting her.

The blazing desert sun beamed down upon the back of Avennian's neck. A patterned sound of shifted sand could be hear as he walked forward, making his way to the place of meeting. It was not far now. As Avennian looked forward he could see the symbol of Mazzer, the deity who was not his chosen to serve, but Avennian respected nonetheless. He was coming closer, feeling the impending trouble that would he had no doubts in occuring. As he walked, he remembered the letter; the letter that had told him of this meeting place, and why he needed to come.

Of course, Avennian had not refused. Not when he had been informed of the details. It angered him quite a bit, so much that he completely incinerated the letter with his Sacred Hand upon finishing his reading of it. And yet, here he was, traversing the sandy desert calmly. His countenance held a look melancholy, for while he had read the contents of the letter, perhaps he was not quite prepared to for what he may see here. Yes, he had travelled to several parts of the world, and even participated in his fair share of battles. Still, most of this one done alone. Very seldom did he accept travelling partners, and even rarer was the time when he had traveled with several others. He had grown to be rather close to them, and occasionally he even wrote letters to them; to check on them and see how they were doing. How surprised he had been to receive a letter with fine handwriting, sealed with a blue rose of sorts. Beautiful as it had been to the eye, to his heart the letter had been nothing but a disgust.

He was here now. Today Avennian had declined in wearing his golden armor, though his holy blade was still gripped within his right hand. He walked through the desert with his white boots, pants, and tunic, as well as his white cloak. Clad completely in the holy color, Avennian was a bright spot upon the brown desert sand. Enough so that he had been spotted. Avennian stopped dead in his tracks as a female figure jumped down from the odd stairs. Avennian set his icy blue eyes upon her, and though she was fair, he was immediately repulsed. She was the one who had sent him the letter.

"So you acted, I thought you would. But it appears that my plans have gone slightly awry, so, may I interest you in an apology?"

As she spoke, Avennian looked up at the blade on the symbol. There he saw Anarion. A friend indeed, but the elf had been too late to save him. Avennian listened to her words, but for a few moments never took his eyes off of the dead body upon the symbol. After having seen enough, he slowly turned his head back to the demoness in front of him. She had done a brave thing, though if she had really known Avennian, she would have realized her own foolishness. How dare she bring him here to see this! Suddenly Avennian's lips parted as his powerful voice came ringing out into the still air;

"Witch." He paused at the single utterance of this word for a moment, taking careful notice as she drew her two swords. "If you so desire to apologize for what you have done, then it is not me whom you owe such words." Saying that, the loud screech of a bird could be heard from above. The bird flew over the two of them. It was a fiery red, and it seemed to leave a red streak where it had flown. Avennian, however, did not look up. His eyes were kept on the demoness, and he continued his speech;

"Still, no words that you may speak will save your life." With a quick motion, Avennian drew his sword, and for a moment it gleamed under the rays of the sun. "But, I will give you a chance to save your soul. REPENT of your ways and submit yourself to holiness! Then I will end your wretched life, and send your soul to the hall of the dead!"

This said, Avennian pointed his sword directly at her heart. The bird above them let out another loud screech, and this one seemed to echo throughout the dunes of the desert. Today, Avennian would once again lay down his judgement.

Atonement then death, it sounded like such a nice bargain. If she had plans to be killed today, of course. Her own blades shone in the sunlight, obscuring a straight look at them. Many thought the blades to be pretty little trinkets with a mirror sheen, but those were not the ones who had to look at them in the desert sunlight. She strode forwards, swaying right and left as though in a trance. A trance that only an unwitting fool would take as such, like how they would look at her figure and lick their lips. Today she wasn't wearing her heals, so that part of her facade wouldn't be in action.

"Repenting was something I did long ago, Avennian, far before you were born. I used to be an angel, would you have guessed?" Seria said. Her voice was musical, sweet, and ever so angelic. It was nothing like what she was truly. She drew a lazy line in the air with her blades as she strode across the desert sands to him. Seria avoided placing the blades in front of her eyes, she personally did not want to experience their unique amount of reflective power anymore than she had to. Her eyes caught the phoenix momentarily, and she knew how hard of a fight she was in for unless she played her cards just right.

"And as much as I would love to give up my position amongst the only guild that will accept me and then get killed anyways, I think not." Seria continued. She remembered the days when she as well had been a holy warrior, but didn't relish them. It had never gotten her far, and although she never understood why she had initially joined with the apocalypse alliance. All that was in the past, however.

"And thus, explain to me, why should I give up my one and only home, and those few people who have even been the slightest bit of friendly to me? The last time my sweet angelic nature was out on the prowl, she was reduced to a wreck, raped, and never once respected." Seria growled. She didn't want to fight Avennian, she was afraid of his power, and the familiarity of it. It had been pleasant to be winged, but those days were over. Her short walk stopped as she was just a respectable ten feet from Avennian. From here her blades didn't have the length to strike, and thus the swaying woman was doing her best at peacable. So, how does a holy man attempt at making someone such as her repent?

Making her repent would be a foolish thing to try and do. How could one make another repent? It isn't possible, for only what one truly desires within their heart can save them. Obviously, this woman was not going to do such a thing. By now, though, Avennian had settled down just a bit after seeing Anarion's impaled body upon Mazzer's symbol. Yes, it was amazing for someone to be able to cool down so quickly after witnessing such a thing. Still, for all of the times that evil tore at his world to try and break him down, it had only served to build up his fortitude.

Avennian listened to her speak. He let every single word she uttered slip into his ear so that he could understand them. He wanted to hear what she had to say. She talked about her home, and her angelic nature. Avennian's visage was unchanged, though, as she spoke of these things. She seemed to have some knowledge about him, some way or another. Though she would never know everything.

As she stopped speaking, she had also come rather close to him. Avennian let his arm fall slowly back down to his side. For a few moments it was almost difficult to look in her direction due to the powerful reflections of sunlight upon her sword. Still, it was not too much to bear, and after long he was looking at her again. It appeared that she had made up her mind. She was not going to repent. Despite his usual harsh tones when dealing with her kind, it made him more sad than anything. He was constantly being put into these kinds of situations. Who was to say that he always wanted to fight? That he always wanted to destroy every evil person that came his way? Avennian was not a righteous zealot, in any way. Still, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Suddenly, he inhaled a mildly deep breath, and exhaled in what sounded much like a sigh.

Maybe, Avennian thought. Obviously, she had been too long introduced to those zealots who set out a bad name for people like him. What she had thought was good was only evil in disguise. Avennian looked up at his friend once again. Maybe, Anarion, your death will not have been in vain. His eyes then set back upon the demoness as he opened his mouth to speak;

"What if I help you?" He said, plain and simple. His stern eyes had softened just a bit, for it saddened him to hear her speak in such a way. It almost hurt his heart to see what evil had done to her; how evil had tainted her heart. Avennian knew all too well how those of the forces of evil would twist around people's situations and make it seem as if the ways of goodness and holiness weren't for them. It really wasn't that hard, you just had to be willing and able to stick it out. It was in this that Avennian wanted to help her.

Seria glanced to the phoenix one last time, and felt a yearning to fly once more. Her blades flicked into a back handed stance, and she brought them forwards. The points slipped into the sheathes, and she pressed inwards. The blades slipped within with the sound of steel against steel, and Seria's eyes touched his for the first time. Moments later they were averted, on the brilliant holy blade.

"Help me?" Seria stated. Her voice had no anger, but perhaps some wonderment. She had fully expected him to kill her like she would kill any other paladin. Momentarily the gorgeous woman turned around, and she looked to the defiled holy symbol. This man's presence alone made her regret her actions. She even remembered that letter she had sent him.

Dear Avennian, Paladin of Lothlomendil, Keeper of the Sacred Deed,

I have your friend, Anarion. He thought himself more than any elf should. He tried to kill me, of course, I am a member of the Desert Faction. Now, he'll be spending some time with me. I hit him with the flat of my blade, don't worry. Although, now, it seems that a few daggers have toyed with him, and we seem to have run out of food to feed him. Never worry, we've got some water and just enough healing magic to keep him alive. He'll be fine, but the day of the full moon, I'll let you visit him, due west of the Desert Faction fortress.

Love and kisses,
Seria Sentrandai

It seemed a cruel thing now, especially making it with the best script of common she had. A slight grimace flittered across her face, and she turned back to look at Avennian. He would have his hands full if he tried to atone her, and that would be a truth. But then again, she had heard once or twice that those Archangels had a special way of dealing with angels so fallen as herself. And then she stepped forwards, halving the distance between them.

"How do you suggest that you help me, Avennian?" Seria inquired. She wondered why she was forsaking her honor instead of attacking a sworn foe, a paladin. No urges to harm him, torment him, or even kill him. It was like they were sitting down to have tea. The long buried memories of her angelic heritage began to burn within her once more. Not the memories of her decline, but the memories of when she had been a paladin, just like Avennian, so long ago. It was possible, even, that she had been an idol to this paladin as a young boy. The great slayer of the Black Heart Demon, the one and only. It was doubtful, though, because rather simply put, if he hadn't responded to her with utter outrage at giving up her paladinic heritage, he no doubt had not idolized her. Her name had not changed in her extremely long life, a life that allowed her to train herself to a near unbeatable state with her twin blades.

"How do you suggest that you help me, Avennian?"

At this question, Avennian was slightly relieved. This is what he lived for, helping others. For once, in so long, he may be able to speak rather than fight. He almost felt as if his clerical duties were rusty, but at a time like this, it reminded him of why he had chosen to be a cleric over being a paladin. Still, he did not sheave his sword. Someone such as himself could not risk being surprised, and whether or not she was willing to accept his help was still in question. Demons could be rather cunning. In fact, that is what most of them thrived on, by Avennian's experience. If she was handy enough with those blades, then she could easily draw and strike Avennian before he had the chance to draw. No doubt she had many years under her belt; it was too risky for him to allow. Still, he wouldn't forget that a young Phoenix was at his command.

His words would never bring back Anarion, one of the only people that he could actually call a... 'friend'. Still, Avennian hoped that maybe if he could help someone else to turn from their evil ways, then maybe Anarion's death would have served some purpose. Maybe this was fate, maybe it was meant for Avennian to come here. Maybe he really was the only person that may be able to help this woman. Suddenly his eyes lost their sadness, and grew to a state of determination, mixed with hope and sympathy.

"I will help you, by supporting you." Avennian said. It wasn't much, but most people did not realize how powerful support really was. And considering this, most could not support others in the endurance of holiness, for they needed to work on themselves. Avennian, however, was so highly concecrated to the ways of holiness that he would be able to help this demoness to turn from her ways.

"If you repent, then you will be free. You will have a clean slate. From there, I can help you to keep yourself clean and free from evil. But, it is you that must take the first step." By now, Avennian had reconsidered killing her. Now that his mind had settled, he harbored no desire to draw blood from her body. He only wanted to help her.

"You have to be strong." Now, Avennian was beginning to tell her from his own, personal experiences. He didn't know how effective he would be, considering that she had once been a paladin herself. But sometimes a paladin couldn't solve everything. Sometimes it required a person with clerical senses to handle people such as her. After all, clerics were much deeper into the holy ways; they were the ones who truly knew of holiness.

"You speak of the terrible things that happened while you served the good purposes." He paused for a moment, his medium-deep voice seemed to flow through the windless desert atmosphere. Though his sword was still gripped within his hand, it should have been obvious that he held no threatening position. He merely stood there, speaking; his mind focused on revealing the truth to her. The 'truth' could be explained in several different ways, but he wanted her to see what he saw, why he still followed the ways.

"I, myself, must endure through hard times and situations." At this statement, Avennian resisted the urge to look up at Anarion's corpse. What she had done on this day was a personal attack upon him. And even still, Avennian would have to live with it for the rest of his life. "But when I hold on to what I believe in, I only become stronger. My faith is increased, and my fortitude becomes stronger." He wanted to smile a bit as he thought of the simple times when faith was all he had to depend upon.

"I will help you to make it through, like I have."

Supporting her would be nice, yes, but she would be in need of a cleanse. The taint of evil, corruption, ran deep through her straight from the Riders themselves. She couldn't go to Mazzer, the little stunt with the holy symbol behind her likely put her deep on the god's hate list. But there were always other options, like contacting another being of great holyness, such as an archangel.

"I, may as well give my thanks for your support." Seria explained. Her eyes touched his, and they held a slight happiness with a dash of worry. She adjusted her coat absent mindedly, as she thought about what had brought her to serving Famine. She had heard he could enhance her abilities, and the Apocalypse back then was allowing anyone. During that time with him, she fell from the good graces of the paladins and the gods of goodness. But Famine still held a hold on her, by the taint that had once just existed within her, but now thrived within her abyss granted body.

"Just remember to keep me away from Famine at all costs, or I'll revert. He still has a considerable hold over me." Seria explained. Her blue coated lips made a grimace as she thought of being snatched away from the path of Light. In truth, they would never take her appearance from her, she hadn't changed in the slightest since being an angel, other than the teeth. With that, Seria placed both hand on her hips.

"And unless those rumors were false, I hear you are the new man in charge of the Keepers? I'll assist them however I can, but never will I officially join. I'll serve as more or less daemonic support for the big fights." Seria said. The tall woman gave a quick nod, and then turned her head one last time to the defiled holy symbol. She was beginning to feel rather guilty about it.

Avennian did not have much to say in response to her words, but one statement had rung alarmingly within his mind.

He listened to everything else she had to say, even the things about the Keepers. For a moment he was surprised that she had already known about them. Still, it was not unbelievable. After all, she was one of the older members of the 'Alliance', and being so she would obviously be in contact with the higher-up demons. Such demons were always on the prowl, sending their minions to and fro to do their evil bidding. Avennian knew that he could only keep his business a secret from them for so long. At least, he had done well enough to get recruit a few more Keepers before they were killed. This made him think of Zenith, the one who had 'suddenly' fall ill from an unknown disease. He was dead now, and there was nothing left for Avennian to do. It was obvious why he had been targeted, and Avennian felt responsible; Zenith was one of the chosen apprentices. Now, he was but a corpse within the Sanctuary.

However, no diverting thoughts could keep him from remembering what she had said about Famine. Even his name was intimidating; after he, was was one of the four great demons. Still, Avennian felt no threat, though he wondered how well this demoness would be able to aid the Keepers. The very person that she 'needed' to stay away from was one of the very people that Avennian was targeting.

"You would do best to keep yourself away from him." Avennian said. "While I am offering my help to you, it is only you who can decide the path which you will follow. If you truly want to stay away from Famine, then do so. But if you harden not your heart to me, or the ways of holiness, it will become so that you may stand in the face of this Famine and not faint." Of course, Avennian was speaking figuratively. He wasn't saying that she would physically faint, but he was referring to the fainting of her ways and beliefs. Then, he looked up at his friend on the blade of Mazzer's symbol and sheaved his sword. Slowly his arms bent and his hands began to unbotton his tunic. He did this until his tunic was completely unbuttoned, and he pull the clothing off of his arms.

"Do not let those demons control you." He spoke these words in a powerful tone, and at the same time threw the tunic onto the ground. His body was well-toned, and surprisingly muscular for a cleric, but with Avennian's lifestyle one could only keep their physical body in the best of shape. Once again he drew his sword, and suddenly two beautifully white angelic wings burst from behind him, sprouting from his back. He did not wince, for his mind was focused. Then, his wings began to flap majestically as he flew to the dead man on the symbol. Placing one hand under the neck of the body, and the other hand under the legs, Avennian flapped his wings even harder and began to lift him from the symbol. Truly the angelic wings seemed to suit Avennian, as he appeared to be an archangel sent from the ethereal plane.

As he lifted the man off of the blade, he turned. The sun suddenly hit his blade, which was loosely gripped in his right hand, and it gleamed with a shining light. Then Avennian began to lower himself to the ground, his eyes on Anarion the entire time. He landed softly, and slowly placed the body on the ground. Suddenly a loud screech echoed across the desert, and with great speed a great red bird descended from the scarce clouds.

Without saying a word, Avennian took a few steps back from the body. The bird then immediately replaced him by landing on the body. It looked over at Avennian, and Avennian gave it a slight nod. Then great flames began to rise from the feathers of the phoenix, and began to burn the body as well. Avennian stood and watched the bird burn his friend's body. It would definitely be considered an honor for one's corpse to be burned by the everlasting fires of a phoenix. The dancing flames flickered in Avennian's blue eyes as Anarion's body burned, and without turning to the demoness, he spoke:

"Lead your own life, and depend only upon your own power."