15-Black Rook to D8; Goodbye White Bishop.

Aysel entered her home, and uttered a few syllables to recharge and seal the wards, then sighed as she pulled off her cloak and unlaced her bracers. She put some tea on the burner of her alchemist table and then reached into the cache of her mirror and pulled out her journey book. It was sleek, covered in red leather emblazoned with gold and latch that was locked cleverly using a sophisticated ward woven into a deep blue lapis stone that would only respond to the touch of its owner. She sits down at the table after the tea is ready, pouring some of the bittersweet liquid into a mug and opens the book, retrieving the matching stylus from the spine. The journey book’s mate was a match, though different in appearance; black leather emblazoned with silver, locked with a highly
polished fire opal, and when one was written in with the stylus, its text appeared in the other, though they both seemed short, the pages were enchanted; there was no end to the pages. The planeswalker opened it and began to write:

Black Rook has moved from its position. I had known something was wrong before we even go to the oasis, there were waves of more building power in the air above those of the stagnant remains of the previous channelings. I said nothing to those who I was traveling with: Nesalla, Trileon, Brakern, and Calavel (a moon elf and recent arrival to the area, would like to see any information you have on moon elves of this plane…). I found long ago its best not to mention these things, it won’t prepare them for anything. When we reached the oasis I could see the power pulsating in black fiery veins, and I watched it passively while the others indulged in the cool water. The power was building, and then there was a scream, and they all found themselves looking to the temple. They started for the inside and I frowned and convinced them to let me cloak them, and so, after wrapping the wind about us, we entered.

The power there is near sickening and I continue to find it harder to believe that Fallen is accomplishing all of this on his own. He has to have help, and the construct is great evidence of this, Fallen might be a powerful warrior, speaker and “cleric” but he is no mage. He had Lindra, the mercenary I had scouting goblin territory for signs of Bashlôk, in a cage in the middle of the temple, and several of his own duplicates watching on as the ceremony began. You hardly need the details, but it ended with the death of our white bishop and her brain becoming part of the construct; it rose and called Fallen, “Master”, his using the brain of a human may be his mistake or he knows something I do not, time will tell. For now it is enough we have another casualty, but this is war of a sort, there is no time to mourn her, though I wish there was.

I fear the white bishop isn’t the only thing we’ve lost today. Blackthorne near threw a fit like a juvenile and ran off to Durain. He claims he’s never seen any one sass Karl, stand up to Karl, seen any one do anything against Karl, I half wonder if its because he doesn’t stick around long enough…

In any case I caught him and spoke to him later to confirm the loss. He’s decided GreenRock is doomed, he doesn’t want anything to do with Fallen, and that material possessions are the way to go, though he seems to know more of Karl’s plans then we do, or at least an aspect of it. You know how I am about free will, I won’t bother him again… but you’re less picky about methods, I’ll leave this to you. Myself, well… The Vigilante has vermin to exterminate, The Lady must keep her image and under that all, its perhaps time for us to make a move on releasing our tainted blood friend.

Aysel sits her stylus down and sips her tea, soon enough a response is written in the shadow’s hand.

Consider this out of your hands.

The planeswalker nods to herself, puts away the stylus then locks and stows away the journey book, then walks to the shrine she has constructed to Celestian and prays once more to her god for the lost soul…

…at a table at the Laughing Rogue the shadow closes his own journey book and sips Spiderblood wine from a dark crystal goblet, watching his patrons. The door opens and a figure cloaked in a silvery robe enters, though treading in the shadows. She sits down across from him and lowers her hood.

“So…” he started, “Do you have a contract now?” she shook her head. He smirked and then continued, “I have a job for you then… do you know Trileon Blackthorne?”

She looks at him, grinning evilly; and as she gazes at him the grin breaks into a cruel chuckle…


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