Applications

5000gp

Race: Domovoi
Class: Totemist 2/Wizard 3
Stats: 32pb
Feats: Extend Spell (L1), Incarnum Spellshaping (L3)
Are flaws allowed?

The old man stood over the squirming bundle of life resting in the nested fabric.

"This child has one foot in the realm of the Gods." He finally said, after plenty of examination. She reacted to his raspy voice by whimpering. "Do not give her your last name. She will not remain in this village for long." His authoritative voice was not met with resistance. The peasant woman who was still covered in his own blood and sweat from birth barely raised her hand to argue. Weak, tired, and afraid of the magi, she could only bite her lip as her pain reverberated through her body once more.

"She will be taken care of where she is going. She must. The Blessed do not cower in fear to mortals." His final words before leaving the small thatch-roof building were as much of a condolence that any had heard from him in decades.

I will leave the remnants of this post intact to prove that I'm not completely lazy, however, I will not be finishing this little vignette. Instead, I've decided that it's better that I simply bullet-point this scene and allow myself and others the opportunity to NOT have to read it. Trust me, I had intentions of writing it all out in full form, but my integrity as a writer and my overall feelings for my readers prevented me from doing it here. It just wasn't worth it. The story needs it. Andra's story needs it. I don't need to write it. I hope the following bullet-points explain it well enough. Thank you.

• Andra's birth and physical features marked her destiny long before she was able to choose it herself. Physical features include, but are not only, as follows: One pupil is blue while the other is hazel. In the winter her hair turns a formidable black while in the summer it is a bright blonde. Her love rivals Mother Firebird, her ire rivals Grey Wolf.
• Andra is considered a gifted student of the divine arts. She carries out her studies with vigor and respect. But her attitude toward her competition is carried out much like a barbarian may defeat his enemies, mercilessly and without shame.
• Her gifts are her saving grace for all of her missteps inside the temple. She does not see this, but her best teachers do.
• The High Priest has had run-ins with Andra, none of them have ended well for the young priestess. Typically, she considers him out to get her.
• It is apparent to most people in Andra's life that she has no interest in men. She only crushes them beneath her boot (figuratively and literally, given the chance). Her homosexuality is another mysterious -and potent- discussion among her tutors. 'Curing' her of such ideas has been tempted more than once.
• She is of age where her first mission trip is upon her, some suspect she will be either given a job she does not deserve or one that her actions have acquired over time. This dichotomy has created lots of rumors, and sides have been taken by most.
• Andra disregard for many of her 'weaker' tutors doesn't help matters.
• Andra is drawn into the High Priests quarters for a final meeting. One that will decide her fate. But the High Priest is not as noble as he would lead everyone to believe. Propositions are made -sexual in nature- and paths are offered. Andra denies the advances. The High Priest punishes her.
• Another meeting is called. Andra enters, humbled by her falling in ranks (due to not taking his advances). Her offers them again. She feigns interest. It's the High Priest's mistake. She exits the High Priests quarters will his private parts in her hand.
  
  ...
• Andra escapes the temple before anyone knows what has happened. She finds herself in the gutter, but not without bravado and her morals. She still has people inside the temple she would call her allies. They assist her as they can. The experience only fuels the fire within her.
• An invitation reaches Andra, she arrives to meet her fate once again, but this time at the hands of Ivan. A much more formidable foe than the fat, old High Priest.

~*~*~*~*~
Within the depths of the temple's walls were many who had been chosen to come here and learn the secrets of Mother Firebird. Children made up most of the population and many were still adjusting to their first amounts of wealth and power. Villages would send their brightest pupils here to escape the traps of being poor. The increase in numbers in children was an initiative by some to create priests and priestess that could then return to their homelands and battle the affects of pestilence and plague that threatened to overtake them. But the temple was not a sweet midwife to those children. Those without talents that the men of the church could use were quickly found and cast out.

Andra moved through the hallways with an arrogance resulting from passing yet another test of her peers. Her wild look was at constant odds with her fellow students and her convictions rivaled some of the Elders. She had entered the temple under the Dark Moon, yet another sign of her duality of power, and so expectations had been high. At age sixteen, she was preparing to leave the temple and take up her mission elsewhere. Where, she had not been told, but she was not deaf to the gossip and rumors that swirled about.

Her strong will had made her a formidable opponent any many aspects of her training, and more than a few people had felt the barbs and stings of her personality. Andra was not the most popular, but she demanded respect -and most offered it to her with all due respect.

The hallway winded around a corner and towards the office of the High Priest. Her meeting could be about anything -a scuffle in the pantry a few days ago, to her new orders- but she was prepared for anything. Confidence did not allow for weakness.

"Enter." Came a voice from behind the oak door after a single rap. "Hello, Andra. Sit." The High Priest was a portly man, his neck and arms were thick from his overindulgence of pork fats and cheeses.

The smell of dirty bodies and burnt food linger in the air and do not relinquish their hold on the atmosphere even after doors are opened or windows are lifted. But that is to be expected in such a place. It was a place for people to be forgotten. A place to forget oneself. Andra rested her elbows on the table, her temperament had given her the reputation within the halls of the old hostel that she had wished. Those living within the wooden walls didn't bother the pretty girl who lived in the room at the top of the stairs. Those that did, learned quickly of their mistake.

But Mother Firebird and Grey Wolf do not relinquish their grasp upon their wayward child so easily and Andra shows some compassion for the poor souls that drag themselves in and out of the gutter. Her touch heals broken bones of the serfs, staves off the creeping diseases, and channels goodwill with the innkeeper. The girl knows that if the High Priest's men find her she will inevitably be punished, but she does not play the cowering victim well. For now, she is content to do as she pleases within the confines of the decrepit hiding place she discovered.

But then it came. And even though she was expecting it, the subtle way in which it appeared was jarring. She did not even see the messenger before he escaped back out the front door. The envelope in front of her was all the evidence she had that there had been someone there at all.

Someone had found her.

The next few days crawl by with little consequence. On the morning of the appearance at the White Court, Andra awoke and dressed. She had been fond of the uniform of the temple, if for no other reason than for it was habit, and she had escaped the clutches of the High Priest with her best outfit. She donned the clothing proudly, shined her Relic to pristine form, sharpened her weapon and placed it on her hip. As she exited the building she was followed by a dozen sets of bewildered eyes.

Andra did not know what Ivan had in store for her, so she had prepared for battle.

The child of Mother Firebird and Mother Grey Wolf was going to war.

A dark figure, Antov doesn't look completely at place amongst a noble court. His hair is oily black and often runs shoulder length in wild clumps. His skin is pale, even paler then normal and he tends to dress simply in simple heavy fur-lined robes that are drab in colouration, over his wiry, thin husk of a body. This is just the first appearance however, and the Zduhac is much more then he appears. His eyes are a brilliant emerald green the gleam with cunning and influence, and his voice is draws in those who listen to it like a moth to a flame. Often, Antov doesn't even wear his dishleveled robes and appearance. A master of deception and disguise, he can appear as almost anyone or anything for any reason.

He often carries a number of concealed weapons, such as daggers, knives, or weapons concealed within canes or walking sticks, and is a decent shot with a crossbow.

Antov is a man of great conviction, but perhaps paradoxically, not one of great ethics or morals. He believes that the ends justify the means, and what that end is, is a semblance of order brought to the chaotic lands under the Blood Handed's rule. To this end, he (unlike many revolutionary or rebel movements), does not simply wish to assasinate or remove Ivan from power, but make sure that a plan is in place to replace him quickly after to prevent a civil war or more chaos. His methods include poison, diesease, rumour, investigation, tactics, death magic, hidden blades, disguises, misdirection, torture, blackmail, bribery (when funds allow it), and using the spirits and remains of the restless dead for his own purposes. Though quite knowledgable on the mysteries of the church and other faiths and cults (a fact that gives credence to the theory that he was once a member of a monastic order), Antov himself does seem to be very religious...he'll use it for his own purposes, manipulate it, but he considers himself to be beyond saving. Having knowledge of his what his own fate will be, he doesn't see much point in wasting time on services, prayer, or spirituality. He is however, a fan of philosphy, if only to use a method of keeping his mind sharp and open to possibilities and opportunities that present themselves.

He doesn't talk much about his past, and prefers to keep an aura of mystery around him...so much easier to spread lies or gain an influence over the nobles that way...or maybe to protect himself or others connected to him as his plays his most dangerous game of intrigue, murder, and abomination. That, or he just doesn't remember or concern himself with it.

Not much is known about Antov's early years before he acquired his "curse". Some say that the more youthful and healthier Antov was a monk of Lady Firebird or a member of someother scholastic profression, who dwelved into forbidden lore and legend. Others say that Antov was a soldier who cheated death after falling on the battlefield and was cursed for his hubris...still, others say that Antov was a merchant or traveller who surccumbed to the frozen air of the coldest of winter nights, and was brought back to warmth with the exception of his heart and soul which remained frozen...whichever one of these folktales and bar stories has more semblance of truth in it, Antov himself never says...or maybe he doesn't know for certain.

What Antov does know, is that he commited a some great celestial taboo, did something that no mortal should have done and for it, he suffered a grave curse. A small part of his soul was torn away, and the void were it had been, had quickly filled up with a near endless font of the energies of death and destruction. From this, he gained terrible power over suffering, fear, death, and the dead...and a unique insight (or maddness) into how things worked. With each use however, the energies in him would strengthen and eat away at both his body and spirit...eventually destroying his soul completely and preventing him from passing on.

As no afterlife awaited him, Antov sought another way to live on once his punishment took it's full course. He looked around him at the chaos of his homeland and the acts of it's ruler, Mad Ivan, and decided that he would put an end to it...he would work to bring order and civility back to these savage lands. Even though at first his thoughts were of purely selfish concerns (IE: being remembered after his destruction), as Antov travelled he began to see the full extent of what trouble his nation was truely in. He gained true conviction in his sojurn and began to formulate a plan. The easy route would be to find and unify the various rebel and revolutionary factions together against Ivan...but that route would not achieve the order and stability Arkadia needed...no...after the factions removed Ivan, they would inevitably fight each other over who should lead and rip the nation asunder.

Instead, Antov devoted his half-life to finding a single leader, strong enough in willpower and charisma to solidify and rebuild the nation after Ivan's defeat. To that end, he began travelling amongst the noble circles, utilizing his skills to first become a mystic who would solve problems on the lands of the Bayors...investigating the causes of plagues, dealing with hauntings and excorcizing spirits...lending his vast occult knowledge to solve such problems. Eventually, he gained the local Bayor's trust and began assessing to see if the noble had what it would take...until his assessment was done, he would protect the Bayor by proactively discovering plots and intrigue against him and 'cutting them short' before they could reach the noble...inevitably though, Antov would move on to continue his pilgramage, as each bayor would fail his silent assesment. Some Bayors would fear loosing Antov's influence and skills to a rival noble, and wound send agents after him to bring him back or end his life. At least 7 attempts were made upon Antov's life, and each one at first appeared successful...only to later turn out to be a body double, a trick, or an illusion of somekind...Antov became so adept at faking his own death or otherwise misdirecting his assassins, that he gained a reputation as being "many-life'd" or "unslayable". To make matters worse for his previous patron, when Antov gained influence with a new bayor, his old one who had tried to have him killed inevitably suffered some sort of tragedy or run of bad luck that would make him think twice about persuing Antov further...his trade caravans would be ambushed by bandits who seemed to know exactly when and where to attack, his family would suffer some illness, a favourite pet would show up dead under horrific circumstances, etc.

Still despite the setbacks and distractions that jealous bayors posed, Antov to this day, continues his search for a leader that he could throw his support behind and go into oblivion, secure in the knowledge that the world he left behind was a better one.

WIP

A dark figure, Antov doesn't look completely at place amongst a noble court. His hair is oily black and often runs shoulder length in wild clumps. His skin is pale, even paler then normal and he tends to dress simply in simple heavy fur-lined robes that are drab in colouration, over his wiry, thin husk of a body. This is just the first appearance however, and the Zduhac is much more then he appears. His eyes are a brilliant emerald green the gleam with cunning and influence, and his voice is draws in those who listen to it like a moth to a flame. Often, Antov doesn't even wear his dishleveled robes and appearance. A master of deception and disguise, he can appear as almost anyone or anything for any reason.

He often carries a number of concealed weapons, such as daggers, knives, or weapons concealed within canes or walking sticks, and is a decent shot with a crossbow.

Antov is a man of great conviction, but perhaps paradoxically, not one of great ethics or morals. He believes that the ends justify the means, and what that end is, is a semblance of order brought to the chaotic lands under the Blood Handed's rule. To this end, he (unlike many revolutionary or rebel movements), does not simply wish to assasinate or remove Ivan from power, but make sure that a plan is in place to replace him quickly after to prevent a civil war or more chaos. His methods include poison, diesease, rumour, investigation, tactics, death magic, hidden blades, disguises, misdirection, torture, blackmail, bribery (when funds allow it), and using the spirits and remains of the restless dead for his own purposes. Though quite knowledgable on the mysteries of the church and other faiths and cults (a fact that gives credence to the theory that he was once a member of a monastic order), Antov himself does seem to be very religious...he'll use it for his own purposes, manipulate it, but he considers himself to be beyond saving. Having knowledge of his what his own fate will be, he doesn't see much point in wasting time on services, prayer, or spirituality. He is however, a fan of philosphy, if only to use a method of keeping his mind sharp and open to possibilities and opportunities that present themselves.

He doesn't talk much about his past, and prefers to keep an aura of mystery around him...so much easier to spread lies or gain an influence over the nobles that way...or maybe to protect himself or others connected to him as his plays his most dangerous game of intrigue, murder, and abomination. That, or he just doesn't remember or concern himself with it.

Not much is known about Antov's early years before he acquired his "curse". Some say that the more youthful and healthier Antov was a monk of Lady Firebird or a member of someother scholastic profression, who dwelved into forbidden lore and legend. Others say that Antov was a soldier who cheated death after falling on the battlefield and was cursed for his hubris...still, others say that Antov was a merchant or traveller who surccumbed to the frozen air of the coldest of winter nights, and was brought back to warmth with the exception of his heart and soul which remained frozen...whichever one of these folktales and bar stories has more semblance of truth in it, Antov himself never says...or maybe he doesn't know for certain.

What Antov does know, is that he commited a some great celestial taboo, did something that no mortal should have done and for it, he suffered a grave curse. A small part of his soul was torn away, and the void were it had been, had quickly filled up with a near endless font of the energies of death and destruction. From this, he gained terrible power over suffering, fear, death, and the dead...and a unique insight (or maddness) into how things worked. With each use however, the energies in him would strengthen and eat away at both his body and spirit...eventually destroying his soul completely and preventing him from passing on.

As no afterlife awaited him, Antov sought another way to live on once his punishment took it's full course. He looked around him at the chaos of his homeland and the acts of it's ruler, Mad Ivan, and decided that he would put an end to it...he would work to bring order and civility back to these savage lands. Even though at first his thoughts were of purely selfish concerns (IE: being remembered after his destruction), as Antov travelled he began to see the full extent of what trouble his nation was truely in. He gained true conviction in his sojurn and began to formulate a plan. The easy route would be to find and unify the various rebel and revolutionary factions together against Ivan...but that route would not achieve the order and stability Arkadia needed...no...after the factions removed Ivan, they would inevitably fight each other over who should lead and rip the nation asunder.

Instead, Antov devoted his half-life to finding a single leader, strong enough in willpower and charisma to solidify and rebuild the nation after Ivan's defeat. To that end, he began travelling amongst the noble circles, utilizing his skills to first become a mystic who would solve problems on the lands of the Bayors...investigating the causes of plagues, dealing with hauntings and excorcizing spirits...lending his vast occult knowledge to solve such problems. Eventually, he gained the local Bayor's trust and began assessing to see if the noble had what it would take...until his assessment was done, he would protect the Bayor by proactively discovering plots and intrigue against him and 'cutting them short' before they could reach the noble...inevitably though, Antov would move on to continue his pilgramage, as each bayor would fail his silent assesment. Some Bayors would fear loosing Antov's influence and skills to a rival noble, and wound send agents after him to bring him back or end his life. At least 7 attempts were made upon Antov's life, and each one at first appeared successful...only to later turn out to be a body double, a trick, or an illusion of somekind...Antov became so adept at faking his own death or otherwise misdirecting his assassins, that he gained a reputation as being "many-life'd" or "unslayable". To make matters worse for his previous patron, when Antov gained influence with a new bayor, his old one who had tried to have him killed inevitably suffered some sort of tragedy or run of bad luck that would make him think twice about persuing Antov further...his trade caravans would be ambushed by bandits who seemed to know exactly when and where to attack, his family would suffer some illness, a favourite pet would show up dead under horrific circumstances, etc.

Still despite the setbacks and distractions that jealous bayors posed, Antov to this day, continues his search for a leader that he could throw his support behind and go into oblivion, secure in the knowledge that the world he left behind was a better one.

WIP

Aleksei Nikitin in any other setting would be described by children as looking ominously 'villainous'! He is small in stature, standing but 5'8" and weighing just over 11 stones. His raven black hair is cut stylishly but some would say it has an oily sheen to it. He has close set brown eyes giving him a slightly rodent look to his features . His gait has a military bearing to it as does his stance and posture. If he has fears he rarely lets them show. This isn't to say he is a 'chisled stone', on the contrary, he is very animated when the mood strikes him. Aleksei dresses in thick dark fur-lined robes, usually trimmed with gold embroidery. Underneath the noble's attire is an intricate and extremely hard chain shirt that the young nobleman crafted himself. Off-setting the dark clothing is a bright red set of boots. These cherished items were heirlooms from his grand-father (his father's feet were too wide to have them fit comfortably). Neither Aleksei nor his grand-father ever compained of the weather in regards to personal discomfort while those boots shod their feet. There are precious few things the Nikitin's have at their disposal these days. They should be grateful for anything they can still lay their hands upon.

In better times Aleksei would definately be a 'happier person'. These days he is often found deep in thought (mostly fuming about his family's misfortunes and scheming plots to restore their coffers). Early is his father's life the man made and enemy of Jorga Demitran (another young noble about his father's age.) A decade ago his father's nemisis successfully plotted and schemed a way to have the Nikitin's fall from Imperial favor and to have their lands reduced. This has caused no end of stress amongst Aleksei's blood-relatives. Instead of enjoying the fruits of the elite Aleksei has been suffering the indignity of: ...... WORK! Assigned to the 3rd Imperial Lancer's on the eastern front for the last 6 months, Aleksei has been scheming against the Demitran's the whole time. The assignment is nothing more than a way to 'occupy his time' and he knows it as there are no plans for the Empire to expand eastward. This has soured the young noble's mood in general. His subordinates know to avoid him if they can help it. The fact is that it would only take one turn for his family's fortunes to put Aleksei in higher spirits. He has sulked for so long that it is slowly exhausting him. Aleksei Nikitin needs a change, if not, he is sure to become bitter about life at far too early an age.

It had been sprinkling on and off all morning. The over-cast skies had caused most everyone to want to bundle up and stay inside for the day. Aleksei had decided that day to visit another officer and a sub-commander (Peter and Banni). The three had been enjoying a game of cards and a few mugs of warm cider when the messenger arrived. Aleksei recognized the serf from his family's estate (though not so much as to know the peasant's name). The serf stood at attention at the tent's enterance as best as he could (since he had no military training) and announced his intent.
"A message from the Nikitin estates.", he blurted out loudly.
"Enter.", Aleksei replied.
The messenger stepped into the tent and out of the cold. He quickly produced a folded parchment with a red wax seal and extended it to Aleksei.

The young noble snatched it from the serf's hand and added "Dismissed." with an arched eyebrow. Without word the messenger exited the tent and returned to wherever he came from (as far as Aleksei was concerned it could have been back to Hell, whence all serf's came or eventually went).

Aleksei felt the eyes of the other two soldiers boring into him. The weeks had been rather uneventful and on such a dreary morning this was something interesting. Aleksei simply smiled and began to place the folded letter into his breast pocket when Peter and Banni lept towards him! The table they had been playing upon flipped up and the air was filled with mugs, cards and cider! The men wrestled furiously for the letter but it was Peter who crawled off to the side on all fours and began to read aloud:

Dear Aleksei,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and impecable health. You always were a strong lad. Things here are about as you remember, nothing of note to tell. Well, that is almost true. Two days ago I received a royal summons to appear in the capital. As you know my legs are not as they once were and it would be a difficult trip for me. I am instead sending my only son in my place. With this letter are a set of orders releasing you from your duties in the east. You are to travel immediately to the capital and take my place in this Imperial summons. Do not worry my beloved child, I'm sure the Demitran's have nothing to do with this. I eagerly await your return letter (written from the palace) concerning the matter for which this business is taking place. Keep me informed.

Sincerely, your loving father,
Brantseki

Peter pulled the first letter aside to reveal a set of orders releasing Aleksei. A loud "SQUAWK!!" in disbelief came from the officer! He rose to his feet and threw the papers at Aleksei knowing his time in this 'limbo' was to be never-ending while the younger Nikitin here had been paroled. Peter stormed from the tent and went back to his own. Banni on the other hand had released Aleksei and wore a grin from ear to ear. He was happy to see that at least someone was getting out of here in a timely manner. "Congratulations Aleksei!!! You are being called back to civilization!! This calls for a celebration!!!", he said as he poured more cider for the two. With a toast Aleksei smiled and took a drink. Things were definately looking up for the young man. Little did he know there was a storm forming out on the horizon, one that would change his life forever......

Kagan was born in a small village. Both of his parents worked constantly, and forced him to work as well. They made their living from the woods. The family would go out into the woods, and they would have Kagan climb up the tree. He would then tap the tree for a sappy substance which would eventually become syrup. When the tree had run dry, it was time for his father to chop the tree down. They would then all drag back as much of the tree across the snow on canvas as they could. It was a simple life, and it left Kagan plenty of time to think.

When they weren't out gathering resources, his father went to market to sell the products, and his mother processed the sap into the syrup. A few times, his father had taking Kagan to market to teach him how to sell, yet Kagan wasn't much of a people person. He usually spent his free time with the village wise man, a Domovoi known as Kip. Kagan was remarkably smart for his station, and Kip tried best he could to teach the young boy about modern theories on math, physics, and chemistry. The boy took to it quickly, and was soon simply discussing the ideas with Kip, not just learning from him.

Being in such a small, and remote village didn't leave all free time for study. Many times wild animals, or worse, would attack the village. Kagan felt a responsibility to the village, and had grown up learning to fight. Heading out into the woods was dangerous enough, yet another reason he and his family had learned to fight. In combat, Kagan was not quite as brutal of a fighter as most from his village. They would simply swing with their strongest arm, yet Kagan tried to put as much of his intelligence into the fight as he could. The fellow villagers started to joke about how Kagan was an "eloquent" fighter.

When Kagan had come of age, he decided to strike it out on his own. He wanted to learn more about the sciences, and the year old news that reached this village was not enough for him. He moved much closer to the capital, and started to look for work. It wasn't long before he realized that science in civilization was no better then in the wilderness. He joined a small group that would work on the subject, and made his was about being a lumberman like his father in the day time. He spent a lot of time postulating about why some tree seemed to hit the ground harder then others.

Kagan is very passionate about his studies. He can get very fired up in a debate, yet doesn't know how to properly get his point across. He likes to keep a few journals, which he records various notes to himself, as well as ideas that pop into his head. He also keeps copies of all the current sciences as best he can afford. He wishes to someday take part in writing parts of these books, or establishing new breakthrough theories. He is very meticulous, and can spend hours studying as simple an act as a ball on a string. Many people say that he thinks too much, and is sometimes hard to get going on something.

Kagan is also very displeased with the government. From his home, he always thought that the capital was some wondrous place, where everyone could sit and study to their liking. When he got closer to civilization however, he realized that it was no different being here, and being in his home. He feels the current government should either shape up, and back the advancement of science, or move way to a group that does. They have had plenty of time to take a stance backing science however. With other people, Kagan can seem to be a bit awkward. He has never been good with people in the first place, and his obsession with such an obscure concept is not helping in that regard. He is very respectable of most races. He is human, and grew up very close to the Ursa. He holds a deep respect respect for Domovoi, due to their love of his subject. He has rarely encountered the Biata, yet sees no reason why they would be bad people.

“What does that man want with me?” Kagan goes off talking to himself in his home before his journey. “I have never done anything to upset the throne, I have paid my taxes, and the only thing I do outside working, eating, and sleeping is study. I know they don't encourage science, but they have no laws against.”

Kagan continued to pace back and forth in his house. It was obvious he was nervous, because he wasn't eerily efficient about his packing. He had moved to be closer to the capital, yet it was still quite a long journey. As he packed, he started to think worse and worse thoughts.

“What if he is finally cracking down. I know some people hide the fact that they study in the after hours, but I feel honored about it.” He continues to pack. “Maybe he is gathering up all of those who are learnéd in order to just wipe us out in one swoop.”

He is about half way done packing now. The rode is dangerous, and he starts to put on his armor, and grab his weapon.

“Maybe!” He exclaims to the empty room. “Maybe, it is just Derek trying to get me to leave town before he submits his findings. He just wants me out of the way. Yes, he sent that messanger!” He started to undo the straps before thinking about what he had said. “No, that is just silly, besides, if Derek didn't send that messenger, and I don't show... I'll be dead anyways.”

He finally gets his stuff all settled up, and locks up his house. He had already given a friend of his in the research guild his spare key, and was to watch over his house while he was gone. He walks out the door, mounts his horse, and starts on his long road.

“I know, he must be gathering a large group of promising scientists to his palace. He is going to start a royal society for science!” He goes along a hundred paces at a brisk pace to the edge of town with a smile on his face, then slows and puts his head down. “No... it couldn't be that. I guess I will just find out when I get there...” He then spent the next leg of his journey thinking about why it was that metal got colder so much faster then his cloth.

As always, any comments or suggestions are always wanted.