<HTML>  We've reached the magic 50!!! :) HURRAH!   Chris ******** "How much longer do you figure we'll be down here?" "I have no idea. All I know is that this has been the first staircase we've come across that leads up for the last hour. Somehow I doubt it could be worse than the endless tunnels we've had to endure to this point." Jacob nodded grimly and continued to plod up the narrow stair case behind Rickkter. His paws were sore from covering what felt like untold miles of varied stone flooring, most of that littered with various debris. At least with Rickkter in front, he didn't have to worry about spider webs covering his face any longer. So focussed was he on Rickkter's back and simply putting one foot in front of the other that it took him a moment to realize they had reached the top of the stairway. "At least this looks promising," Jacob observed, his ears perked up. "The floors seem dry, and the walls don't appear rotted out." "Very true. Now the trick will be in finding someone." Jacob nodded and sniffed at the air around them. Finding someone was probably not going to be difficult, the catch was finding someone who would not try and kill them on sight. Surely a good number of the Keepers would have sought shelter down here from the invading army. Of course the army would know that, too. His whiskers twitched at some of the more pungent odours. Perhaps finding someone in this place defiantly wouldn't that difficult after all; it appeared no one had been down here in months. He was so caught up in some of the more unusual odours, that Jacob almost missed Rickkter when he turned down a small side corridor. About to inquire why they were going that way, Jacob had his muzzle quickly clamped shut by the raccoon's paw. Rickkter placed a finger across his own lips as he quickly but gently led the fox a bit deeper into the corridor. The witchlight continued to bob its merry way down the corridor, eventually leaving the two morphs enclosed in darkness. Jacob figured someone must be following them, but he certainly had heard no signs of pursuit... Well, seeing and hearing were two totally different things. Just as he was about to again ask what was going on, his ears picked up the sounds of feet very, very lightly sliding over the stone flooring at the mouth of the corridor. Whoever it was, Rickkter was on them like a flash, grabbing the form by its neck and slamming it hard up against the wall. Before Jacob could even raise his own weapon, Rickkter had a new witchlight burning and a dagger shoved up against the neck of their prisoner. It turned out their prisoner was a scrawny, naked, and very panic-stricken looking rat. His attention was being split three ways, between Rickkter's dagger, the blood clotting the front of Rickkter's coat, and the look of pure homicidal menace Rickkter was giving him back. "Okay, who the hell are you?" the raccoon growled. "G-Goldmark." the rat stammered. "And what were you doing following us?" "I wanted... I wanted to see what you were doing!" That last past was a little loud, and Rickkter squeezed the rat's throat to make sure he understood that. Goldmark resumed in something a little over a hissing whisper. "The Keep has been overrun, you two are the first keepers I've seen down here. I wanted to make sure you weren't in with them." "I think there's little chance of that," Rick replied. Jacob wuffed in agreement. "Exactly. We wouldn't have had to spend most of today crawling through the sewers just to get in here. How bad are things going? Is the army holding at the walls to the actual Keep itself?" "We've been totally overrun!" Goldmark squeaked out. At that news Rickkter let him slip down the wall, though he kept the dagger held close. "The defenders never saw it coming; it was only a matter of a few minutes before the overran the walls. That's all I know since we took refuge down here." "'We'?" Jacob casually inquired, his ears cocked to side. Goldmark slumped against Rickkter's paw, his ears folded back against his head, and muttered something. "Look, we're not going to harm either you or your friends," Rick told him. "Frankly, all we want to do is find the other keepers, find some kind of shelter." "Well that... that I can do." Goldmark's little black eyes lifted to stare at Rickkter. "That is, if you'll let me go." Rickkter nodded, letting go and sheathing his knife. "Okay. Sorry about being so rough on you, but we didn't know who we'd run into." Goldmark combed through the fur at his neck, rubbing at various spots. "Understandable, considering. The rest are jumpy as well, why I'm out here. Now I can take you where we're holed up, but I don't know how you two will be able to fit through the entrance." "You fit through." "Ah, but there's a difference. You'll see when we get there. And till then, no talking. And dim the light." Rickkter cocked an eye ridge at that, but silently followed the rat, the witchlight little more than a light gathering of sparks in the darkness. The little, silent black rat navigated them down corridors and up winding spiral staircases with the ease of one quite familiar with their surroundings. Eventually the trio came to a solitary store room, the door of heavy oak and bearing a lock that looked like it had not been touched in ages. Rickkter commented on that. "So how do we get inside?" Goldmark simply pointed down to the small rat hole in the bottom of the door. "I told you you'd have problems getting in." A sharp grimace on his muzzle, Rick bent and looked closer at the lock. "You go inside now, tell them we're coming. We'll be there in a moment." Jacob saw Rick had drawn the smaller of his two swords and was working the point into the space between the lock and the hasp. Goldmark was quick to shift to rat form and scurry inside. Rickkter waited a few moments, making sure his knife was set correctly, before he gave it a quick jerk and split the hasp. Almost no sound, Jacob noticed. Must have been a spell. Rickkter had to brace himself against the wall in order to force the door open. Despite the sound dampening spell, Jacob still heard the hinges squeal. The storeroom, much to Jacob's surprise, turned out to be an old wine cellar. Inside was Goldmark and three other rats, all huddled around a trio of candles. "Nice going," spat one of the rats, a medium brown one. "Now how the hell are we going to keep the invaders out of here?" "I cast a few minor fear spells, enough to dissuade anyone from looking down the hall. Also a few illusions on the door itself. It won't appear to have been touched in years." Rick looked away from the rat and over the bottles of wine. "Besides, we won't be staying here long." "Oh?" asked the brown one again. The grey and white ones were huddled off in the corner away from the mage, letting their friend do the talking. "Why is that?" "Because," Rickkter replied, picking up a bottle from the wall racks and inspecting the label, "we have an army that has overrun the Keep. If they win, they'll eventually find you here and kill you. If you have to die, better to do it fighting for something." He turned the bottle towards the rat. "My friend and I have not had any food since last night. Mind if we?" The rat snorted. "If you can get it open. We've nothing to extract the cork on those." Rickkter just smirked at him, one side of his whiskers tilting up. He turned the bottle back and crabbed his fingers over the top, so that the tips of his claws were against the glass. With a light screech, he turned the bottle in a circle, clasped the top when that was done, and with a slight strain pulled the top off. "Magic. A wonderful thing," he explained to the still unamused rat. He gave the others in the room a quick toast. "Morricore, a very good wine. Cheers." And he tipped back the bottle, taking a full mouthful. Which he promptly spat out in a deep scarlet spray all over the wall. "Ug, maybe not so good," he said, grimacing at the label once again. "The stuff's been down here long enough to turn to vinegar." "You said.... something about getting out of here." It was one of the other rats, the white one, Jacob noted. "Where do you plan to go?" "The Lightbringer Temple. It's one of the few fall back strongholds within the keep, and.... that is probably where I'd be needed most. Misha's also told me that they've provisions there to last out a siege such as this." Jacob added, softly. "You know you can't hide forever." "Watch us," the brown one said, bitterly. "I'm going with you," the white one said to Rickkter, slowly standing up. Goldmark and the grey rat also assented. "Damn it all, Julian," the brown one mumbled as he rose to his feet. "You'll get us all killed." He heaved a sigh. "Fine. Guess I'll go, too." "Perhaps names are in order, then. I'm Rickkter, that's Jacob." "Julian," said the white rat. "You already know Goldmark. My friend here is Elliot, and that's Hector," he concluded, pointing. The raccoon just nodded. "Right. Okay, get together what you're taking with you, because we're moving out." *** 12/26 1pm "Lothanasa?" Raven looked up from her desk, where she sat before a stack of old books she had gathered from the Archives some hours before. They were collections of prophecies, gathered from a wide variety of sources, most of them several hundred years old. She had been hoping to find some prediction of the current assault on Metamor, but so far her search was coming up empty. "Aye. Come in, Daria." The young woman stuck her head in through the open door, then moved to stand before Raven's desk. "How have your raids been progressing?" the priestess asked. "Very well, Mistress," Daria said, nodding once. "No casualties as yet, and we've rescued several people from isolated rooms behind enemy lines. We've also made contact with Father Hough at the cathedral." "Excellent!" Raven said, her ears perking forward. "How is everyone?" "Safe and secure, it seems. Lady Kyia seems to be doing her best to protect them." The wolf-woman smiled. "I knew she would," she said, half to herself. "Lord Thomas is there, as well," Daria added. "Apparently, he arrived with Master Cutter and several of his guards some time yesterday. Cutter is wounded, but they think he will be all right." "Good," Raven said, nodding. "Has the Duke given you new orders, then?" "No. On the contrary, he was quite pleased with our efforts," Daria replied, her green eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I thought he might be," Raven agreed. "It sounds as though you are doing an excellent job, Daria. Carry on." "Thank you, Lothanasa." The warrior-woman turned and left, her gait firm and sure. How much she had matured, Raven thought, from the mischievous boy who had danced across the ramparts with visions of battle in his head! Leaning back in her chair, Raven sighed. Daria was too young to remember much from the Battle of Three Gates -- and, in any event, all of the children had been hidden in the catacombs below the Keep hours before that battle began. The boys and girls at Metamor now would remember all too clearly what battle was really like. The shouts and screams, the blood, the fire and smoke as the town was ransacked, the evil stink of death ... no, these children would not dream of the glories of battle. Combat was not a dream, but a nightmare, and the young innocents who survived would be plagued by its demons for years to come. Raven knew that from painful experience. She had just turned twenty-one when Nasoj arrived with his army, storming down through the valley in his first attempt at conquest. At that time the Lightbringers had been strong at Metamor: her father, Elric, had been Lothanas, and there were four other priests and priestesses at the Keep alone. Raven had been the youngest, working primarily as a healer near the front lines of the battle; her brother Aramis was working in a similar role, while her father, mother and sister remained back at the Temple and tended to the wounded. Or, at least, that had been the plan. In the heat of battle, it was difficult for her to stay aware of all that was going on -- though when a Balrog crashed through the walls of the Outer Keep, pretty much everyone stopped to take notice. Although it was technically a "lesser" daedra, the battle-master struck terror into all who saw it: two thousand pounds of rock-hard muscle and bone, virtually immune to physical attack, the Balrog was Lord Revonos's most fearsome servant. Raven knew, when she saw her father emerge to face that creature, that it would almost certainly mean his death. Elric was carrying Elemacil, the Holy Sword of Metamor -- one of the only weapons on Earth that could harm such a beast. The Balrog sneered at him, mocking his courage, but Elric strode forward with strength and dignity that belied his age. The battle was intense and savage, as Elric gave the Balrog far more than it had bargained for. The power of Dokorath himself flowed through Elric's limbs, matching the daedra's brute strength with speed and agility that seemed unreal for a man in his fifties. Even with divine assistance, though, it was not a sure victory by any means, and soon both fighters were battered and bloody. In the end, Elric summoned all of his power to imprison and banish the weakened daedra, punching a hole in the ether with sheer force of will and pushing the Balrog through. It was a phenomenal task, one that required extreme amounts of energy to accomplish -- Lightbringers never even attempted such a feat without divine backing. Elric, though, did it on his own ... and drained himself so much that he collapsed, unconscious. He died a few days later, his body giving out from the strain. By that time, the Temple had been washed clean of the blood of Raven's mother, brother and sister, not to mention countless acolytes -- the work of some unholy butcher who had managed to slip through the Temple's defenses. Raven was at her father's side as he lay on his own deathbed, and before the darkness claimed him he weakly picked up Elemacil and placed it in her hands. "The battle is yours now, Karenna," he told her, addressing her by her childhood name. "Metamor needs a protector, and that task now falls to you. Be brave. Be strong. Raise up others in our ways. Walk in the light ... Lothanasa..." And then he was gone. And Raven, for the first time in her life, was alone. Fresh tears rolled down Raven's cheeks at the memory, as she stared unseeing at the walls of her office. She had done as her father said. She had been brave. She had been strong. She had raised up Merai in the ways of the Lothanasi. She walked in the light, even when it seemed that more than half of the High Council was steeped in some kind of hidden darkness. And now the man who killed her family seven and a half years ago had come back to try to finish the job. A soft, high-pitched whine sounded beside her, stirring Raven out of her reverie. She looked down to see Wanderer nosing the palm of her hand, his ears back against his head and his tail wagging submissively. His expression of concern was obvious. With a sad, silent laugh, Raven scratched behind his ears, stroking his head consolingly. He whined again, sticking out the tip of his tongue in another submissive gesture. Then, much to the priestess's surprise, he put his front paws up on her lap and nosed at her face. "Agh!" Raven cried, pulling away from him as she pushed at his nose. "Wand'rer!" Abruptly, the wolf stopped, drawing his head back and staring at her. Raven looked back, puzzled at his sudden change in behavior. His yellow eyes gazed alertly into her own blue ones, canine submission suddenly replaced with ... something else. Tentatively, Raven sent a mental probe towards him, projecting a tendril of consciousness into the wolf's mind. On the outer edges, she saw the chaotic thoughts of an animal swirling like a maelstrom -- unconscious, without direction, more instinct than real cognition. But in the center, desperately trying to hold itself together, was something more ... structured. "Wand'rer?" Raven whispered. "Charles? Are you in there?" Slowly, the wolf lifted one paw. Then, carefully, gently, he reached up... And touched her cheek. Raven stayed utterly motionless, hardly daring to breathe, as Wanderer awkwardly held the rough pads of his foot to the place where the tears had run down her face. Then, he shifted his gaze to that paw, his expression of concern changing to one of confusion and anxiety. Slowly, he lowered the paw and placed his head on her lap, whining softly. Raven closed her eyes and let out a long, defeated sigh. She ran her hand over his head and shoulders, tears once again rolling down her face. "Wand'rer," she murmured, shaking her head sadly. "Why? Why did you do this to yourself?" "Because Christopher is his friend." Raven looked up, startled at the intrusion. Lurene stood leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and legs crossed, her eyes fixed on the priestess and the former poet. Her expression was neutral, but her gray eyes shone intently. The Lothanasa glared at her, lupine ears flattening against her head. "And what was I?" she demanded, her voice like ice. "If he does _this_ to himself for a friend, what was I, Lurene?!" The younger woman didn't flinch. "I don't know, Raven. What were you?" Raven blinked. It took her a moment to find her voice. "What are you talking about? I love him!" "Did you ever tell him that?" "He knew!" "Did you ever show him?" The priestess sputtered for a moment. "I -- well -- I was at least as close as Christopher!" she protested. "Were you?" Lurene pressed, her voice firm but totally devoid of any mocking tone. "I never saw you break fast with them, or show up to one of his performances. Are you _sure_ that he knew you loved him?" Raven swallowed uncomfortably, blinking back angry tears. "He knew," she insisted quietly, looking down. "It was just ... so hard for me to say it. Everyone I ever loved ... my family ... they were all dead. _All_ of them, Lurene. And then Charles came, and..." She fell silent for a moment, running her fingers through the wolf's fur. "He made me care about life again," she said, her voice soft. "He showed me how to find joy in the world around me -- that my family's death didn't have to mean death for me." She looked back up at Lurene. "He was a pillar of strength when I needed it most." "But did he know that?" Lurene asked. "Did he know how much you depended on him -- on his strength, his love? Did you tell him?" Slowly, Raven shook her head. "No." "And that," the younger woman said gently, "is why he did this." She came closer, putting her hands on Raven's desk. "You were always trying to be strong, Raven. You had everyone convinced that you could handle anything. Maybe you had to be that way -- maybe that kind of confidence is part of being the Lothanasa. But you never showed Wand'rer the truth, did you? He may have known you loved him, but he didn't know that you _needed_ him. As far as he knew, you were strong enough to stand on your own. But Chris -- Chris needed him. To Wand'rer's mind, Chris had a problem that he could never solve on his own. He needed Wand'rer's help. And like any loyal member of the pack, Wanderer sacrificed himself to help the one who needed him." "And let the strong one stand on her own," Raven murmured, her eyes distant. "Aye," Lurene agreed. "I'm sure it would have torn him apart, had he known that he would be forced to choose between you. But Christopher's need gave him more impetus to risk his life than you gave him to try to preserve it." Again, Raven looked down at the wolf, his body still draped over her lap. "It is still tearing him apart," she said quietly. "He is still in there, Lurene. Somewhere." She shook her head. "Why can he not come out?" Lurene straightened, backing away from the desk a little. "Who can say?" she said, shrugging sadly. "Perhaps, on some level, he's waiting." She turned and began walking toward the door. "Waiting?" Raven asked, calling after her. Lurene stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Waiting for someone to need him." With that she left, shutting the door with a soft click. In the silence that followed, Raven wrapped her arms around the wolf, pressing her face against the scruff of his neck, and quietly wept. *** End part 50 </HTML>